The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (16 page)

“It’s too early to clear the debris,” Ortis offered. “The
river’s too deep and moving too fast.”

“What about the others,” Angus asked. “They look like the
villagers I met on my way to Wyrmwood.”

“We are the Banner of the Wounded Hand,” Hobart told the scribe.

The rickety old man leafed through the tome propped up on
his desk. When he found the appropriate entry, he skimmed through it quickly
and looked at the group. “You are Hobart?” he asked. “The holder of the
banner?”

“Yes,” Hobart said. “And these are—”

“Ortis, Giorge, and Ribaldo?” He frowned and scanned the
page again. He looked back at Angus and shook his head. “No, not Ribaldo.” He
pointed at the corpse two of Ortis were carrying between them. “Is that
Ribaldo?”

“No,” Hobart said. “It’s Teffles, Ribaldo’s replacement. He
won’t be on your list, yet. He was added to our roster in Wyrmwood less than a
week ago.”

The scribe frowned and drew the quill across a portion of
the page in his book. When he finished, he jotted something down and asked,
“How do you spell Teffles?”

Hobart frowned. “I don’t remember,” he admitted. “Maybe you
can wait until the update comes in from Wyrmwood and make the change then?”

“He was added to your roster in Wyrmwood?”

Hobart nodded. “When Ribaldo’s death was reported.”

“Has Teffle’s death been recorded?”

“Yes,” Hobart said. “We reported it in Wyrmwood on our way
here.”

“What is your new member’s name?” the scribe asked, dipping
his quill in the inkwell. It was a large glass inkwell that had seen much use.

“Angus,” Hobart told him. “He is a provisional member under
the protection of our banner.”

“Provisional member?” the old man repeated, reaching up to
scratch his wrinkled brow and darkening the ink-black streak in the tangled mop
of gray hair cascading over his shoulders and down his back. He sighed. “That
is a complication.”

Hobart nodded. “Nevertheless, I do want it in the records.
We have offered Angus a position in our banner, and he is considering it. While
he does so, I wish to have him treated as a member of my banner. His decision
will be made prior to our leaving Hellsbreath, and we will update the roster
accordingly before that time.”

“Very well,” he said. “I will add Angus to your roster and
make a note of his provisional status.”

“Thank you,” Hobart said.

“I will need to know how to spell it,” the old man said, and
Hobart looked at Angus.

Angus stepped forward and stated each letter clearly as the
old scribe’s quill scratched them out. He continued writing for several
seconds, and then motioned Angus closer.

“You are a wizard, are you not?” he asked without looking up
from his tome.

“Yes,” Angus confirmed. “I was trained by Voltari in
Blackhaven Tower.”

One of the guards looked sharply at him, and seemed to want
to say something. But he didn’t, and the scribe ignored him as he wrote down
the information. “Tradecraft: Wizard. Hair: black, short. Eyes: light blue.” He
looked up and squinted at Angus. “They’re almost silver, aren’t they? No
matter; light blue will suffice. Beard—” he paused again and asked, “Do you
intend to maintain that beard?”

“For now, yes,” Angus replied. “Why do you ask?”

The old man shrugged, his wicker-like spine creaking a bit
as he did so. “Just wanting to maintain accurate records,” he said. “Why don’t
you turn around for me?”

Angus frowned and turned slowly around. “Height: five feet
six inches. Weight: one hundred fifty five pounds. I better make that one
sixty,” he muttered.

“Anything else?” Angus asked.

The scribe reviewed his notes. “Yes,” he said. “Your age.”

“I—” Angus frowned and thought for a moment. “I’m not sure,”
he said. “I haven’t paid much attention to it.”

“What do you think, Hobart?” he asked.

Hobart shrugged, his armor jingling as it settled. “I don’t
know. Maybe thirty?”

The old scribe’s deep brown eyes seemed to pierce Angus’s as
he said, “No. Older. I’ll put down thirty-five.”

He turned the tome so it faced Hobart and handed him the quill.
“Sign here,” he said, pointing.

Hobart very carefully drew out his name and handed back the quill.

“I will send an update on your roster with tomorrow’s
dispatch to Tyrag. For the time being, I will withhold Angus’s name from the
roster, but I expect you to clarify the situation before you leave Hellsbreath.
If not, I will assume you are in breach of your Banner Contract.”

“Of course,” Hobart said. “I will update the information
when I am able to do so.”

“How long will you be staying?” the scribe asked.

“We don’t know yet. No less than a week and possibly as many
as four.”

“Seven for the lift, counting the corpse.” He glanced at the
others. “It will likely be a few hours before it returns. There hasn’t been
much interest in leaving the city today. If you’re in a hurry, I can have them
send it down, but it will cost more.”

“We’ll wait,” Hobart said. “I’m sure it will be down by
nightfall. If it isn’t, we’ll catch the lift up when they change guards.”

“The fee—” the scribe began.

Hobart handed him a few silver coins and said, “I believe
this will be sufficient?”

The scribe accepted the coins, counted them, turned to a
different page in his book, wrote down a figure, opened the chest, and dropped
the coins in among those that were already there. Then he closed the chest’s
lid, looked up, and gave them a toothless smile as he said, “I hope you have a
pleasant and uneventful stay in The Rim.”

“As do we,” Hobart said, nodding.

The scribe waved them on and his smile quickly dissolved as
they passed. One of the guardsmen opened up the gate to the platform loading
area and ushered them through. There was enough room in the lift area to
accommodate far more than those already inside, and it was not at all difficult
for them to find a place to sit. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Hobart said.
“It may be a while.”

They dropped their gear down and sat on it or beside it.
Angus took Teffles’ book from his backpack and began reading it. The first few
pages were an explanation for the marks he would be using in it, each one a
representation of a specific series of knots. The symbols were unfamiliar to
him, but once he began to understand their purpose, he realized how effective
it must be. If he applied a similar process to his own spells, he could save a
considerable amount of time while priming for them. But it would take a great
deal of patience to learn the system of shorthand symbols and implement it….

7

Angus was beginning to understand Teffles’ shorthand well
enough to interpret the first cryptic description of a spell. It was a simple
spell, one that reminded him of the Lamplight spell: a single, carefully
controlled knot. Instead of relating to the sphere of flame, it was related to
the sphere of sky, but the result of casting it—if he understood it
correctly—would have a similar effect: the slow release of the magical energy.
But he wasn’t sure how it would release it. He
thought
it would create a
steady, slight breeze, but he wasn’t sure. He would have to wait until he cast
it to find out, and the magic within him was already aligned for his own
spells. If he were to draw upon more energy now it would disrupt the spells he
was already prepared to cast, and that was always risky.
How
it
disrupted them was always uncertain, and one of the very real possibilities was
a sudden, explosive release of energy. He had already experienced something
like that once—or so Voltari claimed—when his memory had been obliterated, and
from what Voltari had said about the incident, it was a rather mild result of
overextending the magic within oneself. The spell would have to wait.

He flipped through several pages without reading them,
noting that with each new spell Teffles’ shorthand script became more precise
and smaller. By the time he reached the last spell, he had to strain his eyes
to see it clearly, but when he tried to read the instructions, the complexity
of Teffles’ shorthand was far beyond him. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure if he
would ever understand it. Maybe if he unraveled each symbol and wrote it out
long-hand as a sequence of knots and then—

“Angus?” Ortis interrupted. “Do you often talk to yourself
in strange languages?”

“Was I mumbling again?” Angus asked. “I have that tendency
when I study new and unfamiliar spells. Voltari tried to break me of the habit,
but he wasn’t successful. He only stopped me from doing it in front of him.”

Ortis looked up. “The lift is coming. It’s time to gather
your things together.”

And my thoughts.
Angus nodded and put Teffles’
book—his book now—in his backpack. As he did so, he gradually became aware of a
soft, metallic squawk of protest descending from above them. He looked up and
saw the source of the noise: a pulley on the lift needed oiling. Then he
realized the size of the lift and wondered how they were able to raise and
lower it at all.

“We have to wait over there,” Ortis said. “The passengers
coming down will be let off first, and then we can board her. Do you mind heights?”

“Heights? No,” Angus said. “Why?”

“They have two sections on the lift. One is completely
enclosed, but the other is a kind of balcony where you can look out over the
valley as it goes up. It is a wonderful view, and it will give you a better
sense of what the terrain around here is like. The enclosed part is mainly for
horses; the height makes them uncomfortable and nervous.”

“I think,” Angus said, “I’ll stay in the enclosed area. I
don’t mind the openness of the wilderness or walking along the edge of a
mountain, but I’m much more comfortable in enclosed spaces. Until I left
Blackhaven, I never ventured outside its walls. In fact,” he added,
half-smiling, “I was tempted to stay in the stables. They were more like my
room at Voltari’s than the inns I’ve stayed in since I left.”

“You still can,” Hobart offered as he joined them. “We paid
for both sections and one of the stalls is free.”

Angus shook his head. “It would make visiting the city too
complicated.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ortis said. “You didn’t seem
to mind the wait for the lift.”

“You’re right,” Angus said. “It gave me a chance to look at
Teffles’ book.”

“Was it interesting reading?” Giorge asked as he settled in
a bit too close beside him.

Angus nodded. “What I was able to follow,” he said. “Teffles
had his own style of writing, and it will take time for me to interpret it. I’m
confident I will be able to do it eventually.”

“How much time do you want?” Hobart asked.

“I’m not sure,” Angus admitted. “Ask me that after three or
four days of study. I’ll be able to give you an accurate estimate at that
time.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Hobart said.

The lift was near the platform now, dropping at a slow,
steady pace of about fifteen feet per minute. “Why doesn’t it come down
faster?” Angus asked.

“Safety,” Hobart said. “Horses don’t like it much when it
goes faster than that.”

The lift—little more than a giant wooden box on strings—fell
into place next to the platform and settled with a muffled clang. Once it
finished shuddering, the guards on the platform hurried up to the sliding doors
and unlocked them.

“They lock it from the outside to prevent people from
opening it while in transit,” Hobart said. “Before they added that safety
feature, there were a few people who panicked and flung themselves out the
doors. They probably wouldn’t have done anything about it, but one of the
people who plunged to their deaths was a wealthy merchant’s son. They almost
got rid of the balcony, too, but too many people complained about it.”

The guards pulled the sliding doors open, their metal
rollers grating against the grooves. When they stepped aside, the guards on the
inside ushered the passengers off the lift. Those with horses were first, their
masters leading them by the reins onto the platform and down a short ramp. Once
they were outside the lift area, they mounted their horses and rode off.

“They look like an advance scout party,” Hobart said. “There
must be an early caravan coming.”

“You may be right,” Giorge said. “That light blue jerkin is
typical of the Western Kingdoms. They’ve got a plant there that creates dyes of
that color. I wonder why they’re coming early.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Ortis said. “Or are you
planning to guard another one this year?”

“No need,” Giorge laughed, patting the pouch inside his
tunic. “We have plenty.”

The passengers who were afoot scampered onto the platform
and kept going. When it appeared the last one had gotten off, the guards looked
in, nodded, and gestured for those waiting to board the lift to enter. When it was
their turn, Giorge and one of Ortis headed to the open-air balcony while Hobart
and the other two Ortis joined Angus in the enclosed section. It was a large
area, much larger than he had expected, since there were two tiers. The bottom
was for the riders, and the top barely had enough room for Hobart to keep from
bumping his head. The top tier was well-lit by large openings in the ceiling
that let in ample sunlight, and a bench ringed the thirty foot square walls,
providing plenty of sitting room. Even after the last passenger had boarded,
there was still plenty of room left, but they closed the doors and, less than a
minute later, began moving up at the same plodding pace.

“They must have passengers waiting up top,” Hobart said.
“Maybe that caravan is already here. Normally they wouldn’t raise the lift
until the whole thing was full.”

There was a clicking sound coming from the corners, as if
someone was clacking together two metal bars.

“What’s that sound?” Angus asked, tensing despite the fact
that the lift had no doubt been used daily for years.

“That is another safety feature,” Ortis said. “It’s a brake
system in case the ropes break. There’s a gear system involved, and that
clicking happens with it moves from one notch to the next. The notches are arced
like a cat’s claw, and they only go in one direction. If they try to go in the
opposite direction, the gears catch and hold each other in place. As long as
the pulley gears don’t break, it will hold us in place if the ropes give out.”

“I’ve never heard of that happening,” Hobart added. “There
really is nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Angus said, not quite convinced.

“Angus,” Hobart interrupted. “We’ll stop at Hedreth’s long
enough to stow our gear and get rooms. After that, we’re going to drop off Teffles’
body and go to the Wizards’ School. The Temple of Muff isn’t on The Rim. We’ll
have to get directions to it.”

“And a hand cart,” Ortis said. “I am not carrying this body
into the city.”

Hobart nodded. “Easy enough to accomplish,” he said. “There
are always carts for rent near the lift area.”

“Do we have to ride a lift down on the other side?” Angus
asked, feeling a slight turning in his stomach. It wasn’t quite nauseating, but
it was the queasy beginnings of it.

“No,” Hobart said. “There is a ramp and a stair on each
wall. They go in opposite directions. We won’t know which one we’ll need to use
until we know where the Temple of Muff is.”

“The cart….”

“If the temple is close to the stairwell, I’ll carry
Teffles. He isn’t that heavy,” Hobart said.

“No,” Ortis agreed. “But the herbs are wearing off.”

Hobart shrugged. “I’ve smelled worse.”

“I know,” Ortis said, his orange eyes twinkling. “I was
there when you did.”

Angus rolled his eyes and snickered.

“Oof,” Hobart said. “It wasn’t my fault, now was it?”

Ortis shrugged. “Nevertheless, I would prefer not to have to
deal with this stench.”

“All right,” Hobart said. “Hand cart, Hedreth’s, the Temple
of Muff, and the Wizards’ School. Is there anywhere else we need to stop
tonight?”

“Giorge says he isn’t staying at Hedreth’s,” Ortis said.
“His contacts prefer lodgings that are not so close to the army.”

Hobart nodded. “I thought as much. Tell him he has to pay
for it himself.”

“He knows.”

“How quiet is Hedreth’s?” Angus asked, a sudden vision of
drunken soldiers badly singing bawdy songs came to mind. “I might want to join
him.”

“It’s not too bad,” Ortis said. “You should be able to sleep
well enough.”

“It’s not sleep I’m concerned about,” Angus said. “I will be
spending much of the next few weeks in deep concentration. Unwanted disruptions
could be dangerous.”

“Well,” Hobart said. “The common room will be louder than
Fenbrooke’s Inn, but your room should be quiet enough. Just ask for one in the
basement far from the common room.”

“Yes,” Ortis agreed. “If you found the stables appealing,
you’ll be quite comfortable in one of those rooms. They are notched into the
wall in the same way as the stables are. Hedreth uses them for storage, but
he’s bound to have a few empty ones this time of year. He replenishes his supplies
as the caravans pass through.”

“It won’t be furnished, though,” Hobart mused. “Knowing
Hedreth, he’ll charge you for moving the furnishings from one of the other
rooms into it.”

“I don’t mind,” Angus said. “If it gives me solitude and
silence, I will be happy to pay for it.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Hobart said. “Since you’re
under the protection of my banner, I’m sure he will make allowances. But you
may not be able to stay in there for long if the caravans are coming early.”

“Perhaps he can store the goods in the room I would have
taken?” Angus suggested.

“Ha!” Hobart said. “Knowing him, he’ll rent that one out
too! And with the caravans, there is
always
someone in need of a room.”

“No point worrying about it,” Ortis said. “We’ll find out
when we get there.”

“Right,” Hobart said. “First things first, and the first
thing we need to do is get a cart. We’ll worry about Hedreth after that.”

“How far is it to Hedreth’s Inn?” Angus asked as the lift
came to a stop.

“About half a mile,” Hobart said. “The area immediately
around the lift’s entry point is like the waiting area down below. The
marketplace for travelers is next, and the inns are just beyond it. If you want
other services, they’re arranged around The Rim in strategic places. If it
isn’t there—like those libraries you want to visit—you have to get permission
to go into the city proper.”

“They’re ready to open the doors,” Giorge said. “The guard
said there’s a caravan waiting, and they want us to hurry. It’s a small one;
they’re trying to capitalize on the market before it’s saturated.”

Hobart nodded, watching the passengers line up at the stairs
to the first tier. When it began to move, he reached down for the saddlebags he
was carrying. Angus followed suit, stepping in line behind him. Ortis picked up
Teffles’ body and joined them a few paces behind.

Hobart led them out of the lift and past the waiting throng
of the caravan—mostly pack animals and riders—until they reached the edge of
the crowd. He led them to the railing on top of the inner wall and said, “Well
Angus, there it is: Hellsbreath.”

Angus stepped up to the wall and looked out over the city.
In the center was a smoke-colored granite spire that rose almost as high as the
walls. At the top of the spire was a circular walkway with three blue-robed
wizards on it, one facing him, and the other two facing east and west. He
assumed there was a fourth opposite him, facing south, but the spire tip was
blocking his view. As his gaze went down, the spire broadened and became a
complex cluster of buildings that spread out to form a tight circle at its
base.
The Wizards’ School
, Angus noted.
Hobart said it would be easy
to find.

The Wizards’ School was ringed by gardens, and fanning out
beyond them was a grid of streets arranged in perfect squares. Within each
square there were small buildings with wooden roofs and a few stone ones of
larger size that seemed to blend into the granite background of the
cobblestones. The largest buildings were near the city walls, many of them
using that barrier for stability. Some of the large buildings were clearly
temples, judging by the ostentatious display of icons in front of them or on
their roofs, and he wondered if one of them was the Temple of Muff.