The Golden Key (Book 3)

by Robert P. Hansen

  The horses were closer. They were coming from the east, and she stepped out of the cave far enough to see them. It was Lieutenant Jarhad, Darby, Tobar, and two other men. They were riding hard—too hard, from the look of the foamy lather on the horses’ necks. He’s afraid, she thought, calming her mind and detaching it from the onrush of fear the horses were projecting. Or was it anger? Why are they running so fast? Was something chasing them?

  She felt a sudden urge to run toward them, to join them in their flight, and before she realized what was happening, she had skipped five feet forward. She stopped abruptly, her robe fluffing forward and settling in around her again. What’s wrong with me? she wondered. She didn’t have time to explore the strange, stimulating rush of fear or her instinctive reaction to it because Lieutenant Jarhad and his men were reining in their horses. The look on his face….

  Lieutenant Jarhad leapt from his horse before it had fully stopped, and before his sweaty blonde tangles could settle, he was barking orders to his men. “Darby, Tobar, see to the horses.” He barely turned to the other two as he gestured and said, “Secure the cave. Watch out for that creature.”

  “It’s—” Embril began.

  Lieutenant Jarhad, his jaw set firm, stomped up to her, grabbed her arm, and twisted her around to face the cave. His grip was fierce, painful, and it caught Embril by surprise. She allowed him to pull her along with him until they were inside the cave, but when he didn’t let her go, she brought the magic into focus and reached out for a strand of flame. She tweaked the strand, wrapped it around her finger and thumb, and snapped them together.

  “Ach!” Lieutenant Jarhad cried, dropping his hand from her arm and leaping backward to draw his sword. The blade was shaking, perhaps because of his singed fingertips, and his deep-set eyes widened and filled with surprised rage.

  Embril retreated until her back was against the bumpy surface of the cave wall. She desperately wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. The soldiers were deeper in the cave and it went nowhere anyway. Her breathing was coming in little puffy snorts. Her eyes were wide, and the magic was in sharper focus than she could ever remember it being, especially the green, blue, and yellow strands. She couldn’t flee from the cave because Lieutenant Jarhad was standing there, sword in hand, looking as if he wanted to use it on her. But she had to get out….

  “You foolish, stupid, insubordinate witch!” Lieutenant Jarhad growled through clenched teeth.

  Embril blinked rapidly, her eyes shifting rapidly around the cave, looking for a way out. Her fingertips quivered in front of her as if she were wringing them together, uncertain about what to do, where to run. Her stare fixed itself on Lieutenant Jarhad’s vicious glare as she quickly strung together two spells. The first was an immobilizing spell that compressed the air into a strong headwind that would force Lieutenant Jarhad back and make it difficult for him to approach her. The second was a simple variation of the flying spell. Run! she thought fiercely, trying desperately not to lose focus on the spell, on Lieutenant Jarhad.

  Lieutenant Jarhad stepped forward, the flat of the blade held out in a threatening position. “I’ll have your hide—” he began. He was close enough for her to feel the spittle spraying from his mouth before she reluctantly, anxiously, compulsively cast the spell.

  Run! she thought as the spell whipped out from her.

  When the burst of air struck him, Lieutenant Jarhad staggered back and fought against it. His eyes widened as the magic held him firmly in place despite his efforts, and then the strands of the second spell wrapped around him, picked him up, and sent him sailing backward. He would have struck the cave’s wall, but Embril redirected his momentum and sent him out of the cave entrance. There he hung, suspended in the air, as she fought against the urge to drop him and run.

  Lieutenant Jarhad snarled at her, sending frightful shivers down her spine. She pawed at the ground with her left foot and licked her lips. Run! she thought, trying to still her almost frantic breathing. Her fingers squeezed together, almost tightening into a fist before she forced them to relax.

  Lieutenant Jarhad paled, his eyes bulged, and his sword shook in front of him as the magic squeezed in around him. His sword slipped from his grip and clattered down to the road as he convulsed against the strength of the spell’s constrictive force.

  Embril eased her grip and stepped forward. He took a deep, raspy breath, and the first inkling of fear crept into his eyes, subduing—but not replacing—the rage that was still there. She smiled, not from pleasure or satisfaction, but to drive down the fear threatening to overrun her. As she stepped forward, she pushed him back until he was hovering over the canyon several feet from the ledge. Then Darby and Tobar were at the mouth of the cave.

  “Back off!” Embril snarled, her voice frantic. “I’ll drop him!” She was shaking, and her bladder was almost impossible to control.

  “Do it!” Lieutenant Jarhad gasped, his breath coming in small spurts as she flexed her sore fingers.

  Darby and Tobar backed off as one of the horses whinnied its concern. It was a friendly sound, a comforting one, and quite suddenly all her fear fled from her.

  Embril frowned. Why had she reacted so violently? It wasn’t like her to do that. She clicked her tongue and the horse took a step toward her, but Darby used his bulk to block its path. But it was enough. The horse was calm, and that calmed her. She turned back to Lieutenant Jarhad and glared at him for a long moment before turning back to Darby. His eyes were dilated, but he wasn’t doing anything with his hands yet.

  “Darby,” she said. “I suggest you stop whatever it is you are planning to do.” The dilation of his eyes didn’t change as he held himself ready. She sighed and reluctantly snatched a bit of flame magic and sent it his way. The whip-like tendril didn’t strike him, but it was close enough for him to realize how close it had been—and to startle the horse. “You may be an adequate healer,” she told him, her voice firm, “but you are no match for me.” Despite the horse’s obvious discomfort, she toyed with the flame strand, flicking its tip near his feet until his eyes returned to normal.

  “Now, Lieutenant,” she began as she turned back to him, “I joined this mission because I have an important task to do, and Commander Garret ordered you to take me with you. I agreed to wear that insufferable soldier’s uniform and that ugly hat because my task is too important for me to quibble over such things. I have also put up with your rudeness, your disdain, and your disrespect for the same reason.” She gritted her teeth and squeezed her hand to apply a little well-deserved pressure. “I even allowed you to laden me with my gear while I was a horse, and it almost killed me. That was, indeed, foolish and stupid of me. I never should have let you do that. Now you threaten to strike me with your sword?”

  “When we get back to Hellsbreath,” Lieutenant Jarhad growled, “I will have your head. Orders or no, what you have done is punishable by death.”

  “And what of you?” she asked, her voice almost playful. “What punishment do you deserve?” She wiggled him in the air to stress her point, and then smiled as he paled. “Yes, Lieutenant. You are in no position to make threats, and I have nothing at all to fear upon our return to Hellsbreath.”

  “Open displays of magic—”

  “—are only to be done when absolutely necessary,” she mockingly finished. “It was necessary. You are simply too blind to realize it.” She paused and said, without turning, “The hermitog is dead, by the way.”

  “The what?” Lieutenant Jarhad asked.

  “The creature in the cave,” she clarified. “We need the cave for my plan to succeed. It wouldn’t do to have it hanging around eating your men, now would it?”

  “It’s dead?” he asked. It was almost as if he were looking through her as he said it.

  Embril nodded. “What was it you said about me, Lieutenant?” she asked. “I’m foolish? Yes, I suppose I am foolish for tolerating your behavior. I am not one of your men, Lieutenant, and you have no authority over me at all,
so how can I be insubordinate? Indeed, I am due the same respect that you would deign to give to a Master Wizard, but you have shown me nothing but contempt and hostility.” She had to fight off the urge to squeeze the spell tighter as she said it, but a moment later, she continued in a much calmer tone. “Even when I have tried to make your task easier to accomplish, you have been insulting and condescending.” She paused and tightened her grip on the spell until he gasped for the breath the wind was ripping away from him. Her eyes were hard and her tone was like ice as she finished, “I am not stupid.” She let the pressure stay for a long second, and then eased it up and let him catch his breath.

  When he recovered, there was still frustration and anger in his eyes; but the spark of fear had grown and was accompanied by a budding, begrudging hint of respect. “Very well,” he said, “Master Wizard.” The way he said it made the title seem empty and foul, and there was no sincerity in his eyes as he added, “I apologize for my behavior toward you.”

  “An empty apology is no more effective than a silent scream,” she said, smiling. It was one of her favorite sayings, and this was the first time she had ever been able to use it. “But it is of no consequence, Lieutenant. I need no apology from you; I need only your attention. I have a plan that will take us across the plateau in three days without leaving any discernible trail. If we are discovered by the fishmen—if there are any here, which I doubt—and they attack, I am confident you can deal with them.”

  “And if there are hundreds of them?” he sneered.

  She shrugged, “Then I will help you.”

  He blinked and stared at her for a long time. Then he glanced down at the canyon beneath him and quickly looked back up. The anger was almost gone from his eyes now, and that hint of respect was growing as the implication of her words struck him. “One wizard?” he scoffed.

  She smiled, “If it is the right wizard with the right spells.”

  “And you have the right spells?”

  “I believe so,” she said. “Are you ready to listen, then?”

  He hesitated a few seconds before saying, “Yes.”

  “Your word?” she demanded. She waited until he had given it and then turned her body until Lieutenant Jarhad was hovering over the road. Then she gently lowered him down and released the spells. “Good,” she said. “Shall we talk in the cavern?” As she turned toward the cave, she hesitated only a moment to smile at the two men standing behind her with their swords drawn and held unsteadily out in front of them. Then she made a casual gesture with her arm, and they rapidly stepped aside to let her pass. Good, she thought, smiling as she entered the cave and walked confidently toward the large cavern she had found.

  16

  Giorge and his mother ran for all of ten seconds. It was an unsettling ten seconds. They were surrounded by an abyssal darkness so deep that it seemed to go on forever, and if it weren’t for the Viper’s Eye they would have been lost in its murkiness for eternity. But the Eye led him unerringly through the magical tunnel as it disintegrated around them. The complex knots holding the energy in place snapped soundlessly apart and the streams of color broke away like silent, fraying whips. Then, quite suddenly, the darkness was gone.

  Giorge stumbled into an almost blinding, shadowy gloom, and the smooth floor of the magical tunnel changed to loose, gritty rock. His left foot caught on a sharp-edged rock protruding up from the floor, and he fell forward. He rolled instinctively onto his back as he fell, dragging his mother with him to the rough, rock-strewn ground. She fell heavily upon his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Giorge clung to her as he gasped for breath. Then he gently, forcefully, pushed her off of his chest.

  His mother crouched and looked down the tunnel as Giorge rolled onto his side, crumpled up, and sucked in air. Rock dust tickled his nostrils, and he sneezed—an almost airless sneeze—and felt a sharp twinge of pain in his right side. He probed the area with his fingertips and found tenderness and a rigid bump near the little rib at the bottom. The rib had probably broken when his mother’s elbow jabbed into his side when she landed on him.

  By the time he was able to sit up, his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, and he was able to pick shapes out of the deep shadows. He looked behind him, to see what had tripped him, and frowned. He should have brought the torch with him instead of throwing it at the witch. At least the witch hadn’t followed them—or had been trapped by the magic if she had. Then his mother was at his side.

  “Can you stand?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He looked at her, then past her down the narrow tunnel. It twisted upward at a slight angle, and at the edge of his vision, it widened and turned. Diffuse light filled that end of it, suggesting an opening of some sort. But an opening to what?

  Giorge nodded and let her help him to his feet. But as soon as he put weight on his left foot, pain shot through his ankle and he sucked in a deep, wincing breath. He leaned heavily on his mother’s shoulder, and she sagged down before she was able to brace herself. She was so tiny that it was almost like leaning on a child, and he quickly shifted his weight to his right foot and hopped backward to lean against the tunnel’s wall. It was a rough, natural formation, and bits of it crumbled off as he brushed up against it.

  She looked at him, concern in her dark eyes, and asked, “How bad?”

  He grimaced. “I think my left ankle might be broken,” he said as he pressed his right hand to his side. “And a cracked rib.”

  She frowned and knelt down before him. She didn’t take off his boot; instead, she ran her thin fingers along the outside of it and pressed firmly against its soft leather. There was discomfort but not the pain he had felt when he had put his weight on it. When she finished, she said, “I don’t think it’s broken, but it has already swollen up. Can you walk on it?”

  He shrugged and tested it to see if it could hold his weight, and then quickly leaned back again. “I’ll manage,” he said through clenched teeth before turning away from her. He scrunched up his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. When he opened them again, they were blurry. He blinked a few times, and when his vision cleared he looked at the back of the cave. It was the just a rough, natural wall; the portal was gone. There was something on the ground in front of it that he hadn’t noticed before he had fallen: a small box, half-hidden in the shadows. Even though he couldn’t see it clearly, he knew that it would be stained with a chocolate brown varnish and studded with silver inlays. But that wasn’t what drew his attention; it was the thing beside it.

  “No,” he muttered. “It can’t be.”

  “What is it?” his mother asked, stepping around him. She stopped and convulsively squeezed his arm when she saw the box. “Leave it,” she hissed tugging on his elbow. “We don’t have to open it.”

  He didn’t let her pull him away. It wasn’t the box that captivated him; it was the thing beside it. He had thought it was a pile of rocks at first, but there was something amid those rocks that held his attention: a large, half-rotten claw.

  Giorge turned and looked down the corridor at the dimly lit opening. “It can’t be,” he said again.

  “What is it?” his mother asked as they plodded forward.

  He shook his head and focused on taking shallow breaths, squelching the jagged pain they caused. The air was thin and crisp, as if they were standing high in the mountains. But he was used to that; he had been traveling at high altitude for weeks before waking up in Symptata’s tomb.

  Giorge steadied himself with his left hand against the wall to give his ankle a rest and realized both his hands were empty. He frowned and looked down at his feet. “Where is it?” he asked as he scanned the floor near where he had fallen. “The Viper’s Eye,” he muttered. “I dropped it.”

  “I don’t know,” his mother said, still trying to prop him up.

  He reached into the pouch he had hidden in his tunic and brought out the second Eye. It was barely visible in the gloomy, dust-riddled tunnel, and if he hadn’t
been holding it, it would have blended into the shadows and been lost there. They needed some light—or luck—to find it, and he doubted he would find either of them in this tunnel. He should have kept the torch, instead of throwing it at the old hag—

  His eyes widened. The old hag! If she had followed—

  He lifted the gem to his eye and saw nothing in the murky innards of the star sapphire. Was the passage gone? Was the magic gone? He lowered the gem from his eye and was about to put it away when he paused. He lifted it slowly up to his other eye and looked through it. There was still no magical portal, but the magic around him pulsed and shimmered like it had when the Eyes had been grafted to him. There was even a tightly bound mass of energy not far from his feet, and he fixed his gaze on the spot as he lowered the gem. It was a palm-sized rock, and he hobbled up to it. He smiled: the other Eye was nestled in between it and the tunnel wall. He knelt down to pick it up and slumped gingerly to the floor. Then he turned to his mother and said, “Why don’t you go find out where that light is coming from? If I’m right, this tunnel will open up into a cave on a ledge overlooking a cul-de-sac. To the west, you’ll see a waterfall—if it isn’t frozen—and a plateau. The ledge leads to it, and we’ll only be about a mile from where it drops down to meet it. To the east, there will be a long mountain stretching south. It will be further away than it looks; it took us over a day on horseback to make it across the ledge.”

  His mother stared at him and her eyebrows pinched in on the bridge of her nose. “How do you know that?” she asked.

  Giorge shrugged. “Go and find out if I’m right,” he said. “I might not be. But if that—” he pointed at the claw “—is what I think it is, that’s what you’ll find.” He paused and tilted his head toward the claw. “You know, it makes sense. I turned twenty-one last fall, and that was when the curse was supposed to begin. When it didn’t, I thought I had escaped it. Later, when I found the box in the fletching nest, it surprised me and I assumed I had been wrong about my age. Now I don’t think so.”