The Golden Key (Book 3) (31 page)

1

Giorge’s mother had been gone too long. The cave entrance
should have been just around the corner, but she had not yet returned. Why not?
The cave he had been in had been a shallow one, but the shadows inside it had
been thick and heavy; he could have missed a side tunnel. Maybe the creature
had dug a tunnel of its own? Could that be it? No; the tunnel’s sides were
rough and natural.

Giorge frowned and hurried forward as fast and as quietly as
his injuries would allow, slowing only when he heard something coming from just
beyond the twist in the tunnel. It sounded like rocks scraping against each
other in a hushed, distorted conversation. One thing was certain: it wasn’t his
mother’s voice.

Giorge edged closer to the turn in the tunnel and saw a
large, well-lit cavern fanning out to the right. An outcropping blocked much of
his view, but what he saw looked quite natural, except for the stalagmite sliding
toward the source of light. Near the stalagmite was a large chest, and on the
chest was an open book. The stalagmite didn’t seem to notice him as Giorge
edged a bit further around the corner to get a broader view.

Stalagmites don’t move,
he reminded himself,
unless
magic is involved.
He lifted the Viper’s Eye and peered through it. Within
the stalagmite was a core of magical energy shaped like a man, and it was
moving toward another cluster of man-shaped magical patterns hidden behind the outcropping.
Not far beyond them was a second cluster of magical shapes that resembled a
small herd of horses milling around together. Where was his mother?

Giorge hobbled forward a half-step and lowered the Eye. She
was there, nestled in among an outcropping of rocks that seemed to have reached
out and grabbed her. One of them had a long, thin, sharp stone held against her
throat, and when he glanced through the Eye again, he saw it as a blade.
Who?
he wondered.
Where?

Then another stalagmite shuffled into the cavern with a
woman wearing a powder blue wizard’s robe close behind. Was she the wizard who
had cast the spells? Was this
her
lair? It wasn’t the cave he thought it
was; it was a wizard’s hole and her minions had captured his mother! He lowered
the Eye and was about to scuttle backward when she turned and looked directly
at him. Her long red hair whipping about her shoulders as she lifted her hands high
and her eyes—

Giorge blinked. Even at a distance, he could see that each eye
was a different color. One brown and one blue….

Can it be her?
Giorge wondered.
Few have eyes like
that.
He had harangued Angus for three days with lies about his winter
conquests before Angus had finally told him about her, and even then his
description had been cryptic.
She’s a lovely witch with flaming red hair and
intriguing eyes—one blue and one brown. She is a masterful librarian, and her
assistance in my research has been invaluable
. It had taken nearly half an
hour to wheedle her name out of him, but what was it?

“Embril?” he asked, his tone soft and uncertain. That was
it, wasn’t it? That was what Angus had said, wasn’t it? She was the librarian
at the Wizards’ School, and he had befriended her. They had grown close, but he
hadn’t told him any of the luscious details. Still….

“No,” she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “But
there is something….”

“You are Embril, aren’t you?” Giorge asked more confidently.
If it was her—and it was—then the men would have to be—

He
was
where he had thought he was!

He braced himself, looked at the strange rock formations,
and declared in a strong, clear tone, “I am of the Banner of the Wounded Hand.
I demand all rights and privileges accorded to one of my station.”

Embril’s eyes widened as she whispered, “Giorge?” She
paused, and then asked, “You are Giorge?”

Giorge nodded, “Yes. I am Giorge.” He nodded to his mother
and added, “That is my mother, and she is under the protection of our Banner.”

Embril started toward him, but one of the clumps of rocks
shifted and moved into her path. She pushed it out of the way and stepped
through a part of it as if it weren’t there. There was a harsh sound, like a
stone shattering into a thousand tiny fragments, and then she was standing in
front of him. “Where is he?” she asked, her eyes flat and fully dilated. Angus
had said the blue one was deep and warm, but all he saw was a fierce, deadly
chill in it as she stepped even closer and demanded, “Where is Angus?”

The intensity in her eyes held a disturbing, unspoken
threat, and Giorge quickly replied, “I don’t know. We got separated a few days
ago.” Was it really only a few days ago? It would have taken them that long to
get to the Viper’s Skull, and it
felt
like it had only been a few days.
But his mother had been entombed for years without changing….

Embril’s eyes widened as she repeated, “A few days? But—”
She turned to look down the tunnel from which he had emerged. “Where—”

“He isn’t down there,” Giorge hastily said. “I don’t know
where he is. That thing took him.”

Embril slowly turned back to him and asked, her voice deadly
calm and her fingers quivering anxiously at her sides. “What thing? The
hermitog?”

Giorge frowned. What was it Angus had called it? “He said
they were elementals. I think he called one of them Sardach. We had just gotten
over that plateau and were heading down the lift to break the curse when they
attacked. He was struck first, and then the other one attacked me. I don’t know
what happened to him after that.”
But I died,
he almost added before he
captured and held his tongue in place.

Embril studied him for a few seconds, then turned and
slouched down the low tunnel. Giorge leaned back against the cavern wall and
waited. While he did so, he turned to the rocks and demanded, “Are you going to
release my mother or not?”

One of the rubble piles moved up to him and stopped. “In
time,” it said. The sound was peculiar, like wind blowing through a canyon, but
the words were quite clear. “Let’s have a chat, first,” it said, putting a
smooth, cold, stone-like grip on his shoulder. “A nice long chat.”

2

The room was brightly lit by a Lamplight spell, and Angus
shaded his eyes to give them a chance to adjust. A few seconds later, he
realized he was using his right arm and there wasn’t any pain. He cautiously shifted
position, and there wasn’t any grinding of bones in his shoulder. He reached
across his chest with his left hand, and there wasn’t even any tenderness in
the shoulder. He flexed his elbow, and it felt as it had before his injury.

Iscara?
he thought, moving his arm away from his
eyes. It didn’t look like Iscara’s herbarium, but he had only seen a part of
it. This room had a high table with a lot of blood on it, and the rancid stench
of decay was prominent. If he hadn’t been smelling rotted flesh for days, he
might have gagged, but he had grown accustomed to it. He sat up easily and when
his bare feet hit the cool floor he realized he was naked. He pushed aside the
thin blanket that had been draped over him and shivered.

It wasn’t particularly cold, but he was used to having a
steady body temperature. His robe was draped over the table, so he stood up
slowly and put his weight on his left foot—his
new
left foot by the look
of it. It was a still pink and had no calluses, and there was no hint of
rotting flesh rising up from it. It felt peculiar, as if the coolness of the
floor was magnified by the newness of the skin, and he fought the urge to lift
it off the floor. When it was clear his foot would hold his weight without
difficulty, he took three short steps to the end of the table and picked up his
robe. He held it out in front of him, opened it wide, and shook it gently, as
if he were Ortis sprinkling herbs into his stew. A few flecks and chunks
dropped from it, but other than that, it was clean.
Had someone washed it?
he wondered.
Or just shaken it out?
It didn’t matter. He put it on and tied
the sash, reveling in the return of its customary warmth. It felt wonderful to
be able to move normally, and he quickly turned to the second task: finding his
backpack.

We must go,
Sardach urged into his mind, startling
him.
The key must be returned.

Angus nodded as he thought,
Soon. I must prepare for my
encounter with Argyle.
He walked around the table looking for his pack. He
had gone only halfway around when a guardsman pushed aside a tapestry and
stepped into the room.

“Good,” he said. “You’re awake.”

“Yes,” Angus said, squinting at him. He was clean-shaven and
had an angular jawline, and his black hair was worn short. Angus frowned; he looked
familiar, but from where?

“I wasn’t sure you would make it,” he added. “It took three
healers to mend you.”

Three?
Angus wondered, raising his eyebrows. He
smiled and flexed his right arm. “They did wonderful work,” he said. “I feel as
I did before I struck the mountain.”

The guardsman frowned at him, shrugged, and asked, “Then you
can answer a few questions?”

Angus considered for a moment before replying, “If I am able
to do so.” He finally remembered where he had seen the guardsman: he had been
the one in charge at the city gates when he arrived. He had let him into Tyrag,
but only after Angus had suggested there were fish on the wind.

The guardsman nodded. He was a lieutenant, wasn’t he? Isn’t
that what the silver wrapping around the hilt of his sword meant? Or was it the
umber tunic? “Good,” he said. “I need to know what you meant last night when
you said the King’s Shield was broken.”

Last night?
Angus thought, flexing his right elbow
and scrunching up his left toes.
They worked quickly
…. “All right,” he
said. “I didn’t say it
was
broken; I said I should have
said
it
was broken.” He paused, wondering what he should tell him. “Perhaps it may be
dented, though,” he mused.

The Lieutenant stepped closer and lowered his voice. There
was urgency in his tone as he said, “There have been rumors, but we don’t know
what to make of them. Something’s stirring in The Borderlands. Do you know
anything about that?”

Angus frowned. The Borderlands? What could be happening up
there? Something
stirring
? “I don’t know about up north,” he said. “I
crossed the mountains south of Hellsbreath. But I thought the fishmen had left
the Death Swamps.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “We thought so, too. But something is
happening up there. It’s different from the fishmen attacks, more subtle. We
think something else is moving into them.”

Angus considered this piece of news and a chill swept over
him that his robe couldn’t chase away.
Something else in the Death Swamps?
Had it chased away the fishmen?
“I think the fishmen,” he said, his voice
barely above a whisper, “are at the Lake of Scales. I think,” he paused,
“something scared them out of the Death Swamps, something much worse than
them.”
Something with a long, long memory.

The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows and relief mingled with
something else in his eyes. Disbelief? Hope? He exhaled and the tension eased
from his face as he smiled. “The Lake of Scales, you say? You saw them there?”

Angus shook his head. The guardsman had entirely missed what
was important. “No,” he admitted. “I overheard some things that have led me to
conclude they are there. My banner wasn’t able to confirm it before—” He looked
at his right shoulder and shrugged. It felt good to be able to shrug without hearing
bones crunching together. “They may have made it there by now. We got
separated.” He paused and shook his head. “There was a patrol from the villages
by the lake, and they were talking about the sudden appearance of something
from the north. Our banner had encountered a few fishmen on a plateau in The
Tween, well north of the Lake of Scales. I think they passed through the
tunnels under the mountains with the dwarves’ help and came out of those
tunnels at the Lake of Scales. But they hadn’t attacked the villagers, and that
puzzled me. I think I understand why, now. If what you say is true, it would
explain a great deal about the Fishmen Incursions. A more vicious enemy—probably
from the lands north of the Death Swamps—may have forced them into The
Borderlands, and their attacks may have been out of necessity. At least that
would explain why they haven’t attacked the villagers at the Lake of Scales.”
Angus frowned and rubbed his bearded chin.
Unless they are biding their
time?
It was all finally coming together. Something
was
in the Death
Swamps, but it wasn’t the fishmen. It was the Plains Folk. It had to be them,
didn’t it? But what were they doing there? And—

“Rumors,” the Lieutenant said. Then he grinned. “Rumors keep
us alert, and that’s what we need right now. Fishmen at the Lake of Scales?” He
laughed. “Missing men in the north? Deserters, no doubt. Nobody wants to go to
The Borderlands anymore. Rumors about the dwarves being seen in Wyrmwood’s
mines? They never leave their own tunnels.” He shook his head and chuckled.
“More rumors than we can handle, eh?”

Dwarves—
Angus frowned and added this bit of
information, this rumor, to the puzzle and watched it shift perspective again.
What
are the dwarves up to? What part were they to play in the storm that was coming?
Wyrmwood’s mines
….

“Maybe you should check on those rumors,” Angus suggested,
not really caring very much if they did.

“Oh, we do,” the Lieutenant said. “We always do when they
come from credible sources.”

Angus staggered back to the cot and sat down. He lifted his
hand to his forehead and groaned. It wasn’t entirely an act; he had felt a
sudden wooziness pass through him that was gone before he had reached the cot.
He took a long breath and added, “There is no more that I can tell you,
Lieutenant. It is little more than conjecture at the moment, and I am sure you
have much more information about what is going on than I do. Perhaps we can
talk later, after I have rested?” He didn’t intend to see the Lieutenant again,
but if he did, he would have questions ready for him. But not now. He needed to
deliver the key to Argyle and get back to Hellsbreath. If the dwarves were on
the move in The Tween, Embril would be in danger.

The Lieutenant was about to say something when Iscara moved
the tapestry aside and stepped into the room. She was as he remembered, but
with color. Her hair was a rich chestnut, and her lips were thick and more red
than most. Her eyes were a dark brown that crept toward black—or was she
looking at the magic? They could be heavily dilated….

The Lieutenant glanced at her, nodded, and said, “I’ll send
for you later.” Then he ducked around Iscara and left the room.

After the Lieutenant was gone, Iscara pulled the tapestry
closed and turned to Angus. She put her fists on her hips, and demanded, “How
do you know me?”