don’t you shoot him already?”
Ortis turned to him. “He’s from a patrol, Angus. And even if he wasn’t, he hasn’t made any threatening gestures.”
Angus shrugged and stretched. “If he’s so friendly, why did you wake me up?”
Ortis sighed. “Just because he isn’t acting aggressively, it doesn’t mean he won’t.” He paused and added, more softly, “Even friends can turn on you, Angus.”
Angus rinsed his mouth again and spat. Then he reached into a pocket and brought out a leaf to chew on. It had almost no flavor, but it was juicy and did wonders for his tongue and teeth. Unfortunately, he only had a few of them left.
“He’s hailing me,” Ortis said. “He’s keeping his voice low; he doesn’t want it to carry.”
“What does he want?” Angus asked, looking around the campsite. “Where are Giorge and Hobart?”
“With me,” Ortis said. “We waited to wake you until it was clear that he wasn’t going back.”
“How far away are you?” Angus asked.
“Half a mile,” Ortis said.
“I have time to relieve myself, then,” Angus said, moving to the edge of the clearing. When he returned, he asked, “Has he told you why he’s here?”
“Yes,” Ortis said. “He’s a scout. The rest of the patrol is behind him. They’ve camped in your tunnel. They sent him ahead because they didn’t want to startle us with a larger party.”
Angus half-smiled. A lot of good that did. “The tunnel made an impression, did it?”
Ortis nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It told them they were following the right group.”
“Why would they be following us?”
“Not us,” Ortis said. “Giorge.”
“Giorge?” Angus said, peering up the road but seeing nothing. “What do they want with him?”
“They have a Truthseer with them,” he said. “They want to ask him some questions. He doesn’t want to answer them.”
Angus shrugged. “Then he doesn’t have to, does he?”
“It’s not that simple,” Ortis said. “The scout said they would continue to pursue us until this Truthseer talks to Giorge.”
“Did he do something to annoy them?” Angus asked. “Like the last time he was in Hellsbreath?”
“No,” Ortis said. “He has no idea what it could be about. But it doesn’t have to do with the patrol. They are only the Truthseer’s escort. The Truthseer was sent by—” Ortis frowned and his muscles tensed.
“Who sent him?” Angus asked, his tone and posture suddenly more alert, concerned.
“They said to tell him it was Dirk,” Ortis said.
“Dirk?” Angus asked, a sudden, intense uneasiness inexplicably swarmed through him. “That sounds like a nasty name,” he half-whispered.
Ortis nodded. “When Giorge heard it, he stopped smirking and agreed to speak with the Truthseer. Apparently, we’ll be staying here longer than we expected. The rest of his party won’t arrive until tomorrow.” He turned and shrugged. “I guess you can go back to sleep, now.”
Angus frowned as Ortis went to the fire and began stoking the embers back to life. After awhile, he lay down again but, when he closed his eyes, sleep was reluctant to join him. When it finally did, it was troubled and angry….
16
The Truthseer’s party arrived at the campsite near midmorning and claimed the half of it nearest them. They set up a small tent and the Truthseer—a mysterious, gray-robed figure with its face hidden—stepped inside. A few minutes later, Giorge was called over and went inside the tent. He stayed there for nearly half an hour, at the end of which he came back to the group.
“Well?” Hobart asked. “Why did they want to talk to you?”
Giorge shook his head, and turned to Angus. “She wants to see you now.”
“Me?” Angus asked. “Why?”
“It’s best if you don’t know until she asks you about it,” Giorge said. “Just tell the truth. Dirk is not one to trifle with, and the patrol is under her command. If she doesn’t like your answers,” he shrugged.
Angus frowned. “And if I don’t go?” he asked. “They have no jurisdiction out here, do they?”
“Other than their swords?” Hobart asked. “There’s a wizard with them, too, remember? You can never tell which one it is by looking because they all dress alike.”
“Angus,” Giorge said. “Trust me. It’s better to get this over with. If you don’t talk to her now, they will assume what they think is true is true, and that will go very badly for you—and us.”
“What do they think is true?” Ortis asked. “Has Angus done something—”
Giorge shook his head and met Angus’s gaze with two somber, dark brown orbs. “Go,” he said softly. “Tell her the truth.”
“All right,” Angus said. “I’ll go. But I don’t promise to answer any questions.”
Giorge’s lips curled slightly upward as he said, “You may not have a choice.”
The tent was empty except for the Truthseer and two stools set opposite each other across a brazier of hot coals. A thin cloud of gray smoke hovered near the top of the tent, shifting its shape as if it were almost alive. The Truthseer’s hood was down, and Angus saw that she was quite old, perhaps the oldest woman he had ever seen. Her face was a mixture of wrinkles, pockmarks, and age spots; her hair was a thin shield of gray wisps bound together with a golden clasp inlaid with polished topaz. A pair of matching earrings dangled from her tired lobes, and her wrinkled, age-spotted hand beckoned for him to sit across from her. As he moved to sit down, her deep-set blue eyes studied him intently, with such shrewdness and clarity that it almost undermined his resistance.
“I understand you have questions,” Angus said, sitting down and crossing his arms. “Ask them.”
Her eyes both danced and were vacant at the same time, as if she were simultaneously looking both at him and through him. “You are Angus?” she asked, her voice reedy, as if it had to struggle to escape from her throat.
“I am,” Angus said.
The wrinkles in her brow tightened, their contours becoming more crisply defined. “Apprentice to Voltari, Wizard of Blackhaven Tower?”
“Yes,” Angus said.
A gnarled hand snaked out of her robe and sprinkled incense onto the brazier. The smoke wavered for a long moment before it stretched outward toward both of them. It had a heady, deeply floral scent that tingled as it touched his nose, enticing him to take a deep breath that left him lightheaded.
Her questions came quickly as he swooned under the drug’s soporific influence.
“Did you give Giorge the gold coins to sell in Hellsbreath?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Blackhaven Tower.”
“Who gave them to you?”
He wanted to answer. He tried to answer. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know the answer.
She was beginning to unravel, her left and right halves whirling apart as if she were trying to smother him in love, in death.
“Who gave you the gold coins bearing King Urm’s image?”
Sweat beaded on his forehead. It felt like a leech was sucking on his face, but he still could not answer. He wanted desperately to answer her, to tell her the truth no matter how it might sound—but he couldn’t. He didn’t know the truth.
She swirled around him, her warm, ghostly embrace stabbing into him, working through him, searching….
“How did you acquire the gold coins bearing King Urm’s image?” she asked.
He smiled. He could answer this question. “They were in my tunic when I put it on. I don’t know how they got there.”
The specter quickly retreated, as if it had been bitten by the sharp point of a poisoned dart. It hovered there, above the brazier for several seconds, and then she asked a new question.
“Do you know Bug-Eyed Jake?”
“Yes,” Angus said, glad to be able to answer another question. “He was in Hellsbreath’s Hellhole with me.
”
“He claims you are Typhus, an assassin. Are you?”
Angus frowned and opened his mouth and worked his tongue as if he wanted to say something but nothing came out. The leeches were growing in number, blood dripping from their sated tongues….
“Are you Typhus?” she purred, her vague, smoke-like form spreading out before him, hovering above the brazier, spreading its arms out wide.
He opened his mouth, but the sound that came forth was strangled, unintelligible. He shut it again.
“Answer truthfully,” the Truthseer demanded, fluttering forward to envelop him in her crushingly insubstantial grip.
The smoke was dense, smothering, making him dizzy, nauseous. Angus shook his head, trying to free it from the smoke, trying to breathe. “No,” he finally rasped. “I am Angus.”
Her smoke-like form retreated, allowing him to breathe. It studied him until he stopped panting, and then asked, “How many coins did you find in your tunic? What did you do with them?”
“Thirteen,” Angus said at once. “I spent one at Nargeth’s inn in Woodwort. Giorge sold the rest in Hellsbreath.”
“Are you an assassin?”
Angus opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned and shook his head. “No. I—” he paused, and when he finished, his voice sounded uncertain. “I am a wizard.”
“Why did you hesitate in your response?”
“I can’t remember,” Angus said, a wave of relief flooding through him. It was so delightful to be able to tell her the truth, to be able to answer her questions.
“You don’t remember why you hesitated?” she asked, her voice confused.
He didn’t understand the question, so he answered as best he could. “I can’t remember anything before the spell went