The Viper's Fangs (Book 2) (22 page)

At least he wouldn’t have to watch Giorge for a while. He’d
have to check on him occasionally to make sure, but—

“We need to move,” Hobart said. “Talk later. That storm will
be upon us before we have camp set up, and this carnage will draw scavengers
from miles away.”

“That was some spell you cast,” Giorge said. “I’m glad you
weren’t mad enough to do that to me.”

Angus frowned and shook his head. “It would have been a
waste of a good spell,” he said, turning away. Then he paused and turned back
to add, “Perhaps next time.” He half-smiled and Giorge’s grin rapidly faded.

Angus looked once more at the snake and shook his head again.
It should have killed them, but somehow they had all survived. If it had gotten
all of the way out of its hole…. He walked up to the head and stared into its
dead blue eye.
Who are you?
he asked the reflection staring back at him.
It was oddly distorted, vaguely familiar, but there was something very wrong
about it. It was him, and yet, it wasn’t. He lowered the snake’s eyelid and
shuddered. The snake’s head was as tall as he was, and he wondered how long it could
be. He would never know, of course; there was no way to pull the rest of it out
of its hole. It would probably take half a hundred men to do it. Was it the
thing that haunted the plateau? Had it eaten the trappers who were reckless
enough to come up here? Was that why there weren’t any animals worth trapping
up here? Had it eaten all of them, too? Snakes could survive a long time
between meals….

He lifted the snake’s heavy lip and studied one of its
fangs. It was over a foot long, and venom oozed from a gland at its base. It
was a strange color for venom, a dark purple, almost black that contrasted with
the whiteness of its scales, the beige of the interior of its mouth. A rare
venom, no doubt, one that would fetch a fine price from Inyird. Perhaps he
should collect—

“Angus?” Hobart called again. “We need to go now.”

Angus sighed and nodded. He didn’t have the right container
anyway. If he cut the gland free and wrapped it up, the venom would get
squeezed out. He needed a jar—

The tomato juice. He could dump that—

“Angus!” Hobart snapped.

Angus turned, scowled, and said, “I heard you.”

Hobart pointed west, and when Angus looked, he understood
the urgency in Hobart’s tone. The near horizon was blanketed by gray-black
clouds, and the tops of the trees were already swaying in the wind.

“All right,” he said, carefully making his way through the
carnage to where Ortis was holding Gretchen’s reins.

“Look for anything that might provide us with some shelter,”
Hobart said. “We’ll need it before the hour’s up.”

Angus nodded, but his mind wasn’t on the task. He
really
wanted to go back to get some of that venom. He might even be able to use it in
a potion if he ever made another one. He frowned. When had he made a potion?
How did he know that snake venom would be a useful ingredient? No, not snake
venom,
this
snake venom. He could use it to create a potion that would cause
paralysis, possibly even death—or muscle spasms so fierce they could break
bones. Why would he want to have that kind of potion? No, not potion.
Poison
.

“There,” Ortis said. “Those trees are close enough together
to provide a good windbreak from the west, and we should be able to set up our
tent in that opening between them fairly quickly.”

“How long before the snow starts?” Angus asked.

“Who knows?” Hobart said. “It might be a few minutes or
hours.”

“All right,” Angus said. “I want the tomato juice jar.”

“Whatever for?” Ortis asked. “We haven’t seen any skunks up
here yet.”

“Nor will we,” Angus said. “I believe that part of the curse
is over, and since we aren’t going to eat that juice, I’d like to use the jar.”

“For what?” Ortis asked as they worked their way between the
trees and into a small pocket of clear space covered with only about a foot of
snow.

Angus frowned. What would Ortis think if he told him the
truth? No, he would have to tell a partial truth. “Giant snakes like that are
very rare. In fact, I have only read of a few sightings of them, and those
never involved a direct encounter. Skins that were shed, mainly. I’d like to
collect its venom sacs and a few other specimens. Proof of that sort is rare,
and can be quite valuable to the right person. Especially the venom.”

“Poison?” Hobart scoffed. “Why would we want to sell someone
poison? So they can kill someone else? Let them use a blade.”

Angus shook his head. “No, not poison,” he said, not quite
meaning it. “Some of the healers at the Wizards’ School in Hellsbreath use
venom in their potions and salves. It could save someone’s life.”
Or take fifty.

“After we have camp ready,” Hobart said. “If you want to
trudge through the storm to get it, fine. But help us set up camp first.”

Half an hour later, Angus rode back to the clearing. Snow
was sputtering about him, but the raging storm had yet to arrive. When he
reached the clearing, flurries were falling, and he huddled inside his robe to
brace himself against the wind.

He took out the jar and peeled back the lid. It was a large
jar—more than a gallon at least—and poorly constructed from thick, heavy,
opaque glass that hadn’t been fired quite long enough. He poured out the
sluggish tomato juice—it was already starting to freeze—and used handfuls of
snow to scrub away the residue in the jar. Then he turned to the snake.

 He took out his dagger and made a series of expert cuts that
severed the muscles holding the venom sac in place. In less time than he had
expected, it slid down the fang and into the jar, almost completely filling it.
That,
he thought,
I didn’t learn from Voltari
. He frowned.
When
did I learn it? Before my apprenticeship?
His frown deepened. Somehow, he
didn’t think so.

6

A heavy snow was falling by the time he returned to the
tent, and the tracks they had made were already filling in. He led Gretchen to where
the other horses were loosely tethered out of the wind, and slogged through the
snow to the tent flap. It was a large tent, easily big enough to hold the
group, but it was far from comfortable.

Ortis had a fire going and was cooking a pot of stew. It was
largely melted snow, meat, and a few vegetables from Dagremon’s. He set the jar
down near the entrance and took off his backpack.

“You said you thought the curse was over,” Giorge said, his
voice hopefully guarded. “Why do you think that?”

“No,” Angus said. “I said I thought this
part
of the
curse is over.”

Giorge frowned. “Are there other parts?”

Angus thought for a long moment, and then said, “I believe
so. The magic from this one came from the first scroll. I don’t know how or why
or when it migrated to you, but it did. The other three scrolls also have magic
within them, and I suspect they will each in turn do the same thing.”

“What will they do?” Giorge asked. “More animal attacks?”

Angus shook his head, “Doubtful, but I don’t know what it
will do for sure.” He paused and looked for the box. When he saw it, he pointed
and said, “Let me see the scrolls; it wouldn’t hurt to find out if they’ve
changed again.”

Hobart reached for the box, opened it, and tossed the scroll
tube over the fire. Angus caught it, opened it, and quickly verified that only
the first scroll’s magic was gone. The others still had theirs.

“Well?” Giorge asked, his tone anxious.

“The magic is still in them,” Angus said. He lifted the
second scroll, the one that had been tied with braided threads of blue and
white. “The magic of the first one was similar to the magic that I know, but it
was also different. Any magic tinged green is always related to life, but there
are a lot of different kinds of life. Plants have the richest, purest green
because their life energy is more direct; they make it for themselves. Animals
have a range of colors that go from a light green to yellow-green, depending
upon what they eat. Plant eaters are closer to the light green, while
meat-eaters are nearer the yellow-green. Those that feast upon the dead are the
furthest removed from the green, a sort of thick mustard green. These colors only
reflect animals that dwell on land. The animals in the sea range from sea-green
to aquamarine, and follow a similar pattern. Since the magic of the first
scroll was yellow-green, I didn’t think it would affect fish, but it did.”

“So you don’t know for sure what will happen, but you have a
rough idea,” Hobart said. “A rough idea is better than none.”

“Yes,” Giorge agreed. “What do you think that one will do?”

Angus frowned. “The magic in this one,” he said, holding it
up, “is like the thread securing it. It’s blue and white. But I can’t say what
it will do for sure because blue is an ambiguous color. It could relate to
either the sky or water, depending upon its location and shading. The greater
the influence of water in the sky—like a thunderstorm—the darker blue the sky
thread will be. When the source of water is direct, it will vary in color
depending upon whether it is fresh or salt water, and based on its purity.
However, the white is a critical cue, since it is only related to sky magic,
and it reflects very cold, dry temperatures, those usually found only in the
upper elevations and colder climates. Taken together with the blue, it would
suggest snow, frost, ice—something of that sort. What form that snow, frost, or
ice will take, I have no idea, but it won’t be good for you.”

Giorge looked at the side of the tent. It was billowing in
and out as the wind shifted around them. “Like this blizzard?” Giorge asked.
“Something that will delay me and keep me from breaking the curse?”

Angus nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “But if it is a blizzard,
it isn’t this one. The scroll’s magic is still confined to the scroll.”

“At least we have winter gear,” Hobart said. “That will
help.”

Angus nodded, but he didn’t really believe it. If the second
part of the curse was like the first, there would be far more woe in store for
Giorge before it was finished with him. And that meant there was far more woe
for the rest of them.

“What about that one,” Giorge asked, pointing at the scroll
tied with green and black threads. “Will it make the plants try to kill me?”

Angus half-smiled and shook his head. “No,” he said softly.
“If it were only that simple. But there’s black as well as green, and that is a
very specific kind of magic. It only occurs when something living is on the
verge of death, a sort of transition from the green of life to the black of
death. All magic transforms into other magic in a cyclical fashion over long
periods of time. Living magic becomes death magic, and that death magic gradually
disperses into other forms of magic or gradually returns to life magic. Water
magic eventually distills into air and earth, fire consumes other forms of
magic and when it dissipates, it becomes smoke and ash as it transitions to air
and earth. This,” he said, lifting up the next scroll, “will be a more direct
attack, a kind of killing magic of some sort. Of what sort,” he shrugged, “I
don’t know.”

Giorge was silent for some time, and then his eyes fell on
the scroll tied only with the deep black thread. “Death magic?”

Angus nodded. “There are two basic kinds of death magic. The
normal kind is related to the death and decay that occurs naturally. It’s a
more benign kind of magic that settles down and patiently waits to revert back
to life or become something else. The other is what we call consumptive black.
It occurs when there has been a particularly violent death, one that is
dissatisfied with its state. It is a restless kind of magic, and instead of
slowly returning to living magic or transitioning into something else, it
reaches outward and tries to consume the living magic around it, to change that
living magic into death magic. Poisons, like the venom in that jar, will often
have elements of consumptive black, along with other forms of magic.”

“Will it kill me, then?”

Angus frowned and thought for a long moment about whether or
not to tell him any more about what he suspected would happen. But then, it
really didn’t matter, did it? Giorge would probably be dead when the magic
manifested from this scroll. “This kind of consumptive magic is used to
manipulate the dead.”

“Manipulate the dead?” Hobart scoffed. “That isn’t
possible.”

Angus half-smiled and turned to him. His voice was soft as
he answered, “Zombies are real, Hobart. There are two standing guard outside
the door of Blackhaven Tower. Voltari called them Mut and Gyf. If you would like,
I’ll introduce you to them. They used to be an ogre.”

“I don’t understand,” Giorge said. “Are you saying I’m going
to be attacked by zombies?”

Angus sighed and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I suspect,
that it will only activate after you have already died. If you fail to resolve
the curse before it reaches this state,” he paused and looked into the fire,
“then you’ll become a zombie or something like it. Voltari called them
dead-but-nots.” He paused to let this settle in their minds, and then shrugged.
“At least,” he added, tilting his head and half-smiling. It was a wistful,
uncaring smile, “if the curse’s magic is like the magic I know, and we’ve
already seen that it is similar in some ways and different in others. It could easily
be something entirely different.”
And even more horrifying.
He paused
again, and then added. “It might also relate to you being the reincarnation of
Symptata’s son.”

“We’ll just have to make sure the curse doesn’t go that
far,” Hobart said, setting his jaw. “As soon as this storm lets up, we’ll get
going.”

They were quiet for a long time as the wind buffeted the
side of the tent and howled around them. Then Giorge said, “All right. Let’s
deal with it one step at a time. We still need to get to the eyes, and I know
what direction they are in. You’ve already checked the map, and it’s tracing my
path as we go, so it isn’t exactly helpful. But I sense the Eyes, and I’ll be
able to lead us to them. What happens after that,” he shrugged. “We’ll have to
wait and see.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Hobart said.”Why not
just go back now? If we’ve overcome the first part of the curse, maybe we can
avoid the other parts just by leaving them alone.”

Or we could kill Giorge
, Angus thought in the voice
that wasn’t his.
The scroll said that death would free him from the curse.
Angus frowned. The idea was preposterous, and yet it fit the logic of the
curse—if the scrolls were accurate in describing it. But what if they weren’t?
What good would come from killing Giorge? He shook his head. Why was he even
considering the idea? He wasn’t the kind of person to kill others for selfish
reasons!

No, killing Giorge wouldn’t be enough; the curse would just continue
on to the next generation. If they had any hope of ending the curse at all,
they would have to see it through now. Besides, Giorge had said he only had three
weeks to complete the task, and more than a week was already behind them. How
much longer could he last?

“There is one thing you can do,” Giorge said, his tone soft,
solemn. He turned to Hobart and his lips quivered. “Remember to tell Auntie Fie
everything
that happens. If I can’t stop this curse, maybe the next heir
of Symptata will.”

Hobart met his gaze, set his jaw, and nodded slowly.

“And,” Giorge added, a hint of a grin returning to his lips.
“You might want to pick up a few things I’ve left scattered around the kingdom.”

Hobart’s eyebrows shot upward and then rapidly descended.
“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” Giorge said, “not much, really. There’s a pouch of
gems in Hellsbreath, a gilded dagger in Tyr, a little silver necklace in
Wyrmwood—”

“What?!” Hobart interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “Where did
you get them?”

Giorge shrugged. “I borrowed them,” he said.

“You
borrowed
them?” Hobart growled.

Giorge nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!” he said,
meeting Hobart’s suspicious gaze with a playful, seemingly innocent one.
“They’re things I’ve borrowed from the banner and—”

“From the banner!” Hobart half-shouted.

“Yes,” Giorge said, nodding vigorously. “You know how you’re
always threatening to hire a Truthseer to find out if I’ve absconded with
treasure. Well, I didn’t want to disappoint you by not making it worth your
while. I mean, if I
hadn’t
borrowed anything from the banner, it would
have been such a waste of money to hire a Truthseer, and they don’t come
cheaply.”

“You—” Hobart fumed.

“Let it rest,” Ortis suggested. “The stew’s ready, and we
need to get some sleep if we’re going to be plowing through snow all day
tomorrow.”

Angus nodded. “I’ll need to prime for spells before we go,”
he said. “It will be a lot easier to do if you two aren’t bickering.”

“Bickering!” Hobart snapped. “He
stole
—”

“—
borrowed
—”

“—the Banner’s treasure!”

Angus shrugged as he accepted the bowl of soup. “You should
have hired the Truthseer,” he said. “Or stopped threatening to do it. You
should have known it would be too much of a temptation for him.”

Hobart glared at him, set his jaw, and shook his head. “We
will talk more of this, Giorge.”

“Of course,” Giorge agreed, grinning. “I’ve only told you
about a few of them, and I haven’t even told you where to look for them.” He
paused, and his grin widened. “I hope you don’t mind sewers….”

Angus turned to Ortis and said, “This stew isn’t bad,
considering what you had to work with.”

Ortis nodded. “There will be less to work soon. Dagremon
didn’t have much left in her stores. The trappers had nearly cleaned out her
inventory. We we’re lucky she had tomato juice and onions.”

Angus nodded, took a bite without paying much attention to
the taste, and chewed the spongy meat that didn’t quite want to be rent apart.
After he swallowed, he asked, “Hobart said that you came out of the Death
Swamps.”

Ortis nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I had gotten lost in them
while I was trying to elude the fishmen. Before I realized it, I was on the
wrong side of them.”

Angus nodded. “You’re from north of them?”

Ortis nodded. “Someday, I may go back.”

Angus felt his eyebrow arching and tried to hide it by
taking another bite of stew. As he chewed, he asked, “What’s it like up there?”

Ortis shrugged. “Not much different from the plains of Tyr,”
he said. “A bit colder.”

“Did the fishmen attack you, too?”

Ortis—all three of him—stirred his stew, and then one by one
they took a bite. It was a long time before he answered, and all he said was,
“I would prefer not to discuss it.”

Oh?
Angus wondered.
Why is that?
“All right,”
he said, glancing meaningfully at Hobart. “Do you know of any large bodies of
water up there, north of the Death Swamps? Like the Lake of Scales?”

Ortis was again slow to respond as he said, “The past is but
a distant memory for me now, Angus. I would prefer to keep it that way. But,
no, there are no such large bodies north of the Death Swamps.”

Angus frowned. Was that why he couldn’t remember who he was
before that spell? Was there something in his past that would torment him the
way Ortis seemed to be tormented by his past? Or was Ortis only pretending to
be tormented in order to hide the truth? At least he had answered one question:
the fishmen wouldn’t have gone out of the Death Swamps to head north. But why
wouldn’t he talk about the fishmen attacks? He didn’t seem to have any trouble
with killing them on their way to the Angst temple. Had they done something to
him? Angus’s frown deepened as he considered another possibility: Had Ortis
done something to
them
?