Hobart scowled. “Its what?”
“Where the original spelling came from?”
Hobart shrugged. “Baldor spelled it for me when I started my Banner.”
“Before that?” the scribe persisted. “What language—”
“The lift is waiting,” the guardsman interrupted. “We should be going.”
The scribe looked pained, sighed, and waved them on.
Hobart took a few steps, then stopped and turned back. “Mark this down in your book, scribe. This will be the final mission of The Banner of the Wounded Hand. Once it is finished, we will be officially disbanded.” He hesitated only long enough to see the young scribe pick up his quill and dip it into the ink.
The guardsman ushered Hobart, Ortis, and their horses toward the lift, but Hobart stopped when the scribe asked Dagremon what her business was in Hellsbreath. “She is with us, Scribe,” Hobart said. “I will vouch for her.”
The scribe looked as if he wanted to ask her a litany of questions, then thought better of it and waved her through. The other passengers—there were only two—were already on the lift as they boarded it.
“My apologies, Hobart,” the guardsman said in a hushed tone. “Filbert thought it would be good for Jebble to run the lift on his own for a few days. He’s still learning.”
Hobart clapped him on his shoulder and laughed. “It’s all right, Tabor,” he said. “I was caught off guard by the summons to service. I trust you will convey my apologies for being brusque?”
“No need, Hobart,” the guardsman said with a wink. “He deserved it.” He turned to latch the door and added, “We’ll be rising momentarily.” Then he left them alone in the expansive interior of the lift.
Hobart turned to Ortis. “I am sorry, my friend. I will not hold you here. Whatever burden King Tyr has in mind for the Banner, it is of no concern of yours. You are free to go where you will.”
“I will go with you,” Ortis said, “if you wish it.”
Hobart shook his head. “No,” he said. “You need to go find your people.”
“It can wait,” Ortis said, “if you need my help.”
Hobart clenched his jaws and said nothing for a few seconds. “There is one thing you can do for me, Ortis. While I report to Commander Garret, find Angus and tell him we’re here. He should be at the Wizards’ School. We can all meet at Hedreth’s in the morning to discuss whatever the future holds for us.”
Ortis nodded. “The king doesn’t press Banners into service lightly, Hobart,” he told him. “I’m sure you will need as much help on this mission as you can find.”
Hobart frowned and said nothing. He was too angry about being called into service on the very day that he had planned to disband the Banner. Of all the rotten luck! He hadn’t heard of a Banner being called into service in the whole time that he had had one, and now the king had called his Banner into service. His. Ortis was right: it had to be something very important, and that meant it would be something very dangerous. But there was no sense in speculating about what it was; he would find out soon enough. If Commander Garret wasn’t too upset about being woken up.
12
Giorge’s horse was exhausted by the time he finally stopped at the little pond where the dwarves grew some of the mushrooms that caused The Tween Effect. It was dark, and he barely took the time to brush the horse down with handfuls of pine needles. He was close to the patrol—they were no more than a few hours ahead of him—but his horse couldn’t take much more stress. Neither could he. Besides, the pond was a good place to rest, wasn’t it? After drinking deeply, he led the horse across the bridge and past the little mud domes where the dwarves had hidden their cache of axes. He barely glanced at their dark silhouettes as he passed; he was too tired to worry about them. When he reached the trees on the other side of them, he draped the horse’s reins over a branch and went to sit against the bole of the tree. He was exhausted. A few hours sleep wouldn’t put him much further behind Lieutenant Jarhad’s patrol than he already was. He closed his eyes….
Muffled thumping. Soft whinny. More thumping. Louder whinny. Giorge reluctantly stirred, wondering what was making the racket. Then he heard a thump followed by what sounded like leaves of a book popping free from their bindings. Voices. Another nervous whinny. The words were distant, but he recognized a few of them.
Dwarves! he thought as he crawled quietly out from under the pine tree’s halo of branches. The horse nickered softly and moved toward him, tugging the loose rein free from the branch. It was still dark, but when he turned to the west, his eyes widened. The mountain shielding the Angst temple’s valley was on fire, and the flames were already reaching out for the plateau—
More thumping as the dwarves broke through the mud domes. More voices emerged from them.
Giorge lifted the reins of his horse and led him to the deer trail they had followed on their first time through. He kept walking until he found the road again, and then mounted the horse and rode at an easy walk. He wasn’t too worried about the dwarves behind him—they were preoccupied, weren’t they? Besides, the horse could outrun them if it became necessary. No, he rode slowly because it was still too dark to ride more quickly, and because he and the horse were still exhausted. He had only gone a short distance when he slumped forward in the saddle. How long he rode in a stupor, he didn’t know, but when he finally roused himself, the false dawn was around them. The horse, thankfully, had kept to the road. Then he realized what had woken him: the horse had quickened to a fast walk, and he had almost fallen out of the saddle. Then he heard the soft whinny of another horse and realized he was riding into the patrol’s camp.
He rode quietly up to the sentry and stopped. What was his name? Timody? Thaddius? He nodded to him. “How long before you break camp?” he asked, his voice sluggish.
The sentry looked up at the sky and shrugged. “Daybreak.”
Giorge looked up at the gray sky and shook his head. There was enough light to see by, and they needed to get off the plateau quickly. “Rouse the camp,” he said. “We need to ride.”
“Why?” the sentry asked. “We’re far enough away from that mountain, aren’t we?”
Giorge shook his head. “Not according to the dwarves.”
“Dwarves?” the sentry repeated.
Giorge nodded. “They’re heading north.”
The sentry shrugged. “Let them,” he said.
Giorge sighed. “Volcanoes start underground,” he said as he rode past.
The sentry frowned and shrugged. “Tell the Lieutenant, then. He’s in his tent.”
Giorge shook his head to help clear it as he rode up to the Lieutenant’s tent. He dismounted and walked up to the tent flap. He peeled it open and shouted into the darkness within, “Lieutenant!”
There was a rustle of cloth and the sound of steel sliding against steel. A few seconds passed, and then Lieutenant Jarhad snapped, “What is it?”
Giorge stayed at the tent flap and said, “Get up, Lieutenant! We have to get off this plateau before the dwarves catch us.”
“Dwarves?” Lieutenant Jarhad snorted. “What does it matter if they catch us?” He paused and then asked, “Giorge?”
“Yes,” Giorge said. “Are you going to break camp? Or are you going to let yourself get swallowed up by lava?”
Lieutenant Jarhad stood up in the shadows and moved toward him. “That volcano is miles away from here. We have more than enough time to get back.”
Giorge sighed. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Do you remember those little mud domes I told you about when we passed by them?”
“Of course,” he snapped. “We left them be, just like you told us to do.”
“Well, there are dwarves spewing out from them. Hundreds of dwarves,” he added, wondering if it were true. A few dozen might not be enough to convince Lieutenant Jarhad to leave, but hundreds might. “What do you think they are fleeing from?” he asked.
“Fleeing?” Lieutenant Jarhad repeated. “Why would they be flee
ing from anything?”
Giorge rolled his eyes. “Lieutenant,” he said in his calmest voice. “Volcanoes start under the mountains.”
Lieutenant Jarhad stepped forward, and Giorge backed away from the tent flap. When he stepped outside, the Lieutenant looked around and asked, “Where’s Embril?”
“She’s following Darby north through the mountains,” he lied. “I came ahead to warn you that we need to get off the plateau before it boils over.”
Lieutenant Jarhad squinted at him, and then nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “We’ll go. But you’re going to ride with me and tell me what happened.”
Giorge shook his head. “Not today,” he said, trying to put off the inevitable. “I’ve been riding hard for days, and my horse needs a breather. So do I. I’ll ride with one of your men so I can get some sleep. We can talk when we stop for the night.”
Lieutenant Jarhad frowned and demanded, “How is Embril following him without a horse?”
Giorge laughed. “She is a horse,” he told him. He had heard the stories of her transformation, and he had hoped it would be a convincing ruse. “You should see how red her tail is!”
The Lieutenant softened a bit and nodded. “I have,” he admitted. “Very well, we’ll talk this evening.” Then he effectively dismissed him from his thoughts and shouted at the sentry. “Teddy! Rouse the camp! We leave in thirty minutes.”
Teddy nodded and started running toward the main tent.
Giorge said, “Here,” and gave Lieutenant Jarhad the reins of his horse. “Wake me when we’re ready to leave.” He stepped into Lieutenant Jarhad’s tent and flopped down on his cot. In moments, he was fast asleep.
13
Embril was falling further and further behind Giorge. The only way she could catch up to him was by casting the Swiftness spell, but the magic around her was too confused for her to risk it—yet. She rode so long and so fast that she felt miserable for her horse, and still she couldn’t outrun the expansion of the nexus’s influence. The first two nights, she cried herself to sleep as the frustration of failing Angus intermingled with her grief for him. She had tried to convince herself that Giorge had lied about him falling to his death, that Giorge was just a scoundrel, but she couldn’t. He had been under Darby’s influence, just as she had been when the Truthseer had interrogated her about The Tiger’s Eye. He couldn’t have lied.
She tensed with anger when she thought of him. He had been so genuine when she had met him and while she talked to him as they had sped across the plateau. There had been no hint that he wanted The Tiger’s Eye for himself, and yet…
She replayed again and again every conversation she had had with him, and each time she returned to the same thing: Symptata’s curse. He had told her quite a bit about it, but almost none of it was helpful. Riddles in poetic form. Family history. How he had died and returned to life. There had to be something in it that she was overlooking, something that would explain why he had taken it, knowing full well what would happen.
On the fourth day, the acrid taste of smoke surrounded her. It came from the mountains surrounding the Angst temple. The caldera was leaking and they were on fire. Then on the fifth day, she saw the dwarves.
It was early morning, and she had just started out. She and her horse were both rested, and she was eager to get past the crossroads. Darby’s provisions were nearly gone, and she was watching for clusters of edible plants that might be worth gathering. She had come around a large evergreen and hadn’t seen them at first. When she did, she reined in her horse and her eyes widened. It looked like the dwarves were running a caravan north across the plateau. Most of them were walking beside the road with heavy packs on their backs, but the few heavy-laden carts they had were on the road. There were hundreds of them.
And she needed to get past them.
She slowed her horse and eased up closer to them. “Greetings!” she called out in dwarf. “I am Embril, a friend.”
Most of the dwarves ignored her. A few of those nearest her looked her way. Only one stopped. “Friend,” he growled, looking at where she had come from. “Foe more like!” Then he spat on the ground and turned away from her.
One of the dwarves near him broke away from the others and set down her pack. “Pay him no mind,” she said. “I am Griselda, friend.” Her beard was singed, and there was ash smeared across her brow. Her heavy smock was covered in soot, and she had dark, sad eyes.
“What happened?” Embril asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Griselda—she seemed young for a dwarf, but it was hard to tell—sighed and rubbed her sleeve over her forehead, smearing soot over the ash. “The mountain bleeds fire,” she said. “We run from it.”
A part of Embril was perversely amused by her choice of words. The plodding dwarves passing before her were about as far from running as a person could get.
Another dwarf broke off from the rest and came over to them. “Griselda,” he said. “We can’t tarry.” Then he looked up at Embril on her horse and said. “You should come with us, friend. These lands will burn like those mountains soon. You won’t be able to escape it on that beast.”
“I must,” Embril protested. “There is one I seek who rides before me.” Her lips pressed together as she thought of Giorge.
The older dwarf shook his head and said, “You cannot. The blood of the mountain will spew forth soon.” He looked to the south and shook his head. “Too soon, I fear. Many of us may not make it.” Then he turned back to her. “You surely won’t.”
“The mountain to the north,” Griselda said, “is not bleeding. We go there.” She reached down to pick up her pack. It jingled as it settled on her back. She turned back to the steadily moving stream of dwarves.
“You are welcome to come with us,” the older dwarf said. “There are roads that will take you to your kind. We will see you safely past the wounded mountains.”
Embril frowned. She desperately needed to catch up to Giorge. But if what the dwarves said was true—and she had little doubt that it was—she would fail. He would be across the plateau soon, perhaps before the lava burst forth, but she would never make it. Even with the Swiftness spell, it was doubtful that she could make it the rest of the way in less than three days. She turned back to the waiting dwarf and asked, “How long before the blood boils over?”
He frowned and said, “Not long. Can you not feel it bubbling beneath us?”
Embril shook her head. “No,” she admitted. But if he could feel it, then there wasn’t time for her to make it across the plateau. Besides, her provisions were running out, and they would treat her as an honored guest. Not that she deserved it. Their plight was her fault….
The dwarf was waiting for her answer. “I accept your offer, friend dwarf,” she said as she dismounted and led the horse up to him. “Perhaps I can unburden you and Griselda in return for the kindness you have shown? My steed can easily carry both of your packs.”
In response the dwarf turned away and started walking. She fell in beside him, wondering how long it would be before she would feel the rumblings of the mountains in the soles of her feet. As she walked, she watched for edible plants, hurrying over to them whenever she spied a few close together. She let the horse graze beside her when she could, and wondered if they would have anything that she could feed it when they went underground. If not…
14
“This way,” Hobart’s escort said as he ushered him through the crowded, bustling halls. “He is expecting you.”
Hobart frowned. There was too much activity for this time of night. Most of the men scurrying about should have been asleep or gambling or drinking. Instead, they acted like they were preparing for a morning battle. And the Commander was expecting him? What had happened in the weeks he had been gone?
The guardsman stood to the side of an open door and indicated that he should step through. Commander Garret glanced up and said, “Ah, Commander Hobart. Won’t you join us?” he asked, gesturing him toward the four men gat
hered around a map. “We can use your input.”
Commander Hobart? Hobart thought as he moved forward. It’s official, then. I’m back in the army. “If I have anything to offer,” he said, “it is yours.”
“Good,” Commander Garret said, pointing at the map set out before him. Hobart glanced down and frowned. It was a detailed map of Hellsbreath and the surrounding countryside. The Tween had new notations on it, but he didn’t recognize their significance. “You are familiar with the terrain around Hellsbreath, are you not?”
“Certainly,” Hobart said. “I have traveled through here several times and have spent time in The Tween.”
“If you were to leave Hellsbreath in a hurry, what route would you take?” Commander Garret asked.
“That would depend on why I was leaving,” Hobart replied.
Commander Garret nodded. “Assume one of them erupts and the dome over Hellsbreath fails,” he said. “What would you do?”
“Rebuild the dome,” Hobart said at once. “If that isn’t possible, I would head east through the mountains and hills until I reached the plains. It is rough terrain, but once you get by the river, there aren’t many obstacles in the way.” He paused and traced a rout between two of the mountains and around third. “It’s a long ride, but the mountains will offer some protection.”
“If you weren’t alone?” Commander Garret asked. “Say you were guiding a party of townsfolk away from the danger.”
“The same route,” Hobart said. “Or the road to Wyrmwood and east from there. I wouldn’t go south or west because we would get too close to the volcanoes. The ones to the west are temperamental, and their smoke and ash tends to float east over the South Road when they erupt. Of course, there hasn’t been a major eruption there in centuries.”
“See?” Lieutenant Lollard agreed. He was a bit of a lopsided man when he stood, but put him on a horse and there was none better. Having a leg three inches shorter than the other made little difference to the saddle. They had practiced mounted combat a few times over the winter, and Hobart had even learned a thing or two from him. “Even if the fishmen are down there, we shouldn’t go after them until we know what is happening.”
Angst (Book 4) Page 18
