The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (17 page)

The walls were far from the smooth, mortared barrier he had
seen in Wyrmwood; these had stairs and ramps leading up from the city or down
from The Rim, most of them only went part of the way, and all of them were
lined with cave-like openings. Some of these caves were covered with a drape or
wood partition, and he pointed at one and asked, “What’s that?”

Hobart looked and shrugged. “It could be a shop of some
sort,” he said. “Or someone’s home. The walls are riddled with them.”

“Doesn’t that weaken their integrity?” Angus asked.

“Not enough to worry about,” Hobart said. “The walls aren’t
really here for protection against an army of invaders; they’re here in case
the magic keeping the volcanoes at bay fails. When they built them, they
expected the population to grow and planned for the expansion. The Wizards’
School draws a lot of people to the city, both the ones who study there and the
ones seeking the protection it offers. Most of those openings only go back
about ten feet or so; the rest is a façade. A lot of the people who live in
them are newcomers trying to survive.”

“All right,” Angus said. “That’s the Wizards’ School, and
those buildings near it are houses and the shops that cater to wizards, right?
What do the rest of the people do who live here?”

“Different things,” Hobart said. “Some are prospectors.
Others provide services to the caravans or soldiers. There are a lot of
metalworkers here, too; the volcanoes are excellent heat sources for forges,
and they channel the hot air under the city in tubes. A lot of ore comes
through here to get smelted. There are farmers, but they stick to the south,
just outside the wall. The mountain slopes far more gently in that direction,
and it’s quite fertile. The growing season is limited, though. Those are the
major enterprises; the minor ones are too numerous to list.”

“The large buildings near the walls are mainly storage,”
Giorge added. “They have to stock up on supplies when the caravans come
through, and they store the surplus in them. There’s a lot of trade here even
outside of the caravan season.”

“Wyrmwood has coal mines,” Angus said. “What do they mine
here?”

“Gems, mainly,” Giorge said. “The volcanoes are too unstable
for mining gold and silver unless it’s near the surface. There’s some iron,
too. Not much; the dwarves are pretty thorough.”

“Don’t forget the fertilizer,” Ortis said. “See that smoke
over there?” he pointed to where threads of smoke rose above the southeast
corner of the town. “They have a crusher by the river where it bends south.
After it rains, they go out and gather up the hardened layer of ash and bring
it back. The crusher—it’s like the millstone they use to grind grain seeds into
flour—grinds the ash into a fine powder, and then the wizards use their magic
to separate out the bad stuff. They fill wagons and oxcarts with what’s left
over and take it into the Western Kingdoms, where it’s most needed. The winds
generally blow east, like they are today, and it takes the ash with it,
spreading it as it goes. The plains of Tyr are quite fertile because of it, so
Tyr doesn’t need the fertilizer.”

“If you go south,” Ortis added, “don’t drink the water in
the river until you pass the rapids. They’re about six miles from the city.
You’ll know why when you see the river.”

“Let’s get that cart,” Hobart said. “We can talk while we
walk if you want.”

“One last thing,” Angus said. “I’ve noticed a few temples
down there; do you know which one is devoted to Muff?”

“No,” Hobart said. “We didn’t know Teffles long enough to
find out anything about his beliefs.”

“All right,” Angus said. “Where’s the cart?”

“This way,” Hobart said, leading them along. “It’s too bad
the caravan wasn’t larger. It’s an amazing site to see them crossing over the
town.”

“Where’s the bridge?” Angus asked. “I thought you said it
spanned the city from one lift to the other.”

“It does,” Ortis said. “But you can’t see it unless it’s in
use.”

“The wizards built it,” Hobart added, as if that was
explanation enough.

And it was; Angus nodded knowingly and decided he would have
to take a long look at it when it was more convenient to do so. For now, there
was too much to do, and he couldn’t even give it even a casual glance….

8

“Do you know of a cobbler named Ungred?” Angus asked the man
pulling the cart carrying Teffles’ body. He was a stout, barrel-chested man a
few inches shorter than himself, and he seemed to guide the cart with little
effort. His clothes were the standard fare—wool tunic and breeches, leather
boots, belt—but he kept them cleaner than most of the people he had so far seen
in Hellsbreath. If it weren’t for the sweat stains under the armpits of his
tunic, Angus would be tempted to think he lived a life of leisure with servants
to do his bidding.

“Aye,” he drawled. “He’s a fine one, that Ungred. His shop
is not far from the ramp entrance. Wall side, whitewashed, no sign. He doesn’t
have to advertize; everybody knows he makes a fine pair of boots. Costly
though.”

“How costly?” Angus asked.

Ungred shrugged. “Enough he doesn’t haggle. He usually has
back orders lined up for weeks. Caravans come through, make an order, and when
they return, he has them waiting. Even that little one that went through today
will probably keep him busy for a week or two.”

Angus frowned. “If I order a pair, I’ll have to wait until
he has time to make them, then?”

The man shrugged. “Have to ask him,” he said. “He’s been
known to make exceptions. For a price.”

They walked in silence for a little while, Hobart behind the
cart and Angus walking beside the cart man. The slope of the ramp was
significant but not overwhelming, and he fought against it to keep his cart
from propelling him forward at a reckless speed. When they reached the bottom
of the slope, he moved the cart to the side of the road and set it down so he
could flex his fingers and shake his arms for several seconds. “It won’t be
long now,” he said, gripping the handles and lifting the cart up again. “Three
streets over.”

“And the Wizards’ School is another five streets, right?”

“Aye,” the man said, plodding along at a comfortable, steady
pace that was neither fast nor slow. The streets were busy but not crowded. He
breathed slow, measured breaths and focused on the road in front of him, paying
little heed to his clients as he plodded along with him.

Angus sighed and let the man pull the cart ahead of him so
he could join Hobart in the rear.

“It was nice of Hedreth to make that room available,” he
said. “You must be good friends.”

“I’ve known him for a few years,” he said. “He’s an affable
man, quick with a joke and a beer. You should hear his story about the skirmish
with Brin. That was a sticky situation—at least the way he tells it.” Hobart
grinned. “I’ve known a few soldiers who were there, and they tell it a bit
differently. But it doesn’t matter; it’s a good story.”

“Is it too late to visit the Wizards’ School today?” Angus
asked, looking at the long shadow creeping up the east wall. “It will be near
dark by the time we get there.”

“There is always a wizard at each gate,” Hobart said. “Just
like the four men on the spire. Others are stationed on the roofs of the
garrison towers keeping watch on the volcanoes. At least, that’s what they say
they’re doing, but it looks to me like they are staring at nothing all day
long.”

Angus smiled. It wasn’t the volcanoes they were watching; it
was the magic keeping the volcanoes under control, a steady vigil to ensure the
city was protected. The ones on the spires no doubt watched the dome and
reinforced its magic whenever it was necessary. He looked up and reached out
for the magical strands and was almost immediately overwhelmed by them. He
reflexively lifted his arm in front of his eyes, but it was pointless; he could
see the intense, complexly interwoven strands even through the bone and muscle.
He gasped, blinked, and set his jaws, trying to bring the fluctuating image
into tighter focus so he could see the details of the weave pattern.

“Whoa,” Hobart said, reaching out to steady him. “Are you
all right?”

Angus reluctantly let go of the magic and shook his head.
“I’m fine,” he gasped. “I was just taken by surprise.”

“By what?” Hobart said, his eyes alert, checking the people
around him. “Did you see something?”

Angus half-smiled and tilted his head. “Yes,” he said. “The
magic covering the city. I—” he paused and frowned “—I wasn’t prepared for it. Next
time I will be.” He glanced upward, sighed, and lowered his gaze. “We should
catch up with him,” he said, pointing at the cart man plodding steadily
forward, unaware that his clients had stopped.

Hobart relaxed a bit and hurried forward. “You have to be
careful here,” he said. “There is a lucrative underground—thieves, assassins,
black market—and most of them start coming out at dusk.”

Angus nodded. “All cities are like that, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Hobart said. “But Hellsbreath is on the frontier. If
the garrison wasn’t here, it would be a lot worse. Still, there’s always some
tolerance of that kind of activity if the right pockets benefit from it,
especially when most of the victims are visitors.”

“I see,” Angus said. “Perhaps we should hurry then?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Hobart said, “but we should be fine.
Giorge knows the right people, but it sometimes takes a day or two to spread
the word.”

The man with the cart stopped at a small building and gently
lowered his cart. “Here’s the Temple of Muff,” he said. When Angus and Hobart
didn’t move to empty the cart, he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make it
home by dusk.”

“Of course,” Hobart said, hurrying forward and lifting
Teffles’ wrapped corpse from the bed of the cart. He draped it over his
shoulder as the man lifted the cart handles, pivoted on one wheel, and headed
back toward the ramp. “Thank you,” Hobart said to the man’s back.

The man kept going.

“Well, what do we do now?” Angus asked. “It looks like it’s
deserted.”

“It’s not,” Hobart said. “There aren’t a lot of followers of
Muff the Rodent, but they are as devout as any.”

“Muff
the
Rodent
?” Angus repeated.

“Yes,” Hobart said. “Most of their temple is below ground
and connects to the sewers. I don’t know the particulars of their beliefs,
though. I was looking forward to learning more about them from Teffles.” He
shrugged with his free shoulder and walked forward. “There should be someone
waiting inside.”

As they neared the open archway, a gray-robed figure stepped
out from the shadows and intercepted them. He was a young man, almost a boy,
with a gaunt figure; he was almost emaciated, as if he hadn’t eaten in some
time. His eyes were narrow, and his nose long, ending with a bulbous inward
curl toward the thin upper lip. His ears fanned out as if he were trying to
hear something from both directions at the same time. His black hair began as a
point on his forehead, avoided the sides of his head, and ran down his back in
a long braid that resembled a rat’s tail.

“May I be of assistance?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hobart said. “This is Teffles, a follower of Muff. He
wanted his body to be brought here when he died. He died. We’re here.”

“And the payment?” the young man asked.

Hobart frowned. “He said nothing about a payment.”

The young man shrugged. “Perhaps it was an oversight,” he
said.

“What is the payment?”

The young man smiled. “A gold coin will be sufficient.”

Hobart shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have that much,”
he said. “Perhaps—”

“Surely,” Angus interrupted, “his robe alone will be worth
at least that.

“His robe?” the young man repeated, laughing. “It is much
too gaudy for even a silver or two.”

“It may be gaudy,” Angus said, “but a wizard would pay
handsomely for it.”

“Why?” the young man asked.

“Tell them to check the sleeve,” Angus said.

“Indeed?” the young man said. “What is up his sleeve?”

Angus smiled. “Ask the wizard who buys it.”

The young man frowned in thought for several seconds. “You
are suggesting I take your assessment on trust,” he said. “I would prefer not
to do so. After all, if the robe was as valuable as you suggest, why are you
not wearing it?”

Angus half-smiled. “It is quite simple, really. I have my
own robe; what use would I have for a second one? Also, I am here as a courtesy
to Hobart as we go to the Wizards’ School. I have no claim to it.”

Hobart looked sharply at him, his eyebrows frowning, and shook
his head. “It is true,” Hobart said. “Teffles was part of my banner, and Angus
is merely traveling under our protection. However, if he says the robe is more
valuable than a gold coin, I would trust his judgment.” He turned to Angus and
asked, “Perhaps we should take it with us?”

The young man considered for a long moment before shrugging.
“Then take him with you as you go.”

“Angus?” Hobart asked. “We are on the way to the Wizards’
School anyway. Why not go there, first, and then return with the body after we
sell the robe. I’m sure it will be no trouble for me to carry him. What do you
think we can get for it?”

“Well,” Angus considered. “We would need to take it off the
body and wash it, I suppose.”

“Yes,” the young man said. “The aromatic decomposition is
quite distinctive. It is unlikely that you will find a buyer without cleaning
it first.”

“However, they are wizards,” Angus mused, “and a little odor
would be of little consequence to them. It would take but a minor spell to
cleanse it thoroughly, and a member of the First Order would likely pay at
least three gold coins for it, possibly more if they could spare it. If they
dislike the color, that can also be easily changed.”

“Well then,” Hobart said. “Let us be on our way.”

As he turned, the young man said, “A moment, please. What is
it about the robe that makes it so valuable?”

“Ask the wizard who buys it,” Angus repeated. “Tell him to
look closely at the sleeves.
Very
closely.”

The young man frowned, chewed his lip for a few seconds,
and, just as Hobart turned to leave again, said, “Fine. I will waive the fee
for this one. But I keep the robe.”

“Of course,” Hobart said. “Where would you like me to put
him?”

“Follow me,” he said, leading Hobart into the small
building.

While Angus waited for Hobart to return, he looked up and
brought the magic slowly into focus, keeping it at a greater distance than he
normally did. The entire sky lit up with complex energy rigidly held in place,
fluctuating madly as if it were trying to break free. The strands were from the
sphere of sky: light blue, shades of white, and a nearly fluorescent aquamarine
that he had never seen before. They were long integrated chains of complex
knots, with each chain connected to the two adjacent ones as if they had been
stacked in rotating layers. Underneath the dome, there was a long platform that
spanned from one lift to the other, but before he could begin assessing it,
Hobart came up beside him.

“That’s the way the wizards look on the tower roofs when
they say they’re watching the volcanoes,” he said. “If you want to see the
volcanoes, Angus, you’ll have to lower your gaze a bit.”

“I’m not looking at the volcanoes,” Angus said. “I’m looking
at the dome and bridge.”

Hobart tilted his head upward, stared hard for a long
moment, and then shrugged. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Are you sure you
aren’t imagining things?”

Angus laughed, letting the magic slip away, and turned to
Hobart. “Think about it for a moment, Hobart,” Angus said when his laughter
dwindled enough for him to speak. “You know there is a dome there because
you’ve seen the ash gather on top of it. You also know it was built by wizards.
I’m a wizard. It stands to reason that I can see the dome when there is no ash.
It is, after all, wrought from magic.”

Hobart frowned, looked upward for a few more seconds, and
then asked, “Why can’t I see it, then?”

“Simple,” Angus said. “Only a small percentage of humanity
is capable of seeing magic, and then only vaguely. It takes considerable
training to see it clearly and even more training to manipulate it. You lack
that training; I do not. Neither do those wizards up there on the spire or
tower tops.”

Hobart looked skeptical but decided it wasn’t worth pursuing
any further. “We should get going.”

They walked at a fast but not taxing pace, and after they
had gone half a block, Hobart asked, “Is what you said about that robe true? Is
it really worth that much?”

Angus shrugged. “To the right wizard it will be. The magical
pouch kept Giorge from knowing there was a wand and key concealed in the robe,
didn’t it? Well, I’m sure there are wizards at the school who would like to
hide things from Giorge’s kind of casual observation. Of course, it won’t keep
wizards from finding it, so the value will be limited for those staying in the
school. But for someone who is leaving…” he shrugged.

“Perhaps we should have kept it, then.”

“Not with that smell,” Angus said. “I don’t know the spell
to cleanse it. Also, would you wear clothes that had been wrapped around a
corpse for that long?”

“No,” Hobart conceded, “but if it were armor, that would be
a different story.”

They walked in silence until they were about a block from
the Wizards’ School’s gate, and then Hobart said, “Let’s not to tarry long
here, shall we? It will be dark by the time we get back to Hedreth’s, and
Bandor will be waiting for me.”

“My questions will be simple to answer,” he said. “If the
answers are favorable, I will return tomorrow for a more involved discussion.”

Hobart nodded. “The horse will cost a considerable amount,”
he said, “and I was not lying to that priest. I did not bring much coin with
me.”

“Not your concern,” Angus said. “I have the garnets.”

Hobart nodded. “Don’t offer more than the two small ones. If
they want more, offer one of the larger ones and ask for something more in
return. That horse is only worth about a hundred and twenty gold coins, if
that.”