Angst (Book 4)

by Robert P. Hansen

  “Rascal?” King Tyr replied.

  The screen stopped moving and Rascal said, his voice firm, “Yes, Sire.”

  King Tyr scowled at the screen and imagined the foul-smelling, hideous figure standing behind it. He would have to have the cleaning wenches scour the floor and walls in that part of the chamber, and then do the same in the corridor beyond.

  “There was no one at the door,” Rascal added. “I have news.”

  King Tyr tried to ignore the intrusion into his private chambers as best he could as he said, “Well?” he snapped. “What news is that?”

  “Milord,” Rascal said in a suddenly shaky voice, “Argyle has returned.”

  King Tyr stared at the screen and a sickening feeling nearly overwhelmed him as he remembered how close Argyle—Symptata—had come to killing him. He shouldn’t have been able to do it, though. Argyle should have returned to the Gem of Transformation when it was returned to the box. But he hadn’t gone back, and now—

  “Tell me what you know,” King Tyr demanded. “Others are coming.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Rascal answered. “He came out of his private rooms and—” there was a rustling behind the screen, and then Rascal blurted out, “He’s a ghost, Sire!”

  King Tyr blinked and stared for a long moment before he repeated, “A ghost?”

  “Yes, Sire,” Rascal said. “A green one, from what I hear.”

  There was a green aura around Argyle, King Tyr thought. It should have been yellow. Symptata…. “What else?” he demanded.

  “Sire?”

  “Is that all you have to report?” King Tyr asked.

  “Well, Sire,” Rascal hesitated. “You wanted to know what was happening down there, and that’s all I know. Barely more than an hour ago, he burst out of his private rooms glowing green like a ghost and cackling away like a witch. Mind you, I wasn’t down there, but that’s what those who were down there had to say when they ran out of his tunnels. They aren’t the kind to make things like that up, either, Sire. Well, Dibble is that kind, but you can tell when he’s fibbing by the way he tilts his head to the left side and tries to look like he’s thinking about something else. It wasn’t tilting this time, and his eyes were as big as eggs. He saw something, and it made him run. The others did, too, and it didn’t even take a pint to get it from them.”

  “They ran from Argyle?” King Tyr prompted.

  “Oh, no, Sire,” Rascal corrected. “They ran from his ghost.” He paused and then added in a very somber tone, “Argyle’s dead, Sire. That’s what they’re saying now. He’s dead and his ghost has come back to haunt his lair. Nobody wants to go back down there. Of course, it only just happened a little while ago, so they might change their minds. That and others might not believe them and go down there to see for themselves. It was a funny thing, really, seeing them bursting out into that alley without a care in the world at all about who saw them doing it.”

  “I see,” King Tyr said, remembering his own reaction to Argyle’s apparition—but that was because Argyle should have returned to the Gem, not because he was a ghost. “Rascal—”

  There was a firm knock at the main entrance of his private room, and a moment later the door opened and Captain Blanchard stepped in. “Sire,” he said as his head swiveled until it settled on King Tyr. “I have—”

  “A moment, Captain,” King Tyr said.

  Captain Blanchard stared for a long moment, nodded crisply, and backed out of the room. Once he was gone, King Tyr turned back to Rascal and said, “I want you to go down there yourself. If Argyle is there, tell him you are the king’s messenger and that I wish to confer with him. Return here with his reply.”

  “Now, Sire,” Rascal protested. “A ghost—”

  “He is no ghost,” King Tyr scolded. “Of that, I am certain.”

  “But, Sire—”

  “Rascal,” King Tyr soothed. “You have nothing to fear from Argyle.” That much was true, but what did he have to fear from Symptata? “I will reward you handsomely upon your return,” he added. “Now, go. I have kept the Captain waiting too long already.”

  There was a long pause before Rascal said, “Yes, Sire.” His gnarled, dirt-encrusted fingertips appeared at the edge of the screen and it began scooting backward over the floor. King Tyr waited until it had disappeared into the corridor beyond and the door was shut before he went over to the main entrance and opened that door.

  “Captain Blanchard,” he said in an icy tone. “In the future you will wait until I have given leave for you to enter before doing so.”

  “My apologies, Sire,” Captain Blanchard said. He was standing straight and his eyes were fixed on a point over the king’s left shoulder.

  King Tyr stepped aside and let him into the room. “I trust you have carried out my instructions?”

  “Sire,” Captain Blanchard began as he stepped inside and removed his cap. “I have sent word to the Grand Master, but the messenger has not returned with his reply. The healer Iscara should be arriving soon.”

  “And the redeployment of the men?” King Tyr asked.

  “Yes, Sire,” Captain Blanchard replied. “I have placed the city guard on alert and have increased the patrols. My men are securing the castle and are preparing for any potential incursions that may occur. I have men inquiring—delicately, of course—into the whereabouts of this Rascal you seek.”

  “There is no need for you to summon him,” King Tyr said. “I was speaking to him when you so rudely interrupted us.”

  Captain Blanchard tried to stand even more erect, and his knuckles were white on his sword as he said, “My apologies, Sire. I had thought your orders were urgent.”

  “So they are, Captain,” King Tyr said. “Now, there is something I wish to—”

  His door burst open and Grayle barged into the room. “What have you done to him?!” She screeched, holding up the Gem of Transformation as she stomped toward him.

  Captain Blanchard whirled and had his sword in hand, but she ignored it—and him—as she stalked up to King Tyr.

  “Put that away,” King Tyr muttered as he turned to Grayle. “You should have been here some time ago,” he accused her. Why did she have the Golden Key in her hand? And the box? He had left them—

  “Where is he?!” she bellowed as if her tiny, high-pitched voice had come from Argyle’s booming lungs.

  “Now, Grayle,” he began, trying to calm her down. “You should not have gone down there.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “What did you do to Argyle?” She held out the gem and said. “He’s not here!”

  “Argyle?” Captain Blanchard said, turning to face the king. “He—

  A breathless Iscara hurried into the room. She had her eyes lowered as she said, “Sire, I was sent—”

  “Silence!” King Tyr shouted.

  Grayle glared at him, her lips pressed tightly together and her grimy arms folded across her grotesque gown.

  Captain Blanchard snapped around and slapped his sword to his shoulder as if he expected to be sent into battle.

  Iscara stumbled forward and bumped into Captain Blanchard before she was able to stop.

  “Now,” King Tyr said, lifting his injured right hand up. “Let’s have some order, shall we?” He turned to Iscara and said, “Iscara, join me at my table in the study. I would like to be seated while you tend to my hand. You two can join us there.” As he walked through the door and over to the table—which had his predecessor’s journals neatly stacked on it in chronological order, except for King Cyr’s, which was spread out to the passage on Symptata—he thought about the implications of what Rascal—and now Grayle—had said. Argyle should have returned to the Gem of Transformation but he hadn’t. Why not? Because Symptata had somehow released him—or was controlling him with the master gem. The latter was more likely, since Argyle had a green aura and that was what King Tyr had seen when he had released Argyle. It should have been a yellow aura. But that didn’t matter at the moment; he needed to figure out what h
e should do about it.

  He sat down heavily and set his hand on the table. Iscara turned to it and gently unwound the bandage. King Tyr turned his eyes away and tried to ignore the resurgence of pain as the cloth peeled away from the wounds and reopened them. He winced, and she put her hand on his wrist. It was a surprisingly gentle touch, and within moments, the pain was gone—so were all the other sensations beneath his wrist. He was tempted to look down to make sure his hand was still there, but he shifted his attention to the other two, instead.

  Grayle’s eyes were fierce as she glared accusingly at him, and he did his best to ignore that accusation. Captain Blanchard’s eyes were also accusing, but behind them was not anger but a shrewd calculation. “All right,” he began. “Captain Blanchard, what you are about to learn must be held in the strictest of confidence. No one must be told of it. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sire,” Captain Blanchard said, fixing his eyes above the king’s shoulder again.

  “Good,” he added. “I trust by your reaction that you are familiar with who Argyle is?”

  “Yes, Sire,” Captain Blanchard replied. “He is rumored to be the head of an organization of thugs, but we have never been able to confirm it.”

  “Consider it confirmed, Captain,” King Tyr said. “But Argyle is not the one who is in charge of this organization, I am.”

  Captain Blanchard blinked several times and said nothing.

  King Tyr smiled and glanced at Grayle. “Rather, Grayle has been in charge of it these past few years, with some guidance from me.”

  Captain Blanchard’s eyebrows rippled and his lips tightened, but he kept his gaze fixed on the same distant point above King Tyr’s shoulder.

  Iscara sucked in a sharp breath and King Tyr almost glanced over at her. His hand was still numb, and it wouldn’t do to have her get distracted away from healing it.

  “The stone Grayle is holding is one of three Gems of Transformation. It holds within it the essence of Argyle, and when it is worn, the wearer hosts that essence. My ancestor found that stone and made use of it to maintain order in our kingdom.”

  He turned to Grayle and said, “I did exactly what you told me to do, Grayle, but something went wrong. I was not alone in hosting Argyle. Someone else was there, and he took control of Argyle away from me.”

  “What?” she demanded. “That’s not possible.”

  “It is,” King Tyr said. “I have been reading King Cyr’s journal—” He glanced at the open book on the table and quickly turned away. Iscara had put his hand on it, palm up…. “King Cyr was the one who found that stone, and what he says about it troubles me greatly. The Gems of Transformation were created before The Taming by a wizard named Symptata. He also created another stone to control them, but that stone was lost. Someone must have found it. When I attempted to host Argyle, Symptata was there. He took control of Argyle, and I was not prepared for it. But Argyle and I were able to return the Gem of Transformation to the box. I completed the procedure for returning Argyle to the Gem, but something went wrong. He and I were separated and I fell to the floor, but Argyle remained.” He shuddered and shook his head. “He was standing over me, bathed in a faint green aura, and Symptata spoke to me through him.”

  He paused and glanced at Captain Blanchard. “Rascal believes Argyle is dead and his ghost has returned to haunt his warren. It has frightened Argyle’s men away, but if they knew the truth, they would run further.”

  When he turned back to Grayle, his voice was soft, as he said, “Symptata has returned, Grayle, and he has used the master gem to free Argyle from his prison. He has set him loose and has control of him. What do you think he will do?”

  Grayle paled and bit her lip like she had done when she was a little girl trying not to cry. “But Argyle!”

  King Tyr turned to Captain Blanchard, as much to avoid the sudden sadness in her eyes as to address his most trusted soldier. “Captain,” he said. “You must prepare for the worst. I don’t think Symptata has an interest in destroying our kingdom, since he could have killed me already, but it would be wise to expect it. Argyle—” he glanced at Grayle as he finished “—has agents everywhere, and he knows far more about the kingdom than he should.”

  “Sire,” Captain Blanchard asked. “What is this Argyle? The rumors I have heard are vague, but none of them suggest he is a man.”

  King Tyr turned his attention to his hand. Most of the wounds were closed, and the pain was gone, but a tickling sensation was beginning in his fingertips. He didn’t want to do what he was about to do, but what choice did he have? Yes, Argyle was confined in the dungeon for now—it had been built specifically to keep him from escaping—but for how long? What if Symptata found a way to set him free? He was a wizard from before The Taming, wasn’t he? There was no telling how powerful he could be or what he could do. He had made the Gems of Transformation, hadn’t he? Escaping from the dungeons would be simple for someone capable of doing that. He sighed and looked fondly at Grayle.

  “I am sorry, Grayle, but I cannot allow Argyle to roam free,” he told her in his softest, kindest tone. “You know better than anyone what he is capable of, and if Symptata is in control…” He shook his head. “No,” he said with certainty. “I cannot allow it.”

  “Uncle!” she cried, her eyes wide and her knuckles white around the Golden Key. “You can’t!”

  King Tyr shook his head and said, “No, but you can.”

  “Me!” She cried, her arms dropping limply to her sides and the box falling to the carpet with a muffled thud.

  “Yes,” King Tyr said. He was utterly calm, as he always was when he made a difficult decision. If he had the facts he needed to make it, he was confident that he would come to the proper decision. He didn’t have all the facts he wanted, but the ones he had led him to conclude there was only one course of action for him to take: he had to eliminate the potential threat that Argyle posed, and he had to do so quickly.

  He looked into her angry glare. “Tell me, Grayle,” he asked. “If Argyle were making the decision, and if it was one of his most valued assets threatening his domain, what do you think he would do?”

  She didn’t answer and her glare didn’t waver, but he knew what the part of her that was as cold and calculating as Argyle would do. So did she. “I want you to disguise yourself, Grayle,” he said, letting his sadness come through in his tone. “You will tell Captain Blanchard about Argyle and his weaknesses. You will show him where all of Argyle’s secret entrances are so that he can post men near enough to them to watch for trouble.”

  King Tyr paused and turned to Captain Blanchard. “They must be inconspicuous,” he said, then turned back to Grayle.

  “Let me talk to him,” Grayle said. “I know Argyle—”

  King Tyr shook his head. “No, Grayle,” he said. “It is not Argyle that concerns me. It is Symptata.” He paused and looked sharply at her. “You don’t know Symptata, do you?”

  She shook her head and said nothing.

  Iscara gently turned King Tyr’s hand over and then released it. He lifted it up to inspect it and found no hint of injury or scar. He flexed it, and it felt as it always had. He turned to her and said, “Thank you, Iscara.” Then he paused. “I have another task for you to do, one that is well-suited to your abilities.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Iscara said, keeping her eyes fixed on the tabletop.

  “Go to Argyle’s lair,” he said. “Speak to him. Use your healer’s senses to discover what you can about him and then return here to tell me what you have found.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Do so now, please.”

  “At once, Sire,” she said, nearly knocking over the chair she had been standing beside in her haste to comply. Once she was out of the room, King Tyr turned back to Grayle and smiled.

  “I would prefer very much to avoid destroying him, Grayle,” he admitted, “but I will not hesitate to do so. However, it may not become necessary. I sent Rascal to tell Argyle—and Symptata—that I wish to speak with
him. It is my hope that we can make an arrangement that will be mutually beneficial. If not,” he shrugged. “Captain Blanchard’s men need to be prepared to deal with him.”

  “You should let me talk to him,” Grayle protested. “He knows me.”

  “No, my dear,” he said. “If Symptata were to do something to you….” King Tyr shook his head. “Rascal would be a terrible loss, but he can be replaced. You cannot be.”

  He turned back to Captain Blanchard and said, “Iscara will almost certainly tell Argyle of our plans. I suggest you get your men into position quickly, and tell them to keep alert. But they are not to enter Argyle’s domain until I give the order for them to do so. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sire,” Captain Blanchard said. “We will go at once!” He paused long enough for the king to hold him back, and then pivoted and marched toward the door, where he paused and turned back. “Milady?” he asked.

  Before Grayle could turn, King Tyr said, “Gather a dozen of your best, most trusted men and return to her chambers,” he said. “She will join you there shortly. There is a hidden stairwell in it that leads to Argyle’s dungeon. Post two of your men there; the rest are to remain in the hallway. If it becomes necessary to invade his lair, we will do so from there.”

  “Oh no!” Grayle said. “I forgot to shut the door!”

  “Quickly, now!” King Tyr added. “Phillip and the healer are unguarded.”

  “Sire,” Captain Blanchard said as he nodded crisply and closed the door.

  King Tyr sighed and gestured at the open tome on his table. He lifted the bloodied towel by a reasonably clean corner and shook his head. There were droplets of blood drying on the open pages, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. “Read that, Grayle.” he said. “Perhaps you can tell me something that will help us to deal with the situation. I will see about a disguise for you.” He stood up and went into his closet. Perhaps Grand Master Thom will be able to shed some light onto the problem when he arrives.