The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (25 page)

17

His back ached the way it did when he hunched too long over
one of Voltari’s tomes. He tried to move into a more comfortable position, but
his hands were tied. So were his feet. But he wasn’t gagged.

He was moving—a steady swaying jostled his body around and
aggravated the soreness of his back. The ropes chafed his wrists and ankles,
but he could flex his hands and fingers without any difficulty. Whoever had
tied him up had done a poor job of it; the ropes were tied so loosely that he
could easily slip them off if he wanted to, but he needed to know who had him
first.

His nose was clogged with dried mucus. Or was it blood?
Whichever it was, it was hard and scratchy, like sand, and clung to the inside
of his nostrils. Thin wisps of wheezy breath whistled through them, but it wasn’t
enough; he needed more air. He opened his mouth—

And tasted sweat-drenched horsehair. It was slightly better
than the sickly-sweet ooze sliding down the back of his throat, but he needed a
drink.

So, he was tied to a horse. By whom? Why?

He gasped for air—he couldn’t help it. He tried to stifle
the sound, to mimic the wheezing, but he couldn’t.

“He’s coming around,” someone said. “We better stop.”

The horse came to a stop and, after a brief adjustment,
settled into a perfectly still posture. It helped. If he slid his hands free—

No. He didn’t know how many there were. He didn’t know where
he was. If he broke loose now, it would only get worse.

“We’ll get you down in a moment,” a man said from beside him
as firm, gentle hands working on the ropes.

He didn’t protest—or help—as he was eased to the ground. He
was too weak, and a blacksmith was banging on his head as if it were an anvil.

“Drink this,” the man said, holding a small glass phial up
to his lips. It smelled strongly of mustard, of sage, and of a few other things
he couldn’t identify. He thought about protesting, but he was too thirsty.

He opened his eyes. Subdued sunlight, shadows. The face was
familiar. The eyes—orange eyes, catlike…. He knew someone with eyes like that,
didn’t he? A survivor of something? He was in cahoots with a thief, a thief who
tried to take his gold—who
did
take his gold!

“The Truthseer said it will help clear your head.”

The liquid was warm, spicy, but had almost no taste, despite
the smell. The warmth flowed down his throat, into his stomach, and began
radiating outward through his body. When it reached his head, the pounding of
the hammer stilled, and he said, “Ortis. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ortis said, holding out a water flask. “It will help
wash it down. When you’re up to it, we’ve got some cold stew you can eat.”

Angus drank most of the water and nodded. “After I wake up,”
he rasped, finding it difficult to breathe through the scabrous mucus clogging
his nostrils. He reached into his nose with a finger, felt the sand-like
surface and began prying at it. Only bits of it crumbled free at first, but he
kept at it, gradually working it free—despite the pain of pulling out the nose
hairs and skin encrusted in it. At least the nosebleed didn’t last too long,
and it woke him up the rest of the way.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around at the narrow
ledge on which they were standing. It was just wide enough for the horses to
ride two abreast without risking a fall. The cliff face was a rough, nearly
vertical, surface, as if someone had taken a dull knife and sliced through a
slab of cheese. Small nodules of rock bit into his back as he leaned against
it, but they weren’t sharp. He did his best to ignore them as Ortis handed him
a bowl of cold, congealed stew.

“You spent a long time with the Truthseer,” Giorge said as
he sat down beside him. “Do you remember that?”

“I remember going in to see her,” Angus said between bites.
“She wanted to know more about the gold coins you sold for me.”

Giorge nodded. “What did you tell her?”

Angus thought for several bites before shrugging. “The
truth, I suppose,” he finally said. “The coins came from Blackhaven Tower, and
that was about it.”

Giorge studied him for a long moment. “That can’t be all,”
he said. “You were with her for over two hours. What else did she ask you
about?” His voice was steady, serious, and his posture expectant.

“Like what?” Angus asked, trying to remember the
conversation. Had he really talked to her for two hours? It didn’t feel like
it; she only asked him a few questions, hadn’t she? Maybe she had asked more,
but he couldn’t remember them. The whole encounter with the Truthseer was a
blur, as if he was remembering it through a thick gray fog. No, not fog,
incense. Yes, that was it; she had drugged him with some kind of incense,
hadn’t she? Then—

Giorge cupped his hand over his mouth, leaned in close to
Angus’s ear, and asked, “Did she ask you about Typhus?”

“Why would she do that?” Angus asked. Who was this Typhus? A
thief like Giorge? No, that wasn’t what the Truthseer had said. She said Typhus
was an assassin. Yes, that was it, and she asked him if he knew who he was? No.
That wasn’t it. She thought
he
was Typhus because Bug-Eyed-Jake—

“Because of the coins,” Giorge whispered.

Angus frowned. “What does Typhus have to do with the coins?”

What had the Truthseer told him about them? Nothing. She
only wanted to know who had given them to him, but he couldn’t—

Bug-Eyed Jake had called him Typhus. Didn’t she mention him?
Yes, she asked if he knew Bug-Eyed Jake. What did he tell her? Yes, that was
it. He’d met Bug-Eyed Jake in Hellsbreath’s Hellhole. No, he hadn’t known him
before. No, he didn’t know Typhus. No, he wasn’t Typhus. No—

“They think the coins you had were part of what he stole
from—” Giorge paused, looked around at the isolated ridge, and then finished,
“From someone you don’t steal from. He wants them back. And he wants Typhus.”

My name is Angus. I am Voltari’s apprentice. I have been
his apprentice for ten years. My home is Blackhaven Tower. I do not know
Typhus. I have never met Typhus. The gold coins were in my pockets. I didn’t
put them there. I don’t know who did. Voltari must have done it.

“No,” Angus said. “She only wanted to know where I got them.
I told her.”

Angus shrugged and continued eating. “Apparently my answers
satisfied her,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He looked out at the mountains
and valley in front of him and asked, “Where are we, anyway?”

I was apprentice to Voltari for ten years? Is that true?
It has to be true, doesn’t it? He couldn’t have lied to the Truthseer, could
he?

“We’re almost across the ridge,” Giorge said. “You’ve been
in a swoon for over two days. We thought you were going to die when they
carried you out of that tent, but the Truthseer said you were only sleeping and
you would wake up eventually. When we asked how long, she said she didn’t know;
she had never used so much incense before, and it was even making her groggy.
When you didn’t wake up the next morning, we decided to tie you to your horse
and move on for as long as it was safe enough to do so.”

Angus finished his stew and held out the bowl to Giorge. “I
don’t suppose there’s any more?”

“Sorry, Angus,” Giorge said. Then he grinned and added,
“There wasn’t that much to begin with, and it was all Ortis could do to keep us
from eating what was left.”

“Hardtack, then,” Angus said, reaching into a pocket.

Giorge stood up and moved to the ledge. “If that mountain
were a bit lower, you could see Hellsbreath from here,” he said. “And that,” he
pointed southwest at a high mountain with three summits, two of which were
already covered with snow, “is our destination.”

“The ledge won’t take us there,” he continued. “But it will
get us to that plateau leading up to it.”

“I thought we were going into a valley,” Angus said.

“We thought so too,” Giorge said. “But we were wrong. Why
don’t you come see for yourself?”

Angus pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and shook his
head. “No,” he said. “I can barely stand right now. I’ll fall off the ledge.”

“I’ll help you,” Giorge said, moving in to support him with
his shoulder before leading him closer to the edge. “See?” he said, pointing
down at the bottlenecked valley below them. “We saw that valley from the
mountain where you made the tunnel. This cliff is the north edge of that
valley, and there’s another cliff on its west edge. That cliff is about half as
high as this one. All of those mountains funnel down into it. You can tell
because of the waterfall; it’s the source of the river that flows by
Hellsbreath.”

“Another reason for the road to cross here,” Angus said. “If
we had followed the river, it would have led us to that lake.”

Giorge nodded. “When Ortis looked at the map, he thought
this road went through a valley. He still thought that after we saw this ridge.
But now, it’s pretty clear it drops down into that plateau and crosses it. When
it gets to the other side, it climbs up around that east summit—the low one
without any snow—and if he’s reading you’re map right, we’ll find the temple
nestled in among those three peaks.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“We don’t know for sure,” he said. “We may not get there at
all. We’ve seen fires on the plateau at night. Distance wise, it should be
about a week. The mountains look a lot closer than they are because of their
size. But if the road is still passable, it will help cut down on the time. If
not,” he shrugged. “One thing is certain; if the temple’s still there, there’s
a good chance it hasn’t been explored.”

“Good,” Angus said. “We may as well get going then. I’ve had
enough rest for now.”

“Are you sure you can ride?” Giorge asked. “You feel weak to
me.”

“I can,” Angus said. “Gretchen is a gentle ride.”

“Good,” Giorge said, grinning and ushering him to his horse.
“We’ve been lucky up here so far, and I’d rather get off this cliff face before
anything decides we’re food. It isn’t as defensible as the plateau will be. Not
much room to maneuver.”

Angus half-smiled. “It may be more defensible down there,”
he agreed, “but there are fewer things that can attack us up here.”

Giorge helped Angus into his saddle and then mounted his own
horse. They rode side by side for nearly an hour before Angus began to sag in
his saddle. After a lengthy rest, they continued, and by late afternoon, they
neared the end of the ridge and the road began to slope downward at a noticeable
rate. A few minutes later, Ortis called a stop, and when they gathered in a
small, vulnerable clump of horses and men, he said, “There’s a cave. It’s
occupied.”

18

“How quiet can you ride?” Hobart asked, his voice soft,
intense, his armor clanking lightly as he walked.

“Quieter than you in your armor,” Angus replied. “Why?”

“We don’t know what is in the cave,” Hobart said. “It’s big
and it’s loud. Giorge is going to see if he can get a peek at it.”

“So?”

“If it’s a bear,” Hobart said. “We can probably outrun it
with the horses if we get a bit of a head start. It might follow us for a
little while, but I doubt it. If it’s already in its lair for winter, it
probably doesn’t need any more food. That doesn’t mean it won’t eat it, if it’s
easy enough to catch; only that it would be more likely to attack a single
rider than a group. Except, of course, if it’s in its lair, which is likely. It
will defend itself, but how far it will go, I don’t know. We should be close
enough to the plateau to elude it.”

“And if it isn’t a bear?” Angus asked, reviewing the short
list of spells he currently had at his disposal.

“It’s too big to be easily managed,” Hobart said. “But the
cave is too narrow for it to be a dragon, and too short for it to be a giant.”

“What’s the plan, then?” Angus asked.

“We’ll decide that after Giorge gets back—unless the thing
catches him. Then we fight. We won’t have any other choice, despite the hazards
of fighting in such confining, precarious conditions.”

“Let’s say it isn’t a bear,” Angus said. “What else could it
be?”

“That’s just it,” Hobart said. “There are things in The
Tween that we don’t know about. It would have to be one of them. We’re hoping
to sneak past it without it catching us.”

Angus frowned. What kind of creature could it be? Perhaps if
he were to look? But how? His spells were geared toward defense and offense,
not subterfuge. Most of them were blatantly obvious; it was difficult to
conceal an open flame. In fact—

“Hobart,” he asked. “How large is the cave entrance?”

Hobart shrugged. “About eight feet wide and maybe ten high.”

“Is it a deep cave, or a shallow one?”

“I couldn’t tell,” Hobart answered. “It can’t be too
shallow, though; the rumblings were too muted, and if it’s a bear, they like
deep holes. You would too if you were going to sleep for four or five months.”

Angus nodded. “I have an idea,” he said. “If all we have to
do is make it past the cave, that is.”

“We’re near where the road curves onto the plateau,” he
said. “If we make it to there, we should be all right for now.”

“How near?” Angus asked.

“Maybe a mile,” Hobart answered.

“When Giorge comes back, I need to talk to him,” Angus said.
“He’s not going to like it very well, though.”

“Why?” Hobart asked. “What do you want him to do?”

Angus shrugged. “Let me use his net.”

“If it will get us past the cave,” Hobart said, “he won’t
mind.”

“He won’t get it back,” Angus said.

Hobart shrugged. “He’s not any good with it anyway.”

Angus smiled, “Do you think that will matter to him?”

“No,” Hobart admitted. “But if it gets us past that cave
without anyone getting mauled, I’ll buy him a new one first chance we get.”

“Good,” Angus said, dismounting and handing Hobart his
horse’s reigns. “Catch me up when you go by,” he said. “You’ll know when.”

Angus hurried past Hobart, Ortis, Ortis, and the other Ortis
and paused next to Millie only long enough to get Giorge’s net and to grip and
test the weights in his right hand. Then he hurried along the cliff face until
he was near the cave opening. While he waited for Giorge to emerge, he drew the
magic to the edge of his awareness and sought out the strands he would need for
the two spells he wanted to combine together. The selection of red-tinted and
blue-tinted threads was ample, and he brought two of them into sharper focus
than the others so he could manipulate them more quickly.

Giorge eased around the cave opening and sidled along the
edge, making almost no sound. If it weren’t for the blackness of the hooded
cloak standing out against the gray-brown cliff face, Angus wouldn’t have even
noticed him. When Giorge saw Angus with his net, he paused only slightly before
hurrying up to him.

“What’s in there?” Angus whispered when Giorge was next to
him.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said. “I went back as far as I
dared. Its rumbling got louder, but I couldn’t see anything.”

“Too dark?” Angus asked.

Giorge shook his head. “No,” he said. “It was almost like
the mountain was breathing. The sound seemed to be coming right out of the
stone.”

Angus frowned. “How deep is the cave? How far back did you
go?”

“I went in about twenty feet,” Giorge said. “I couldn’t see
the end of the cave, so it has to be a lot deeper than that.”

“How close were you to the sound?” Angus asked.

Giorge shrugged. “Who could tell? It might have been an
echo.” Then he reached out and poked his net. “Why’d you bring that?”

Angus half-smiled. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “For now,
I’m going to use it to block the cave entrance while the rest of you ride
quietly past.”

“How—” Giorge began, then shook his head. “I don’t need to know.
How much time do you need?”

“By the time you get back to them,” Angus said. “I should be
ready.”

Giorge nodded and hurried quietly toward the others. Angus
watched for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and walked slowly, casually up
to the cave entrance, the net jangling quietly. He slowed, and then stopped
altogether when he was next to the cave mouth. It was, as Hobart had noted:
about eight feet wide and ten feet high. When he leaned forward and looked
inside, all he saw were rocks and shadows. But the sound was something entirely
different. If the rumbling hadn’t been so loud, uniform, and rhythmic, he would
have thought it was Hobart snoring. But there was no exhalation of air
accompanying it, no shuddering or rattling of a giant ribcage, no wheezing
inhalation—just the rhythmic, steady rumble gradually growing louder then
softer but never disappearing altogether.

He reached out for the strong blue thread he had selected,
wrapped it around his left forefinger and linked it to Giorge’s net with a
tight little knot. He continued tying the sky magic around each weighted
segment of the net, and when he finished, he reached for the weakest flame
strand he had chosen. He pinched it between two of his fingers and touched it
lightly to each of the small, round metal weights. Then he stepped away from
the mountainside and moved close to the edge of the cliff. He was in a
vulnerable position, now; whatever was in the cave could see him but he still
could not see it.

He sidestepped softly to the center of the cave entrance,
his eyes alert to any movement just beyond the threads of magic he held in his
mind, in his hand.

Nothing. No movement at all; just the incessant rumble….

Angus lifted the net’s weights over his shoulder and threw
them, spear like, at the center of the cave, letting its guide rope follow
limply after it. As it flew, Angus manipulated the threads of magic with a
short series of gestures, and the net spread outward, each weight attaching
itself to a different part of the cave entrance, and sticking as if it had been
welded to it. When the net settled, it looked to him exactly like a spider’s
web, and he hurried to the other edge of the entrance, watching the cave’s
interior—

The rumbling stopped.

Something moved.

It was large, almost too large to pass through the cave
entrance. He couldn’t see it clearly—it was little more than a bulbous collection
of rubble shambling toward him—but he knew what it was, and he knew it was not
something he wanted to fight alone. But the others—

“Ride!” he yelled, not bothering to look to see if they were
obeying him. He was too busy tweaking the knots, easing them apart until the
flame suddenly burst free and traveled along the tightly-woven threads of the
net until they met in its center.

“Ride!” he yelled again, letting go of the strand of flame
and clinging to the sky magic with a greater sense of urgency.

The thing waddled crab-like toward the entrance, slowed, but
continued forward.
The flame won’t stop it!
Angus thought fiercely,
studying the creature—a collection of boulders arranged over its shell. It had
pincer-like brownish-red claws and short legs. Eye clusters.

He nudged the burning net forward, toward the creature, and
it backed away a bit.

Ortis hurried past, Giorge close behind.

Angus urged the net further inside, pushing the creature
back—

Ortis passed again, with the pack horse.

The creature edged forward, tested the air with its claw,
the clacking echoed from the cave walls like a rock skipping down a road.

Angus gripped the blue-tinted thread firmly and tied off a
knot. It would wriggle free fairly quickly, but it should hold the net in place
long enough for him to mount his horse.

Ortis passed a third time, and then Hobart, leading
Gretchen, slowed long enough to release Angus’s steed and look inside the cave.

“What is that thing?” he asked as he drew his broadsword and
took up a rear guard position to allow Angus time to mount his horse.

Angus didn’t answer; he was struggling to get his foot in
the stirrup, and once he did, he had trouble getting into the saddle. Gretchen,
despite her training, was having difficulty resisting her instinct to flee from
the fire and kept backing away from it—and him. By the time he was in the
saddle, Hobart had turned and was urging them forward.

“It’s about to break free,” he said. “I don’t think those
flames are going to keep it in there.”

“Ride!” Angus said, finally in his saddle. “We need to get
away from it. It won’t pursue us far.”

Hobart nodded, and they hurried after their companions. They
didn’t stop until they reached the relatively level, much wider expanse of the
plateau. They watched for the creature behind them, but Angus was right; it
didn’t follow them.

“Will it come after us later?” Hobart asked.

“Doubtful,” Angus said. “It’s an ambush predator; it digs a
hole, conceals itself inside it, and when fish come by, it lashes out to get
them.”

“Fish?” Ortis said. “There aren’t any fish up here.”

“No,” Angus agreed. “And that thing shouldn’t be here,
either. It lives on the bottom of large lakes, seas, oceans. It shouldn’t have
been able to survive outside water, but somehow it is.”

“That thing lives in water?” Hobart asked. “It looked like
it was made of stone.”

Angus nodded. “It’s carrying the stone on its shell,” he
said. “You heard that rumbling? That was its labored attempt to breathe making
those stones grind together.”

“How did it get up here?” Giorge asked.

“That,” Angus said, “is a good question. But here’s a better
one:
Who
put it there and
why
?”

Ortis frowned. “Someone doesn’t want us over here,” he
suggested.

“Or,” Angus said, turning toward the interior of the
plateau. “Someone doesn’t want something up here to go across that ledge.”

“Are there any tracks, Ortis?” Hobart asked.

While Ortis inspected the ground of the nearby area, Angus
frowned. “You know,” he said. “That thing should have gotten you, Giorge. It’s
fast
when it wants to be, at least in water.”

“I was quiet.”

Angus half-smiled. “You’ve heard of trapdoor spiders,
haven’t you?”

“Sure,” Giorge said. “They dig little holes in the ground,
and when a bug or mouse goes by, they snap out of it and—” Giorge frowned.

“Now you understand,” Angus said. “It’s like that trapdoor
spider. It doesn’t
hear
anything; it
feels
it. No matter how
quiet you were—or how loud—it had to have known you were there. So, why didn’t
it attack?”

“Maybe it wasn’t hungry?” Hobart suggested.

Angus shook his head. “It would have stored us for later
consumption, just like a spider keeps flies wrapped up in silk until it’s ready
to drain their blood.”

“Rabbit sign,” Ortis said. “If there’s anything larger, it
will be deeper in the plateau. Probably near the river that feeds the
waterfall.”

“All right, Angus, what are you thinking?”

Angus shrugged. “It may have been sleeping,” he said. “We
probably could have just passed the cave without waking it up. If it was
sleeping….”

“No sense worrying about it now,” Hobart said. “We’re past
it, and we might as well find a campsite. We can figure out what to do about it
on our way back.”

“If we get that far,” Angus muttered, reluctantly turning
away from the ledge.

“Angus,” Giorge said, as they continued along the remnants
of the road. “When I get another net, you’re going to have to show me how to
throw it so that it stays upright like that.”

Angus half-smiled. “I would have to teach you magic, first,”
he said. “How many years do you have?”