The Golden Key (Book 3) (25 page)

6

Sardach knew Angus had been at the bottom of the ice shaft,
but the wizard was no longer there. As soon as he realized it, he retreated as
quickly as he could, writhing as he accidentally brushed against the wall of
ice. He wailed in agony until he was well clear of the icy prison, and then
stopped. He expanded quickly, as far as he could, soaking in the energy from
the sun and relishing in its life-giving breath.

Where was Angus? Which way had he gone? What route had he
taken? How would Sardach find him? He sent out a thought, seeking the mage as
he had sought Typhus. They had been joined, and the foul stench of the wizard
had still clung to Typhus after he had separated them. Perhaps a piece of
Typhus had stayed behind with Angus? One that he could contact?

Minutes passed before he finally moved away from the hole. The
proximity of the ice hampered his senses and impeded his ability to concentrate
on the thin, lingering fragment of Angus’s essence. He moved to the
mountainside and draped himself over it, growing steadily stronger as he drew
upon the energy in the earth within it. Flame would be better, but there was
little of it nearby.

A faint remnant struck him as he rolled along the surface of
the slope. It was the smallest hint, the barest trace of Typhus’s passing.
Angus
was here
, Sardach thought, swarming over the ground as he followed the
trail. It hugged the steep slope of the mountainside and led him toward an
outcropping. He hurried forward—and abruptly stopped. He had lost the trail.

He backtracked until he found it again. It went down the
slope and nestled up against the ice. He lost it there, reluctant to get close
enough to the ice to find out where it had gone. He hovered over the area,
inspecting the surface of the ice for any disturbance, any sign of Angus’s
passing—and found it. There were a series of small craters in the ice that had cracked
and pitted the surface as if Argyle had clomped across it. Could the marks have
been made by Angus? Or had it been something else, something that had pursued
him onto its frozen surface?

Sardach reluctantly descended until he was but a few feet
above the ice. He covered a large area, but there were only spotty signs of
Angus’s passing. He was near where the craters were, but Angus hadn’t made
them—unless it had been a spell? There were residual indications of magic, but they
had disappeared deep into the ice.

Sardach retreated. Angus wasn’t there, and he hadn’t been the
thing that made the craters. It had been something else. There were no hints of
Angus nearby—had the ice swallowed him up? Had something been hunting him? The
trail of craters suggested something like that, and if his pursuer had caught up
with him, had eaten him, what would have happened to the key?

Sardach decided to follow the creature’s trail. It was
difficult; the scent was almost completely obscured by the ice. He lost it
several times before he reached the comfort of the rocky slope on the other
side of the valley. He was still tracking the creature when he caught another
whiff of Angus—and almost completely overlooked its importance: the creature
had followed Angus up the slope and they had lingered there together. They
seemed to travel together for a short distance, and then the creature’s trail
ended. There had been a battle on a smooth cutout in the mountainside, and part
of the creature was still there. Angus was not, but Sardach knew which way he
had gone. He turned west and hesitated. The sun was near the horizon. It would
be night soon, and Sardach was much more comfortable traveling in darkness. It
made it much easier to conceal himself, and he was not at all ready to face
Angus openly. Angus had magic that could hurt him, and it would be better to confront
him when the wizard was not prepared for it.

Sardach spread himself across the mountainside, rolling
slowly, steadily, almost imperceptibly westward over the slope. It was slow
going, but he didn’t mind. Nightfall would break soon, and it would not take
him long to reach the plateau.

7

It was well past dark, and Angus had been sitting in one
place for hours. There was little he could do about it. Whenever he put weight
on his left foot, it felt like the bones were squeezing out through the rotted
muscles. They might be. His shoulder was more manageable, but when he shifted
position, the shattered bones grated painfully against each other. Even sitting
still and breathing was uncomfortable.

Ortis had stacked chunks of ice beside him before he had
left, but it was almost gone. The chill of the air was enough to keep it
frozen, but once he put it on his shoulder or foot it melted away. He tried untying
the sash to let the coolness numb him, but then the fever came back and
threatened to bubble over into delusions. He couldn’t allow that, so he had to
tie the sash up again. When he faced Sardach he needed a clear head far more
than he needed to be free from the pain.

He had tried to bring the magic into focus a few times, but
all he got were images of Typhus traipsing through shadow-filled alleys. After
a few hours, he quit trying. He needed to know when Sardach was coming, and if
he couldn’t see Sardach’s magic he would have to rely on what he could see, and
watching Typhus made that difficult. He would have no chance at all if he couldn’t
put his plan into motion when Sardach arrived.

Why had Sardach screamed?
Angus wondered. It had been
a long, hollow whimper, so much like a whipped dog who didn’t understand what
it had done wrong. It was a soft, sad sound, so unlike Sardach’s screech of
rage that had nearly sent Angus reeling to his death so long ago. Sardach’s
wailing had been close enough for Angus to sense it, and it had lingered for
almost an hour before it had stopped as abruptly as it had started. A few
minutes later, the questing had come, as if Sardach were calling out to Angus
like he had done with Typhus when he attacked them on the lift. Then the
questing stopped, and Angus had sensed nothing more from Sardach. Where had he
gone? Where
could
Sardach have gone?

Angus’s left arm rested on his backpack with the wand under
his fingertips. He could wield it quickly and efficiently when Sardach arrived,
but only if he had enough warning to do it. He planned to give himself enough
warning—if he could.

The cave was dark. The Lamplight still had its lumpy blue
glow, but Angus had it concealed under his cloak. He didn’t want Sardach to
know it was there, and being in the dark made it easier to peer out for
Sardach’s red, flame-like eyes. It would be so much easier if he could see the
magic, but it was missing. Why was it gone? What had happened to him that was
preventing him from seeing the magic? Seeing magic was so much a part of who he
was, that it made no sense. Even while his essence had been fused with Typhus’s
essence, he could see the magic. But then Sardach had ripped them apart, and he
couldn’t see it anymore. What had Sardach done to him? Why couldn’t he see the
colorful strands when Typhus brought the magic out for him? Why were they all
gray and black and white? What would happen when—
if
—Typhus looked at the
magic again? Would he even look at it at all? Angus frowned; he couldn’t count
on Typhus to seek out the magic for him; he was an assassin, not a wizard, and
there was no need for him to do it. But Typhus
had
cast Cloaking….

He took a brief moment to bring the magic into focus, but all
that came to his mind was a gray-scaled image of a narrow alley. Typhus was in
his element again, skulking around in the dark underbelly of a city, draped in
the heavy cloak and bandages Iscara had given him. It served him right, too; he
never should have cast the Cloaking spell. He didn’t understand it well enough
to do it properly. The only thing that surprised Angus was that the spell
hadn’t gone more wrong that it had. Magic was a fickle servant, and the effects
of a miscast spell were often much, much worse.

Angus let the magic fade and blinked the afterimage away. He
sighed and squinted up at the night sky. He had long-ago learned how to
conserve his energy when patience was required; Voltari had seen to that. But
something was wrong, and he couldn’t tell what it was. His fingers wrapped
around the familiar etchings of the little ivory wand, and he lifted his arm
from his backpack. Something—he couldn’t tell what it was—told him he would
need it soon; Sardach was close. How did he know it? What was he seeing that was
out of place? What was wrong? There were no red eyes glaring back at him through
the stars, no tell-tale touch of Sardach invading his mind.

The stars!
Angus suddenly realized.
It’s the
stars!
His eyes widened; some of the stars were missing! A small cluster of
them had been obscured by a passing cloud. But it was a cloudless night, and
the moon was as crisp and clear as it had ever been.
Sardach!
he thought
as the cloud approached, blocking out more stars.

Angus slowly, carefully, cautiously made the first movement
of the wand. If it wasn’t Sardach, if he didn’t come close enough soon enough,
the spell would be wasted. But it was better to be ready for him than to save
the spell. He made the second movement and prepared for the third. He would
have to make that third movement soon, otherwise the magic could break free on
its own. If it did that.…

Angus reached out with his mind, trying to summon the
otherworldly creature to him and expecting it not to work. He had never dealt
with an elemental, never tried to control one, and Voltari’s instruction on
them had been superficial.
You’re not ready,
Voltari had told him. Even
after ten years of intense study, he still only knew the basics, just enough to
realize he shouldn’t take the risk of conjuring one. But this wasn’t a
conjuration; it wasn’t even a spell.

Sardach?
Angus called, trying to sound inviting,
friendly.
Sardach?

He repeated the name every few seconds, hoping it would
serve as a beacon to draw the smoke elemental closer to him. He was certain
Sardach was just outside the cave, still too far away for him to use the wand.
If he could coax him closer.…

The energy in the wand was beginning to fight against the
knots containing it in anticipation of being released. The wand quivered, but
he kept a firm hold on it. He waited, hoping Sardach would come closer before the
magic escaped.

More stars had disappeared. Either Sardach had expanded
himself to cover more area—perhaps in the hope of having part of him survive an
attack from the wand?—or he had come closer. Angus could
almost
see the
blackness of his opaque, amorphous form.

Angus?
The thought was cold, distant, as if Sardach
was reluctant to make it.

Angus responded as clearly and stridently as he could:
I
have the wand. I will destroy you if you attack.

There was a brief, feather-like touch that reeked of
contempt embedded in an intense anger tinged with fear.

I also have the key you seek
, Angus thought, trying
to make it as tantalizing as possible.

This time, there was a sense of eagerness, a sense of curiosity,
a sense of anger, but no words.

Angus began to sweat. The wand was struggling to break free;
he needed to use it soon or it might shatter and release
all
of its
magic at once. But he couldn’t use it, not yet.
I propose a bargain. A
Wizard’s Pact.

A wave of barely contained rage shot through him, and Angus
jumped. The wand nearly slipped from his fingers, and he made the third
movement. But instead of pointing it at Sardach, he directed it at the side of
the cave entrance, close enough for a warning but too far away to cause Sardach
any real damage. The thunderclap was horrid inside the cave, and the air near
the entrance filled with dust. A moment later, several of the missing stars
reappeared. Was the elemental retreating?

You know what this wand will do to you,
Angus
thought, preparing to trigger the wand again if Sardach moved in too close.
I
will use it if I must. I would prefer not to do so.

Angus waited for several seconds.
What bargain, Wizard?
Sardach sent him. It was a strange thought, calm on the surface but roiling
with hatred beneath it. The connection was strong now, but Angus knew it was
because of Sardach, not him. The images in the vile creature’s mind….

Angus frowned. Sardach knew the limitations of the wand and
was staying well away from its effects—for now.
I have no need of the key,
Angus thought in his most amicable tone,
but I am in need of your
assistance. Do for me what I ask of you, and the key will be yours.

The roiling hatred softened as Sardach probed Angus’s mind,
trying to delve deep enough to find a hidden agenda. But there was no hidden
agenda to be found, only pain and desperation. Then Sardach purred, as if he
had sensed Angus’s weakness,
What tasks must I do?
Somehow the thought
carried a smile with it, the kind of smile a cat might give to a mouse just
before it bit into its shoulder.

Angus smiled in return, but it wasn’t a timid smile like a
captured mouse’s would be; it was the confident, self-assured smile of a wizard
dealing with a minion under his control. But Sardach wasn’t under his control,
not yet, and Angus had no intention of placing him under his control. He didn’t
need to; the elemental had just shown his own weakness, and they both knew it.
Sardach was afraid of the wand and didn’t want to risk a confrontation if it could
be avoided. But Sardach could wait a long time, more than long enough for Angus
to die.

Take me to Iscara,
Angus thought, bringing the
strange gray image of her to mind.
Have her heal me. Then take me to Argyle.
I will give him the key and gladly be rid of it. Then return me to Hellsbreath.

There was a lengthy pause, and then Sardach asked, his
thought curiously flat with a mild undertone of surprise, as if he had expected
something more.
Is that all?

Yes,
Angus thought to him.
You have my word as a wizard
that I shall ask no more of you. Do I have your word that you will see no harm
is done to me until these three tasks are done?

Stars winked in and out of the night sky as Sardach’s form
shifted, writhing like smoke being buffeted apart in a fierce thunderstorm.
Then, quite surprisingly, Sardach approached him.
It is agreed,
he
thought.

Angus sighed, nodded, and slid the wand back into the sleeve
of his robe. As he did so, Sardach slowly entered the cave and hovered directly
in front of him. Once he was there, he demanded,
Show me the key.

Angus hesitated. If he showed Sardach the key, what would
stop him from wresting it away and leaving Angus to wither away in the cave
until he died? He had already sent his companions away, assuring them that he
would meet them again in Hellsbreath. Of course, if his plan to bargain with
Sardach had failed, he would have died, but he was already too close to death
for that to matter. He had seen his foot when Ortis had checked the dressing,
and without a healer….

Angus sighed. “Your word,” he said, his voice calm and
unyielding.

Sardach shifted his form, squeezing into a more solid
structure, and then hissed, “My word as an elemental, I agree to the bargain struck.”

Angus nodded. It was the formal phrase that bound the
elemental to him, and the pact was sealed. Sardach would do all that was in his
power to fulfill his part of the bargain, and now it was time for Angus to do
the same. He reached into one of the pockets of his robe and brought out the
key. “I believe this is the key Argyle seeks.” He held it up to Sardach,
letting the elemental move in to smother his hand and caress the key. It was a
strange sensation, like warm, dry soot caught in a tiny tornado whirling about
his fingers. Then Sardach enveloped him with a stench like foul-smelling
incense thrown on the burning coals of a brazier. A tendril solidified and
gradually, almost tenderly, wrapped itself around Angus’s chest just under the
armpits. Angus gasped and winced as it squeezed below his right shoulder too
tightly, and then Sardach was lifting him from the cave floor.

“Wait,” Angus gasped, grabbing for his backpack. “I need to
secure the key.”

Sardach paused, and Angus slipped the key back into one of
the pockets in his robe. Then he lifted the backpack and slung it over his left
shoulder, securing it as best he could. When he had finished, he braced himself
and said, “Now I am ready.”

Sardach carried him out of the cave. Angus knew it was a cloudless
night and the stars were strikingly brilliant, but all he saw of them were
fuzzy blurs through the haziness of Sardach’s form. Sardach turned northeast
and rapidly increased his speed and elevation as he flew around the mountain.
The pace was astonishing, much faster than he could have flown on his own, and
they were past the mountain in minutes, already well on their way to Tyrag. As
they flew, Angus finally relinquished his stranglehold on consciousness and
fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It would be a long time before he would wake
up again.