The Viper's Fangs (Book 2) (14 page)

9

By the time Angus returned with half a dozen fresh fletching
eggs in his pockets, Ortis had Giorge stitched back up. The horses were
saddled, and their gear was packed. Hobart was impatiently sitting on Leslie, and
she was just as jittery. Perhaps she was sensing his anxiety? Or was there
something more to it than that? Something less?

He landed gently, and Ortis brought his backpack and horse
to him. “We’re ready to go,” he said. “I have a saddlebag ready for the eggs,
and then we’ll be off.”

“Not quite yet,” Angus said. “I need to talk to Giorge.”

He exchanged the eggs for his backpack, and then led
Gretchen to where Giorge was sitting on his horse, Millie. Angus frowned as he
came up to him. Why hadn’t Ortis named his horses? All the others had names.
Then he shrugged and said, “Let me see that pouch, Giorge.”

“Why?” Giorge asked. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared,
and the fingers of his left hand tightened on his reins. His right arm was in a
sling, now—had he broken it when he struck the cliff? It hadn’t looked like it
to Angus. Did it really matter? The curse would claim him soon if they weren’t
able to do something about it.

“I want to tie the drawstrings shut,” Angus said. “Every
time you open the pouch, you let out the curse’s power and it enrages nearby animals
and draws them directly to you.”

“How do you know that?” Giorge asked. “I thought you said you
didn’t understand it.”

“I don’t,” Angus said. “But I can see its effects. The
energy is different from what I know, but not completely. When the animals
attack, I see a wide stream of what I would call animal magic—it has a very
distinct color—attacking them. It looks a lot like a snake, and when it bites
them, it enrages them and drives them to you. I think we can avoid another
attack by preventing you from opening the pouch. I have a knot that I believe
will do that.”

Giorge shrugged and his fingers relaxed as he said, “It
won’t work.” He took the pouch out and handed it to Angus. “But it’s worth a
try. Those goats almost drove me to my death.”

“Good,” Angus said as he turned around and worked the
drawstrings into a complex knot that would be difficult to unravel. It could be
unraveled, of course—like all knots—but he doubted Giorge knew the trick for
doing it. Then he turned back and asked, “Where’s the box?”

Giorge pointed at Sam—another horse with a name, this time a
young male full of spirit—and said, “We strapped it on top in case we wanted to
look at the scrolls again. Why?”

“The scroll tube is in it, isn’t it?” Giorge nodded. “The
interior of that tube is lined with something that prevented me from seeing the
magic of the curse. If I can get it sealed up again, it might prevent that
magic from acting on you.”

Giorge smiled and shook his head. “It won’t work,” he said.
“The curse is already activated.”

“You may be right,” Angus said as he walked over to Sam and
unlashed the strap holding the box in place. Once he had the pouch in the
scroll tube, he sealed it up and walked back to Giorge. As he walked, he
brought the magic into his periphery and then quickly let it go again. The
curse’s energy still enveloped Giorge, and the stream led back to the box, back
to the scroll tube. Giorge was still connected to it, and he doubted there
would ever be anything that he could do to prevent it from working its foul
magic on him. It was too different from the magic he understood—there weren’t
even any knots as far as he could tell. If there had been knots, he might have
been able to untangle them.

He mounted his horse, and Hobart led them at a brisk walk
until they reached the road, then he urged them to a steady trot. As they fell
into place, Angus slowed Gretchen until he was beside the last Ortis, several
yards behind the others. His voice was soft as he asked, “Do you know what kind
of animals are in these woods?”

“The normal range,” Ortis said. “Squirrels, rabbits, deer,
those mountain goats, snakes—the ones you would expect to find in this region.”

Angus frowned. “Are there any dangerous ones?”

Ortis looked at him and asked, “You’re worried about Giorge,
too?”

Angus shrugged. A part of him was worried about Giorge, but
he was mainly concerned with what they might have to face because of Giorge. If
his curse made mountain sheep dangerous, what would they do to something worse?
What if he was close to Giorge when it happened? It would also help him decide
what spell he would prime for in the morning. He had freed up some of his
energy by casting the Flying spell, and he wasn’t sure what he should use as a
replacement. He might do flying again, but he had others that might be more useful
if he could anticipate the encounters. “Let’s just say,” he said, “that I
listened to Hobart. If we know what it is we might be facing, then I’ll be able
to prepare for it better.”

Ortis studied him for a long moment before shrugging. “The
worst animals we might come across in this area are wolves and bears, but they
aren’t likely. Wolves tend to be deeper in the mountains, away from the roads.
The bears are still hibernating, but in a few more weeks, that will change. They
will be hungry, and that makes them especially dangerous.” He paused in thought
for several seconds, and then said, “There are other herd animals,” he said,
“but they are normally not aggressive. But we thought the mountain goats
weren’t dangerous, either. We might find small groups of deer and wild boar.”

Angus waited for more, but when Ortis didn’t continue, he
asked, “What about east of here? What’s there?”

Ortis frowned. “I don’t really know,” he said. “The
mountains rise sharply, and there aren’t many who have dared to climb them to
find out. If Giorge is going to lead us up there,” he stopped and shook his
head. “It won’t be easy.”

Angus frowned; it was not the answer he had wanted, but it
made it easier to decide which spell to prime. If they were going to be
climbing a difficult slope, he wanted to be able to fly. “What would normally
be at that altitude?” he asked.

“Normally?” Ortis repeated. “Not much. There aren’t many
animals that dwell in the high places.”

Angus sighed. “Anything worse than a bear or wolf pack?”

Ortis shrugged. “Wolverines, perhaps. They are solitary
creatures with a tenacious, aggressive nature. Most are fairly small, smaller
even than the mountain goats, but they are ferocious.” He paused for a moment,
then added, “Why don’t you wait until we get to Dagremon’s? You can ask the
trappers these questions. I’m sure they will know much more than I do. Besides,
Hobart is not going to want to go east without learning something about what’s
there, first.”

“All right,” Angus said. Hopefully the trappers would have
the information he needed. The kind of animals they might encounter, the kind
of terrain, knowledge of safe trails. “Perhaps we should hire one as a guide,”
he suggested.

Ortis nodded. “It would be wise to do so,” he said. Then, as
if it were an afterthought, he said, “There are snakes, but we shouldn’t have
to worry about them. This time of year, they’ll be underground waiting for the
spring thaw. They rarely come out this early, and when they do, they are very
sluggish and easy to kill. It’s too cold for them to be a real threat. Foxes,
coyotes, wild dogs—there may be some of them, too. They aren’t what concern
me,” he added. “We can deal with those fairly easily. What worries me are the
things we don’t know about that might be up there.”

“Like dragons?” Angus asked, a playful smile on his lips. It
would have to be a powerful curse, indeed, to draw out a dragon! Ortis slowly
nodded, and Angus’s smile faded somewhat.
Here there be dragons
, he
thought, remembering what Ortis had said about maps. They always had something
like that on them, a place where the cartographer didn’t—or couldn’t—go. Was
this one such place? Too desolate and difficult to traverse that the
cartographer gave up? But
dragons
? They were rare, indeed, and few were
known to be comfortable enough with humans to live near them. So, what else could
be up there? Did Ortis know something that he wasn’t telling him? Or was it
just an ominous warning of a lazy cartographer? He would have to wait to see
what the trappers said about it.

They rode in silence for several minutes, and then Angus
said, “I hope there are some animals nearby when Giorge opens the pouch again.
My knot isn’t going to stop the curse.”

Ortis seemed startled as he turned and asked, “Why would you
want that?”

Angus patted Gretchen’s neck and said, “It would be a shame
to have to kill one of the horses.”

“The horses?” Ortis repeated. “Why would we do that?”

Angus shrugged. “I think the Viper’s Breath is like a
lodestone for animals. It attracts them to Giorge and infuriates them until
they try to kill him. If it were to latch onto one of our horses, it would do
the same thing the mountain goat did.”

Ortis thought about this for a long moment, and then asked,
“Why hasn’t it done it already?”

“That,” Angus agreed, “is a very good question, and I have
absolutely no idea what the answer is. But it is something of a puzzle, don’t
you think? What would be the difference between our horses and the animals that
have attacked Giorge?”

Ortis nodded, and they rode in silence for several seconds
before he suggested, “Perhaps it is because they are domesticated? Would their
familiarity with us make them less receptive to the influence of this
lodestone?”

Angus shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “but it is
certainly a possibility.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on the horses,” Ortis said, “in
case they become aggressive.”

Angus nodded, wondering what he would do if Gretchen was
affected by the curse. Would he let them kill her? Or would he let her kill
Giorge? It would be an interesting decision….

10

It was already dark when Hobart reined in his horse and
waited for them to catch up to him. Once they were all there, he pointed at a
small patch of light among the trees a short distance ahead of them and said, “That’s
Dagremon’s.”

“Have you stayed there before?” Angus asked, wondering how
long it would take for his thighs to recover from the hard ride with little
rest. Next winter, he would make time to ride. Once or twice a week, at least,
and probably more.

“A few times,” Hobart said. “Dagremon keeps it orderly.”

“Dagremon has a reputation,” Ortis added. “She doesn’t
tolerate mischief well.”

“Few elves do,” Hobart muttered.

“Oh?” Angus prompted.

“Keep your dagger sheathed,” Hobart laughed, “and you won’t
find out.”

“It’s not Dagremon you need to worry about,” Giorge added
from beside them. “It’s her pet.”

Angus whirled on Giorge and demanded, “What kind of pet?” If
it could keep order in the inn, it would have to be powerful, and if Giorge
opened the pouch, it could become a powerful problem.

“It’s not a pet, really,” Giorge said. “It’s an ogre.”

“He’s a friendly enough fellow when you get to know him,” Hobart
said. “Just don’t get on his bad side—and don’t try to drink him under the
table. You’ll lose.”

“All right,” Angus said, relaxing a bit. Ogres weren’t
animals, not in the sense of magic; they were a different sort of creature
altogether. There was a considerable amount of destructive magic within them,
mainly in the form of decay and death, and they fed off the life-giving
energies of others. It was unlikely the curse would affect them
if
the
magic of the curse had the same limitations as the magic he used. But how could
he know that? What if the curse had a more potent effect on ogres than it did
on the birds and animals they had already encountered?

“And no magic,” Ortis added. “She can sense it.”

“I know,” Angus said. “Elves are closer to magic than humans
are. Some say wizards are only able to see the magic at all because they are
descended in part from the elves of an early age, but most find that difficult
to believe. Elves seldom associate with humans, and even when they do, they
rarely produce offspring. The males are the only ones who can father
halfbreeds, and they seldom stray from their own kind. Human females are not
very appealing to them.”

“When you see Dagremon,” Giorge quipped, “you’ll know why!”

Hobart chuckled, and Ortis smiled. Angus nodded and
continued. “The elves are old, much older than humans, and their ties to magic
are far stronger and more direct. They are attuned to it in a way that a wizard
can never be, and their skills are quite formidable when they choose to develop
them. Some say they don’t even have to prime themselves; they just have to think
of a spell and the magic within them aligns itself to it as they cast it. One
scholar claimed she had discovered the truth about them, but few believed her.
She said that when the nexus that brought all life into being on this world shattered,
the fragments coalesced to form the first elves, and with each new generation,
those fragments separate into ever smaller pieces. It is why they live such
long lives and why, as a people, they are dying. The nexus fragments have
deteriorated too much to sustain their numbers.”

After he finished, Giorge sat up a little higher in his
saddle and said, a brief burst of optimism in his voice, “Maybe she’ll know
something about my curse!” Then he spurred his horse forward at a fast pace.

Angus frowned. Would she understand the curse? Was it an
older form of magic? One that she would recognize? Could she control it?
Would
she control it? Elves were unpredictable; they tended to keep to themselves
and let whatever happens around them happen. But Dagremon had left her clan,
and that meant she was different, that meant she was
active
in the world
in a way that other elves weren’t. What would she do? Would she offer to help? Or
would she remain aloof, detached from the situation like most elves would? It
would be interesting to find out, and he kneed Gretchen to an easy trot—his
thighs couldn’t take much more than that—and quickly caught up with Giorge.

Giorge turned from the cobbled road and led them down a
well-worn path just wide enough for three riders to fit comfortably. There were
shallow ruts for wagons or carts, but the wheels seemed to be too wide. After
about a hundred yards, the path led them into a large clearing, with a caravan
pole in its center. At the south edge of the clearing was a large two-story building.
It was built from logs and had a roof made of weathered, ash-gray slats. The west
side was facing them, and it was lit by what looked like Lamplight spells
contained in glass balls dangling from an overhang that jutted out about ten
feet from the wall. Beneath the overhang was a long horizontal post with half a
dozen horses tied to it, and some of those horses had their noses in the trough
beneath it. Above the overhang were a row of shuttered oval windows.

The north side of the building faced the path, and from what
he could see of it, it was similar to the west side: shuttered oval windows,
glowing glass balls, and jointed log walls. However, there was no overhang, no
horse post, and no horses; instead, there was a very large door—at least twelve
feet high and nearly as wide. As they approached, a smaller door of normal size
opened in the far corner of the large door, and a small figure—not even
Giorge’s size—stepped out. The figure wore a long flowing gown that seemed to
offer no impediment to her movement, and in her hand was a staff that was
taller than she was and headed by a large clear crystal. The light caught her
collar-length hair and gave it a strange green tint as she spryly sprang
forward several steps. As she neared, Angus realized that she was a strikingly beautiful
woman with a shapely, well-proportioned figure that was in no way childlike
despite her diminutive frame, and his breath caught in his throat. She had
beautiful violet eyes with wide, dilated pupils. Giorge reined in his horse and
came to a stop some ten feet from her.

“Dagremon—”

Dagremon leveled her staff at Giorge and said, “You are not
welcome here.” Her voice was a strange high-pitched, playful chirp that sharply
contrasted with the harshness of her words and the power of the personality wielding
them.

“What?” Giorge asked as Angus reined in Gretchen beside him.
“You’ve never barred me from your place before,” he protested.

“I do now,” Dagremon said. “You must go.”

Hobart rode slowly past and reined in Leslie two paces ahead
of them. “Now, Dagremon,” he began. “You’ve never treated us like this before.
Haven’t we always behaved ourselves?”

Angus expected Dagremon to level her staff at Hobart, but her
aim never wavered from Giorge as she said, “
He
may not stay.”
I
wonder what that staff does,
Angus thought as he brought the magic around
him into focus. When he saw the myriad colors whirling around within the
crystal, he frowned; it seemed to confine strands from nearly every kind of
magic he knew. As far as he could tell, the only one missing was death magic.
If it contained all of the other kinds of magic, it could do almost anything—or
one very powerful thing. He decided it would not be wise to find out and he
turned to Giorge to warn him away. But the warning froze on his tongue. There
was a yellow stream emanating from Giorge’s chest, stretching into the dark
forest behind him.

“We need shelter, food, supplies, and information,” Hobart
said. “We have ample treasure to trade for it. Whatever it is that’s troubling
you, I am sure we can smooth things over if you give us a chance.”

“Giorge!” Angus hissed. “How did you untie the knot?” He
shouldn’t have been able to undo it; it was one wizards never shared with
others!

Giorge didn’t seem to hear him; he was watching the end of
the staff pointed at him and trying to stay quite still. Then he shrugged and
half-whispered, “I didn’t. I cut the drawstrings.”

Angus gasped, and his eyes grew wide. “You did
what
?”
If he had cut the drawstrings, the pouch would
never
stay closed, and—

“You are welcome here, Hobart,” Dagremon said. “And the
others. But not him. He must leave. Now.”

“Why?” Hobart demanded. “This isn’t like you, Dagremon. You
never turn anyone away. What would people think if you started doing it now?”

Dagremon shifted into a battle-ready stance, and the staff
began to glow a bright orange—a very strange color for magic—and Angus wondered
if she had merged two or more threads together to create it. The red of flame
tempered by the white of ice? It would be a strange combination, and there was
no way he could predict what it would do. Then again, the sphere of flame had a
wide range of hues, and it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that one of
them was this strange orange glow; after all, he had always been near
volcanoes, and they were a very rich source of flame magic, and the orange could
come from a weaker source. No, that wouldn’t make sense; staves generally were
quite powerful items that could easily be concealed in plain sight. Could it be
a
different
source of flame magic? That didn’t make sense either;
Voltari had been quite thorough in his training, and he would not have
overlooked something so obvious. But what if Voltari didn’t know about it? Was
that
a possibility?

“Hobart,” Angus said, “She’s right.” Hobart turned in his
saddle to glare at him, and for the first time Angus felt the barely restrained
hostility Ortis had warned him about. But it didn’t stop him from saying what
needed to be said: “Giorge opened the pouch again.”

The hostility abruptly morphed into something different, a
kind of angry exasperation or resigned antipathy. Without a word, he turned his
horse and rode back to Ortis. He barely paused as he passed, and then only long
enough to look at Giorge and shake his head.

Angus turned in his saddle and called out to his retreating
back, “We still need supplies and information.”

Hobart continued for a few more paces before reining in his
horse. It took a few more seconds for him to turn around and rejoined them.

“I’ll stay with Giorge,” he said. “You can deal with
Dagremon.”

The large door of Dagremon’s inn burst outward and banged
noisily against the outer wall. It continued to rattle as something slouched through
it, and when that thing straightened up, it towered over Dagremon as if she
were a toddler. It wore a mottled patchwork of dried animal skins and lifted a
seven-foot long club to its shoulder. There were patches of hair—fur?—scattered
on its head and arms, and it had very large, obsidian eyes that seemed to
absorb the light striking them. Its ears were huge and turned independently of
each other, as if it were using sound to locate its prey. Then it smiled a
gap-toothed grin that showed a long row of flat teeth built for tearing and
grinding up its food.

“That’s her pet,” Giorge muttered.

“
He
,” Dagremon said, pointing at Giorge, “must go.
Now.” This time, she was talking to her pet ogre, and her pet ogre stepped
forward, took the club from its shoulder, and tapped it against its open palm. The
ogre took another step, easily covering six feet, and growled. It sounded like
the low, steadily building rumbling of thunder being unleashed. The ogre was
laughing. Before the ogre took the second step, Giorge was turning Millie
around and kneeing her into a slow trot.

One of Ortis came up beside Angus and stopped. “Why do you refuse
us lodging?” he asked Dagremon as she lowered her staff a bit. “We have done
nothing to deserve such treatment.”

The ogre stomped forward and was nearly upon Ortis, but
Ortis simply moved off to the side and let him pass. Giorge and Hobart were
already disappearing into the forest, but the ogre kept pursuing them.

“He is tainted,” Dagremon told Ortis. “I cannot allow that
taint to enter my inn.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ortis demanded. “Giorge has
stayed here before, hasn’t he?”

She nodded and said, “But he may not stay here tonight.”

“Do you know what that taint is?” Angus asked. “Can you
cleanse him of it?”

Dagremon turned her violet eyes toward him and leaned against
the staff. “There is nothing I can do,” she said. “He is the only one who can save
himself now. But you can help. Go with him, he will need you before the night
is over.”

“We need supplies,” Angus said, “and information about what
lies east of here. A guide, perhaps, if one is available?”

Dagremon nodded. “There are some here who may help you,” she
said.

Ortis jumped in his saddle and then began shaking his head
as if he were trying to sneeze. His eyes were watering when he turned to Angus
and said, “Did I mention that there were skunks up here?”

Angus turned and said, “No. But it is good to know.” He
paused, closed his eyes, shook his head slowly from side to side, and sighed. “Where
are they?” he asked.

“We had only gone a short distance north and turned east
into the woods.” He turned to Dagremon and asked, “I don’t suppose you have any
tomato juice?”

She nodded, “There are a few jars left,” she said. “I also
have the additive you need to complete the formula.”

“Tomato juice?” Angus asked. “Isn’t that a bit cumbersome
for where we’re going?”

Ortis half-smiled. “We won’t be eating it,” he said. “It’s
one of the few things that can help with the skunk’s odor.”

Angus tilted his head, wondering how it could do that, but it
could wait until they were on their way.

“Good,” Ortis said, dismounting and leading his horse to the
post and wrapping the reins around it. When he returned, he told Angus, “Try to
find us a guide. I’ll get our supplies.” Then he asked Dagremon, “If our
business is welcome?”