The Viper's Fangs (Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

or that battle, but they really didn’t interest Angus. He was a
wizard, not a warrior, and his battles were wrought with a weapon more
dangerous than a sword. He had listened, responded when and how it was
appropriate, and even made a small effort to retain their content, but they
were too much like the sensationalized stories Braden had recorded to be of
much use.
    Ortis had been quiet most of the time. He did a lot of
listening, a lot of thinking, but when the subject of his own activities was
brought up, he did very little talking. It suited him well—even before winter,
he had spoken infrequently and generally only to the benefit of their
survival—but it also made it seem like Ortis had spent the whole winter practicing
with his bow and resting. But Angus was certain Ortis had been much busier than
he let on, and he wondered what it was he had been up to. He frowned; Ortis
wasn’t saying any more than Angus had been saying, and that made Angus
suspicious. Angus was keeping quite a bit from his companions, and that made
him wonder how much Ortis was hiding. More? Less? Something sinister? Or was he
just keeping to himself? Whenever he looked at the Triad, he couldn’t help but wonder
what the man was hiding, but if Ortis noticed his apprehension, he ignored it.
Angus was glad of that; Ortis had done nothing to warrant such
suspicion. He didn’t deserve it. And yet, there it was, and Angus couldn’t
quite shake off the feeling that it was somehow deserved.
    Then there was Giorge. He at least had been quite busy over
the winter and wasn’t at all hesitant to talk about it. At first, his stories
were amusing and his grin was infectious, but after awhile, they became quite repetitive.
After all, how many different ways could he say he had wooed a young woman into
his bedchamber? How many ways were there to “appropriate”—his word—items from
“careless”—his word again—bystanders? He had chattered incessantly for two
solid days before he finally ran dry. Then he started in on the other winters
he had spent in Hellsbreath.
    “We’ll get there tomorrow afternoon,” Hobart said as he sat
down and leaned in toward the fire to warm his hands. “Midafternoon by the look
of things.”
    “Where, exactly, is this ‘there’?” Angus asked.
    Giorge grinned. “You’ll see soon enough,” he said. “Be
patient.”
    Angus frowned. He had asked the question before, and they
hadn’t answered it then, either. “It’s a surprise,” Giorge had said. “You’re
going to love it!” But Angus didn’t much care for surprises; they tended to
turn deadly. He wanted an answer.
    “So,” he said, “you’re still not going to tell me?”
    Giorge, his grin never wavering, shook his head and said,
“No. That would spoil it for you.”
    Spoil what ? Angus wondered as he said in a harsher
tone than he intended, “Fine. If you’re so fond of surprises, perhaps I’ll give you one.”
    Giorge’s grin faded to a mere smile as he said, “Now, Angus,
don’t be like that. Trust me . You won’t be disappointed.”
    Angus shook his head but said nothing more.
    “Besides,” Hobart said. “It isn’t something you want to
dwell on. It will be better to find out when we get there.”
    Angus frowned and glared at him. Of all the things he could
have said, that was probably the only thing that would have made him dwell on
it more than he already was. But there was also truth in it; there was nothing
he could do about it until they got there. If nothing else, he could refuse to
do whatever it was they had in mind, and that would be the end of it. Still, it
would be nice to be prepared. “All right, Giorge,” he said, his voice soft and
steady. “Just remember what happened the last time you tried to surprise me.”
    Giorge’s smile disappeared and he shifted his weight from
one side to the other, as if he were sitting on a wobbly rock. Then he shook
his head and said, “That was different.” His voice was firm,