The Golden Key (Book 3) (29 page)

14

“You
left him
!” Hobart shouted, despite the pain it
caused in his lungs. “How could you leave him behind like that? We have to go
back—”

“No,” Ortis said in a stoic, unfeeling tone that brought
Hobart’s rampage to an abrupt end.

Hobart stood up and moved to the tent flap. He opened it and
looked out into the night. They had made another day’s journey while he had
slept, and a resurgent burst of winter threatened to attack them. It was the
kind of chill that ate into one’s soul—or was he just imagining that because he
had lost two members of his banner and had no bodies to show for it? He
scowled, his jaw muscles tensing like they always did when he had to hold back
his tongue. After a few seconds, he let the tent flap fall back into place and
turned back around to face Ortis. At least he didn’t feel like he was about to
fall any longer, and when dawn came he planned to ride.

“I left him because that was what he asked me to do,” Ortis said,
matching his anger with a calmness that was disconcerting. “I tried to talk him
out of it, but he had made up his mind.” He paused and then added more softly, “It’s
been three days, Hobart. You saw his injuries. You know he’s dead by now.” He
paused again, and then tilted his head and said, “Unless his plan worked.”

Hobart’s eyes narrowed. He knew what that speculative tilt
of Ortis’s head meant; it meant he knew something more than what he was telling
him. Whether he would share it or not was always up to Ortis, and Hobart would
not get it out of him until Ortis was ready.

“I heard him use the wand,” Ortis said. “It was a couple of
nights ago. We were still close to the edge of the plateau.” He turned his gaze
to the fire and shrugged. “I rode back to see what had happened. He wasn’t
there.”

Hobart frowned. “What do you mean, he wasn’t there?”

Ortis shrugged again. “The cave entrance was a lot wider
than it used to be. I think he tried to use the wand on that thing he called
Sardach. He must have missed.”

Hobart fought back a sudden impulse to look outside for
smoke-colored dwarves with beady read eyes, and then turned his attention back
to Ortis.

“Whatever happened,” Ortis finished, “Angus was gone.”

Hobart shook his head. Another banner member dead with no
body to show for it. How could he recruit more members with that hanging over
him? Maybe it was time to call an end to his adventuring days? He had enough
saved up for it, and he had promised Giorge he would tell Auntie Fie about what
had happened to him. Perhaps that should be his last banner duty?

“You said he had a plan,” Hobart said, as much to distract
himself as to find out what it was. “What kind of plan?”

Ortis shrugged. “He didn’t say much about it. He said he was
going to try to bargain with Sardach or take control of him and make him help
him. When I pressed him about it, he gave me that enigmatic half-smile of his
and said, ‘If it works, I’ll be in Hellsbreath when you get there. If it doesn’t,
I’ll be dead. Either way, it will be better than dragging me across that
plateau. We both know I won’t survive that.’ He was right, of course. I doubt
he would have lived more than a day or two longer, even if we had amputated his
leg—and he would have none of that.”

Hobart frowned. Ortis was right; Angus probably would have
died. If they had a healer with them…. He shook his head, stepped close to the
fire, and pretended to warm his hands. He had always thought about asking a
healer to join his banner, but the army gobbled up all the ones who were
available. Maybe if he continued the banner, he would make it worthwhile for a
healer from Hellsbreath to go with them.

“Besides,” Ortis continued about a minute later. “We don’t
have time to go back. The snow is melting, and it’s already getting difficult
to travel through this slush. It will turn into mud soon, and that will be
nearly impassable. It’s even worse up ahead. This plateau leans westward.”

Hobart said nothing. He was right about that, too, and he
didn’t need to have it confirmed. “Maybe we should travel at night,” Hobart
suggested. “The slush will be frozen then.”

Ortis nodded. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “But
not yet. You still need time to recover. Perhaps tomorrow night?”

“Where are you at?” Hobart asked.

“I’ll reach the place where we killed the snake soon,” Ortis
said. “I’ve been riding pretty hard and sleeping little. So far, I haven’t seen
anything that we need to worry about. I think that snake must have eaten
everything else, but it wouldn’t hurt to be vigilant.”

“Why don’t we ride for a while tonight,” Hobart said. “I
think I can manage a few hours.”

Ortis looked up at him, raised his eyebrows, and moved over
to his blankets. He lay down and said nothing.

Hobart glared at him, but a few minutes later, he had to sit
down again. Half an hour later, he was snoring.

15

Iscara was exhausted when she returned to her chambers, and
she had no patience or energy to deal with Typhus. It had been grueling, but
Angus had survived. Whether or not the fever had drowned his mind was yet to be
seen, but his body was whole again. It shouldn’t be; the leg should have been
amputated. That was the only way to be sure the decay had been stopped and the
fever wouldn’t flare up again. If the fever did return, she would do her best
to stop it. Sardach would make sure of that. But it wasn’t her doing that had
saved Angus; it was Ninny’s. Her mother had the ability to return death magic
to its living condition, but Ninny was the one who knew what kind of living
magic it should be. Together, they had worked strand-by-strand until his foot
looked like a bloody newborn’s fresh from the womb. It would be a while before
Angus could walk on it without difficulty, but at least it was functional. And
the shoulder…. Iscara shook her head. Ninny had put the pieces together so well
there was no sign that it had been shattered. It was impressive work, and
Iscara wondered how she could do it. When it came to everything else, she was a
total loss—
worse
than a total loss—but healing came naturally to her.

It wasn’t over yet, either. Iscara still needed to watch
over him to make sure all the toxins in his blood were gone, and that damned
guardsman hadn’t left. He was going to watch over Angus until he woke up so he
could talk to him about something. Iscara didn’t care about that; she had done
what Sardach wanted, and now it was almost over. But why had Sardach wanted it?
And why did Sardach want her to bring Typhus to him? Would Typhus even agree to
go with her?

“Typhus?” she softly called out after she had shut the door.

He slithered out from under the bed, and squirmed to his
feet. “It’s Angus, isn’t it?” he said. It wasn’t really a question, though; it
was a statement. “Did you find the key?”

“What—” Iscara began, then sighed and shook her head. “I
didn’t look.”

Typhus pondered this for a moment, and then asked, “What
about my breeches?”

Iscara frowned. “Your breeches?”

Typhus nodded. “Angus was wearing them. What did you do with
them?”

“Oh,” Iscara said, waving offhandedly. “Karas will burn them
when he finishes cleaning up the infirmary.”

“He can’t!” Typhus said, rushing up to her and putting his hands
on her shoulders. He squeezed them painfully, but she wasn’t in the mood for
that. She needed sleep. Why did he care if they were burned anyway? Rotten
flesh still clung to them, and the stench was horrid.

“Why not?” she demanded.

He shook his head and didn’t tell her. “I want them back,”
he said. “They’re mine. He borrowed them.”

“So?” she prompted, trying to brush past him so she could
lie down. But he wouldn’t let go of her. Instead, he clung to her as if he were
hungry for something, but she was in no mood for it. She shook free of his grip
and glared at him.

He glared back with his brilliant blue flames and asked,
“Can you get them for me? Or do I have to get them myself?”

She smiled, not in a friendly way, and suggested, “Why don’t
you go get them yourself?”
Sardach will like that,
she added to herself.
He wants you up there with Angus, doesn’t he?

“The guard—”

Iscara shrugged. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
He let her go, and she added. “Then I am going to get some sleep.”
I wonder
what Sardach is going to do to him,
she thought as she led the way back up
the stairs and to the infirmary.

Angus was lying on one of the cots lining the far wall, and
Karas was still cleaning the muck off the table. The breeches were already in
his bucket, but he hadn’t put the robe in with it. Instead, it was draped over
the clean end of the table. She walked up to it and picked it up, expecting it
to be covered in blood and rotted flesh. But it wasn’t, and she glanced at
Karas for an explanation.

He shrugged and said, “It’s like our healing gowns,” he
said. “When I picked it up, the residue slid off and left nothing behind. It’s
too bad those breeches weren’t like that; they looked pretty fancy.”

Typhus approached the bucket and reached down for the
breeches.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The guardsman demanded
from the corner. “I told you to stay in your room.”

Iscara turned and said, “He’s going to wash the breeches,”
she said. “I have him do that sometimes.”

Karas raised his eyebrows at her but said nothing.

Iscara looked at the corner where the staff had been and
thought
Typhus is here
before she noticed it wasn’t there any longer.
Where
are you Sardach?

The guard must not interfere,
Sardach thought back at
her. It was disconcerting how he did that.

Iscara frowned. What was Sardach going to do? It didn’t
matter; all she needed to do was get rid of the guard for a little while.

“Karas,” she said. “Why don’t you let him clean up the rest
of that and you and the Lieutenant here can get us some food. I’m famished, and
I’m sure Aggles will be quite hungry when he wakes up.”

“I’m staying,” the Lieutenant said.

“Nonsense,” Iscara said. “He needs rest, and I’ll tend to
him. There’s no point in you staying. When he wakes up, I’ll make sure he knows
you’re here. Or don’t you trust me?
He
did, didn’t he?” She smiled as
the Lieutenant glared at Typhus, but when Karas came over to him and held out a
bloodied hand, he quickly made his way out of the infirmary. Once he was gone,
Iscara pulled the tapestry closed and waited to see what would happen. It
didn’t take long, and it was much louder than she had expected it to be.

16

“Wake up,” Ortis hissed into Hobart’s ear as he gently
tapped his shoulder. “We need to go.”

Hobart blinked and sat up, instantly alert to danger. But
Ortis wasn’t acting like they were under attack; he was quickly, efficiently
stowing what little gear he had unpacked the day before. “What is it?” he
asked, looking toward the tent flap.

“I reached the snake,” he said. “Something ate it.”

So?
Hobart thought.
Lots of animals eat snakes.
Then he had to push aside the memory of the snake rearing back to strike him
with its gaping maw opened wide enough to swallow him whole.
Of course,
he
mused,
most snakes aren’t big enough to eat men.
He frowned and
wondered,
What could have eaten it?

“It’s too dark to see it clearly,” Ortis said, “but the
moonlight is reflecting off the backbone and ribs. The skin is billowing out
when the wind catches it.”

“Are you sure it’s the wind?” Hobart asked as he remembered
the other thing on the plateau, the one that
had
swallowed him. It had
been flat and covered in white fur, and when it attacked, it rippled like a
blanket being shaken into place. It sounded like one, too. They had only been
attacked by a pair of them, but there could easily be more on the plateau. They
had dealt with them easily enough when they knew they were there, but their white
fur had made it almost impossible to see them in the snow. If it hadn’t been
for Angus’s spell thawing the snow around them, they might have killed him.
Could there be more of those things on the plateau? He shook his head and stood
up. He was still weak, but he could stand unassisted for a few minutes at a
time. He moved closer to the fire and reached out for his padding. Ortis had
draped it over some branches near the fire to dry after he had washed it at the
well. It would be better to let it dry until morning, but Ortis said it was
time to go, and he had long since learned to trust his friend on things like
this.

Ortis shrugged. “I didn’t see any tracks as I approached,”
he said, “but I kept my distance.”

Hobart glanced at Ortis as he tried to position himself to
slide his leg into his padding. Every time he bent over and lifted his foot, he
tilted sideways and almost fell over. Eventually, he had to sit down on the
blankets to dress. As he did so, he considered what Ortis
hadn’t
said.
Something had kept him from getting closer to the snake, but what was it? They
needed food, and in this cold, the snake would have frozen solid in a few hours
and stayed that way. It would be good eating, and Ortis would have hacked some
of the meat off if he could have done it. Why hadn’t he? “All right, Ortis,” he
said as he poked his head through his undertunic. “What’s bothering you?”

Ortis paused in rolling up his blanket and met his gaze. His
strange eyes caught the flickering of the fire and threw it back. Then he
looked back at his bedroll and said, “We thought the snake was the reason those
trappers said this plateau was haunted. What if it wasn’t?”

Hobart nodded and then said, “You’re right.” Then he tried
to stand up and found it more difficult than it had been before. The damnable weakness
was already returning. It was like a plague; he wasn’t sleeping all the time
anymore, but his body still felt like it was. Finally, he used his sword to
help push himself to his feet, and once he was standing, he felt almost
normal—if normal were the fatigue after a two-day quick march into a three-day
melee. Still, he puffed up his chest and said, “I can ride.”

Ortis looked at him and shook his head. “We will make better
time if you use the travois.” Ortis bent to lift the bedroll he had just
secured, and then stooped for the second one. He carried both of them out
through the tent flap as a second Ortis entered and said, “The horses are
ready.”

Hobart nodded and took a step toward the tent flap. “I’ll
get my armor,” he said, intending to leave the tent.

Ortis blocked his path and said, “I’ve secured your armor on
the other travois. It’s hitched up to Sam. Your travois is hitched up to
Leslie.” Then he shrugged and stepped aside. “If you can get in the saddle on
your own, you can ride.”

Hobart glared at him and set his jaw. As he stepped out into
the freezing night air, he was determined to get into the saddle and ride
Leslie as long as he could. He would put on his armor like he always did, and
if those damned white-furred blankets tried to eat him, he’d slash them with
the sword he was leaning on as he plodded forward. By the time he reached Sam,
he was breathing heavily, as if from a hard day’s training, and realized that
he couldn’t bend down to get his armor without falling over, and getting back
up
in
his armor would be impossible. He shook his head and turned away,
stumbling up to Leslie, who nuzzled him. He had to clutch her halter to keep
from falling as she bumped him, and then he patted her neck and leaned against
her for support. “I’ll be fine, old girl,” he muttered. “You’ll see.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then forced them
back open again. The moisture in his padding was already changing to ice, and
his teeth were chattering. He needed to cover up before his body heat left him
completely, and he reluctantly slid alongside the horse until he reached the
travois. Ortis was standing there waiting, and he glowered at him.

Ortis nodded, bent down to peel apart the blankets, and then
helped him lie down. He wrapped him up in the blankets as if he were swaddling
a baby, and when he finished, he tied the straps into place. “These knots
should hold well enough,” Ortis said as he handed Hobart his curved dagger.
“But if we get attacked, you should be able to cut your way out with this.”

Hobart nodded and Ortis stood and turned away. As Ortis
walked back to his own horse, he took Leslie’s lead rope in hand and she
followed him. It was an easy walk but a bumpy one. The snow provided some
cushioning, but it was frozen, and the ice had uneven contours, especially
where Leslie’s hooves broke through it. It didn’t matter, though; he was soon
in a deep, troubled sleep haunted by the strange, familiar dreams about dwarves
and fishmen. This time, the dwarves had ropes tied to the fishmen and were
leading them through tunnel after tunnel with moisture dripping from the
ceiling as if they were beneath a large body of water, one he should remember
but couldn’t place. Then one of the fishmen whinnied for attention, and the
dwarf sidled up to it and patted it comfortingly on the neck.
There, there,
now,
the Dwarf muttered,
it won’t be far now. You’ll see.