The Golden Key (Book 3) (3 page)

He repositioned his right leg and pushed upward at the same
time that he lifted with his left hand. He bent his head to avoid the ice, and eased
back onto the edge of the shelf. After a brief rest, he squeezed between the
ice until his head leaned against the inner edge of the ice shaft leading up to
the surface. He recited the mantra for several minutes before he was able to
breathe normally, and then he looked down at his feet dangling over the edge of
the shelf. They were both there, and they both
looked
normal, but he still
couldn’t feel his left foot. He could move it and tap it on the surface of the
little pool of water until it splashed about, but he couldn’t feel anything
below his shin.

He edged back onto the shelf until he could bring up his
left knee. He had to watch his left foot as he brought it up to the shelf under
him, and then leaned back against the shaft. He pushed up briefly, lifting most
of his weight from the shelf, and then sat back down again. At least his foot
hadn’t slipped out from under him, and he seemed to be able to use it despite
not being able to feel it. There hadn’t been any pain either, so he did it
again. This time, he didn’t stop until he was standing upright in the narrow
shaft. His right thigh was stiff, but the soreness was negligible compared to
the sharp ache in his back and intense, acute pain in his shoulder when he
brushed it against the wall of the shaft.

Dislocated?
he thought to himself.
Pulled from the
socket like a cork from a bottle? The elbow is hyper-extended, but it will heal
in time if I can get proper treatment. But I need a healer. Soon. What chance
do I have of finding one in time?

He looked up the shaft and wondered how far down he had come
while his body had melted through the ice, how far
up
he would have to
climb. It was his next obstacle, and it would be so much easier if he could
fly. He sighed and tried again to bring the magic within him into focus,
concentrating as fiercely as he had done during the first year of his training
when it had been so difficult to grasp what Voltari was teaching him. He still
couldn’t see the magic, but he did see
something
.

He was in a small room lying on a bed, smothered in
blankets. All about him was an image wrought from shades of black, white, and
gray. It was as if a painter had leeched all the color from his canvas before
dipping his brush in the paint. A woman with long, wavy, dark-gray hair looked
down upon him with charcoal eyes. A frown creased her pale gray lips and
punctuated the crow’s feet scratching at her eyes, the dimple in the cleft of
her chin. Her skin looked as if it was smeared with ash, and she wore an
almost-white healer’s gown. She reached out to touch his chest. The pain of
crushed ribs filtered slowly into his awareness as her hand passed over them,
but that pain was somewhat softened by her touch. Then the steady,
well-defined, rhythmic heartbeat brought on by his mantra was interrupted by the
sudden lurching of an inconsistent patter. He frowned; it wasn’t an
interruption in
his
heartbeat—that was as steady as it always was when
he used the mantra—the erratic heartbeat was
overlain
on his steady one.
There was something else there, too, something warm and familiar that he
couldn’t quite place.

He watched the painting transforming before him for a long
time, letting the woman’s gentle touch flood through him as she righted the
wrongness of the ribs, feeling each one snapping softly back into its proper
position before she welded them back together. It was like watching the minstrel
at Dagremon’s as she plucked the chords of her lute to build the song that had reached
into his heart and found what had been missing in it for far too long. Then the
healer turned to the lungs, and he felt a fluttering in his chest, as if her
fingers had reached inside
him
to tickle
his
breath to life.

She paused, mouthed something he couldn’t quite hear, and
the rhythmic, steady beating of the mantra in his heart stopped completely. It
was so sudden that he tottered where he stood and would have fallen if he
hadn’t struck the ice shaft’s inner wall. The sudden, sharp pain in his
shoulder saved him, drawing his attention away from the magic—if that was what
it was he had seen—and back to his immediate surroundings. His heart stammered for
a moment and then resumed the normal, steady beat brought on by the mantra. But
just before the image had disappeared, she had whispered something into his
ear, something he barely heard, something that sounded a lot like his name. But
it wasn’t Angus that she had said. It was Typhus.

4

Embril paused to take a breath outside Commander Garret’s
door and then smoothed the front of her powder blue robe. Her status had gotten
her this far, and her persuasive skills would have to take her the rest of the
way. She clenched her teeth: Angus was depending upon her. She
had to
convince the Commander to let her go with the patrol. If she couldn’t convince
him, she would have to get to the temple on her own and she didn’t want to do
that. She had never left Hellsbreath and the idea of going into the wilderness
by herself was disconcerting. She wouldn’t even be considering doing it if she
hadn’t promised Angus she would go with them.

She took another deep breath, lifted her head, and rapped
the iron knocker firmly against the reinforced pine door. It was a new door,
still reeking of fresh-cut pine, and the sap was a bit sticky as her knuckles
brushed against it. She had already gone through six other new doors as her
escort led her through the maze of the barracks, and the iron bars bracing each
one had been newly forged and completely free of rust. She had even taken a
peek at one and was surprised to see the simple pattern of a Binding spell
reinforcing it. Why had the old doors been replaced? She had seen a few of them
stacked outside, and they looked
like they were still quite functional.
Perhaps she was overlooking something? She wasn’t a woodsman, after all, or a
smithy for that matter, and she hadn’t read enough about either of them to
identify potentially hazardous imperfections in wood or iron. Perhaps she should
look into it when she returned to the library?

“Enter.” It was a man’s voice, robust even through the
stifling thickness of the door. There was power behind that voice, power and
authority.

She took another breath, nodded to herself, lifted the
latch, and pushed the door inward. The sound of shuffling parchment, softly
spoken words—not whispers, exactly, but not intended to carry, either—and the
muffled clink of metal on glass. Then the door was wide enough for her to see
the men gathered around a large rectangular table. The man at the head of the
table was standing, and he pointed at a piece of parchment in front of him. It
was held flat on the table by a dagger on one corner, a flagon on the other,
and a sheathed sword across the bottom edge. “Here is where you are to go,
Lieutenant,” he said.

The man had spoken with the same voice that had told her to
enter, and she studied him as she stepped across the threshold and up to the
table. He was surprisingly small, barely an inch or so taller than she was, but
he had knotted muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of a simple brown uniform
with little adornment to indicate his rank. The tunic was a light shade of
umber, the trousers a medium shade, and the boots almost black. The silver
studs of the narrow black belt accentuated the color scheme, and the empty
sheath at his right side almost blended into the umber background of his
trousers. He was older than she had expected, and his face was weather worn and
pock-marked with worry lines. When he glanced up, his hazel eyes made a quick
assessment of her and then returned to the map laid out before him. “Take this
route.”

She looked down and watched him trace a slow pattern over
the map, his fingertip hugging the edge of the mountains to the north. She
recognized the map instantly—it was a copy of the one Angus had given her—and
the route he was outlining was the same one Angus had told her to take. But
instead of heading directly for the Angst temple, the man’s finger turned away
from the mountains and into the plateau. It stopped at the river and said,
“Send a few men here for reconnaissance. They are not to be discovered. I want
to know what’s tending to those fires.”

Reconnaissance? That would require stealth and secrecy. She
smiled to herself and said, “Perhaps I can help with that?” A quick argument
formed, one she had not prepared before coming here.

The man lifted his gaze far enough to reassess her through
his bushy eyebrows and then straightened up. “Gentlemen,” he said without
looking at the other two men. “This is Embril, the librarian at the Wizard’s
School. She is also friend of Angus, the mage associated with The Banner of the
Wounded Hand. She has asked to meet with me on a matter of considerable
importance to her that also relates to your mission. What that matter is I do
not yet know. Perhaps she will enlighten us all?”

Embril stared for a long moment, a bit surprised that he had
known of her friendship with Angus and not entirely sure she should speak in
front of the other two men. Her request was for the Commander alone, but it was
clear that he did not believe secrecy was necessary. She almost frowned, but
looked at the map instead. She nodded and pointed at it. “Of course, Commander,”
she said, “I would like to join the patrol you are sending to investigate the
presence of the fishmen on that plateau. I believe the patrol is to leave
tomorrow at dawn?”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed slightly as he said, “Indeed
it does.” He nodded to the man on his left, a large man with blonde hair and a
moustache whose ends dangled down below his clean-shaven chin. “Lieutenant
Jarhad will be in charge of it.” Then he nodded to the man on the left, a
portly fellow whose uniform was much too snug on him. He had thin eyebrows,
rich brown eyes, dark brown hair, neatly trimmed beard, and a silver loop
hanging from his earlobe. “Darby, here, will be with him.” His eyes were steady
as he asked, “Why do you want to go with them?”

Embril had prepared for this inevitable question, and her
answer—even to her ears—was insufficiently persuasive. But it was the only
answer she had. “Is it not enough that I desire it? After all, I am an
accomplished wizard with considerable skills that will no doubt be of value to your
patrol. Surely you would be remiss to pass on the opportunity to have them at
your disposal?”

Commander Garret stared at her for a long moment before
responding. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it is a delicate mission, one with
considerable risk, and I would be—” he paused meaningfully and smiled “—
remiss
if I were to send an unproven wizard with them without having a very strong
justification for doing so.”

She frowned; she had expected something like this but had
not come up with a proper rejoinder. “You mentioned a reconnaissance mission,”
she said, grasping at the opening. “I can assist with that in many ways.” She
focused on the magic around her and sought out the strands she would need. As
she did so, Darby frowned and his eyes dilated. “For instance,” she said,
reaching for the magic and beginning the spell, “it would be difficult to
discover the patrol if they cannot be seen.” She sensed she was beginning to
glow a light blue shade, one that was almost an ephemeral, translucent
duplication of the color of her robe.

As she finished the spell and disappeared from sight, Darby
lifted his arms and made a series of rapid, familiar gestures and took up a
defensive position.

Lieutenant Jarhad reached for his sword and had it half
drawn before Commander Garret put out a restraining hand.

“Relax,” the Commander said. “She is no threat. Are you,
Embril?” he asked, his tone was even, calm, but his eyes betrayed apprehension
and irritation.

“Not to you or your men,” Embril replied, letting the spell
go. She had not intended to cast it, but it had made her point better than her
words could have done. “I am sure our enemies would think otherwise.” She had
almost said
your
enemies before she remembered they were also
her
enemies.

Commander Garret put his left hand to his chin and rubbed it
for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his tone reluctant and accusing, “I
suppose your true reasons for wanting to accompany the patrol are such that you
will refuse to tell us.” He glanced to his right and said, “Unless, of course, we
compel you to do so.”

She hesitated long enough to look more closely at Darby,
trying to assess his confidence, his abilities, but there was little she could
discern. When she replied, she tried to sound apologetic. “It is not a question
of refusal,” she said. “It is a question of knowledge. I am not entirely sure
why I must go with you, only that I must.” It was a half-truth. She knew why
Angus
wanted her to go, and in a general sense, she even understood the importance of
going, but a large part of her didn’t care about the Tiger’s Eye. Let the nexus
remain hidden, lost, and it would be no temptation. If it were found, what harm
could it really do? Wasn’t Angus overreacting? But what if he wasn’t?

She looked down at the map, at the symbol of the Angst temple,
and shrugged. “Angus believes it is important that I be with the patrol,” she
said. “I trust his judgment. So should you.”

Commander Garret glanced at Darby, who nodded slightly and
wiggled his right forefinger. When the Commander settled his steady stare back
on Embril, it was unreadable. Then he said, “Lieutenant?”

“No,” Lieutenant Jarhad said at once. “We have one wizard;
we don’t need two. She will be a burden, and whatever benefit we gain from her
presence will be offset by that burden. We must ride quickly, and our task is
too important.”

“Darby?”

The other man frowned and shook his head. “I only know that
she believes what she said. Other than that, I can say little. It may be wise
to agree with her request.”

“There is no place for a woman in a patrol,” Lieutenant
Jarhad said, “even if she is a wizard. If the fishmen are there, they will see
her at once, and they will assume she is either important or powerful or both.”

Commander Garret nodded, considered the advice for several
seconds, and then said, “Tell me, Embril, will you cut off that beautiful red
hair of yours?”

Embril almost jumped.
Cut my hair! Whatever for?
“Why?” she demanded.

“Soldiers are men,” Commander Garret said. “They don’t have
long luxurious hair; they have sweaty tangles or short-cropped hair. If you
want to go with them, you have to look like them. A soldier’s uniform and short
hair at the very least. It won’t do for a close inspection, of course, but at a
distance, you’ll look like one of the men. You will also have to perform the
tasks expected of a soldier, but I’m sure Lieutenant Jarhad will make sure they
are not excessive. Won’t you Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Jarhad frowned, but there was no doubting that it
had been an order. He stiffened and said, “Of course, Commander.”

“Well?” Commander Garret demanded.

Cut off my hair?
she moaned in her mind, and then a
fleeting image of Angus smothered the thought and she said, her voice soft,
firm, resigned, “If I must.”

Commander Garret raised his eyebrows. “It must be important,
indeed,” he said, his voice softly amused. He set his right hand on the table
and tapped his fingers a few times, the last of which was decisive. He snapped
off a nod and said, “A cap might work, but we would have to see what it looks
like first. Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Jarhad nodded and left the room at a dignified
pace, each step a rigid unforgiving one. As he passed Embril, his deep-set
brown eyes snarled at her.

“She will need a horse, Darby,” he continued. “Make sure it
is a docile one.”

Darby nodded and hurried from the room. He didn’t look at
Embril as he stepped past.

When they were both gone, Commander Garret went to the
doorway and checked the hallway. He closed the door and locked it, and then
returned to his position at the head of the table. He gestured for her to sit
and when she had, he sat down as well.

Embril wriggled in the uncomfortable chair. It was nothing
like the one she used in the library, which had a cushion and a back that
seemed to have been shaped to suit the curve of her spine perfectly. This chair
had a hard wood base, and the back was arched in a way that forced her to sit
with her neck bent slightly forward. Once she settled into a somewhat tolerable
position, she turned to meet Commander Garret’s exasperated gaze.

He shook his head and said, “Now that we’re alone, why don’t
you tell me the real reason why you want to go with the patrol.”

Embril frowned. Since she had read the scroll Angus had
given her, she had wanted desperately to tell someone about what was in it, but
she couldn’t risk it. Angus was right; if a wizard knew what he had found, he
would be tempted to go there, to use it, maybe even take it away from its
proper position in the nexus. Even she was tempted by it, and she had no desire
for power. Most wizards had a strong desire for power, and the Tiger’s Eye
would go a long way to fulfilling that desire. Even the Grand Master would be
sorely tempted by it, perhaps even more so, since his desire for power only
seemed to get stronger as his power accumulated. She had even seen the greed in
the Grand Master’s eyes whenever she rediscovered a forgotten spell and told him
about it. But what about Commander Garret? He wasn’t a wizard; he wouldn’t be
tempted by a nexus point. He wouldn’t even understand what it was. But he could
tell someone who
would be
tempted.

When she looked back at the Commander, he was watching her
closely, waiting patiently for her to say something. “Angus found something,”
she said at last. “I cannot tell you what it is—I
will not
tell you what
it is. But I can tell you this much: it is potentially far more dangerous than
the fishmen.”

Commander Garret’s eyes widened at her proclamation, but he
said nothing for several seconds. When he spoke, his voice was strained and did
not carry far beyond her ears. “I know of your reputation, Embril,” he said. “I
know you would not say such a thing lightly. I also know what the fishmen are
capable of doing. It is difficult for me to reconcile the two. Help me to do
so.”

She frowned again. What could she tell him that wouldn’t
tell him too much? She nodded slowly and asked, “Do you know much of the
history of this region, about the Dwarf Wars?”