Angst (Book 4) (15 page)

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 lingering
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 The 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.

The stairwell was dark. Giorge’s echoing footfalls were like
the distant, rhythmic slapping of waves on the shore. She would have to run to
catch up with him, and her lungs ached from the sharp, biting sting of the
smoke she had been breathing. She started crawling up the stair, fumbling at
each step. As she went, her pace quickened. Periodically, she brought the magic
into focus. The bubble of flame magic was growing, expanding outward from the
nexus. She needed to hurry, but running blind up the stair would invite death.
There were a few hints of the magic she knew, but they were quickly devoured by
the nexus’s flame. If she could only move faster…

Lamplight
, she thought, coming to an abrupt stop and
lifting herself to her knees. If she could see, she could run instead of
crawling blindly upward. She reached out for one of the thinner streams of
flame magic—it was as wide as her hand!—and held it firmly in her grip. Her
fingers were accustomed to tying together thin strands, but the knots should be
the same. Lamplight was a simple spell that only had one knot. She began to tie
it, but long before she finished, the strand of flame began to glow, as if its
power were building up between the crimps she was making in it. She almost
stopped, but Giorge’s echoed footsteps were now only barely discernible. He was
near the top of the stair, and if she couldn’t catch up with him, he would
escape with The Tiger’s Eye. She twisted the vibrating strand, and it
brightened almost to the point of the Lamplight’s glow, despite the knot being
incomplete. She held her hands as far away from her as she could and made the
final movements.

An orb twice the size of the Lamplight flared to life
between her hands. It was much brighter than it should have been—and much
hotter. But she had been prepared for that, and as soon as it formed, she
attached it to the wall of the stair and let go. Even so, a searing pain spread
over her palm. She lifted her hand, but her palm wasn’t blistering—yet—and she
didn’t have time to concern herself with it even if it was. She ran up the
stair, shaking her hand as she gasped for breath. She didn’t make it very far
before she was winded and had to slow down to breathe.

The echo of Giorge’s footsteps was gone.

4

Giorge kept himself in shape and was accustomed to running
when the need for it arose, and under normal conditions—darting down alleys and
side streets, fleeing through grain fields, or even loping up or down the rough
slope of a mountain—his endurance was up to the task. But running up a steep,
spiraling stairwell with a candle in his hand that was burning through the wax
like a torch was taxing his reserves. By the time he neared the top, his breath
was coming in soft pants and his side was beginning to ache. He stumbled, tumbled
to avoid banging his chin against the pointed edge of the stair, and fell face
first lengthwise along the step. The next rise brought him painfully to a stop,
and he moaned. He took in deep, painful breaths and exhaled them more sharply
than he intended. It was dark. He had dropped the candle when he had slapped
downward to lift his head above the step. He was close to the top—he had seen
the rim before tripping himself up—and he began to crawl. His bruised body felt
heavy as he trudged forward. Then a bonfire blossomed to life beneath him,
sending an eerie orange-red glow up through the stairwell. It was just enough
light to see where one shadow ended and another began.

Embril…

Giorge forced himself to his feet and clambered unsteadily
up the final score of steps. It was far darker in the octagonal room, since
Embril’s light didn’t reach far beyond the lip of the stairwell. But Giorge
knew where he was and where he was going, and what little light it offered was
more than enough for him to avoid running into the wall or falling down the
stair. His sensitive fingertips found Darby’s rope dangling where they had left
it. It was far from the first time he lurked in shadows with only a rope to
guide himself up a wall, and it went quickly. He even remembered to duck in the
tunnel so he didn’t bang his head on the ceiling. Then he paused with the rope
in his hand.
If I bring this up, it will delay her pursuit. But what if she
doesn’t have the means to get out? She could end up like the Angst priests….
He reeled in the rope slowly at first, and then with definitiveness.
She’s a
witch. If she doesn’t have a spell that can save her, it’s her own fault.
He tossed the rope aside and scampered down the tunnel, feeling his way as his
hands brushed lightly against the tunnel’s narrow walls.

At the end, he pulled himself up through the trapdoor and
felt his way along the wall until he was outside the little room.
If I reset
the trapdoor,
he thought,
she’ll have to push it open. It’s heavy enough
that she might not be able to do it quickly….
He felt along the corridor
wall until he found the sconce. He pushed it upward to reset the trapdoor. Then
he retraced the route outside by feel, until he saw diffuse sunlight and ran
toward it. It was the room where Angus had burned the hole through the ceiling.
He made his way outside and shielded his eyes against the glare. It wasn’t
enough; there was too much rubble that could trip him up. He had to wait a few
seconds for his eyes to adjust. When they had, he was breathing normally, and
the ache in his side had subsided to a mere twinge. He hurried forward and
clambered over the rubble in the temple grounds.

If Embril catches me…

He hopped from stone to stone as he scrambled over the wall
and paused at the top to find the horses. They were grazing on the trampled
grain, and he gave the sharp whistle of summons the guardsmen tended to use.
They turned and hurried toward him as he made his way down the rubble heap and
up to the matted-down grain fields. They were both glad to see him, but he
didn’t have time for greetings. He needed to get as far away from Embril as
possible, and he climbed into the saddle of the horse Embril had enchanted with
the Swiftness spell. If it was like the other spells she had cast, it still had
a day and a half left. He kneed it into a full gallop, and the other horse
whinnied in alarm and followed after them. He frowned and reined in his horse.
There was no way the other beast could keep pace with him, but the stupid brute
would die trying. Where could he leave it? He looked back at the temple
grounds. There were already wisps of smoke seeping out of the ruins. How long
before the whole thing was roiling with it? Embril had said there would be
volcanic eruptions all along the mountain ranges….

Embril could appear at any moment. He didn’t want to leave
her unable to escape from the volcano, but…

She could fly. Fast. She would catch up to him if he didn’t
get going. He turned and rode hard for the gap that would lead him to safety. The
other horse kept up as best it could.