The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (14 page)

“We’ll consider it,” Hobart said. “Go on.”

“Fourth,” Angus said. “I would like us to go into The
Tween.”

“We were planning to,” Hobart said. “But why do you want to
go there?”

“That symbol on my map,” Angus said. “You saw it, Ortis. The
teardrop superimposed on a pyramid. I want to investigate it.”

“What?” Giorge asked, perking up.

“I want to find out what’s there,” Angus said. “It was one
of the only things marked on the original map; it had to have been important.

“No, no,” Giorge said. “The symbol. You said it was a
teardrop superimposed on a pyramid, right?”

“Yes,” Angus said. “Why?”

“Show it to me,” Giorge said, moving closer to Angus.

“Does it sound familiar?” Ortis asked.

“I need to see it, first,” Giorge said. “But if it’s what I
think it is, we’ll agree to everything.”

“What do you think it is?” Angus asked, reluctantly removing
his backpack and taking out the map. He unrolled it until the symbol was
visible and held it near the fire for Giorge to see.

Giorge studied it for several seconds, his breathing shallow
and rapid. Finally, he nodded and said, “It might be.”

“Might be what?” Hobart demanded.

Giorge turned to Angus and watched him replace his map. “Are
there any more conditions?”

“Other than you answering Hobart’s question?”

“I can’t answer that yet,” Giorge said. “I need to do some
research in Hellsbreath, first.”

“What do you think it is?” Hobart asked.

Giorge shook his head. “I can’t say right now,” he said.

“All right, keep your secret,” Hobart said. “We’ll find out
for ourselves.”

“No,” Giorge said. “You can’t look into it. Trust me on
this; if you start asking around about it, you’ll get far too much attention.
Let me handle it. I know where to look and whom to ask.”

Hobart shook his head and turned back to Angus. “All right,
Angus, what else do you want?”

“Fifth,” Angus said, “After I cast spells, I will need a
full night’s uninterrupted sleep to rejuvenate my energies. I will also need
time the following morning to study my spells. Depending upon which spells were
cast, it may range from half an hour to as much as three—possibly longer.
Without that time for study, I won’t be able to prepare myself for casting
those spells again.”

“Ribaldo did something of that sort,” Hobart said. “We know
what to do.”

“If you don’t cast spells,” Ortis asked, “will you stand
guard as needed?”

“Of course,” Angus said. “But I prefer the first or last
shift.”

“Anything else?” Hobart asked.

“One last thing,” Angus said, turning toward Ortis. “When I
run, I always go left.”

Giorge pretended to stifle a chuckle as Ortis nodded and
said, “Good to know.”

“All right, Angus, they seem reasonable enough,” Hobart
said. “We will consider your terms while we’re in Hellsbreath. A decision can
wait until then. In the meantime, let’s get some rest. We’ll be riding hard
tomorrow on little enough sleep as it is.”

4

It was dark.

A light drizzle was falling.

Angus huddled inside the folds of his robe, his back against
the rough bark of a pine tree.

A thick fog drenched in moisture had gathered around them
not long after they had retired, leaving behind a thin film of wetness. Then
the drizzle had set in.

The weather fit his mood: dark and foggy, like the dreary
tunnel consuming his thoughts.

Something was bothering him. What was it? He couldn’t quite
place it, and he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep until he worked through the
problem.

At least his robe was dry, and so was he. It shed water like
it had been soaked in oil.

His backpack was not. If enough of the drizzle accumulated on
its surface and beaded together, it might curl up inside the flap. But the
backpack was made from water-resistant leather, and as long as it remained
closed its contents should remain dry. There was little he could do about it,
anyway.

The only shelter was the oxcart, and the family who owned it
was using it. The pine tree offered little protection from the clingy fog; but
at least near the bole, most of the moisture that condensed on its needles missed
him when the light breeze shook the tiny droplets loose. But the weather wasn’t
what was bothering him. It was something else.

His scrolls? There was no point in securing them in the
compartments hidden in his robes now; they would just get wet in the transfer.
But he would to do it at the next opportunity, at least with the ones he could
cast. It would take time to train himself to reach for them if he needed one in
a hurry, though; maybe it would be better to leave them in his pack unless it
rains? No, the scrolls weren’t it either.

His companions? Hobart was snoring. One of Ortis was on
guard, and the other two were nestled in close to the fire. Giorge was wrapped
in a wet blanket next to them. Him? On the surface, they seemed friendly
enough, but what about Teffles? Had it been an accident? Friendly fire? Was he
shot on purpose? Hobart didn’t seem too upset by Teffles’ death, but he was a battle-hardened
soldier and hadn’t known him very long. Ortis didn’t appear ruffled by it,
either. Was the Banner of the Wounded Hand a disreputable group, one of the bands
of brigands Hobart had mentioned? Was it wise to join them without finding out
more about their reputation? What would he learn of them in Hellsbreath? The
terms were reasonable enough, but was he ready for a two year commitment? Did
he want to travel with them for that long without knowing more about them?

Yes, that was part of what troubled him, but it wasn’t the
real issue. It was one he could set aside to deal with at an appropriate time,
once he had learned more about them. Still, it would be wise to be vigilant,
and losing a bit of sleep would not matter much in the long run. But there was
something else, something more important that he was overlooking….

Was it Teffles’ wand? Wands were precious, and he was eager
to discover what it could do. But it would have to wait, and he was a patient
man. If nothing else, Voltari had taught him how to delay gratification until
the right moment, and he would do just that. But how was he going to discover
its power?
Could
he discover its power? The magic was a tightly woven
pattern; it would be difficult to separate it into the individual threads and
knots. All long-lasting spells were that way; they had to be. If they weren’t
tightly bound, the natural fluctuations of the strands’ power would let them
wriggle free. But the tightness and complexity of the knots made it difficult
to identify the individual threads and how they had been knotted together. As
for the
sequence
of the knots….

He needed time and solitude, but he was confident he could
do it eventually. The spell contained within the wand was unfamiliar; the
majority of the threads on the surface had been a very pale, almost translucent
shade of blue—sky magic. That meant the spell was one he was unlikely to know.
He had studied the generalities of sky magic—as he had with all of the
different types of magical energy—but only superficially; his emphases were on flame
and earth. He knew
their
subtleties quite well. But sky magic? Would he
even be able to work through it on his own? Maybe Teffles’ book would help, but
he doubted it; Teffles did not seem to be the type of wizard who would have the
ability to create a wand. If he had been, a wolf pack never would have
challenged him. At least
triggering
the spell contained within the wand
would be easy enough to do. All that was necessary was to release the first
three knots in the proper sequence….

No, the wand wasn’t the problem; it was an opportunity, one
he was very much looking forward to pursuing.

Hellsbreath? He could find work there instead of joining
their banner, but that would mean he would have to return the wand and Teffles’
book. Unless they sold them to him. Did he have enough treasure for that? What
would he do in Hellsbreath? Voltari had sent him there for a reason, and he
trusted his master’s judgment. Perhaps it would be better to follow Voltari’s
guidance than to join a banner? Unless his master had expected him to find a
banner to join. What would they pay a wizard to do? Would it be more than he
could gain from being a member of Hobart’s banner? Probably; they had to work
for a caravan last year….

I should be sleeping
, Angus thought letting his mind
wander.
Why aren’t I?

The symbol on the map? Why had he been so adamant about
investigating it? Simple curiosity? Something else? Had he forgotten something
Voltari had told him? Something important? It didn’t feel like it, but…. Why
had Giorge been so interested in it? Why didn’t he tell them—his companions,
not Angus—what he thought the symbol represented? Why was he so secretive, so reluctant?
What could he be hiding? Would he reveal his information to them? Would he tell
Angus what it was even if he decided not to join their banner? Why was it too
dangerous for him to investigate it on his own?

No, that wasn’t it, either. If they went into The Tween to
find out what was at that symbol, Giorge would tell them what he knew. Angus
would make sure of it. No, his problem didn’t involve Giorge at all. It was
Ortis.

Ortis?
He claimed to be a triad. Three in one and one
in three. Each one connected to the other. He was unusual, certainly, even
strange. And those eyes! They were more catlike than—

“They say you can see it in their eyes when you look at
them.”

That’s what Billigan had said about the plains folk, the
people King Urm had conquered when he expanded his kingdom.
That’s it!
Is
Ortis descended from one of those survivors? What was it Ortis had said?

“My people scattered centuries ago. Most of us are north
of the Death Swamps.”

The Death Swamps.

That was where the fishmen live.

How did he get through them? Hobart said the fishmen were
vicious, hadn’t he?

Angus smiled. He had finally found what troubled him, and
now he could sleep. He could decide what to do about the insight tomorrow. But
he wouldn’t confront Ortis—not right away, at least. The connection was still
too tenuous. He needed more information. They’d have a library in Hellsbreath,
possibly several. There were wizards there….

As his mind settled and he felt sleep approaching, one last
thought intruded upon him:
If I have time
….

5

“I would have liked to have gotten to Hellsbreath last
night,” Hobart grumbled as they worked their way around the edge of the last
mountain. “The lift is always busier in the evenings.”

“No help for it,” Ortis said. “The rain made the
cobblestones too slippery for a hard ride. Besides, it gave us time to take a
closer look at that map when the sun came out.”

“I know,” Hobart said. “I just hate waiting in line, that’s
all.”

“Is there a wall and gate, like in Wyrmwood?” Angus asked.

“Not exactly,” Hobart said. “But you’ll be able to see it
soon enough.”

“How long are we staying?” Angus asked.

Hobart set his jaw and said, “You said you can pay your own
fare, right?”

“Yes,” Angus said.

“For how long?”

Angus shrugged, “How much does it cost?”

“Depends on where you stay,” Hobart said. “I’ll be staying
at Hedreth’s. He’s an old veteran and gives a discount to Banner Holders. Last
time I was here, a week was three silver for the room and another three for
food and a reasonable amount of drink. It costs more if you’re thirsty.”

“How much is the exchange rate for gold?” Angus asked.

“Gold?” Giorge repeated, sitting up straighter in his
saddle. “Twelve to one for silver, usually. It depends upon the coin. Some are
worth more because they have more gold in them; others are worth less. You can
tell by the stamp on it, usually. That and the weight.”

Angus reached into his pouch and took out one of the gold
coins. He held it up between his fingers; it was about an inch and a half in
diameter, thick, and heavy. On one side was a crown, and the other had the
crisp profile of a man on it. “What about this one?” he asked, tossing it to
Giorge.

Giorge caught it easily, glanced at the images and whistled.
“You’ll make more if you sell it to a collector,” he said. “I know a few….”

“Why?” Hobart asked.

“Take a look,” Giorge said, nudging his horse forward until
he was next to him. Angus hurried to match their pace so he could listen to
Giorge. “The crown on this side is on all of the coins of Tyr; there’s nothing
unusual about that. The profile on the other side is what matters. It shows the
image of the king at the time of its minting. This is King Urm, and the quality
of the coin is amazing. It’s as if it had been stamped yesterday.”

“Counterfeit?” Hobart asked.

“No,” he said. “You can tell by the weight and balance. They
don’t make coins like this anymore. The metal in this was mined by the
dwarves.”

“Are you saying it’s a thousand years old?” Angus asked.

Giorge nodded. “About that, yes. There must not be very many
of these left, either. Especially in this condition. Whenever there is a new
king, he tends to collect up his predecessors’ coins, melt them down, and forge
coins with his own image. A collector would pay a fortune for this.”

“Interesting,” Angus said. “How much is a fortune?”

Giorge frowned, thought for a moment, and then said, “I’d
have to ask my contacts. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone would pay
upwards of a thousand gold coins for this one. Maybe more.”

“Really?” Angus said as he did a quick calculation. “In that
case, I have more than enough for a lifetime in Hedreth’s. Even without the
garnets.”

“Garnets?” Giorge repeated, leaning closer to him. “You have
garnets, too?”

“A few,” Angus said.

“I can get you a fair price if you want to sell them,”
Giorge said, “The coins, too.”

Angus held out his hand and waited for Giorge to give him
back his coin, then moved his horse a bit further away from him. “I think I’ll
hold on to them for now,” he said. “I have enough silver for a few weeks’ stay.
You can look into it if you’d like, though.”

“Sure,” Giorge said. “And I’ll charge you a very reasonable
brokers’ fee, too.”

“Not if he joins the banner,” Hobart said. “You know the
rules.”

“He hasn’t joined us yet,” Giorge reminded him, eyeing Angus
more closely, as if he were trying to see the coins and gems through his robe.

“Remember Wyrmwood,” Angus half-whispered.

 Giorge blinked and grinned. “I was just thinking,” he
protested. “It wasn’t like I was going to
do
anything.”

“Make sure you don’t,” Hobart said. “It would be impolite,
considering the circumstances.”

“Of course, if you have that many of those gold coins, we
could just sell you the wand and book. I’m sure we could make an equitable
arrangement….”

“Perhaps,” Angus said.
Twelve coins. Offer five. Bargain
to nine?
“I could part with five of them, I suppose.”

“Five?” Giorge sputtered. “The wand alone is worth twice
that!”

“Really?” Angus said. “We don’t even know what it does. What
if it only produces flowers from empty air? If it does that, it wouldn’t even
be worth one of those coins. I’m taking a considerable risk, here.”

“You can make flowers out of air?” Hobart asked, his
eyebrows trying to catch his receding hairline. “I’d like to see that.”

“No,” Angus said, shaking his head. “I was just pointing out
that the wand might not do much. Most wands are more powerful than that, but
every now and then, a wizard will make a wand for practice that is basically
worthless.”

“The book—” Giorge began.

“—may be full of First Order spells,” Angus finished. “If it
is, it isn’t worth much to me. I mastered those long ago.”
At least for
flame and earth….

“I think we can get a fair price for it in Hellsbreath,”
Hobart countered. “Even if you can’t find a use for it, there are bound to be
wizards there who can.”

Angus nodded, “True,” he admitted. “But I’d rather wait
until I’ve looked at it before I change my offer.”

“How about this,” Giorge said. “We trade you the wand and
book for all the gold coins you have.”

“Really?” Angus chuckled. “And what would I live on if I did
that.”

“The garnets, of course,” Giorge said. “You have more than
one, don’t you?”

Angus nodded.

“How many gold coins do you have?” Hobart asked.

“More than I’m willing to pay for the wand and book,” Angus
answered.

“Twenty?” Giorge asked. “I think that’s a reasonable price
for that wand and book. Don’t you Hobart?”

Angus laughed. “You wouldn’t know what a reasonable price
for magic is, Giorge. Besides, it’s only worth what a wizard is willing to pay
for it, and this wizard is willing to pay seven of those gold coins.”

“Seven?” Hobart mused. “Come now, Angus, it’s surely worth
more than that, isn’t it?”

“It may be,” Angus admitted. “Or it may be worth far less.
That’s the point, isn’t it? We don’t know its value, and we’re making
assumptions based on ignorance. You’re assuming it is a powerful wand with a
high value, and I am making a much more conservative estimate. Even so, I am
willing to gamble by offering to pay a higher price than that conservative
estimate.”

“Seven seems low to me,” Hobart said. “I know enough about
things like that—magical things—to know a wizard has to spend a great deal of
time and energy making them. Even simple ones have more value than the
materials they are made from, and that wand is made from ivory. The value of
that ivory, alone, is at least one of those gold coins, if not two.”

“Fifteen,” Giorge offered. “We’re taking a risk, too. What
if it’s actually worth a great deal more than that?”

“I think I’m being generous,” Angus countered. “And
ivory—even carved ivory like this wand—is not worth even one of those coins,
and you know it. Besides, you would not even have known about this wand without
me; you would have just given it away to the priests in the Temple of Muff. By
rights, I shouldn’t even be making this offer at all; I should just keep the
wand and charge you for its return.”

“We had the book,” Giorge corrected. “You didn’t find that.”

“Don’t forget the key,” Angus said. “But I’ll be fair. I’ll
give you eight of those gold coins for the pair. That’s far more than you would
have gotten without me.”

“Ten,” Giorge said. “That would be a reasonable compromise,
would it not?”

“Perhaps,” Angus said, “but it would leave me uncomfortably
short on funds.”

“The garnets—”

“I don’t know their value,” Angus said. “Also, I would
rather hang onto them for the time being. They travel much easier than bags of
coin. Still,” he considered. “If Giorge agrees to liquidate the last two coins
for me—free of charge—I think I can spare ten.”

“You have twelve of them?” Giorge asked. “Where did you get
them?”

“Does it matter?” Angus asked.

“It might,” Giorge said. “There aren’t very many of them
left, and all the ones I know about are in collections. They might have been
stolen.”

Angus frowned. Where had he gotten the coins? He couldn’t
remember; they were in his clothes when he put them on. “I got them in
Voltari’s Tower,” Angus said. At least that was true, but how they had gotten
into Blackhaven was still a complete mystery.

“Were there any others?” Giorge asked.

“One,” Angus admitted.

“What happened to it?” Giorge asked.

“I spent it,” Angus said. “After I left Blackhaven, I
wandered around a bit. My feet were infected, and I was feverish when I found
Woodwort. I gave it to the innkeeper for a room just before I passed out.”

Giorge winced. “Costly room,” he said.

Angus nodded. “We should finalize the exchange now,” he
said. “While there are no prying eyes.” He reined in his horse. Giorge and
Hobart joined him. He reached into the pocket of his robe and brought out the
pouch containing the gold coins and garnets. He took the five garnets out and
showed them to Giorge. “What do you think these are worth?”

“Well,” Giorge said, moving them around with his finger. “I
can probably get you three hundred gold coins for the largest one; it’s a good
color. The other two large ones aren’t as high a quality and a bit off in
color. Maybe two hundred or so. The two runts about fifty.”

“You’ve been carrying around a fortune, Angus,” Hobart said.
“Why bother with adventuring at all?”

Angus shrugged. There was no reason to tell them that
Voltari had kicked him out. “Magic isn’t cheap,” he said. “Just look at what
that wand and book cost me….”

Giorge laughed, the pouch of gold coins disappearing
somewhere on his person. “I’ll trade the coins for gems,” he said. “It will be
easier to carry than several hundred pounds of gold. Also,” he turned to
Hobart, “I will have to use part of this to find the information I need on that
symbol. I’ll have to be discreet, and such discretion can have a hefty price.”

Hobart glared at him. “You know the rules,” he said. “If I
have to hire a Truthseer, it comes out of your cut, regardless of whether or
not you tell the truth.”

Giorge pouted and shook his head. “When will you learn to
trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Hobart grinned. “I just don’t trust your
twitchy fingers.” He winked at Angus. “He gave you back your garnets, didn’t
he?”

Angus laughed and nodded. “I was watching.”

The Ortis who had gotten a significant distance ahead of
them reined in his horse. As the Ortis a short distance behind them passed, he
said, “The volcano is sputtering today. We’ll need to be careful.”

“Ash or lava?” Hobart asked, spurring his horse forward.

“Mostly lava,” Ortis said. “It looks like a mild eruption.”

“Better than a violent one,” Hobart said.

“The volcano’s erupting?” Angus said, spurring his own steed
forward. “Aren’t they evacuating?”

“Why?” Hobart asked. “The city’s in no danger.”

“No danger? From a volcano?”

Hobart chuckled. “You’ll see for yourself in a minute.”

When they joined Ortis, it became clear to Angus why the
city was in no danger—and why Voltari had sent him to Hellsbreath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hobart said.

Angus stared. The road continued across a narrow valley and
up the steep slope of another low mountain. The mountain had two summits, each
of which ended in a volcanic crater. Nestled in between them was the city of
Hellsbreath, but all Angus could see were its walls. They were high walls,
nearly topping the volcanic ridge on either side, and spanning half the
distance between them. The volcano to the west was erupting, lava bubbling out
in several places near the top. A large pool of reddish orange rock, accented by
a charcoal-black crust, flowed in toward the city, but it parted not far from
the wall and tumbled down the slope, adding to the summit. The other summit was
silent, save for wisps of smoke. Even at a distance, the crackling and popping
of the eruption was easy to hear, and an ash cloud funneled eastward, over the
city, where it hovered and accumulated on a large bowl-shaped structure. But
there was no structure apparent; whatever it was, it was invisible.

“Why isn’t the ash falling on the city?” Angus asked.

“Wizards,” Hobart said. “They constructed a barrier over the
city. You can’t see it, but it’s always there. When the volcano stops spewing
that ash, they’ll tip the dome and collect it. It’s excellent fertilizer, and
there’s a thriving industry around it.”

“They also have wizards tending to the volcanoes,” Ortis
added. “They keep the eruptions under control. Instead of a sudden, explosive
eruption, they have little ones like that one spaced over time. It keeps the
volcanoes manageable.”

Angus nodded, drawing his attention to the magical energy
around him. Normally, he wouldn’t be able to see the strands from such a
distance, but the concentration of magical energy enveloping the city was like
a distant beacon fire. He didn’t know the particulars of the spells
involved—and there were no doubt dozens, if not hundreds—but he was sure he
could learn them quickly enough. No doubt they would welcome a wizard with his
particular talents, and pay handsomely.
If
there wasn’t already a surplus
of them.