King Tyr nodded and strode up to his desk. He picked up one of the neatly stacked, empty black coin purses and then turned to the row of gold coins. There were ten stacks of ten coins evenly spaced on a narrow, folded, black silk cloth. He took one gold coin from the top of each stack without disturbing the coins beneath them and put that coin in the coin purse. When he finished, he picked up the quill and made the appropriate notation in his ledger. Then he made his way quickly through the corridors to the meeting chamber he used for Rascal and the other rapscallions in his employ. As he approached the screen, he wrinkled up his nose and asked, “What is it Rascal?”
“Well now, Sire,” Rascal began. “I bring news.”
King Tyr glowered at the screen and held his sleeve to his nose. When Rascal didn’t continue, he added in his iciest tone, “I suggest you tell it quickly, Rascal, without your usual deviations. I have other matters to attend to this afternoon.”
“Oh, aye, Milord,” Rascal said. There was a shuffling sound, and then Rascal continued. “It’s about him, Sire. He hasn’t been seen since the hole appeared.”
I know that! King Tyr wanted to snap. Grayle won’t let him out of his cage! Instead, he replied in a calm, muffled tone, “I am aware of that. If that is all you wish to report, you can leave now.”
“Oh, no, Sire,” Rascal protested. “It’s the stories. Some say the thing that made the hole took him and he won’t be coming back. Others say he made the hole and jumped in it. Now, that story can’t be true. I’ve seen that hole, and it doesn’t go anywhere, so how could he have gone somewhere that way? Some say he snuck out, but he’s too big to fit in the tunnels. There are other stories too, but they all say he’s gone for good. Even the higher-ups are starting to say it.”
King Tyr frowned. It wouldn’t be long before those higher-ups stopped talking and started acting. “He will return,” he told Rascal. “Assure them of that.”
“Oh, I’ve been telling them all right,” Rascal replied. “But they don’t believe it. There’s too many who have been down there, Sire. They’ve looked everywhere for him but his private rooms—and it won’t be long before they look in them, too. He’s just not down there, Sire.”
King Tyr frowned. No one was permitted into Argyle’s private rooms. Ever. That was where the change took place, and no one could know that truth. If it weren’t for Typhus…
He shook his head. The assassin didn’t matter anymore. He was gone, and he wouldn’t be coming back again. But if someone else found a way into those rooms…
“They’re worried, Sire,” Rascal almost moaned. “Too many higher-ups are gone, Sire. The ones who replaced them aren’t natural leaders. They don’t know what to do without him, and he’s been silent too long. They need someone to tell them what to do.”
King Tyr shook his head. “He’s been gone barely a week, Rascal.”
“Oh, aye, Sire,” Rascal said. “We all know that he likes to take long naps. That’s not what worries them. It’s the way he left that has them spooked. He was there, and then he wasn’t. And the bodies, Sire. They can’t ignore them, either. Especially poor ol’ Pug. Such a nice little puppy, too.”
King Tyr stared at the screen and shook his head again. “Rascal,” he said. “I am already aware of the situation. It will be resolved soon enough when he returns.”
Rascal was silent for a few seconds, and then said, “If he returns, Sire, he may not find many left to serve him.”
“What?!” King Tyr snapped, then continued in a harsh whisper. “Explain yourself, Rascal.”
“It’s his men, Sire,” Rascal said. “A lot of them are glad he’s gone and don’t want to go back. Too many have died of late, and the longer Argyle is gone, the more appealing it becomes.”
“The more appealing what becomes?” King Tyr demanded.
“Why, going it alone, Sire,” he replied. “They’re tired of paying tribute to him, and with him gone, they see it as an opportunity to become free agents. You know what it’s like with their kind, Sire.”
Their kind? King Tyr almost said. Don’t you mean your kind? Instead he turned from the screen and started pacing. “How long,” he called over his shoulder.
“How long, Sire?” Rascal asked.
“How long before they defect?” King Tyr growled.
“Oh, that,” Rascal muttered. “Well, Sire, a few have already risked it, and if they don’t suffer from it, a lot more will follow.” He paused, then added, “Soon.”
Soon, King Tyr thought. If only I had more time to convince Grayle. She’ll go back eventually, but for now? He shook his head. He had to do something—but what? He paced for several seconds and then came to a stop. He turned to the screen, moved very close to it, and whispered, “Who are they?”
“Sire?” Rascal prompted. “I can barely hear you.”
“Shhh,” King Tyr hissed. “You said some of his men have already defected. Do you know who they are?”
Rascal hesitated almost a second before he moved closer to the screen and half-whispered, “Aye, Sire. A few of them.”
“Are you certain of them?”
“Aye, Sire,” Rascal whispered. “I know them well.”
“All right,” King Tyr said. “What are their names? What do they look like?”
Rascal hesitated, and then sputtered, “Now, Sire. You know I can’t tell you that. They’re friends of mine. If word got out—”
“Rascal,” King Tyr interrupted. “If you do not give me that information, I will have you scrubbed clean and then spread word that you are my informant.”
“Now, Sire,” Rascal protested. “There’s no need to make threats.”
“Rascal,” King Tyr hissed. “I have other tasks to attend to.”
“All right, Sire,” Rascal sighed. “There’s Little Billie. She’s a deft one, and she wheedled some gems from a moneylender on Bank Street. Not a lot of them, of course—she didn’t think he’d notice, and he hasn’t yet—but I saw them myself. Pretty little rocks, they were. She’s young and cleans up nicely when she chooses to bathe. Mostly, she’s a scruffy, dirty blonde with wild blue eyes and a dainty shape. You can’t blame her for it, Sire. Without him tossing a few coins her way—well, she has to eat, doesn’t she?”
“The second?” King Tyr prompted.
“Ferdinand,” Rascal began. “He’s—”
“The assassin?” King Tyr interrupted. “The one with the sharp eyes and beaklike chin?”
“Aye, Sire,” Rascal sadly agreed. “One of the lords sought him out, and when he brought the contract to him—well, with him gone, how could he get it approved? He decided to do it on his own.”
“All right, Rascal,” King Tyr said in his normal tone as he backed quickly away from the screen. He tried to back away from the odor, but it seemed to follow him, to permeate through his clothing. “Is there anything else?”
There was a long pause, and then Rascal said. “No, Sire.”
King Tyr nodded and reached down for the coin purse. The information was worth much more than what he had prepared, but there wasn’t time to gather more coins. “Here,” he said, tossing the coin purse over the screen. There was a shuffling and muffled clink as Rascal caught it. “Bring me an update on the situation in three days,” King Tyr added. “There will be more for you then.”
“Aye, Sire,” Rascal said.
King Tyr was already hurrying across the room. He was late for an appointment, and that almost never happened. There would be questions, but they would not be asked. Even if they were asked, he would wave them off without answering them. Something has to be done about Argyle, he thought. And soon.
2
As Master Yrdic guided him to Grand Master Fredrick, Angus kept his eyes focused on the disruption in the magic. He shouldn’t even be able to see it at this distance, but there it was: a whirling, growing mass of flame magic gobbling up the horizon. It reminded him of a stew boiling over the brim of a pot, and he could almost hear the sizzling as it struck the snow ling
ering in the shadows of the mountains surrounding the Angst temple. He frowned and glanced up at the magnificent glare of the dome and wondered, How long before it reaches us?
Angus stumbled, and if it weren’t for Master Yrdic’s grip on his elbow he might have stepped off the ledge encircling the spire of Hellsbreath’s Wizards’ School. But Yrdic stopped him, and Angus lowered his gaze to meet the intense, guarded inspection of Grand Master Fredrick. He was a striking contrast to Voltari. Where Voltari was old and gnarled, Fredrick was young and spry. At least he looked young—there was no telling how old he really was—and his youth only punctuated the skills he possessed. He was slight of build, and if it weren’t for the billowing robes of a Master Wizard, he might have been mistaken for a young man newly arrived at the school. But there was no mistaking the maturity in those piercing brown eyes, so dilated that they looked like black coals encased in shimmering white auras. Those eyes bore into him as deeply as Voltari’s gray one’s ever had; in that, at least, they were alike.
“Master Yrdic tells me you believe you know what is happening,” the Grand Master said, his voice as soft as the rustling of a passing snake.
The nexus points, Voltari had said, capture the magic, fracture it, and send it along in diluted form. Without them, the magic would flow freely, going where it will when it will. Before the nexus points, magic was chaotic and uncertain—and far more powerful; after it was tamed, it became orderly, controlled, and weakened. The magic yearns to return to its natural, untempered state. If given the chance, it will break free of its confinement and roam the world as it did before The Taming. Voltari’s eyes had glistened as he had said this, and he stared into the distance as he finished. That was a time of great power.
“Yes,” Angus said. “I believe I do.” Should he have said anything at all? The fewer wizards who knew about The Tiger’s Eye—
No, Angus thought. It is too late. He must be told. The magic—
“Well?” the Grand Master asked, somehow making his tone sound like a cat batting around a mouse before eating it. Or was Angus imagining that because of the guilt he felt for having kept silent about the nexus, for having sent Embril to do what he should have done himself?
Angus frowned. How much should he say? What if the Grand Master tried to get The Tiger’s Eye for himself? He couldn’t allow that, could he? It was his responsibility, and he had already made the mistake of handing it over to Embril. Could he risk compounding the mistake by telling the Grand Master about it? He turned his attention to the roiling mass of magic again. It seemed to have grown slightly in the brief time he had turned his attention away from it, and if it kept expanding… He sighed. There was no point in keeping silent now; the damage had already been done. “Tell me, Grand Master,” he began, keeping his voice soft and lowering his gaze to meet the Grand Master’s coal-black stare, “what do you know of The Taming?”
The Grand Master’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Enough.”
The nearby wizards grew silent and watched them, but Angus didn’t turn away from the Grand Master. “And the nexus points?”
The Grand Master’s lips tightened in a way that betrayed a much older man than his appearance would suggest. He nodded slightly but said nothing.
“What do you suppose would happen,” Angus continued, “if one of them—” he paused meaningfully and looked back at the mountains “—was disturbed.”
The Grand Master’s frown deepened and then he stepped forward, reached out to take Angus by the arm. “Why don’t we talk inside? I was about to eat lunch when the alarm sounded. Would you care to join me?”
Angus hesitated only a moment before nodding and adopting a false air of unconcern. “Of course, Grand Master,” he said in his most affable tone. “It would be an honor.” Although he hadn’t finished eating, either, he wasn’t particularly hungry anymore. But what he had to say would be best said in private, and the Grand Master always ate in his private chambers. He rarely invited guests to join him.
Master Yrdic and a number of others fell in behind them, but when they reached the door to the stairwell, the Grand Master turned and said, “Master Yrdic, I want you to organize a schedule for maintenance and repair of the dome. Increase the number of observers—four for each node, I should think—and reduce the duration of observation to maintain optimal vigilance. Perhaps a third of normal with a brief period of overlap during the rotation? At least one Master must be present with the observers at all times until further notice. Suspend normal activities as needed to tend to this task. Once you have organized the schedule, join us in my chambers.”
“Of course, Grand Master,” Master Yrdic said, turning away to begin issuing orders.
As soon as they were inside the spire, the Grand Master turned to Angus and asked, “You believe a nexus has been disturbed?”
Angus slowly shook his head. “No,” he said, “I think the gem that serves as the focal point has been removed.”
The Grand Master frowned, turned, and quickly wove an air-based spell. As he did so, he said, “We must make haste, then. If a nexus point has been broken, it will have far-reaching consequences for the rest of the network.” He reached out with his hand, paused, and asked, “May I?”
“Of course, Grand Master,” Angus said, lifting his arm.
The door behind them opened, and Master Renard stepped inside the spire. “Grand Master?” he began.
The Grand Master barely glanced at him, as his vice-like grip clutched Angus’s elbow.
“I must speak with you,” Master Renard said, stepping forward. “Please—”
The Grand Master stepped off the spiral stair and into the emptiness it encircled. A moment later, Angus did the same thing and they dropped rapidly toward the floor.
“I know what has happened!” Master Renard shouted, running down the spiraling stairs after them. “You have to listen to me!”
Angus and the Grand Master fell down the center of the stairwell at a pace that was just shy of reckless until they neared the bottom. Then the Grand Master squeezed the strands of air magic together to slow them down, and they landed as lightly as a kitten.
“You have much to tell me,” the Grand Master said as he stepped rapidly through the doorway and into the hall beyond.
Too much, Angus thought. And much too late to do any good. He glanced up the stairwell before he fell into step behind him. “Perhaps we should wait for Master Renard,” he suggested. “He—”
“There is no time,” Grand Master Fredrick said. “I must see the nexus below us.”
But he was the one who bought the Angst tomes from me, Angus thought as they hurried down the corridor. If he has translated them…
3
A fierce wall of flame magic raged at the periphery of Embril’s vision. Even without bringing it into focus, it was as bright as any strand she had ever seen. Along with that brightness were waves of heat, but she fought through them and forced herself to continue down the tunnel. She was close to the nexus, now; all she needed to do was make it around the next corner and down the corridor. Her eyes watered from the smoke, and it felt as if she were standing too close to a fire. The corner was a few feet away, and a faint, sepulchral orange glow was emanating from it. She reached out with her hand, testing the air in front of her. There was a pulsing, steadily growing current of heat, and she jerked her hand back. Even through the sleeve of her robe, each breath was like sucking air from a chimney flue that smelled of burnt offerings. How much further could she go before the heat became unbearable? Would her skin begin to blister with her next step? The one after? She sighed and tentatively reached out for the magic—and immediately thrust it away again. She blinked and turned her back to the corridor, half blind from the brief glimpse she had taken of the nexus’s power. It had been like staring at the sun….
There was no point going any further. The Tiger’s Eye had been taken by Giorge. It was her fault. If she hadn’t negated Darby’s Obscuration spell…. If she hadn’t asked Giorge about T
he Tiger’s Eye…. If she hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that Darby had intended to take it…. If, if, if….
Embril shook her head and retreated back down the corridor. It was time to look forward, not backward, and there was only one thing that mattered: The nexus had to be restored, and that could only be done by putting The Tiger’s Eye back in its proper place. She had to take The Tiger’s Eye from Giorge. She started running. It would have been faster to fly, but she had dropped the strand and there was no way she could find it again in that mass of flame magic. The unrestrained nexus was swallowing the other magic, consuming it in its flame. She ran faster, her breath coming in warm little bursts. Perhaps when she got further from the nexus….
The heat followed her as she ran, the warm air rushing by her as it sought egress. If she got lost….
She dismissed her doubts and focused on reversing the order of turns she had taken. If she got lost, she would have to find another way out. It wasn’t a large complex, but she would need to remember the corridors and turns that she had taken to reconstruct the map in her head. She hurried without being rushed. This was a time for clarity, and panic undermined that clarity. At each intersection, she hesitated only long enough to confirm again the route to take and then hurried forward. By the time she finally staggered into the stairwell, the corridors were filling with smoke. She collapsed and gasped in the cool, clear air—while she could. The nexus was expanding rapidly, and it would soon reach the stairwell.
She crawled to the lowest steps and forced herself to look up the stairwell. She couldn’t see Giorge, but the distant, flickering glow and soft echoes of his rapid footfalls slapping against the stone stair told her what she needed to know. If she could catch up to him…
She tentatively reached out for the magic. It was a bizarre experience. She was used to the steady, quivering rainbow of the strands of magic, but this was something completely alien to her. The separateness of the strands was gone; and if there were any strands of air or earth or water magic, they had been consumed by the flames. Flames. The flame magic looked like a wall of fire, not strands of energy, and that wall fluctuated like linen drying in a brisk wind. Streamers of the magic separated and danced like a flickering, fragmented fire, and when she reached for the nearest one, it was hot, much hotter than the strands of flame she was used to handling. It throbbed with power and threatened to burn her hand. It pulled against her will like a snake trying to escape from her grasp. She released it and let the magic slip back into the periphery.
Angst (Book 4) Page 14
