The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (18 page)

“A bit more to a wizard, I should think,” Angus said. “But I
will keep what you have said in mind.”

“There’s the safe zone,” Hobart said as they came to the end
of the houses. “They keep an area around the tower clear of houses in case one
of the students makes a particularly destructive mistake. It happened a few
times early on, and that’s when they made the safe zone. It’s probably not big
enough.”

They walked in silence down a narrow walkway bordered by
bushes and flower gardens. Most of the flowers had already closed in upon
themselves for the night, but here and there a bush was flush with clusters of
tiny red flowers, tiny pink flowers, or tiny white ones. At the end of the safe
zone was the gate to the Wizards’ School complex, and a wizard was stationed in
a small alcove just inside it. He had a Lamplight spell over his right shoulder
and was reading from a heavy tome. When he noticed them standing there, he
looked up and said, “Welcome to the Wizards’ School. I am Vindray, Wizard of
the Fifth Order. How may we be of service to you this evening?”

“I am Hobart of the Banner of the Wounded Hand, and I
believe it is I who can be of service to you. We have a horse bequeathed to the
school, and it is waiting in the stables.”

“A horse?” Vindray said. “Who bequeathed it to us?”

“Teffles,” Hobart said. “I believe he studied here some time
ago.”

“Teffles?” Vindray muttered. “I am not familiar with the
name. Perhaps if we looked at the registry in the archives…. Was there anything
else for the school? Most graduates bequeath the spells they develop to the
school or to a favored mentor or friend.”

Angus bristled, but Hobart smoothly said, “Nothing of that
sort was mentioned when he joined my banner. Only the horse.”

“A pity,” Vindray said. “But no matter. If you could provide
me with the particulars, I will notify the stableman that the horse is there.”

“It is a docile steed—”

“No, no, not the horse,” Vindray interrupted. “Where you are
staying, where the horse is stabled, and how we may contact you.”

“It is one of seven horses,” Hobart objected. “It would not
be wise to take the wrong one.”

“Nevertheless,” Vindray said. “I would like to begin with
your information before turning to the horse.”

“Perhaps I can resolve this situation,” Angus said. “My name
is Angus, and I have an interest in purchasing the steed. If you would like to
call upon your stableman to visit me at Hedreth’s we may be able to find an
equitable arrangement for both the school and myself.”

“Angus,” Vindray said. “What is your order?”

“I have none,” Angus said. “I was not trained in a Wizards’
School. If I were,” he continued, “I believe I would have graduated by now.”

“A Master? From outside the schools?” Vindray scoffed. “Who
trained you?”

Angus half-smiled and tilted his head. “I was apprenticed to
Voltari of Blackhaven Tower,” he said, his voice curiously soft even in his own
ears.

Vindray paled a bit, and then hurriedly said, “I meant no
disrespect, Master Angus. It is rare that one trained outside the schools
achieves any ability beyond the first or second order. If I had known you had
studied with Voltari, I would not have questioned it.”

Angus smiled and nodded. “No offense taken,” he said. “I
have found that mentioning Voltari tends to elicit discomfort in some of the
people I meet, so I tend not to mention him.”

Vindray nodded. “His skills are well known here,” he said.
“Although his talents lean in darker directions, his abilities are most highly
respected.”

“Good,” Angus said. “Now, as for my companion, he is also
staying at Hedreth’s. I am sure your stableman would be more than welcome to
speak with him tomorrow if need be.”

Vindray nodded. “Of course. Is there any other service I may
provide to you?”

“Yes,” Angus said. “Would it be possible for me to visit
your library? I have some historical research to do, and I assume there will be
such tomes within your collection.”

“Our library is quite extensive,” Vindray said. “However, it
is not open to visitors at night. You will need to return during the day and
seek permission from the librarian to review what materials are available.”

“I will do that,” Angus said. “Perhaps if I come tomorrow
morning, I will be able to see the stableman while I am here?”

“I am sure we can arrange that,” Vindray agreed.

“I have but one other question,” Angus continued. “Voltari
suggested I might find employment in Hellsbreath, and I would like to know what
prospects are available here. Perhaps you can direct me to those who have an
interest in hiring a wizard of my abilities?”

Vindray frowned. “The Wizards’ School is always looking for
master wizards,” he said. “Both for teaching and for maintaining the spells
that keep the city safe. However, you will have to prove you have the abilities
you claim, and that is a rigorous process. If you had been trained here, it
would be much simpler.”

Angus shrugged. “I seek only information for now,” he said.
“Once I have that information, I will choose my course of action.”

“What kind of information?” Vindray asked.

“Expectations, payment—the normal sort of thing, I suppose
you could say.”

“Ah,” Vindray began, “the answers will depend upon your
ability. They won’t be able to answer those questions until you have been
tested.”

“I see,” Angus frowned. “Well, I can pursue the matter
further tomorrow. Night is approaching, and the day has been long. Until then?”

Vindray nodded. “If I am not on duty, feel free to send for
me when you arrive. I would be pleased to show you around the school.”

Angus nodded. “Good night, Vindray,” he said.

“Good night, Master Angus.”

Hobart barely hesitated before turning and joining Angus as
he walked briskly away from the gate.

“Well,” Angus muttered. “They know I’m here, now. I wonder
what they’ll do about it.”

“Probably sell you the horse,” Hobart said.

Angus chuckled. “If my discussions go well tomorrow,” he
said, “I will likely be able to tell you if I will be joining your banner or
not.”

“Good,” Hobart said, taking long, swift strides.

Angus hurried to keep pace with him, thinking,
I wonder
what I will find in the history books
….

9

Angus set yet another book aside and turned to the next one
Embril had brought to him. She was a delightfully helpful librarian, one with a
great deal of knowledge, energy, and optimism. Her eyes were a bit odd, though;
one was brown and the other blue, and it gave her face an almost sinister
appearance. But the sinister quality disappeared entirely when she smiled and
little flecks of happiness danced across their surface and they almost merged
to form a single blue-tinted brown shade he couldn’t identify. At least, that’s
what he told himself was happening, even though he knew it was only his
imagination playing with his sentiments. Then again, her long, straight, red
hair, shapely figure beneath the dark green robe, and lilting little laugh made
him feel much younger than he was—or was he really that young? Perhaps if he
stayed in Hellsbreath….

The next tome was an old one, like all the others, and he
opened it carefully. He set it upright on its spine and peeled it apart in the
middle, easing the front and back covers to the table. It crackled as if the
glue in the spine was struggling against a great force, and then it gave way
and settled into a strained silence. The pages were discolored, as if it had
been dropped in water at some point, but the ink remained legible, though
faded. He leafed to the front of the book and began reading.

I am Fyngar, chronicler of the Kingdom of Urm. I have been
Urm’s chronicler since before the Great Expansion, the records of which may be
found in the official chronicle,
The Glory of
Urm
. That text is a lie. It depicts those tragic events in the manner
most favorable to King Urm and omits that which would tarnish his name. Much
was left out. This tome, which will remain concealed among the wizards until
such time as its contents may be received without malice, tells the truth of
that dreadful time and records the depths of Urm’s avarice and maleficence.

Angus read quickly through the disparaging remarks about
King Urm and his sadistic pleasures until Fyngar’s disgust dwindled and the
facts began to appear.

It was late summer, not long before the harvest would
begin, that King Urm gathered together his army. It was a small army, scarcely
more than one thousand men, and he led them into the lands of the plains folk.
The plains folk were a kind and generous people who had offered much guidance
to the peoples of Urm when they arrived. Land, food, knowledge—all were freely
given by the plains folk, and Urm greedily accepted them. But it was not
enough. Urm wanted more.

The army left the walls of Urmag and entered the vast
expanse of grain, seeking out the plains folk wherever they might be. It was
days before the harvest, and the plains folk were living quietly in their
villages, each one but a handful of families knitted together by kinship. They
were a peaceful, generous people who knew nothing about war. When Urm ordered
his men to kill them, there was nothing they could do but die. He gave that
order again and again and again, killing all the plains folk within fifty miles
of Urmag. Beyond that limit, he set fire to the grain.

The fire was a hideous conflagration expanding outward from
the grain he had captured and secured. It spread through the plains folk,
leaving behind decimated village after decimated village, charred body after
charred body. They tried to flee, but the fire was too fast. Only a handful
survived by the largest rivers. But not for long. Most starved within days. The
ones who didn’t die learned how to catch and eat fish, a stark contrast to
their strictly vegetarian diet. The fires did not stop until they reached the
swamps to the north, the mountains to the west and south.

In a single, vicious stroke, the empire of plains folk was
destroyed, and Urm moved into the vacancy, setting up garrisons at strategic
points and populating the land between with farming villages. There was nothing
the plains folk could do to prevent it. The few survivors had fled and were not
heard from again.

Angus skimmed through several paragraphs before backtracking
to reread a section more closely.

The remnants of the plains folk have been encountered only
rarely since the destruction of their empire. Many have already forgotten them.
But I have not. They were a beautiful people, a kind people. In times of
harvest, they were plentiful; in times of deep winter, their numbers dwindled.
I studied them before their demise, and was one of the few who were given the
privilege of observing their rituals. One in particular was of great interest
and beauty: The Replication Ceremony.

Two years prior to the Great Expansion, King Urm gave me
leave to investigate their cultural practices. I lived with them from one
harvest to the next. The Replication Ceremony happened shortly after the
beginning of the second harvest, and my friend Utin invited me to observe it.
The plains folk gathered around a pile of grain that was taller than they were
and began eating. I have never seen anyone eat as much as they did over the
next few hours, and when they finished, they joined hands and sat down. As the
minutes went by, a thin cocoon-like mesh formed around them, connecting them
together. In time, the silk-like threads of the mesh began to pulse and throb,
and small buds began to grow from them. As these buds grew, they began to take
on the size and shape of the adult plains folk. Their general form was
humanlike, but with a short, curled tail and catlike paws. Once the buds were
fully grown, the cocoon receded and was absorbed back into the bodies of the
originators. It took hours for the ceremony to be completed, and at the end,
the new members of the village opened their eyes and began moving around as if
they had lived their entire lives in the village. Utin smiled at me, his
rudimentary fangs and owl-like eyes full of joy, and introduced me to his
son—born but a few moments before. He knew my face and my name
….

Angus frowned. Ortis didn’t have fangs. Did he have a tail?
The eyes were cat-like, not owl-like. Still…. He kept reading until he was
satisfied there was little else Fyngar had to offer in the short treatise—other
than pointing out the hideous shortcomings of King Urm’s reaction upon hearing
about the ritual. Urm’s fear drove him down that path to genocide, and once it
was begun, there was little Fyngar could do to stop him. But Fyngar didn’t
forget, nor did he deny his role in the whole affair. The book was a
confessional, and he seemed to leave nothing of relevance out of it, whether it
was about himself or King Urm. He did not provide nearly enough information on
the plains folk for Angus to draw upon, but it was more than the other texts
had had.

He spent two days searching through maps and texts on
semiotics, religion, arcane magic, history—anything that might give him
information about the symbol on his map. But he found nothing and finally
returned to Hedreth’s to study Teffles’ spells and wand. If he had had more
time, he would have spent weeks researching the map and the plains folk, but he
didn’t.

He decided not to pursue employment in Hellsbreath, at least
for the time being. Instead, he would travel with the Banner of the Wounded
Hand for two years, and when those two years were over, he would reevaluate his
options. When he told them of his decision, they were quite pleased, and then
the conversation turned to preparations for their expedition. What would they
need? When would they leave? What would they do if they found something? If
they didn’t? Then Angus turned to Teffles’ spells.

After two more days, he was beginning to think in the
shorthand Teffles had used, but only in bits and pieces here and there. After
the first few spells, the sky magic grew more complicated, and there were far
too many gaps in them for him to understand them as well as he wanted. Teffles
had only scribed the high points, those that he needed to have in order to
refresh his memory and prime himself, not the detailed instructions a novice of
sky magic would need to have in order to understand them. Reading through them
was like reading through a new scroll from Voltari; some parts he grasped quite
well, but others were a mystery to him until he finally risked casting the
spell. If only Voltari had taught him more than just the rudiments of sky
magic….

The wand was another matter entirely. Thanks to Teffles’
early explanations in his book, Angus had learned what the sigils on the wand
meant. But he wasn’t sure what they would do when combined. The first sigil was
for the portion of sky magic related to wind. It was a basic sigil, one that
could be modified in several ways, depending upon the kind of wind that was
desired. The basic knot elicited a slight, straight, steady breeze, but if it
was squeezed together it became more potent. A twist of the knot made the wind
rotate. The sigil on the wand was pinched tightly together
and
twisted.
Would it create a powerful rotating wind? Perhaps even a cyclonic one? If it
were the only sigil on the wand, then maybe, but there were two others. The
three sigils appeared as a recurring pattern, and all three had to be
manipulated in order for the wand to be activated. Each one would release its
individual part of the spell, but the wand’s power would only be released after
all three had been triggered. So, only part of the spell was a cyclonic
disruption of some sort, but the other two parts would complement, constrain,
and alter that disruption.

The second sigil was related to temperature. It was another
simple, basic knot, and if it was expanded it indicated high temperatures and
when it was scrunched up it was low ones. The higher temperatures also relied
upon elements of flame magic—an intermingling of the threads—while the low
temperatures drew upon ice magic. It was the most ambiguous portion of the
spell, since it did little to explain how the temperature would affect it.
Temperature was a significant part of the spell, but he had no idea what that
part was. When he first looked at the third sigil, he didn’t recognize it, even
after studying the introductory sections of Teffles’ book. It was only later,
when he was studying Teffles’ more complex spells that it had become apparent:
thunder. Although he understood that much, he couldn’t determine what role it
would play in the spell itself. Thunder, lightning, storms—these were not
simplistic spells, and it was unclear whether Teffles had mastered them or not.
Regardless, Angus
hadn’t
mastered them, and he was at a complete loss as
to how the three parts of the spell would be combined together or how their
individual properties would manifest.

“So,” Angus muttered. “A spell that involves high cyclonic
winds whose temperature may vary considerably, and it involves thunder. But
what is thunder? A loud sound created by the lightning when it strikes. Does
that mean you throw lightning bolts?” Angus shook his head. “No. That doesn’t
make sense. Lightning has its own symbol and the crafter of the wand would have
known that. A thunderstorm? Unlikely. What good would a thunderstorm do in the
midst of battle when a wand was needed? Wands were almost always made for quick
access to complex, powerful spells, ones the wizard wouldn’t have time to prime
himself for on short notice. A thunderstorm would be too disruptive, not only
to the enemy but also to the wizard and his allies. A tornado, though, if
controlled….”

There was a quiet knock on his door, but he ignored it.

“No, not a tornado,” he thought. “It wouldn’t need the other
two components. Tornadoes are simply strong winds rotating in a tight circle.
The temperature could relate to the tornado, but what role would the thunder
have?”

The knock was a bit louder, a bit more insistent, but he
continued to ignore it. He wasn’t expecting any visitors and had given Hedreth
and his new colleagues explicit instructions not to intrude upon his time.

Angus focused once more on the magic of the wand, studying
its intricate framework. The surface was the wind; that much was clear enough.
Almost all of the strands were very pale, almost translucent shades of blue,
and the few that weren’t only showed flickering shades of white and slightly
darker blue. But he still couldn’t penetrate through the crust to see what was
beneath them; it was too tightly woven. He
suspected
it would only be
more sky magic, but of what sort?

The temperature was almost certainly low rather than high.
He was particularly attuned to the sphere of flame, and if it were being used,
he was confident he would be able to sense it. But he couldn’t be certain, and
if it did lower the temperature, he didn’t know how much. Thunder would also
draw upon sky magic….

His visitor tried the door handle, shaking it softly.

“Perhaps if I release this first knot?” he muttered. “It
should not activate the spell; the wand will only activate when all three knots
have been released. Wouldn’t it loosen the outer layer of magic enough for me
to see through it? That would make it possible to unravel its complexity.” He frowned,
toying with the wand, flicking it around….

There was a slight scraping in the lock, but it wasn’t from
a key. Someone was trying to pick it, to get into his room.

Angus didn’t look up. “Should I test this,” he wondered, a
half-smile easing into place as he held the wand up in front of his eyes, “on
the intruder?” He tilted his head, listening to the subtle movements of the man
picking the lock. He turned slightly, placing the door in the middle of his
line of sight. He held the wand out before him and prepared to implement the
quick series of movements that would untie the knots and release the spell.

The pins in the lock turned….

“Should I give a warning?” Angus muttered. “Or just trigger
the wand when the door opens?”

The handle turned….

“Would the intruder give warning?” Angus purred, gesturing
for the release of the first knot. The first layer expanded, and he noted there
was no flame, only ice and something else he didn’t immediately recognize.