The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (11 page)

“Is that why you left the army?” Angus asked.

Hobart glared at him. “It is not,” he said, his voice
fiercely stoic, defensive. “I spent five years defending those farmers’ crops,
and I would have gladly done five more. But that wasn’t what was in store for
me. Soldiers who make it through ten years have two choices: leave or join a
command that goes into the swamps to hunt out the fishmen. Over half of them
die before their five years are up, and the rest have an even worse fate
waiting for them. They get to babysit the caravans. They tell me it’s like
walking through a river of lava one moment and sliding on ice the next. The
Death Swamps is one of the most dangerous places you can go, and there isn’t
any duty safer or more boring than guarding a caravan. Most of the survivors of
The Borderlands only last one trip.”

“I see,” Angus said. “You didn’t like the odds.”

“No,” Hobart said, shaking his head. “A good soldier doesn’t
worry about dying; they focus on staying alive. What’s in the future will wait
for them
if
they live to make it that far. And I was a good
soldier—still am, technically. Everyone who forms a banner is subject to
emergency muster in times of war. Fortunately, the kingdom hasn’t been at war
for a long time. Except with the fishmen, of course, but that’s a predictable
arrangement.”

“How do you feel about picking up the pace a little bit?”
Giorge asked Angus. “Think you can manage a brisk walk?”

Angus nodded, clicked his tongue, and flicked the reins to
urge his horse to speed up a bit. When Hobart and Giorge caught up with him and
matched his pace, Giorge said, “You’ve ridden a horse before.”

Have I?
Angus wondered, not knowing the answer. He
shrugged. “It felt like it was the thing to do,” he hedged. “I have
seen
people ride before, you know, even if
I
haven’t done it.”

“Well,” Hobart said, “be careful. Max is a young one; he’s a
bit edgy.”

“All right,” Angus said. “Why did you leave the army?”

Hobart shrugged. “The smell,” he said. “It was nauseating.
Even at a distance I could barely tolerate it, and the thought of entering that
cursed swamp was almost too much for me to deal with. But I tried, just to make
sure. I barely got to the edge before I was wheezing and sneezing
uncontrollably. The medic told me about one in ten reacted that way, and no one
ever got over it. There’s something in the air, there; a taint that enters the
lungs and stays there. It took weeks for me to fully recover from it, and by
that time, I had already made up my mind. I left the army and formed a banner.”

“I understand everything except what a banner is,” Angus
said. “Only those who have ten years of experience in the army can have one,
right?”

Hobart nodded. “You have three choices at the ten year mark.
Continue on in The Borderlands, form a banner, or cut ties with the army
altogether. I formed The Banner of the Wounded Hand. I called it that on
account of a friend of mine, Windhal. He and I were going to form a banner
together, but in the last raid of the year, one of the fishmen latched onto his
hand and mangled it. It was his sword arm, and that was the end of it for him.
But when I registered my banner, I named it after him and put him down as an
honorary member. That was six years ago, and I haven’t seen him since. No one
has, I suppose; he went into The Borderlands with one of the patrols, and they
never came back out. He still might be in there, but…” he shrugged. “That’s the
life of a soldier in The Borderlands. I can’t help but wonder what would have
happened if I could have gone with them, but there’s no sense in stirring up
that pot.” He fell silent, and the rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves
punctuated his somber posture.

Giorge leaned over conspiratorially and half-whispered, “He
does that a lot, you know. Talks and talks and talks, but doesn’t say what you
want to hear.”

Hobart glared at him, but said nothing.

Giorge chuckled and said, his voice mildly disinterested, “A
banner is a registered adventure group subject to the king’s command in times
of peril. The king may, upon such occasions, require the service of those who
are members of that banner to help defend the kingdom, and the leader of that
banner to raise a militia and take charge of it. In return for the services the
founder of the banner has given to the kingdom, the members of the banner shall
have free passage anywhere in the kingdom and the lands of King Tyr’s allies.
Furthermore, the king shall assign a minimal tax on all goods procured through
the activities of the banner, provided such activities fall within the purview
of legally sanctioned plundering or salvage. If such gains are not legally
sanctioned, the tax will be the confiscation of all goods procured illegally
and the banner—with all its privileges—shall be disbanded and its members
prosecuted, where appropriate.”

Angus frowned and said, “That sounds like an edict.”

“King Tyr prefers to call them decrees,” Giorge said,
off-handedly. “But it doesn’t really matter. It’s a legally binding agreement,
and if you choose to join Hobart’s banner with us, you’ll be subject to it just
like we are. Isn’t that right, Hobart?”

“Yes,” Hobart agreed, “and more. It is not a decision to be
made lightly, Angus. Nor is the decision to offer you membership. If I had not
seen the effects of your spell blinding Giorge, and that explosive display last
night, I would not be offering it. But you are clearly a far more capable
wizard than Teffles even claimed to be, and such skill is always welcome in a
banner.”

“I see,” Angus said. “Are you sure I measure up to your
standards? After all, you have only seen the effects of two of my spells, and
it is entirely possible that they are the only two of any consequence I may possess.”

“Not from what Billigan said,” Giorge grinned, his eyes and
lips tinged with greed. “He saw quite a few scrolls in your possession—a rather
valuable little treasure, I should think.”

Angus scowled at him and said, “Oh? Do you think they are
unguarded?”

“Not at all,” Giorge said, shrugging. “But it is of little
consequence if you join us. I never pilfer from a friend.” He grinned. “Well,
almost never.”

“Before I make any decision,” Angus said, slowing his horse.
“I’d like to know what happened to Teffles.”

“All right,” Hobart said. “But tonight, after we make camp.
We need to make better time than this. How about it, Angus? Ready to spur your
steed to a trot?”

“No,” he said. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

“Good!” Hobart said, urging his horse forward. “There are
only a few hours of light left.”

2

Early in the evening Hobart reined in his horse at the top
of a hill and waited for the others to join him. “We’ll stop there for the
night,” he said, pointing at a caravan rest stop nestled among a small grove of
pine trees east of the road. “There may be rain, and the trees will provide us
with some protection.”

One of Ortis shielded his eyes and squinted while another
held back and the third rode forward at an easy pace. “There are others there,”
he said. “It looks like a family with an oxcart.”

“Not much of a threat,” Giorge said. “Or opportunity,” he
muttered.

Angus tilted his head and half-smiled. “Oh?” he said. “I
thought families took their treasure with them when they traveled.”

“That’s right!” Giorge brightened.

“Of course,” Angus continued. “They generally have very
little of it.”

“Never mind that,” Hobart scowled. “They’re off limits,
Giorge. You know the rules.”

Giorge sighed. “No stealing while traveling under the
banner’s protection,” he said, his voice heavy. “How about for practice?” he
offered. “I won’t keep anything.”

Hobart shook his head. “No,” he said. “They’ll know it was
one of us.”

“Fine,” Giorge said, spurring his horse forward at a trot.
The other two Ortises followed after him at a slower pace.

Hobart lingered and turned to Angus. “Ortis will set up camp
and gather firewood. We’ll have time to talk about him,” Hobart added,
gesturing at Teffles’ body as they went by.

“Was he with you long?” Angus asked.

“Less than two days,” Hobart said. “We stopped at Wyrmwood
to find a replacement for Ribaldo. Now,
he
was a wizard. I’ll tell you
about him sometime if you stay with us. I knew him when I was still in Tyr’s
army, and when I started my banner, he joined me.”

“Why did you have to replace him?” Angus asked as they
nudged their horses forward at a slow, steady walk.

“He died in his sleep,” Hobart said. “It was a peaceful sort
of death, not at all the kind I want to have. Give me mine with my sword in my
hand and blood on my boots! But he was old, so I suppose he didn’t mind much.”

Angus half-smiled.

“Well, we were without a wizard for a few weeks, mainly
because we weren’t near enough to a city to find one. We were hunting a pack of
wolves tormenting the villagers north of Wyrmwood. When word came to us that
wolves were killing a lot of livestock, we felt it was our duty to help them.
That duty didn’t change when Ribaldo died, so we did what he would have wanted
us to do. We used him as bait.”

“What?” Angus gasped, feeling his eyebrows involuntarily dip
under his robe’s hood. “You used your friend’s body as bait?”

Hobart nodded. “Yes. He was a follower of Galmar. They view
the body as merely a vessel for the spirit, and when it’s no longer useful,
they don’t care what happens to it. They have a pit in their temples where they
throw dead bodies to the rats.” Hobart shook his head. “‘Part of the natural
cycle,’ Ribaldo always said. So, we left his body for the wolves to find.”

“That must have been difficult,” Angus said.

Hobart laughed, a robust, almost contagious rumble. “I did
worse things when I was a soldier,” he said. “Besides, it worked. The wolves
were drawn in to him, and we were waiting. Ortis killed most of them with his
bows. He rarely misses.”

“What is he?” Angus asked.

Hobart looked askance and said, “You’ll have to ask him
about that. He’ll be expecting it, especially if you join our banner.”

“I’ll do that,” Angus said. They were nearing the camp site,
and he decided to return to the original topic. “And Teffles?”

“We thought we killed all the wolves,” Hobart said. “But
some of them must have been separated from the main pack. They followed us.”

“Into Wyrmwood?” Angus challenged. “I find that hard to
believe.”

“Well,” Hobart hedged, “not quite that far. But when we left
Wyrmwood, we headed back north and camped at the same place we had the night
before arriving at Wyrmwood. The wolves were waiting for us. They attacked
while we were sleeping.”

“Didn’t you post a guard?” Angus asked, puzzled.

“Of course,” Hobart said. “But we were near enough to
Wyrmwood not to be overly concerned. There aren’t many things that will
challenge that town, and with the patrols, there didn’t seem too much to worry
about. So we put Teffles on watch.”

“Wasn’t that risky?” Angus asked as they rode up to where
the others had tied their horses to a long horizontal pole at the edge of the
camp near the trees and grass.

Hobart nodded and said, “It was a test. Ortis was going to
startle him later that night to find out how he handled himself. The wolves got
there first.”

“I hope you aren’t planning to test me,” Angus demanded. “I
tend to be a light sleeper with a quick response.”

Hobart chuckled. “There’s no need to test you, Angus. Giorge
already did. It wasn’t intended to be a test, mind you; he was acting on his
own in Wyrmwood. As for that work crew’s tent, you caught him reconnoitering.
He was not at all pleased about that, by the way.
He
thinks he moves
like a spider on silk.”

Angus smiled. “Not quite,” he said, dismounting. He winced,
wobbled, and leaned against the colt’s side to steady himself. His inner thighs
were half-numb, and his rear end was painfully stiff. After a few seconds, he
hobbled up to the post and wrapped the reins around it. He glanced at Hobart’s
knot and mimicked it. It was a loose knot, one that would unravel when pulled
fiercely. Max nuzzled up to the pole, nearly knocking him over.

Hobart chuckled. “You’ll get used to riding soon enough,” he
said. “You’ll be sore for a few days until then.”

Like my feet?
Angus thought, remembering the cracked
and bloodied calluses he’d gotten during those first few days of walking. “You
said he ran the wrong way,” he said.

“I did?”

“Yes,” Angus said. “When we first met.”

“Oh,” Hobart shrugged, removing a bag from his saddle and
bringing it up to his horse’s head. “There you are, Leslie,” he said, opening
the bag. As the large mare stuck her muzzle in and began chewing, he turned
back to Angus. “That’s mostly true,” he said. “He did run, but that was after
he shouted warning. I’ll give him that much credit. His loud, girlish shriek
woke all of us up. A good thing, too; the wolves were already at the edge of
our camp and might have gotten all of us if it weren’t for him. But he should
have seen them long before he did, and if he had, he might not have died.”

“Didn’t he try to cast a spell?”

“Who knows?” Hobart said. “All he did was stand there and
wave his arms about as the wolves rushed him. Then he ran….” Hobart lowered the
saddlebag, and nodded to Angus. “There’s a feedbag on your saddle. Do you want
to give it to him?”

Angus shook his head. “It looks like you know what you’re
doing, and I need to take care of something before it gets dark.”

Hobart laughed. “It’s just as easy to relive yourself in the
dark as it is in the daylight.”

“It’s not that,” Angus said. “Reconnoitering.”

“Ortis will let us know if there’s anything to worry about,”
Hobart said.

“Not that kind of reconnoitering,” Angus said. “I need to
find the right place to sleep.”

Hobart eased the half-empty bag from Leslie’s muzzle and
patted her neck before he strapped it back to the saddle. “We’ll leave them
saddled for now,” he said. “I want to meet that family, first.” He moved to
Angus’s saddle and unstrapped one of the bags. “Ortis was the first to act,” he
continued. “He shot arrows at the wolves, hitting two of them before I had my
sword in hand. He was shooting his next volley when Teffles ran into the
arrow’s path. There was nothing Ortis could do about it. The arrow had already
been fired. We tried to help him, but the wolves delayed us too long.”

“Why didn’t you leave his body in Wyrmwood?” Angus asked.

“We would have,” Hobart admitted, “but one of his
twenty-three conditions he had for joining my banner was that his body would be
delivered to the Temple of Muff if he died. The nearest one is in Hellsbreath.
We stopped in Wyrmwood three days ago to update the banner’s roster and look
for another replacement. That’s when Giorge decided to find out what you could
do.”

 Angus nodded. “All right,” he said. “I need to take a look
around now.”

“No need,” Ortis said as he led a horse to the pole and tied
it up. “These caravan stops are always built in the defensible positions.”

Angus sighed. How could they understand that what he wanted
to find was the optimal spot for casting his spells? How could he explain that
the distribution of the magical threads varied greatly, and that there were
dead zones, places where certain types of magic could not be cast? “That’s not
what I’m looking for,” he said.

“Well, the stew will be ready in a few minutes,” Ortis said.
“I hope you like rabbit.”

Angus shrugged. “I’m rapidly learning to tolerate a wide
variety of foods,” he said as he turned away from them and drew the threads of
magic into his awareness. He walked around the camp in a looping spiral that
eventually brought him to the fireplace near the center of the campsite. No
matter where he was within the caravan stop, there was ample access to the
magic he needed. He had begun to let the magic slide away when something nearby
drew his attention. It was a cluster of threads wrapped tightly together in an
unnatural pattern. He walked up to it and let the magic fade to the background
enough for him to see its mundane surroundings. He was only mildly surprised to
find the source of the magic was Teffles’ corpse.

Perhaps they underestimated him?
Angus wondered.

“Don’t worry, Angus,” Giorge said as he came up next to him.
“Ortis won’t shoot any arrows through you. You move too quickly.”

“That’s not it,” Angus said. “I was just wondering what
happened to his spells.”

“His spells?” Giorge frowned. “They died with him, didn’t
they?”

“Doubtful,” Angus said. “Did he have any scrolls with him?”

“No,” Giorge said. “All we found on him was a little book
none of us could read. You’re welcome to it, if you decide to join us.”

“And that?” Angus said, pointing at the bulge of Teffles
bent elbow.

“You want the corpse?” Giorge asked, his voice lilting. He
raised eyebrows raised and his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Not the corpse,” Angus said. “What’s on it.”

“On it?” Giorge mused. “You like that robe? Really? I think
it’s rather gauche, myself. Way too many colors for my tastes.”

“No,” Angus said, bending down. “Not the robe, the magic.”
He reached to unwrap the corpse, but Giorge put a restraining hand on his
shoulder.

“Don’t,” he said. “At least not here. He’s been dead a few
days, remember? That robe is the only thing keeping the scent of decay from
agitating the horses. Besides,” he grinned, “it would be impolite to have a
naked corpse lying around. What would our neighbors think?”

“Tomorrow, then,” Angus said. “By the stream.”

“What do you think is there?” Giorge asked. “I did a pretty
good job of searching him before we wrapped him up.”

Angus smiled. “Did you check his sleeves?”

“Sure,” Giorge said, folding his arms and scowling. “Why? Do
you think I missed something?”

Anger? Pride?
Angus tilted his head up to half-smile
at Giorge. “There are ways to conceal items from casual observation.”

“Oh, I wasn’t casual,” Giorge protested. “I was quite
thorough, I assure you.”

“Can you see magic?” Angus asked.

Giorge frowned for a moment, and then a slow smile eased
into place. “You say there’s magic there?”

Angus nodded.

“How could I have missed that?” Giorge said, kneeling beside
him and reaching for the robe. This time, Angus held his hand out to stop him.

“Giorge,” he said. “You didn’t find it the first time, what
makes you think you will this time?”

Giorge grinned. “I didn’t know it was there until now. It’s
always easier to find something when you know what you’re looking for.”

Angus chuckled. “And what is it you’re looking for?”

“Why—” Giorge frowned. “You said—” He shook his head.
“Right. I still don’t know what it is. But I do know that it is there.”

“Unless I’m lying,” Angus said.

“You’re not,” Giorge said, his voice confident and
dismissive. “You’ve seen something. You can describe it to me.”

“I could,” Angus admitted. “But it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Why not?” Giorge demanded.

Angus sighed. “All right, Giorge. It’s in a magically
concealed compartment in his robe’s sleeve. Unless you know the precise place
to look for the opening and have the ability to release the knot securing it in
place, you will never find it.”

“And you can?”

Angus nodded. “Of course. I am, after all, a competent
wizard.”

“Do you want it?” Giorge asked.

“Perhaps,” Angus said. “It may be quite useful to us, or it
could be very dangerous. I won’t know which until I open the compartment.”

“Well,” Giorge hedged, “if you join Hobart’s banner, I am
sure you can negotiate with him. He’s quite reasonable, you know. But you’re
right; it will have to wait until tomorrow.” He stood up and turned. “It’s time
for supper and sleep. We have a long ride tomorrow, and Hobart will want to
make an early start.”

Angus rose and nodded, letting the magic finally slip away.
“Lead on,” he said, falling in stride behind him.