The Viper's Fangs (Book 2) (15 page)

She nodded and turned to go back inside. Ortis followed, and
by the time Angus had Gretchen tied to the post, they were waiting by the door.
As Angus approached them, the ogre stomped out of the woods and shambled toward
them. Dagremon stepped inside, while Ortis waited for Angus to reach him. When
he had, Ortis softly said, “He’s a large brute, and I wouldn’t want to face him
in battle. I doubt I would have enough arrows to dispatch him. Let’s not
aggravate Dagremon any more than we already have.”

Angus nodded. He had seen something like the ogre before, standing
guard outside Blackhaven Tower. Only they were long dead and spoke with
Voltari’s voice….

11

Once inside, Ortis pointed to the right and said, “The
common room is over there. If there’s a guide to be found, he’ll be in there.
I’ll be on the other side where she keeps the supplies. If you find a guide
before I finish, come find me; otherwise I’ll find you.”

Angus nodded and walked down a short hallway and up to a
door. As he opened it, music, warmth, and smoke burst out. It was a soft song,
a ballad he had never heard, and the woman singing it had a rich contralto that
was stunningly beautiful, almost magical. It seemed to reach him from all
sides, drawing him eagerly toward it. He stepped in, and was surprised by how
many of the tables were full. There had only been six horses tied up outside,
but there were nearly two dozen men sitting, drinking, eating, and talking. He
barely glanced at them before he found the face of the voice he was hearing.
When he found it, he was astonished, and then quite amused. She looked nothing
like what he expected—whatever that was. The voice belonged to a weathered old
crone sitting alone at a table. She was playing a lute and singing a sultry ballad
that bespoke of youth and vigor. Her eyes were half-hooded, distant, as if she
were striving to see into the past and recapture it with her melody. It would
be difficult to do; she was well past her prime and dressed in shabby, dirty
skins, and the song suggested a young woman dressed in a blue silk gown with
strange eyes, one brown and one—

“Aye, she does it to all of us when she sings that song,” one
of the mountain men at the nearest table half-whispered. Angus glanced at him
and was surprised by his youthfulness. He was much younger than the other two
at the table—and much larger. He easily could have swallowed Giorge twice over,
and even without standing, he would have challenged Giorge’s height. “Wait
until she sings a bawdy one,” he added, grinning. He had an easy lopsided grin
that brought a ruddy color to the paleness of his cheeks. A thin fringe of a
beard was about to blossom on his chin, and his moustache was little more than
a glimpse of what it would become. A white fur cloak was draped over his chair
and dangled behind it on the floor, and he wore a heavy tan tunic and breeches.
A pair of fur mittens lay before him on the table, each one made from the black
and white skin of a striped skunk.

Angus nodded to him and briefly looked at his two companions.
They were much older, and one of them was rocking back and forth with the
music. The other was sipping from a beer mug, the dark brown liquid dribbling
into the scraggly beard that ballooned outward over his thin chest. They both
had skins draped over them, sewn together like ponchos, and the scent of months
alone in the mountains exuded from them. They had rough, wind-ridden cheeks,
and their eyes occasionally flickered about them. One of them had hazel eyes,
like the youth, but unlike the youth’s open, eager eyes, his were guarded and
cautious. Was he the youth’s father?

Angus turned away to look over the rest of the room, noting
that most of the customers were mountain men, and he wondered which of them
would become their guide. But they were all enraptured by the lazy strains of
the lute, the earnest intensity of the lutist’s voice. How could he get their
attention without disrupting the minstrel’s song?

“Tell me, Wizard,” the young man softly asked. “What brings
you to Dagremon’s?”

Angus reluctantly turned back to him as he answered, “Our
Banner is passing through on our way east.”

“East?” the young man repeated, rigid brown eyebrows lifting
up to form an impressive arch above his nose. “Why, there’s nothing east of
here but the haunted plateau. Why would you want to go there?”

Angus tilted his head and frowned. “Haunted plateau?” he
asked. “Where might that be?”

The young man looked at his companions but they were
listening to the song. He shrugged. “It’s the only thing east of here,” he
said. “No one goes there, on account of it being haunted.”

“What haunts it?” Angus asked, wondering if he should take
the open seat at the table.

“No one knows for sure,” one of his companions said without
turning. He had a gruff, impatient,
reluctant
voice. “Every time someone
tries to find out, they don’t come back again.”

“It’s a cursed land,” the youth added.

Cursed…

The woman finished her song and the patrons clapped and
cheered, begging for more. But she set her lute aside and turned to the stew in
front of her. Into the silence, Angus half-shouted, “I am looking for a guide
to lead my banner east. We will pay a fair price.”

“How far east?” one of them asked.

“As far as we need to go,” Angus replied. “We will need the
guide for three or four weeks. Possibly longer.”

The mountain men were quiet for a long time, and Angus said,
“Surely there is one among you who is willing to guide us?”

“We don’t go east that far,” another one said. “Two days
walk, and the mountain rises sharply. There’s a plateau up there, but there’s
no point trapping it. There aren’t enough animals worth catching, and those who
have tried it anyway don’t come back.”

“There’s an evil up there that’s best left alone,” another
said.

“Ned went up there once,” another called. “Spent maybe two
hours up there before he came running back babbling like a child. Never did
find out what it was that did it to him. He hasn’t been right since.”

“He’s a lucky one,” another said. “Most don’t come back at
all.”

“No one knows what’s on this plateau?” Angus asked.

“Only those that died,” someone offered.

“I can lead you to the way up,” a new speaker said.

Angus frowned. The volunteer was seated alone at the table
furthest from the other guests. He was a rugged brute draped in furs and clinging
to an axe as if the room, itself, was his enemy. Behind his scraggly hair and
grit-infested beard, were more layers of dirt and a grizzled expression. A
vicious scar ran across his forehead and bit into his hairline. His eyes were
dark little slits that darted about the place as if he expected it to collapse
in upon him.

“Now Ned,” one of the men nearest him turned and said. “You
know you can’t do that. Remember what happened the last time?”

Ned nodded, slowly. “That’s why I go,” he said. His tone was
heavily drenched in fear and uncertainty, but there was a resolute air about
him.

Angus nodded and began stepping around the close-packed tables
as he made his way toward him. At one of those tables, four men were engaged in
a strident, low-voiced argument. They were wearing neatly groomed dark blue
tunics, brown leather breeches, and black leather boots. Their outfits reminded
him of the guardsmen at Hellsbreath, but they wore brown tunics and boots. As
Angus passed, he overheard a small part of their heated conversation, and it
brought him up short.

“What was that?” Angus asked as he turned to the table.

The four men looked up, startled by the interruption, and
one of them hastily said, “Just idle chatter. Not your concern.”

Angus frowned and replayed what he had heard in his mind,
then shook his head. “No, not idle chatter,” he muttered. Then he noticed they
were all wearing short swords and, unless he was a poor judge, had the ready
posture of soldiers.
I tell you, they’re going to attack
, one of them
had said.
Nonsense, they’ve kept to their side of the lake, haven’t they?
Yes, the lake. It had to be the Lake of Scales, didn’t it? It was the only lake
he knew about in the area, but there could easily be others. It would be a good
idea to find out for sure. “You’re from the valley, from the Lake of Scales?”
he asked. “A patrol, perhaps?”

They looked at each other, and the one who had answered him
shrugged and said, “What of it?”

I don’t like it. Not one bit. They’ll take all our fish
away from us, and then what will we trade with the Western Kingdoms? Grain?
They’ll take that next.

“Why couldn’t they have stayed up north, where they belong?”
Angus said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Just talk,” the man said. “Why don’t you go make your
arrangements with Ned and let us be?”

Angus tilted his head, half-smiled, and reached out for a
chair from a nearby table. He brought it to their table and sat down. “I
apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “But I think it may be the case that you
are talking about something that is very much a concern of mine. A curiosity,
if you will.”

“Now,” the young man hesitated. “No disrespect, Wizard, but
it isn’t your problem, and we don’t appreciate your eavesdropping or your
company.” He slid his hand down to the hilt of his sword. “Why don’t you be on
your way?”

Angus shook his head and frowned. Perhaps they were right,
and it wasn’t his problem? But how would he know that without them telling him
what it was about? Maybe they weren’t guardsmen at all, but bandits? Hobart had
said there were quite a few bandits along the border between Tyr and the
Western Kingdoms, hadn’t he? They sometimes grouped together to raid a caravan.
But these men didn’t have the flavor of bandits, at least not what Angus
imagined a bandit would be like. But what if his instincts were right? What if
this snippet of a conversation was important?

“You said,” he repeated, “‘Why couldn’t they have stayed up
north, where they belong?’” He looked at the man, ignoring the tenseness of his
fingers on his sword. How could he defuse the situation? He didn’t want a
confrontation; he wanted information. Was there a way to get that information
without a confrontation? They clearly didn’t want to talk to him about it, but
why not? He pursed his lips and brought his fingertips up to his chin and began
tapping lightly with his index finger. After a few seconds, he said, “I am a
scholar, and I have a very wide range of interests. One of those interests
involves a disappearance of some significance in the north that has yet to be
explained. If I knew where they went, it would go a long way to explaining why
they left. I know firsthand that some of them were in The Tween late last fall,
and it is possible others have gone further south, perhaps even as far as the
Lake of Scales.”

The guardsman’s sword jangled as he clenched his jaws and
narrowed his eyes, but he said nothing.
Why is his hand shaking?
His
companions were sitting quietly at the ready, and he knew it would only take a
moment for them to draw their swords. But they kept them sheathed, their eyes
intent on the exchange, on their leader.

Angus half-smiled. The man’s reactions confirmed his
suspicions, and now the only question that remained was why they were reluctant
to talk about it. If an army of fishmen had arrived in their midst, why
wouldn’t they want as much help as they could get? What had Ortis had said about
them? About the villagers who fished the Lake of Scales? They were an
independent lot who would not become subjects of any king? Would they place
their independence over their survival? Why was he so interested in the
fishmen, anyway? What did it matter to him where they were? And yet, something
told him it
did
matter, that it
was
important, and that these men
knew something about it. How could he find out what they knew? And Angus
wanted—
needed
—to know if they had encountered the fishmen. If they knew
where they were, then Commander Garret wouldn’t need to send his men to the
Angst temple, and Embril wouldn’t have to go with them. What was it they had
said?
Their side of the lake?

“They would have arrived late last year or early this spring,”
Angus mused aloud. “They came out of the mountains as if they were lava flowing
from a volcano, didn’t they?” He looked at the man as he added, as if it were a
statement of fact, “There were thousands of them.” The man gulped and his sword
rattled as his hands violently shook. Then he frowned and said, “Despite
outnumbering the villagers by an overwhelming amount, they have not attacked,”
he said softly. “That is what you said, was it not? Most curious.”

Angus sat back and tapped his chin again. Why hadn’t they
attacked? They had no problem killing the villagers in The Borderlands, and
they should have no compunction with doing the same thing to the villagers near
the Lake of Scales. In fact, when the harvest came, they should have gone after
them in droves. Unless—

“Tell me, did they arrive before or after the grain harvest
for last year?”

There was a long pause, and then the young man eased his
grip on his sword and said, “Now, we didn’t say anything about—”

Angus waved his hand and dismissed the objection. “There is
no point in denying it,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes just as a
Truthseer can see it in your heart.” Then he paused to consider why they might
not want to have it known that the fishmen were there. What motive could they have
for keeping it secret? Would it impede trade? Unlikely; they traded mainly with
the Western Kingdoms. But they were independent, weren’t they? Did they want to
deal with the fishmen on their own? Was that it?
Not your problem
, he had
said.
Or was it something else? Something so obvious that he wasn’t
seeing it? What—

Fishmen are the sworn enemy of Tyr,
Hobart had said.
We
have a standing order to kill them on sight and report the incursion to the
nearest outpost.

Was that it? Did they fear King Tyr’s armies? An invasion?
He would surely send them. The fishmen had killed in The Borderlands for
decades, and it wouldn’t be enough to have them gone; he’d want them dead.
All
of them. Then what would they do to the villagers by the lake? What would Tyr
do with his army if it wasn’t needed to fight the fishmen? Expand the kingdom?
Another Dwarf War? An invasion of the Western Kingdoms? A slow appropriation of
its neighbors, beginning with the villagers around the Lake of Scales?