The Viper's Fangs (Book 2) (27 page)

1

Sardach hovered over the spot where he had touched Typhus in
Fanzool’s scrying. It was at the edge of the plateau where a waterfall cascaded
down the side, forming icicles that dripped into a small pond on a broad shelf
far below them. If Sardach cared about such things, he would have thought it
picturesque, but Sardach did not care about such things. He cared only about
fulfilling Argyle’s order to find Typhus and bring him back. He would have
preferred to have killed Typhus, but that was not an option; Argyle had ordered
him not to do it. But he could kill the others. Argyle didn’t care about what
happened to them.

Sardach hovered over the area and sought out the residue of Typhus’s
passing. It was faint at first, near the trail leading down the mountain, and almost
completely overwhelmed by the stench of the others. But as he moved inland to
where Angus had sat his horse and stared back at Fanzool, it grew much
stronger.
Much
stronger. Then the trail went further inland, deeper into
the plateau, and he followed it as quickly as he could….

2

Tree after tree snapped over and dumped ice and snow on them
as they passed, and each time Angus caught only a brief glimpse of the frost
elemental before it disappeared in the distance. It didn’t even give Angus
enough time to dismount, let alone the time it would take to tie the complex
pattern of knots for Lava Man. He thought about casting it
before
they
passed the next tree, but that would be pointless; as soon as he erupted in
flame, the frost elemental would flee. No, he had to wait until it attacked
Giorge directly. He was sure that attack would eventually come, but he had no
idea what form it would take. As long as it was only dumping snow and ice on
them it wasn’t ready to make its final assault, and Angus wasn’t about to waste
his most powerful spell on a feint like that.

But he did cast Lamplight again—five times, once for each of
his companions to help keep them warm. How he did it, he wasn’t quite sure, but
the magic within him seemed to
stay
primed for it after he cast it, as
if it had become so accustomed to the spell that it reverted back to its primed
state as if it were its natural condition. Perhaps it was. Ten years of poring
over tomes in Voltari’s library no doubt reinforced those magical pathways to
the point that they
were
natural.

Pathways? Yes, that was it. The magic within him was
organized along certain pathways, reinforced over time by using them again and
again. Was his Lamplight spell the only one? Or could he do others? He had no
idea; the only other spell he had cast so repetitively was his Flying spell,
and that was more complicated than Lamplight. Perhaps he should try it
sometime? It
had
become easier for him to prime for it, and the last
time was
almost
as natural as when he primed for Lamplight. But it still
took a bit of effort to refresh his memory of the nuances of the knots involved.

Maybe Puffer would be next? It was a simple spell like
Lamplight, but he had only cast it a few dozen times. Was that enough?
Doubtful. Perhaps he should practice it the way he had practiced flying? Then
maybe he would be able to cast it without priming.

Another tree dropped its ice-cold burden on them, and Angus
looked up. This time, the frost elemental stayed longer, but when Angus
dismounted, it sped away as if it knew what Angus was about to do. He sighed
and, as the others shook off the snow and brushed it away from their horses’
backs, he let the magic fade and looked ahead of them.

There was a gap in the trees, and beyond it, for the first
time, he could see the mountain. “There’s the mountain,” he called.

Ortis turned to him and said, “Yes. I almost walked off the
cliff before I realized it. If there wasn’t a bridge, I would have.”

“A
bridge
? Angus asked. “What kind of bridge?”

“An old rope one with wooden slats,” Ortis said. “You can
take a look at it when you get there. Follow my path exactly. The outcropping
at the head of the bridge isn’t very wide, and there are drop-offs to the left
and right that go down a long way.”

As the tree on the other side of them began to bend, Angus hopped
down from his horse and brought the magic quickly into focus. If the frost
elemental stayed long enough—

But it saw him reaching for the strands of flame and earth
and fled, leaving the top of the tree swaying back and forth in its wake.

So,
Angus thought.
It knows what I am doing and
doesn’t like it. How long will it be before it comes back to face me?

Elementals
, Voltari had said,
are very dangerous
adversaries. Their only weakness is the essence that opposes them. Air and earth
oppose each other, as do fire and water. The ones on the fringes between them
are more susceptible, since they are vulnerable to two such essences.

When had Voltari told him that? It didn’t matter; he needed
to focus.

He held onto the magic as he led Gretchen down the trail Ortis
and the others were making. He kept his gaze upward, watching the trees and
looking for the frost elemental. But it didn’t return, and that troubled him.
He knew it would return, and soon, but where? What advantage could it hope to
gain by waiting?

Ortis turned around in his saddle to look back at them as
they gathered in a closely huddled pack on the outcropping at the head of the bridge.
There was a crisp, light breeze, but the bridge held steady. Angus let go of
Gretchen’s reins and stepped around the others for a better look at it. It was
only about a hundred feet long and plenty wide enough for a horse to cross, but
below it was easily a five hundred foot drop. At the other end was a bulge in
the mountain that seemed to be reaching out for the plateau but unable to touch
it. There was earth magic stabilizing the bridge, and the strands were tied
with the kind of complex knots that would hold it in place for centuries.

“It’s safe,” Angus said. “It may not look it, but it’s been reinforced
with magic. It’s not as complex as the magic in the bridges on the caravan
roads, but it should have no problems supporting us and our horses.”

“Why would someone build a bridge here?” Hobart asked. “Do
you think Symptata did it?”

“No,” Giorge said at once. “The curse manifests in different
ways, but one thing never changes. It always takes advantage of what’s near the
victim to create its obstacles. Whoever made that bridge, it wasn’t Symptata or
the curse, but something on the other side is conducive to its purposes.”

“I thought you said Symptata made that well,” Hobart accused.

Giorge shook his head and said, “That was Angus.”

Angus frowned. “If someone else made that well, why would
they construct the winch like that?”

Giorge shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t know how to build it
right.”

“You’re sure the bridge is safe?” Ortis asked.

“Yes,” Angus said, moving back to mount his horse again.

Ortis shook his head. “We’ll stagger the formation,” he
said. “With each of us—”

The top of the nearest tree bent over as if in a powerful
wind and snapped off. The ten-foot tall spike fluttered down. Its point was aimed
at Angus, and it was gaining speed at an incredible rate.

Angus looked up at the sound and saw the frost elemental propelling
the treetop toward him. He stepped rapidly away from the others and reached for
the flame strands around him—there weren’t many, and they were weak, but they
would have to do. Then he grasped a few from earth….

The frost elemental released the treetop just a few feet
from its target, but Angus clutched the threads in his hand and dove sideways
into the deep snow. The point missed him, but the frozen pine needles jabbed
painfully into the side of his face.

The frost elemental rose quickly upward, toward the top of
another tree.

The snow gave way under Angus, and he began to fall. He
ignored it. The ropes would hold him, and the others would pull him back up. He
concentrated on the magic, on the knots….

A part of his mind felt the ropes go taut, the sharp jarring
of his sudden stop, the swaying—but the rest of his mind ignored it and kept
careful control over the magic, over his body, over the weaving of the spell.
Then he began to move upward, slowly, as the others pulled on the rope.

His hands worked furiously. His mind remained completely
focused on the task, ignoring everything else around him. He
could not
allow a mistake, and once he began the spell, it had to be finished. But would
he finish it in time?

He pushed away the doubt and kept struggling to maintain his
balance as the rope jerked him about. Then the rope gave way again, and he
dropped suddenly. The part of his mind that was aware of it braced for the
sudden stop, pausing the spell only long enough to keep from losing control of
it. Then he hurried through the last of it and felt the flame magic around him
merge with that within him, felt the earth creeping out for him, felt the
ignition point pass—

He burst into flame.

It was not the raging inferno that had happened in the Angst
temple; it was more subdued, more controlled. The flame strands were weaker,
and that made the outburst weaker—but it was still strong enough to burn
through the rope in moments. He was falling.

But he had expected it, and he reached out for the strands
of air as they passed by, latching onto them and pulling them with him. He
worked quickly, efficiently, and the Flying spell took effect long before he
would have struck the snowpack below him. He twisted his fingers and made a
graceful, arcing loop upward, toward the bridge, toward the outcropping.

The frost elemental was there, smothering Giorge in its
ice-cold body and driving him backward, toward the edge of the cliff. Hobart
and two of Ortis were on the bridge with their horses. The other horses had
panicked and fled from the outcropping and back onto the plateau—all but
Gretchen; she stood in the midst of the carnage as if she were walking down the
busy streets of Hellsbreath. Millie had dumped Giorge to the ground and was
scrambling around on the outcropping, perilously close to the edge.

The frost elemental saw him, let go of Giorge, and flew
swiftly into the trees. It didn’t try to avoid the branches; it went through
them as if they didn’t exist, leaving behind a trail of ice.

Angus followed, skimming above the treetops, quickly gaining
on the fleeing elemental. As he approached, he held out his arms and bursts of
flame shot forward. One struck the frost elemental, and it dove suddenly
downward, burying itself in the snow. Angus followed, weaving between the
branches and sending flame burst after flame burst whenever he caught sight of
the magic surrounding the elemental.

And then it was gone.

He lowered himself down to the top of the snow, and still he
couldn’t see where it was. Had it gone out of his range again? If so,
where?
Had he killed it? Doubtful. Could it have fled back to its home plane? No; it
was tied to the curse, and as long as the curse was active it would not leave—it
could not
leave.

Was the curse still active? Giorge had been perilously close
to the edge of the cliff; he could have fallen. But the rope would have caught
him, wouldn’t it? Like it had him? But could Ortis have held onto him by
himself? Or would he have fallen with him? If Giorge had fallen, then their
quest would be over, and he could go back to Hellsbreath, back to Embril….

Where is it?
Angus thought, hovering over the snow
and moving back and forth in an attempt to find it. The snow sizzled where the
heat from him struck it, but there was no sign of the frost elemental. He moved
lower, settling his feet on the ground, and the snow around him melted. He
stayed there for several seconds, and then rose upward again. He lingered in
the air above the area for over a minute before turning back toward the others.
As he flew, he quickened his pace—the Flame Man spell wouldn’t last much
longer, and he wanted to land on the outcropping before it was exhausted. He
had noticed something there, and he wanted to melt the snow around it if he
could.

As he approached, he saw that Giorge was lying on the
outcropping with Ortis tending to him. Another Ortis was tracking down the
horses that had fled. The last Ortis was still on the bridge with Hobart, and as
Angus lowered himself, their horses pushed them even further away from the
outcropping. They gave in to their horses’ desire to get away from the flame,
and hurried to the other end of the bridge.

Gretchen stood in the center of the clearing, and as he
dropped closer, she walked calmly forward, to the head of the bridge, and
turned to watch him. He landed, and the snow and ice vaporized around him. “Is
he dead?” he asked.

“No,” Ortis said. “But he’s half-frozen.” Then he lifted him
up and brought him closer to Angus, letting the heat radiating from him do what
rubbing his skin could not.

“I want to melt this snow,” Angus said. “Don’t get too
close.” He turned and walked to the north edge of the outcropping, melting the
snow and ice as he went and igniting a number of branches in the process. Then
he went around its perimeter, making sure to stay far enough away from the
bridge to avoid burning the ropes and slats. The earth magic might stabilize
it, but that didn’t mean it would be fire resistant.

When he reached the south edge, he floated off the
outcropping and hovered over a large, flat rectangle of nearly level snow. He
moved down slowly, melting the center of it as he went, stopping only when he
struck the surface of the wood. Then he backed up and worked his way outward
until he neared the ropes. He moved quickly to avoid igniting them, and then
did the same on the other sides of the rectangle. When he was finished, he
lifted off and flew out over the crevice and sent the excess flame away from
him. When it was exhausted, he flew back to the outcropping and landed.

Gretchen walked over to him as he opened his robe to make
sure he wasn’t on fire. His breeches were smoldering but hadn’t ignited—yet. He
lifted up his robe and sloshed through the mud until he reached snow that hadn’t
melted. He stepped into it, relishing the coolness that dissipated quickly as
the robe compensated for the sudden shift from hot to cold and stabilized his
internal temperature.

Gretchen followed him, and once he was sure his breeches weren’t
going to ignite, he stepped out of the snow and led her toward the bridge. He
barely glanced at Giorge—who was moaning and still shivering—as he passed.
Let
them worry about him
, he thought.
At least I dealt with the frost
elemental.

Then he frowned as the other voice in his head said,
For
now
….