The Viper's Fangs (Book 2) (29 page)

Angus looked at Giorge and brought the magic into focus.
There was a white wave of energy undulating from his forehead that buried
itself in the floor of the cave.

“Terrific,” Typhus said. “A tomb.”

“No,” Angus corrected. “Mines.”

“I’m not going in them,” Typhus said, crossing his right arm
and adopting a defiant stance. “He can die on his own.”

“What?” Giorge asked.

“He’s been acting like that since he woke up,” Hobart said,
pointing to his own head. “He’s addle-brained.”

“Aha!” Typhus barked, trying to stretch down to get the
stiletto he’d spotted in his boot.

Angus wasn’t ready for the jerky motion, and he nearly lost
his balance and fell sideways before Typhus recovered for him. But he had the
stiletto in his hand, and he flipped it over and pulled his arm back over his
shoulder. Before he could throw it, Angus buckled his left knee and brought
them both to the cave floor.

Let me kill him!
Typhus said, struggling against the
left hand that had grabbed his wrist.

“Restrain me!” Angus cried, thrashing around as if he were
trying to escape from himself.

No!
Typhus cried. Then, quite suddenly, his right
side went limp and he dropped the stiletto to the floor.

A long moment passed, and then Angus tried to move his right
hand—
and it obeyed him
.

Then Hobart had him pinned to the floor with his heaviness
nearly crushing his chest. A moment later, Ortis clamped his hand over the
fingers of his right hand, crimping them uncomfortably tight. Then Hobart had
his left hand covered and pressed firmly down on it, the metallic knuckles of
his gauntlets pinching them uncomfortably.

“Stop!” Angus said, trying to free his hand. “You’re
breaking them!”

The pressure eased slightly, but it didn’t disappear.

Then Giorge knelt down beside him and tilted his face toward
Angus’s. He opened his eyes and two white starbursts stared out at him from the
dark blue stones. He grinned. “I can see the magic, now,” he said. “There’s a
lot of it in you.”

7

After they tied him up, all but one of Ortis left the cave.
They had secured his arms to his side and wrapped cloth around his fingers to
keep him from being able to cast spells. “If you were an enemy wizard,” Hobart
had said, “I would have broken them.” Then he had looked very intently at him
and asked, “Are you an enemy, Angus?”

Angus had assured him that he wasn’t, but what about Typhus?
He
was their enemy. But he was gone, now, wasn’t he? At least, Angus had
control over his right side again, and he could speak easily. And the voice was
gone. But Typhus had said silence was his ally, and he was sure to return.
When? How?

He offered no resistance as they tied him up, and had held
his hands out flat so they could secure the fingers in the cloth without
damaging them. He even folded the thumb down for them, even though they hadn’t
told him to do it. How could they know there were simple spells that could be
cast by using the thumb alone? It was difficult to tie the knots, but Voltari
had forced him to learn how to do it. He even thought he could tie them with
his toes if need be, but he wasn’t sure.

Ortis watched him closely, but he made no moves or gestures
that were troubling—and neither did Typhus. Typhus wasn’t talking, and Angus
closed his eyes and tried to unravel the tangled mess of what had just
happened.

Typhus was in him. That much was certain. It had not been
his voice in his mind, and he hadn’t been in control of parts of his body. What
parts? The right side.

He was remembering more of his past, more of the instruction
Voltari had given him. It had been cruel instruction at first, but very effective.
Voltari was quick with Firewhip when Angus was sluggish or Arclight when he made
mistakes, but he hadn’t really taken pleasure from it. To Voltari, they were
just tools for making him remember, making him focus, making him
pay
attention
. And he had! It had only taken a few weeks before Angus was as
compliant and attentive as a newly hatched duckling imprinted on its mother.

The past is unimportant
, Voltari had said, over and
over again.
Only the present and future matter.
And he had accepted it.
He had buried the past and focused on the present, the future. But now he had
to overcome that training, to stretch back into the past and remember. It was
important for his present and his future to do so. “What did you do to me,
Voltari?” he muttered.

Still the mind
.

Giorge said he could see magic.

Still the body.

It would have to be the Viper’s Eyes. They were showing him
the magic, and he was following it. But what else could he see?

Still the mind.

He had said there was a lot of magic within Angus. That was
to be expected, wasn’t it? When he primed for spells, it crystallized the magic
within him, made it vibrant and clear. Was that what Giorge had seen?

Still the body.

Or was it something else?

Still the mind.

He closed his eyes and turned his gaze inward to focus on
the magic that was within him. He had done this every day for years, and he was
as familiar with it as he was with the knot for Lamplight. More so.

Still the body.

But what he saw was a strange complex of energy, one he
didn’t recognize.
Part
of it was familiar, but the patterns were
completely different.

Still the mind.

He frowned. There was far more magic than there should have
been. Why?
What did you do to me, Voltari?

Still the body.

His right hand twitched as he tried to remember….

8

“I won’t do it, Master,” Angus said, bracing himself for the
onslaught of Voltari’s anger. “It’s too dangerous.”

Voltari laughed. “Magic is always dangerous.”

Angus nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “But you taught me spells
aren’t dangerous if they are cast properly. All of the spells you have taught
me have been the product of experimentation that didn’t kill the caster, and
the instructions for casting them have long-since been perfected. The one you
propose to do has never been tried before, and there is no guide for tying the
knots. There is no way to know if you have cast it properly until after you
have completed it, and there is no way to anticipate how it may go wrong.”

Voltari waved his hand and dismissed the objection. “It is a
simple modification of the spell I used to separate Mutgyf. A reversal of
sorts. I am confident that I can control the outcome. It will be more
intricate, of course,” he added, smiling his toothless smile. “Much more
intricate.”

Angus frowned. He knew that look, that tone, and he knew it
wouldn’t matter what he said. Voltari’s curiosity had been aroused, and when
that happened, the old man didn’t let anything stand in his way for long. But
this time, he was going too far. This time….

“No,” Angus softly said, bowing his head to avert his gaze
from his Master. “I will not do it.”

Voltari’s smile slowly froze into a thin, unforgiving line,
and Angus braced himself. He had seen that look many times too, but this time
there was no Firewhip, no Arclight following in its wake. Instead, Voltari
simply nodded and said, “All right. Find me a replacement.”

Angus frowned.
A replacement?
How could he do that?
How could he put someone else through what Voltari was proposing? And for an
assassin! “No,” Angus said, the word strained, the tone defiant and
terror-struck. “I won’t do that either.”

Voltari’s thin lips grew thinner still, and he turned away.
Without a word, he tugged on a strand of magic and disappeared, leaving Angus
behind, wondering what it was he would do. He stood there for a long time
before reaching for the same strand Voltari had used, the one that would lead
him to Voltari’s antechamber….

9

Still the mind.
Angus thought, trying to crush the
sudden, deep anger he felt toward his mentor.
He did it anyway!

Still the body. Still the mind. Still the body.

He continued to recite the mantra, letting the waves of
anger roll over him, through him, redirecting them to that small space in his
mind where he allowed himself to roam unfettered without any overt action.

Typhus’s hideous laughter followed after him….

10

Sardach flew above a narrow, meandering strip of white sandwiched
between the two broad expanses of snow-speckled green treetops. There was a
path in the snow, and he followed it with caution.
Where was it?
he
wondered, sending out tendrils of thought to probe for the frost-bitten menace.
It had clearly been there—the selective, heavy snow bespoke its presence—but
there was no sign of it being present now.

Sardach slowed as he approached a white-rimmed crater whose
bottom was charred black and still smoldering. It smelled of flame magic, and
that gave him pause: had the wizard returned the menace to its foul home?

No
, he decided. It had not yet gone; the portal was
still open, still waiting for its return. But the flame magic had hurt it, had
wounded it deeply. But Sardach wasn’t concerned about flame magic, it couldn’t
hurt
him
. But it
was
magic, and wherever there was some magic,
there was sure to be more. And some forms of magic
could
hurt him, even
kill
him.

Sardach slowed again, sending his senses out as far as they
could go, testing for magic, testing for the menace….

11

Angus opened his eyes and turned to Ortis. “You can release
me now,” he said.

Ortis shook his head. “You tried to kill Giorge.”

Angus sighed and said, “I was confused at the time.”

“That threat didn’t sound like confusion,” Ortis countered.

Angus frowned. He couldn’t tell them about Typhus, not yet.
Even if he tried, he doubted the assassin would let him. He was in hiding and
was not ready to reveal himself. At least he had an idea of what Voltari had
done, but it was still incomplete, still unclear. It had been a spell, but of
what sort? How had he cast it?
When
had he cast it? And why had it
affected his memory?

“I think,” Angus said, not looking at Ortis, “the curse may
have touched me for a time.” It wasn’t true, but it might be plausible enough
to forestall other questions. “I think it may have been acting through me.”

Ortis frowned but still didn’t move.

“Remember Symptata’s third scroll?” he said. “The magic
suggests a more direct attack than the others. It may have chosen me for that
attack.”

“All the more reason to keep you tied up,” Ortis said. Then,
after a brief pause, he asked, “Who’s Sardach?”

Sardach?
Angus thought.

Sardach is coming,
Typhus whispered to him.

Is he the wizard who tried to find me?
Angus
demanded.

In response, Typhus sent him an image of a charcoal,
soot-flavored cloud with glowing red eyes.

Angus gasped. “A smoke elemental?” he asked.

Typhus responded with only the briefest echo of a harsh,
humorless laugh.

“A smoke elemental?” Ortis repeated. “Is that what attacked
Giorge?”

“No,” Angus answered waving away the question. “That was a
frost elemental.”

Ortis frowned again. “Is that what will attack him next?
This Sardach?”

Angus shook his head and looked at Ortis more directly. “Why
are you asking about Sardach?”

“You said it several times while I’ve been watching over
you,” Ortis said. “You said he was coming.”

Angus slowly nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Sardach is coming.”

We should leave,
Typhus thought.

Angus felt his right hand stir, test the bindings.

“You’ll need me when he gets here,” Angus said, as much to Typhus
as it was to Ortis. “You don’t have a chance against Sardach without me.”

Ortis frowned. “Why not?”

Angus laughed. “Do you have magic?”

Ortis shook his head. “No,” he admitted.

“Then you have no chance against it. Even I,” Angus added,
“will be of little use.”

“Why?” Ortis asked.

Angus shrugged. “If I use flame magic, Sardach will feed on
it and grow more powerful. The only chance we have is with air magic, and I
know very little of it. Water magic would be better, but I have none of it
prepared.”
I don’t even know any beyond the basics, and they would be
pointless.

“What do we do, then?” Ortis asked.

“Let me free,” Angus said. “After that, we need to leave as
quickly as possible.”

Despite the urgency in Angus’s tone, Ortis shook his head
and asked, “And go where?” After a moment, he continued. “No, we have to wait
until Giorge gets back.”

“Where did he go?” Angus asked. He wasn’t concerned,
exactly, merely curious.

“He’s looking for the second Fang,” Ortis said.

“The
second
Fang?” Angus repeated.

Ortis nodded. “It’s a jade fang about two inches long. There
was a message with it, but he couldn’t read it.”

Angus frowned. “Why not? He could read all the others,
couldn’t he?”

Ortis shrugged. “He’s blind, more-or-less. He says he can
see magic, but nothing else.”

Angus frowned, closed his eyes, and brought the magic into
focus. He looked around him, but was only able to make out the general shapes
and basic nature of the things nearby; the details about them were lost to him.
If that were all he could see, he could navigate well enough—with practice—but
reading would be impossible. “Do you have it?”

Ortis nodded and took out a rough-edged piece of old parchment
about an eighth the size of a typical scroll. He brought it over and held it
out for Angus to read. There was no sign of magic attached to the note, but
Angus hadn’t expected there to be any. Once he had deciphered the scrawl, he
read it aloud for Ortis’s benefit:

One Fang you’ve found

but two there are

so look around

but don’t go far!

A deathly chill

has come and gone;

Are you ready

for another one?

Make haste! Make haste!

Hie! Hie!

If you don’t,

you’ll surely die!

Symptata the Beggarman

Ortis’s eyes grew distant for a few seconds, and then he
nodded. “That explains why Giorge felt so cold,” he said. “We thought it was
just the aftermath of that thing—that frost elemental?—giving him frostbite.”

Angus frowned. He was a bit chilled himself, but he
shouldn’t be. His robe—

He glanced down and found that he was wearing his gray one,
the apprentice robe he’d brought with him from the Wizards’ School. Where was
his real robe?

Giorge had it on when he came up to the fire.
He
frowned. Giorge would look in the pockets. He had itchy fingers….

“You need to take me to him,” he said. “If there is another
frost elemental nearby, I’ll know it at once.” Then he frowned. “If he can see
magic, Giorge should be able to see it, too. But he doesn’t know what it looks
like.”

“Tell me,” Ortis said, “and I’ll tell him what to look for.”

Angus laughed. “It isn’t that simple, Ortis,” he said. “Even
if I could describe it in terms he could understand, he doesn’t have the
experience to recognize it as being different from the naturally occurring
magic surrounding us.”

Typhus had his right hand free and was flexing his fingers
in a way that he hoped wouldn’t draw Ortis’s attention.

Ortis finally nodded and said, “All right.”