The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (24 page)

14

It took nearly an hour to clear a path for the horses to go
single file through the tunnel, and then another half hour to regain their
footing on the roadbed. They rode at an easy pace, and the roadbed continued to
hug the mountain’s slope, gradually rising and falling with the contours of the
mountain. In the late afternoon, they came upon a clearing carved into the
mountain’s face where it was somewhat leveler than the surrounding areas. It
was mostly bare rock, but near the mountain’s upslope where the wind swirled
there was a thin layer of dirt with small plants clinging to it.

“They must have used this for their campsite while they were
building the road,” Hobart said. “They would have turned it into a caravan stop
after they finished.”

“Why bother?” Angus asked. “What was the point of building
this road in the first place? There’s not much here but mountains, and they
keep getting higher.”

Hobart shrugged. “More trade with the dwarves, probably. The
road out of Wyrmwood is difficult to travel, and the window for caravan travel
is fairly small if they want to avoid the snows. Another road down here would
provide an alternate route.

“They were also looking for another pass into the Western
Kingdoms,” he continued. “Hellsbreath Pass is the only way through, and there
are always threats about closing it down. So far, there hasn’t been enough
animosity between the Western Kingdoms and the Kingdom of Tyr to lead either to
close their border, but the threat is always there. And if the bandits ever get
unified, they might be able to block it. It’s a fairly narrow, easily
defensible pass.”

“Well,” Giorge asked. “Do we stay here for the night or keep
going?”

“Why don’t you scout ahead a little ways,” Ortis suggested.
“We’ll wait for you here.”

“All right,” Giorge said, spurring his steed to a light
trot.

“Maybe you should go with him,” Hobart suggested. “In case
he finds something he can’t deal with.”

Ortis nodded as one of him started out after Giorge.

“If we stay here,” Hobart said. “We’ll need to find shelter.
It feels like a frost in the air tonight.”

“I’ll get some firewood,” Ortis said. “The roadbed ends
about a mile ahead of us. The old road is still evident, but mainly because it
is still relatively flat. Most of the stones are covered, and it’s rising
sharply.”

“Maybe we should keep going,” Hobart suggested as he pointed
at the cliff. “If we’re going to cross that ridge tomorrow, I’d rather it was
in the daylight.”

“We won’t reach it tonight,” Ortis said. “We may not get
there tomorrow, either. The road is rising and curving with the mountain. The
summit of this mountain connects up with that one,” he pointed at the cliff.
“The road follows it. We’ll be going north on this mountain until we reach the
south face of that one, and then turn west for quite a while before reaching
the cliff.”

Hobart frowned. “Are there any caves?” he asked. “I’d rather
spend the night in a cave than out in the open here. That west wind is already
picking up, and it’s going to get cold.”

Ortis shook his head. “We haven’t found any yet,” he said.
“And the mountainside is too steep for the horses to climb. The old road
narrows in places; it wasn’t built for a caravan. If they had kept building
this road, they would have had to cut deep into the mountainside to make room
for one. It’s still wide enough that we don’t have to worry about it, but don’t
be surprised if we can’t turn the horses around at some point. This clearing is
our best option for tonight.”

Hobart sighed. “We’ll be taking it slow, then?”

“Yes,” Ortis said. “There isn’t any point in hurrying on a
trail like this.”

“What if we get attacked?” Angus asked.

“By what?” Ortis countered. “There hasn’t been any sign of
animals much larger than a rabbit since we got out of that valley. I don’t
think the larger animals come up here; the mountain is too steep, and there
isn’t much food. Now, when we get to that cliff, it could be different. There’s
bound to be caves, and most caves are occupied by something.”

“We won’t have to worry much about bears,” Hobart added. “They’ll
be foraging in the valley for the late season berries and fish. They’re going
to be hibernating soon, and some of those caves will be ideal places for them
to sleep through the winter. We’ll have to watch for them when we come back.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of things other than
animals,” Angus said.

“Dwarves?” Hobart chuckled. “We’re in The Tween, remember?
They don’t come this far out from their holes, and even if they did, they’d
likely be underground. Of course, we’ll have to watch for them in the caves,
too. We don’t have to worry much about Hellsbreath’s patrols, either; there’s
been no sign of them coming this far, their tracks stop at the lava flows. I
think they camp there and turn back around to haunt the valley.”

“Hunt, more like,” Ortis said. “They aren’t just patrolling
for hazards, you know. There are plenty of deer in the valleys, and the patrol
serves as a hunting party, too.”

Angus frowned. Something was bothering him. “If there aren’t
any tangible dangers,” he asked, “why do people avoid The Tween?”

“Most people don’t want to come in here to begin with,”
Ortis said. “Those who do often find it too challenging for travel. The valleys
are okay—except when it rains; then the rivers and streams bloat up and the
flooding can wash away anyone careless enough to be too close to them.
Mudslides and rockslides generally happen then. But the easily accessible
valleys are few, and the mountains around them are difficult to climb.”

“Don’t forget the volcanoes,” Hobart added. “The lava flow
Angus blasted through isn’t the only one out here, I assure you.”

“And the winter,” Ortis added. “The further you get into The
Tween, the longer the winter is. Unless you have a very good reason for coming
here, it isn’t worth the risk. A half day from the roads, and it’s about as
unfriendly a country as any you’ll encounter.”

“Those are the things we all know about,” Hobart said. “They
keep most people out. But others, like us, who are foolhardy enough to enter
The Tween generally don’t come back. If they do, it was because they were
frightened out of it before they got much further. Haven’t you felt it yet? A
sense of foreboding clinging to the air and eating away at you?”

Angus shook his head. “I’ve felt nothing of the sort,” he
said. “Have you?”

“Not yet,” Hobart chuckled. “But we’re still on the fringe
of The Tween. It might not hit us until tomorrow or the next day.”

“By the way, Angus,” Ortis said, turning to him. “If we had
gone around the other side of this mountain, we never would have gotten to that
cliff. These two mountains are connected; there isn’t a pass between them. You
should be grateful you had the wand. We are.”

“Or will be,” Hobart corrected, “once we get there and find
treasure. If we don’t, we’ll probably regret the use of that wand.”

“You know, Angus,” Ortis said. “You can use that wand to
make a cave for us, can’t you? It would make the journey faster. We wouldn’t
have to stay here tonight, and wouldn’t have to waste time finding shelter as
we go.”

Angus shook his head. “I’d rather be subject to the
elements.”

“Why?” Hobart asked. “We know the wand can do it.”

“It’s not that I can’t do it; it’s that I don’t want to,”
Angus said. “It isn’t wise to waste magic in that way.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste if it kept us warm,” Hobart
grumbled.

“I’d agree with you, Hobart, but it doesn’t work that way. I
can only use the wand six more times before the magic is gone.”

“Really?” Ortis said. “I thought those things lasted
forever.”

Angus half-smiled. “No magic is ever permanent. Not even the
magic around us. It changes over time. A wand like this only contains the
spells that are captured by it when it was made. When I found this one, it
contained nine spells. I’ve used three of them.”

“Is it the same with the scrolls?”

Angus shook his head. “The scrolls aren’t magical. They
contain the instructions for casting spells. That’s why I have to prime myself
with them; the magic is both within me and around me, and I draw upon both of
them according to the instructions given in the scrolls. But I have to memorize
those instructions; if I cast them from the scroll, I risk losing it.”
Careful,
Angus, don’t say too much. The explanations only get more and more complicated,
and they wouldn’t understand them anyway.

“The same with Teffles’ book?”

Angus nodded. “Books and scrolls are pretty much the same.
They’re both mnemonic devices to assist wizards in remembering the precise
methods for producing the knots necessary for casting particular spells. We can
manipulate the strands without such guidance, but it rarely does what we hope
it will do. Magic is more like an unruly master than an unruly servant.”

“Well,” Ortis said. “I’m glad you used the wand. It may yet
save our lives if the winter snows come earlier than normal.”

Angus nodded.
At least I know how the wand works, and if
I ever master the spells involved, I might even be able to capture them in the
wand myself.

“If we’re going to stay here, then,” Hobart said. “We may as
well get started.”

“Giorge and I will bring back firewood,” Ortis said. “There
are a few bushes with large enough branches to burn for the night. No trees,
though; the slope is too rocky and steep.”

“Angus and I will care for the horses,” Hobart said. “He
needs practice.”

15

“Angus?” Ortis hissed, his voice soft, urgent. “Wake up.
Someone is approaching.”

Angus blinked, rolled over. It was cool, almost cold. The
fire was out. There were few stars, and the moon was half-hidden behind clouds.
He yawned, smacked his lips, and reached for his water flask. “So?” he said,
blinking groggily.

Ortis turned and watched him for several seconds before
saying, “It’s a rider.”

“Just one?” Angus grumbled as he sat up. “Why wake me for
that?”

Again a pause, then Ortis said. “He’s seen me.”

“Good,” Angus said.

Ortis shook his head. “He’s stopped. No, he only slowed
down. He’s approaching me.”

“Well,” Angus muttered. “Why don’t you shoot him already?”

Ortis turned to him. “He’s from a patrol, Angus. And even if
he wasn’t, he hasn’t made any threatening gestures.”

Angus shrugged and stretched. “If he’s so friendly, why did
you wake me up?”

Ortis sighed. “Just because he isn’t acting aggressively, it
doesn’t mean he won’t.” He paused and added, more softly, “Even friends can
turn on you, Angus.”

Angus rinsed his mouth again and spat. Then he reached into
a pocket and brought out a leaf to chew on. It had almost no flavor, but it was
juicy and did wonders for his tongue and teeth. Unfortunately, he only had a
few of them left.

“He’s hailing me,” Ortis said. “He’s keeping his voice low;
he doesn’t want it to carry.”

“What does he want?” Angus asked, looking around the
campsite. “Where are Giorge and Hobart?”

“With me,” Ortis said. “We waited to wake you until it was
clear that he wasn’t going back.”

“How far away are you?” Angus asked.

“Half a mile,” Ortis said.

“I have time to relieve myself, then,” Angus said, moving to
the edge of the clearing. When he returned, he asked, “Has he told you why he’s
here?”

“Yes,” Ortis said. “He’s a scout. The rest of the patrol is
behind him. They’ve camped in your tunnel. They sent him ahead because they
didn’t want to startle us with a larger party.”

Angus half-smiled.
A lot of good that did.
“The
tunnel made an impression, did it?”

Ortis nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It told them they were
following the right group.”

“Why would they be following us?”

“Not us,” Ortis said. “Giorge.”

“Giorge?” Angus said, peering up the road but seeing
nothing. “What do they want with him?”

“They have a Truthseer with them,” he said. “They want to
ask him some questions. He doesn’t want to answer them.”

Angus shrugged. “Then he doesn’t have to, does he?”

“It’s not that simple,” Ortis said. “The scout said they
would continue to pursue us until this Truthseer talks to Giorge.”

“Did he do something to annoy them?” Angus asked. “Like the
last time he was in Hellsbreath?”

“No,” Ortis said. “He has no idea what it could be about.
But it doesn’t have to do with the patrol. They are only the Truthseer’s
escort. The Truthseer was sent by—” Ortis frowned and his muscles tensed.

“Who sent him?” Angus asked, his tone and posture suddenly
more alert, concerned.

“They said to tell him it was Dirk,” Ortis said.

“Dirk?” Angus asked, a sudden, intense uneasiness
inexplicably swarmed through him. “That sounds like a nasty name,” he
half-whispered.

Ortis nodded. “When Giorge heard it, he stopped smirking and
agreed to speak with the Truthseer. Apparently, we’ll be staying here longer
than we expected. The rest of his party won’t arrive until tomorrow.” He turned
and shrugged. “I guess you can go back to sleep, now.”

Angus frowned as Ortis went to the fire and began stoking
the embers back to life. After awhile, he lay down again but, when he closed
his eyes, sleep was reluctant to join him. When it finally did, it was troubled
and angry….

16

The Truthseer’s party arrived at the campsite near
midmorning and claimed the half of it nearest them. They set up a small tent
and the Truthseer—a mysterious, gray-robed figure with its face hidden—stepped
inside. A few minutes later, Giorge was called over and went inside the tent.
He stayed there for nearly half an hour, at the end of which he came back to
the group.

“Well?” Hobart asked. “Why did they want to talk to you?”

Giorge shook his head, and turned to Angus. “She wants to
see you now.”

“Me?” Angus asked. “Why?”

“It’s best if you don’t know until she asks you about it,”
Giorge said. “Just tell the truth. Dirk is not one to trifle with, and the
patrol is under her command. If she doesn’t like your answers,” he shrugged.

Angus frowned. “And if I don’t go?” he asked. “They have no
jurisdiction out here, do they?”

“Other than their swords?” Hobart asked. “There’s a wizard
with them, too, remember? You can never tell which one it is by looking because
they all dress alike.”

“Angus,” Giorge said. “Trust me. It’s better to get this
over with. If you don’t talk to her now, they will assume what they think is
true
is
true, and that will go very badly for you—and us.”

“What do they think is true?” Ortis asked. “Has Angus done
something—”

Giorge shook his head and met Angus’s gaze with two somber,
dark brown orbs. “Go,” he said softly. “Tell her the truth.”

“All right,” Angus said. “I’ll go. But I don’t promise to
answer any questions.”

Giorge’s lips curled slightly upward as he said, “You may
not have a choice.”

The tent was empty except for the Truthseer and two stools
set opposite each other across a brazier of hot coals. A thin cloud of gray
smoke hovered near the top of the tent, shifting its shape as if it were almost
alive. The Truthseer’s hood was down, and Angus saw that she was quite old,
perhaps the oldest woman he had ever seen. Her face was a mixture of wrinkles,
pockmarks, and age spots; her hair was a thin shield of gray wisps bound
together with a golden clasp inlaid with polished topaz. A pair of matching
earrings dangled from her tired lobes, and her wrinkled, age-spotted hand
beckoned for him to sit across from her. As he moved to sit down, her deep-set
blue eyes studied him intently, with such shrewdness and clarity that it almost
undermined his resistance.

“I understand you have questions,” Angus said, sitting down
and crossing his arms. “Ask them.”

Her eyes both danced and were vacant at the same time, as if
she were simultaneously looking both at him and through him. “You are Angus?”
she asked, her voice reedy, as if it had to struggle to escape from her throat.

“I am,” Angus said.

The wrinkles in her brow tightened, their contours becoming
more crisply defined. “Apprentice to Voltari, Wizard of Blackhaven Tower?”

“Yes,” Angus said.

A gnarled hand snaked out of her robe and sprinkled incense
onto the brazier. The smoke wavered for a long moment before it stretched
outward toward both of them. It had a heady, deeply floral scent that tingled
as it touched his nose, enticing him to take a deep breath that left him
lightheaded.

Her questions came quickly as he swooned under the drug’s
soporific influence.

“Did you give Giorge the gold coins to sell in Hellsbreath?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Blackhaven Tower.”

“Who gave them to you?”

He wanted to answer. He tried to answer. But he couldn’t. He
didn’t know the answer.

She was beginning to unravel, her left and right halves
whirling apart as if she were trying to smother him in love, in death.

“Who gave you the gold coins bearing King Urm’s image?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. It felt like a leech was
sucking on his face, but he still could not answer. He wanted
desperately
to answer her, to tell her the truth no matter how it might sound—but he
couldn’t. He didn’t know the truth.

She swirled around him, her warm, ghostly embrace stabbing
into him, working through him, searching….

“How did you acquire the gold coins bearing King Urm’s
image?” she asked.

He smiled. He could answer this question. “They were in my
tunic when I put it on. I don’t know how they got there.”

The specter quickly retreated, as if it had been bitten by
the sharp point of a poisoned dart. It hovered there, above the brazier for
several seconds, and then she asked a new question.

“Do you know Bug-Eyed Jake?”

“Yes,” Angus said, glad to be able to answer another
question. “He was in Hellsbreath’s Hellhole with me.”

“He claims you are Typhus, an assassin. Are you?”

Angus frowned and opened his mouth and worked his tongue as
if he wanted to say something but nothing came out. The leeches were growing in
number, blood dripping from their sated tongues….

“Are you Typhus?” she purred, her vague, smoke-like form
spreading out before him, hovering above the brazier, spreading its arms out
wide.

He opened his mouth, but the sound that came forth was
strangled, unintelligible. He shut it again.

“Answer truthfully,” the Truthseer demanded, fluttering
forward to envelop him in her crushingly insubstantial grip.

The smoke was dense, smothering, making him dizzy, nauseous.
Angus shook his head, trying to free it from the smoke, trying to breathe.
“No,” he finally rasped. “I am Angus.”

Her smoke-like form retreated, allowing him to breathe. It
studied him until he stopped panting, and then asked, “How many coins did you
find in your tunic? What did you do with them?”

“Thirteen,” Angus said at once. “I spent one at Nargeth’s
inn in Woodwort. Giorge sold the rest in Hellsbreath.”

“Are you an assassin?”

Angus opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned and
shook his head. “No. I—” he paused, and when he finished, his voice sounded
uncertain. “I am a wizard.”

“Why did you hesitate in your response?”

“I can’t remember,” Angus said, a wave of relief flooding
through him. It was so delightful to be able to tell her the truth, to be able
to answer her questions.

“You don’t remember why you hesitated?” she asked, her voice
confused.

He didn’t understand the question, so he answered as best he
could. “I can’t remember anything before the spell went wrong,” he said.

“The wand? In Hellsbreath?” she prompted. “When you struck
your head against the wall?”

He shook his head. “No,” he corrected. “The spell in
Blackhaven Tower.”

“Explain,” she demanded.

“Voltari said I cast the spell wrong,” Angus chirped. “I
don’t remember doing it. I only remember waking up not knowing who I was.
Voltari told me my name was Angus and I was his apprentice. That is who I have
been ever since. I don’t know who I was before that.”

The smoke fluttered, hovered. “How long ago did this occur?”

Angus frowned, shrugged. “It is difficult to say,” he said.
“There were no calendars in Voltari’s tower; he kept his own schedule. I can
only estimate that it was over a year ago but less than two.”

“Interesting,” the Truthseer said. “Perhaps if we dig deeper
we shall find more truths?”

She tossed more incense on the brazier and the haziness of
her form solidified into a thick, amorphous, almost viscous form. As it
approached, something deep inside of him braced itself, saying over and over
again,
My name is Angus. I am Voltari’s apprentice
….