The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (12 page)

3

Angus stirred his stew around with the spoon Ortis had given
him. It was a strange but edible concoction of bits of meat, chunks of a root
he didn’t recognize, berries, and plant leaves. It was bland, no hint of
seasoning at all—much different from the food served at the inns. Perhaps if he
had eaten them separately? Meat first, then the roots and leaves, finishing up
with the mild tartness of the berries? But they were mixed together, and—

“I hope it isn’t that bad,” Ortis said.

“No,” Angus said. “Just different.”

“This road is traveled too much for better,” another Ortis
noted. “Most of the more appealing plants have been scavenged, and few animals
live near enough to the road for hunting. We—” the third Ortis took over as the
second one took a bite and the first swallowed “—are fortunate it isn’t caravan
season. The road gets stripped bare when they pass through.”

Angus nodded. “I am grateful for the stew,” he said. “I just
have a lot to think about right now.”

“Yes,” Hobart agreed. “We all do. We still need to decide
where to go after we drop Teffles’ body off at the temple.”

“I thought we were spending a few days in Hellsbreath,”
Giorge said.

Hobart nodded and filled his mouth again. “After that,” he
said as he chewed.

“We’ll decide that once Angus joins us,” Giorge said.

Angus looked up at Giorge, noted the whiteness of his eyes
and teeth as the firelight flickered on them. They were a sharp contrast to the
peculiar orange reflection of Ortis’s eyes. “You seem to have decided that for
me,” he said. “What makes you think I will join you?”

“What else are you going to do?” Giorge countered.

“There’s work for wizards in Hellsbreath,” he said. “I had
thought to stay there.”

“Bah,” Giorge waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll get bored.”

Angus chuckled. “I’ve spent years living alone in a tower
with Voltari. Boredom is a way of life for me.”

“All right then,” Hobart asked between bites. “What do you
need to know?”

Angus lifted a spoonful of meat to his mouth and considered
while he chewed.
Everything?
he thought, but dismissed it. Too vague.
“Let’s start with you,” he said, pointing his spoon at Ortis. “What are you?”

“I’m a triad,” one of the other Ortises said as the first
one met his gaze. “There aren’t very many of us left.” Another of him
continued. “We are a single entity,” the third offered. “Our thoughts and
experiences are shared.” Then, together, they said, “We are three in one, one
in three.”

“I’ve never heard of triads,” Angus said, “and Voltari’s
library is extensive.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hobart said. “I’ve traveled across
Tyr’s Kingdom and into many of those surrounding it and never encountered
another like him.”

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

“That’s where we met,” Hobart said. “He staggered out of the
Death Swamps one day, and into our bivouac. We took him in, and he provided us
with a great deal of useful information.”

“There are lands north of the Death Swamps?” Angus asked.
“Voltari’s map didn’t indicate any.”

“You have a map?” Ortis asked. “May I see it?”

“He has an affinity for maps,” Hobart said. “We’ve relied
upon his extensive knowledge of them on many occasions.”

“It’s in my backpack,” Angus said. “I’ll show it to you in
the morning, before we leave.”

“It will still be dark,” Hobart said. “We won’t be staying
the whole night.”

“Then we’ll have to do it when we stop,” Angus said. “I
doubt there will be anything on it that you haven’t already seen. It’s a rough
depiction of the Kingdom of Tyr and surrounding mountains. There really isn’t
much on it.”

“I was hoping to reach Hellsbreath tomorrow night,” Hobart
said. “It will be a hard ride.”

Angus frowned, “We will need to stop,” he said. “I will need
time to retrieve whatever is secreted in Teffles’ robe.”

“There’s nothing there,” Hobart said. “Giorge would have
found it. Right Giorge?” Hobart grinned.

“Well,” Giorge hedged. “I was going to tell you about that.”

Hobart set his spoon in his empty bowl, gulped down what was
in his mouth, and said, “You were going to tell us about what?”

“Well,” Giorge began, “Angus said he found something. It’s
concealed by magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes,” Angus said. “Giorge couldn’t have found it even if he
had ripped the robe to shreds.”

“See?” Giorge said. “It has to be valuable to be hidden that
way.”

“The compartment could be empty,” Angus suggested. “All I
saw was the compartment, not what is inside of it.”

“Really?” Giorge said. “That would be so disappointing.”

“When were you two going to tell us about this?” Hobart
demanded.

Angus shrugged. “After I found out if there was something
there.”

“Why didn’t you look?” Ortis asked. “You had time.”

Angus nodded pointedly at Giorge. “The stench,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Ortis said. “The smell will be tolerable for at
least another day or two.”

“The horses,” Angus said.

“They’re stout mountain stock,” Hobart said. “What of them?”

“Giorge said the smell would disturb them—and our
neighbors.”

Hobart stood up and said, “Why don’t you show me what you’re
talking about, Angus.” When Giorge began to rise, Hobart tossed him his bowl
and spoon. “You can stay here, Giorge. Someone needs to tend to the dishes.”

Angus stood, handed Giorge his bowl, picked up his backpack,
and followed Hobart across the campsite until they stood over Teffles’ corpse.
One of Ortis joined them. The robe had been loosened, as if someone had taken
it off the corpse and put it back on. “Giorge,” Hobart muttered. “We have to
watch him pretty closely; he has twitchy fingers. Are you sure he couldn’t find
it?”

Angus sighed, brought the magic into focus, and knelt down.
He opened the robe until Teffles’ arm flopped free. He peeled back the sleeve
and studied the knot holding the compartment closed. It was a simple enough
knot, one that could be opened with a quick little jerk and retied almost as
quickly. He reached out for it and tugged sharply. The compartment opened, and
magical energy erupted from it. He reached in and touched a small, cylindrical
device and pulled it out. The magic within it pulsed, unable to escape the
carefully constructed sequence of knots binding it to the magic within the
object. He lifted it and let the magic slide away—whatever it did, it would
take a considerable amount of time for him to decipher it; for now, it was
enough to know that it was there.

“A wand?” Hobart muttered, reaching out with his mailed paw.

Angus jerked it away and said, “Don’t touch it. We don’t
know what it does, and if you accidentally trigger it, anything could happen.”

Hobart looked skeptical but retracted his arm. “All right,”
he said. “What do we do with it?”

Angus frowned. It looked fragile—a thin piece of ivory
carved into a ten-inch column whose girth was little more than the quill he
used for writing. Runes and sigils were etched in a spiral down most of its
length, the same pattern of three repeated several times. “For now,” he said,
“I’ll carry it. When we get to Hellsbreath, I should be able to find out what
it does. If not, there will be other wizards there who will be able to do
it—for a price.” He slipped it into his sleeve and secured it with a pair of
clasps that seemed to have been made for just such a purpose.

Hobart frowned. “Angus,” he warned. “You are not yet a part
of this banner. That wand does not belong to you.”

“Nor to you,” Angus countered. “It was Teffles’ wand.”

“Yes,” Hobart said, “and he’s dead. He had no heirs as far
as we know, so his equipment became the property of King Tyr upon his death. Of
course,” he hedged. “As a banner representing his interests, we have an
obligation to tend to it until such time that we can present it to him.”

Angus tilted his head, half-smiled, and said, “Nevertheless,
I am the only one present who is qualified to tend to it.”

“Perhaps,” Hobart agreed, “but you are not yet a member of
this banner. It is not your concern.”

“Let’s return to discuss this with the others, shall we?”
Angus said. “I understand Giorge found a book in Teffles’ possession, and I
would like to look through it.” He rose to his feet.

“What kind of book?” Hobart asked.

“Probably a book of spells,” Angus said.

“We will consider it,” Hobart said, rising. “Only so far as
to find out what the book is.”

As they walked back to the fire, Angus asked, “What else
does your banner do besides hunting wolves?”

“Lots of things,” Hobart said. “We’ve explored ruins, of
course; every banner does that. It’s often the best place to find treasure.
Unfortunately, every banner knows that too, so most of the ones in Tyr have
already been ransacked. Not all of the banners are thorough, though; we’ve
found a few things that have been overlooked. That’s why we’re over here.”

Angus frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Are there
more ruins over here than elsewhere in the kingdom?”

“Not particularly,” Hobart said. “But there are fewer
banners. Those who are over here tend to avoid The Tween, and we thought it
would be a good place to find ruins, particularly west of Hellsbreath where the
volcanoes are most active. But that was before Ribaldo died. Few enter The
Tween without a capable wizard. There are things there that only magic can
defeat.”

“I see,” Angus said. “You’re thinking about digging into the
remnants of the Dwarf Wars?”

Hobart nodded. “Most of the ruins got buried or were lost,”
he said. “We hope to find some of them. That’s why Ortis wants to see your map.
He collects them, and he wants to compare it to the others he has. Every
mapmaker notes different things, and some of those differences might be
important.”

“Well,” Angus said as they rejoined the group around the
fire. “I suppose he’d best take a look at it now, then.” He took off his
backpack and opened the flap. The map was on top, and he held it out to Ortis.
“Here’s the map Voltari gave me when I left. The additions are from
Ulrich—except for The Tween. I added that myself.”

Ortis unrolled the map and held it so it caught the
firelight. Then he moved closer to the fire and looked more closely at it.

“What else do you do?” Angus said, turning back to Hobart.

“Fight brigands, mostly,” he said. “It’s one of the things
banners are expected to do while they’re traveling. The king’s army handles
large scale interlopers, but smaller ones are usually left to us. So, if a
village is plagued by bandits or wolves or something else that doesn’t warrant
the attention of the army, we step in to take care of them. The villagers have
to pay, of course, but it’s a reasonable rate, usually not much more than room
and board. The wenches tend to be grateful, too.”

“Another reason to be near the border,” Giorge offered as he
sat down. “The guardsmen may patrol the area between Hellsbreath and Wyrmwood,
but they don’t go much further than that. It isn’t profitable. There isn’t much
money in villages.”

“Most of the time,” Hobart continued, “we just travel. There
aren’t very many dangers for a group our size, at least within the kingdom, and
those there are well known and easily avoided—like the fishmen—if that’s what
we want to do.”

“Angus,” Ortis asked from behind him. “You said Voltari made
this map, right?”

“Yes,” Angus said. “At least, he had just finished writing
on it when he gave it to me. Why?”

“I think it’s an old map,” he said. “A very old one.”

“Oh?” Angus said, moving to stand next to him by the fire.
“Why do you think that?”

“Well,” Ortis began, “you said you’ve added to it. Do you
remember what was on the map before you made the changes?”

“Certainly,” Angus said. “The terrain, of course, and only a
few things were labeled. The Death Swamps, Mountain Dwarves, Tyrag, Wyrmwood,
and Hellsbreath were about it.”

“So,” Ortis continued. “All of these villages north of
Hellsbreath except Wyrmwood were unmarked.”

Angus nodded.

“And The Tween?”

Angus nodded again.

“What about these plumes? They look like they were added to
it by the same hand that labeled the Death Swamps.”

“They were there when Voltari handed it to me,” Angus said.
“Of course, he could have added them in himself.”

“Yes, and the roads,” Ortis said. “See? The east-west one to
Wyrmwood is much more faded than the others. It was part of the original. The
roads through Hellsbreath weren’t, and Hellsbreath wasn’t on it either. It’s a
young, thriving city. Wyrmwood, on the other hand, has been around since the
initial expansion of the kingdom under the rule of King Urm. It was a garrison
at first, and the town grew up around it. That’s what happened in Hellsbreath,
too. The people cluster around the military outposts. Also, take a closer look
at Tyrag. If you hold the map up close to the flame, you can see that Tyrag is
covering up Virag. I think this map is one from the earliest days of the
kingdom, possibly even from before the Dwarf Wars.”

“Really?” Angus said. “Maybe I should get a new one, one
that’s up to date.”

Ortis shrugged. “Aside from the volcanoes, the terrain
hasn’t changed much. There are more villages, towns, and roads, and they can be
added in easily enough.”

Angus considered for a moment, and then pointed at
ELHOUIT
ACHNUT.
“What about that?” he asked. “I don’t recognize the language.”

Ortis smiled. “A lot of maps have that notation. It means,
‘Do not go here.’ Usually, it only means that the mapmaker didn’t go there,
himself. Sometimes it’s a warning. It’s difficult to tell which. The other
classic is ‘Dragons be here.’”