The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (28 page)

7

They rode fairly hard for a day and a half before Ortis said
the creatures were only an hour ahead of them.

“They aren’t acting like an ambush party,” Ortis said.
“Their pace is even, and there’s very little evidence of urgency. I don’t think
they know we’re here. If they were concerned, we wouldn’t have found their
campsite last night.”

“At least we know they eat meat,” Hobart said. “Those bones
were snapped in half and the marrow was sucked out of them.”

“Some of them do, anyway,” Ortis said. “There weren’t enough
bones for a party that size.”

“And they’re small,” Giorge said. “I’m easily a foot taller
than they are, and I don’t have a tail.”

“The more I see of their signs,” Ortis said. “The more
cat-like they become. If I didn’t know they were walking on their hind feet,
I’d think that’s all they were. Mountain cats.”

“Cat’s are fast,” Angus said. “We should be careful.”

“It’s the other thing that concerns me,” Hobart said. “It’s
twice their height and is about as far from being a cat as something can get.”

“They had a tail,” Giorge said, grinning.

Hobart frowned and shook his head. “You know what I mean,”
he said. “They wear armor and have weapons. The cat-things didn’t.”

“Cats fight with their claws and teeth,” Ortis reminded him.

“Watch out for that,” Hobart said. “They’ll be sharp.”

“Should we wait until nightfall and try to sneak by them?”
Angus asked.

“No,” Ortis said. “They will have the advantage at night. We
should go now.”

“Slowly,” Hobart said. “They’re on foot, and we’re riding.
If those tracks are an hour or so old, then we’ll catch up with them in about
two hours at a light trot.”

“What do we do then?” Angus asked.

“Ortis will shoot arrows,” Hobart answered. “He’ll target
the larger ones; if they’re the leaders, it may demoralize the others when they
fall. I’ll charge; their claws will be almost useless against my armor, and
Leslie is a formidable opponent in her own right. Giorge will hang back with
you to give you time to cast your spells. If it looks like it’s going badly,
we’ll retreat to a defensible position and hold our ground.”

“We may not need to fight,” Angus said. “What then?”

Hobart shrugged. “I’ll negotiate. I’ve done it quite a few
times already. But we’re not likely to have any languages in common, so don’t
expect it.”

“I speak dwarf,” Angus said. “Some of them must, also, if
they’re trading with dwarves for weapons.”

Ortis looked closely at Angus and asked, “You speak dwarf?
Are there any other languages you know?”

Angus shrugged. “Eight or nine,” he said. “Voltari was
thorough.”

“Which ones?” Ortis asked.

“That changes things, then,” Hobart said. “If we can talk,
we may not have to fight.”

“Let’s talk while we ride?” Giorge said. “They’re getting
further ahead of us while we dally here.”

“I don’t mind,” Hobart said. “If we give them a little longer,
they’ll have their campsite set up by the time we get there. It will be easier
to deal with them while they’re occupied in a concentrated location. Even
better if most of them are sleeping.”

“In addition to dwarf,” Angus began, “I speak….”

8

“What did you find out?” Hobart whispered as Giorge returned
from scouting ahead and removed the hood of his cloak.

“There are eighteen of the smaller ones,” Giorge said.
“They’re about this tall—” he held his hand up to the middle of his chest “—and
look sort of like mountain cats, only their fur is dark orange and they walk on
their hind legs. They talk to each other, too, but I couldn’t understand their
language—if all that snarling, hissing, and spitting is a language at all.”

“Does that sound like any language you know?” Ortis asked
Angus.

“No,” he said. “But I’d have to hear it to make sure.”

“The larger ones are about your height, Hobart, but thinner,”
Giorge continued. “There are three of them, and they’re clearly in control of
the smaller ones. I’ve never seen anything like them before. They have long
bodies and short legs, their arms are thin and end in three fingered hands, and
their heads are flat with one eye on each side. They have huge mouths with lots
of teeth. Their skin—”

“—is dark green, bumpy, and moist. They have a ridge of
scales down their backs, and their feet are wide and flat,” Hobart finished. “I
suppose they’re carrying axes.”

“Yes,” Giorge said. “Like the ones we found in that weapons
cache. How did you know?”

“What kind of armor?” he asked, his voice fierce, low, and
determined.

“I’m not sure what it’s made of,” Giorge said, “but it
covers them from the knees—if that’s what you want to call them—to their
armpits. It looks a lot like that washboard Agata uses to clean the sheets, but
the ridges are smaller.”

“It’s made from layers of dried reeds,” Hobart said. “It’s
tough, and if you stab through it, your blades will catch. Slash at their arms,
legs, and heads; they’re vulnerable there. Ortis, arrows don’t penetrate their
armor very well; aim for their heads.”

“I know,” Ortis said. “I’ve fought fishmen before.”

“Fishmen?” Angus asked. “I thought they were only in the
Death Swamps.”

“So did I,” Hobart grimly said. “But we’re wrong. They must
be the ones responsible for the fires by the river. They seldom stray far from
water, even when they attack.”

“I should have recognized the prints,” Ortis said. “I didn’t
even consider it might be them.”

“What about the other things?” Angus asked. “Do you know
what they are?”

“No,” Hobart said. “The Fishmen in the north have no allies
that we know about.”

“I have never run across any such creatures,” Ortis added.
“They may be native to The Tween. Giorge?”

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m a city boy.”

“What did their eyes look like?” Angus asked.

“I don’t know,” Giorge said. “I didn’t get that close. Cats
have good ears and a strong sense of smell, so I thought these would too. I
kept my distance.”

“What do we do, then?” Angus asked.

“Fishmen are the sworn enemy of Tyr,” Hobart said. “We have
a standing order to kill them on sight and report the incursion to the nearest
outpost.”

“That would mean Hellsbreath,” Giorge said. “We can’t go
back there when we’re this close to the temple ruins, can we?”

Hobart frowned. “We’ll decide that after we kill them.”

“Wait,” Ortis said. “They don’t know we’re here. Why don’t
we follow them to see if they go to the temple ruins? If they do, then we can
attack them there, instead.”

“No,” Hobart said. “They will be ready with defenses.”

“They’ll be more alert if their expected party doesn’t
arrive,” Giorge said. “Maybe we can sneak in?”

“No,” Hobart said. “We have our orders.”

“Hobart,” Giorge said. “We are not going back until we find
out if The Tiger’s Eye is in that temple.”

“You can go on if you want,” Hobart said. “The rest of us
are going back.”

“I’m not,” Ortis said. “I think we should let them go where
they’re going and then decide if we should kill them or not. We will be able to
report more accurate information if we know more about them.”

Hobart frowned, shook his head.

“How about this,” Angus said. “We follow them until we find
out if they are going to the temple ruins, but attack them before they get
there. Then we can investigate whether or not they have a stronghold there.”

“We have orders,” Hobart said.

“I’m not a soldier,” Angus said, “and neither are you.”

“Banners are subject to this order, Angus,” Hobart said. “It
is part of the agreement that all of us made with the king in order to have our
special status.”

“Do the orders say when we have to kill them?” Angus asked.
“Is there a timeframe for how long we have to report their presence?”

Hobart frowned. “No,” he admitted. “The orders just say to
kill fishmen on sight and report the incursion to the nearest garrison or
outpost. We’ve seen them.”

“I haven’t,” Ortis said. “Neither have you or Angus. Giorge
has seen something, but he doesn’t know what fishmen look like.”

“I could be wrong about how I described them,” Giorge
offered. “It is dark among those trees.”

“You’re not wrong,” Hobart said, his jaw set firm, resolute.
“They’re fishmen.”

“If we follow them,” Ortis said, “we will be able to find a
better place to fight. Out here in these trees, it will be difficult to
maneuver, and some of them may get away. If we can get them into a more open
area, I can use my arrows to pick them off.”

“Perhaps some reconnaissance would be in order,” Hobart
reluctantly admitted. “The more information we can provide Hellsbreath, the
better it will be for them.”

“They’ll want to know where their lair is,” Angus suggested.
“If we follow them, we might find that out.”

“What I don’t understand,” Ortis said, “is why they seem to
be avoiding the river. I would think they would thrive there.”

“What do you mean?” Hobart asked. “We saw those fires,
didn’t we?”

“We don’t know who sets those fires,” Ortis said. “But it
isn’t this group; they travel back and forth from the north road to this west
one. They don’t go anywhere near the river or the interior of the plateau.”

“What’s north of here?” Angus mused.

“Besides the mountain?” Giorge said. “Nothing, as far as we
know.”

“Dwarves,” Angus corrected. “They are inside the mountain,
and they are the ones arming the cat-things.”

“The fishmen, you mean,” Hobart said. “The cat-things are
not armed.”

“
These
cat-things are not armed,” Angus corrected.
“The others by the river may be.”

“What are you two getting at?” Hobart demanded.

“Only this,” Ortis said. “You have assumed the fires by the
river were made by fishmen. We have not. There could be another reason for
those fires that has nothing to do with the fishmen. We’d like to know what it
could be. To find that out, we’ll need to talk with the fishmen. You and I both
speak their language well enough to interrogate them, and we might find out
what they’re doing here, where their lair is, how many there are—the normal
range of information we might want to find out about an enemy.”

“The dwarves are involved, somehow,” Angus added. “How they
are involved, we can’t say, but these mountains stretch north all the way to
the Death Swamps. The fishmen could be getting safe passage from there to here
through their tunnel system.”

“Why would the dwarves consort with them?” Hobart scoffed.
“They’re honorable enough creatures.”

“Who were attacked by King Tyr’s ancestors,” Angus said.
“They have long lives and even longer memories, and if it weren’t for the
volcanoes, the Dwarf Wars would not have ended. Maybe they aren’t fond of
having Hellsbreath nearby.”

“That would make sense,” Hobart said, “if we were still
enemies. The dwarves have traded with us since King Duk’s reign, and we’ve been
restrained allies ever since.”

“Restrained allies?” Angus chuckled. “A bit removed from
being friends, then.”

Hobart frowned. “All right,” he said. “You’ve convinced me.
We’ll follow them for now, but if they don’t lead us to the temple ruins, we
attack.”

“Double watch tonight,” Ortis said. “We’re camping fairly
close to them, and it might be a good idea to keep watch on them, as well as
ourselves.”

9

It was a strange pursuit. The fishmen and cat-things were
afoot; their pursuers were on horseback and could easily have overtaken them
dozens of times. Instead, they slept in, Ortis hunted, and in the afternoon
they rode at a light trot until they caught up with them again. On the third
day, their pursuit changed: they ran out of trees.

The road rose rapidly out of the plateau, and the foliage
dwindled and was replaced with bare rock and lichen-encrusted gray-green stone.
They stayed near the last few trees for hours, watching their prey clamber up
the slope, waiting for them to disappear into the valley beyond. It was late
afternoon when they finally decided it was safe to follow after them, despite
the lack of cover.

“I don’t like this,” Hobart said as the road worked its way
toward a narrow cleft in the mountain that rose upward hundreds of feet above
them. “If they want to ambush us, this would be an ideal spot for it.”

“There has been no indication they know we’re here,” Ortis
said.

“That doesn’t matter,” Hobart grumbled. “If I had a
stronghold up there, I would put guards at the top of this crack and have
others waiting with drums of oil. When the enemy was within striking distance,
I would spill the oil down this slope and light it on fire. It would be a
deathtrap; there is nowhere to run.”

“Wouldn’t that make a mess?” Angus asked.

Hobart shrugged. “Killing is always messy,” he said. “It’s
not for the squeamish.”

“It’s not artificial,” Giorge said.

“What?” Hobart asked.

“The crack,” he answered. “They didn’t carve it out; it’s a
natural formation. They just took advantage of it. If there weren’t a road
here, I doubt anyone would find it.”

“There is a road,” Hobart said. “And before that, someone
did find it.”

“We’re nearing the top,” Ortis said. “Let’s cut down on the
chatter, shall we?”

“What does it look like from up there?” Hobart asked, his
voice subdued.

“Same as here,” Ortis quietly replied. “The road goes
through this crack and then drops down. I don’t see any guards, though; they
must not be expecting visitors.”

“If the other side is bare rock like this,” Angus said, “I’m
not surprised. They will see us coming.”

“Who in their right mind would come up here, anyway?” Giorge
added, grinning.

“They probably made camp,” Hobart suggested. “It’s dark
enough for it, even with the half moon.”

“You’re right,” Ortis said. “I’m at the top, and I hear them
moving around. They’re just over the lip of this ridge. I’ll try to move in
closer.”

“Be careful,” Hobart said. “We’re still a quarter mile
behind you.”

“And still talking,” Ortis added. “I can hear you, you know.
And the horses; there’s an echo.”

Hobart looked like he was about to speak, but decided to nod
instead. Then he held up his hand for them to stop. When they had, he
dismounted and gestured for the others to do the same. Once they were all down,
he whispered, “Let’s leave the horses here with Ortis; if we need them, he can
bring them in a hurry.”

When they neared the top, they fell flat on their bellies
and crawled up to where Ortis lay like a shadow. From their perch, they could
see the road sloped sharply down into a cloistered valley, the floor of which
was blanketed by an expanse of ripe grain. Nearly two miles away in the center
of the valley, barely visible in the moonlight, was the rough, battered
silhouette of a large, once-thriving complex. Although they couldn’t see any
details, there was a fire blazing inside the ruins and occasional glimpses of
movement.

The group they were pursuing, though, had decided not to
continue to their stronghold, despite its proximity. Instead, the three fishmen
had herded the cat-things into a tight circle about fifty yards ahead of them,
still some distance from the edge of the grain. Once the cat-things were
corralled, one of the fishmen isolated an individual and cut off its head with
a swift strike of his axe. The rest of the cat-things howled, mewled, and
tumbled over each other as they tried to get away from the fishmen, but none of
them made an effort to avenge their fellow or to flee.

“Disgusting,” Hobart whispered from where he crouched.
“They’re eating one of those cat-things, and the others are just letting them
do it.”

“Cows do the same thing when we slaughter them,” Giorge
muttered.

“Maybe if we kill the fishmen,” Ortis suggested, “the other
things will leave us alone. Cows would, wouldn’t they? If we killed the
herdsman?”

Hobart frowned and nodded. “Can you hit them from here?” he
asked, his voice barely loud enough for them to hear.

“I think so,” Ortis said. “But it may not be a kill shot
from this range, especially in this light.”

“They don’t have any long-range weapons, right?” Angus
asked.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Hobart said. “Why?”

“We can get closer, then,” Angus whispered.

“Not without alerting them to our presence,” Ortis said.
“I’d rather have a stationary target. The more they move, the less likely the
arrows will hit them.”

Hobart nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go back to our
horses. We’ll give you two volleys, and then charge. If you don’t hit them, we
should be able to reach them before they get into the grain. We’ll never be
able to find them once they’re in that stuff.”

They returned to their horses and Ortis joined his other
constituent at the lip. As the three archers readied their arrows and took aim,
the others mounted their horses. When Ortis let fly the first volley and
readied the second, they kneed their horses forward at a brisk walk. As they
neared the top of the road, Ortis hurried to the sides and let them pass at a
gallop.

When they topped the rise, the cat-things hissed at them for
only a few moments before turning to flee toward the grain. They let them go;
their attention was focused on the fishmen. One was dead, a pair of arrows
through its neck and head. A second had an arrow in one shoulder and held an
axe at the ready. The third was stumbling around, an arrow in his foot and
another embedded in his armor.

Hobart charged forward and drew his broadsword. Leslie
executed a complex maneuver by deftly sidestepping the swinging axe and then
lunging in close to the fishman before it could make a return swing. The
maneuver gave Hobart a clear opening, and he swung the broadsword down at the
exposed neck of the fishman, made contact, righted himself in his saddle, and
corrected his balance as Leslie charged the other fishman. The second fishman
had only enough time to throw up his arms when the horse reared and slashed out
with her hooves….

“That’s that,” Hobart said a half minute later. He
dismounted and checked to make sure the fishmen were all dead, and when he got
to the one that was nearly decapitated, he finished the job and carried the
head back to his horse.

“Did you need to do that?” Angus asked.

Hobart opened a saddlebag and took out a heavy, cloth sack.
He opened it and dropped the head inside. After he tied it shut, he turned to
Angus and said, “Commander Garret will need proof.”

“You’re going to take that all the way back to Hellsbreath?”
Angus asked. “Won’t it rot?”

Hobart nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But it is important.”

“It’s going to attract scavengers,” Angus protested. “Can’t
you take something else instead?”

Hobart shrugged. “We should take all of their heads,” he
said. “There’s a bounty on them.”

“Look,” Giorge said, pointing toward the grain. The
cat-things were disappearing into it as if it were their native habitat, and
once they were inside, there was almost no sign of their presence. “Do we
pursue them?” he asked. “Or do we investigate the ruins?”

“See the fires?” Hobart said. “There are too many of them.”

“Not necessarily,” Ortis said. “The cat-things fled when we
killed the fishmen. They may not fight us.”

Hobart shook his head. “What would they have done if the
fishmen hadn’t been killed?”

“Do cows fight when the herder tells them to?” Giorge
quipped.

“They aren’t cows,” Hobart reminded him. “Their claws are
formidable weapons.”

“More to the point,” Angus said. “What are they doing now?”

“They’re probably on their way to alert the others,” Hobart
said, as if he were simply stating an obvious truth. “So, do you want to go
into a well-defended, well-prepared stronghold to fight against an enemy of
unknown size and strength? Or do you want to go back to Hellsbreath to report
in? We can always come back here with the garrison to deal with what’s in the
temple.”

“That grain,” Angus suddenly asked. “Is it the same kind of
grain that’s grown in Tyr?”

“It looks like it from here,” Ortis said. “Why?”

“Did any of you get a look at their eyes? The cat-things’
eyes?”

“No,” Hobart said. “I was busy with the fishmen.”

“I was focused on shooting arrows at the fishmen,” Ortis
said.

“What does it matter?” Giorge asked. “Eyes are eyes, aren’t
they?”

Angus frowned, shook his head. “I need to get a closer look
at them,” he said. “It they’re what I think they are, it will change
everything.”

“Why?” Hobart asked. “What do you think they are?”

Angus shook his head and removed his backpack from his
shoulders. “You’re sure fishmen don’t have arrows? Spears? Weapons like that?”
he asked as he strapped his backpack to his saddle horn and focused on the
magic around him. There were far more strands of flame than he expected for
such a high place, but he went past them, reaching for the darkest blue strand
of sky magic he could find. Even though it would be difficult to control, he
needed a powerful one if he were to fly such a long distance, and the darker
the strand the more potent—and dangerous—its magic.

“These three didn’t,” Hobart said. “But the ones to the
north often carry spears made from the same kind of reeds as their armor.”

Angus nodded and began tying the knots for the flying spell.
When he finished, he leapt upward—shot upward, really; he still didn’t have
very good control over velocity, and this was a
powerful
strand. He
shifted position until he was moving toward the temple, and struggled to
control his pace. It was a long flight, and when he neared the walls, he
realized his mistake: The spell would break free before he could get back; it
was too powerful for him to contain for much longer. Should he return as far as
he could? Or should he find out what was in the ruins?

They were ruins; only two of the original walls were still
standing, and the temple grounds were mostly covered in rubble. Some of that
rubble had been cleared away for a large fire, around which slept about three
dozen of the cat-things. He saw no sign of fishmen. Would the cat-things attack
him if he landed? They hadn’t noticed him yet, but there was no question that
they would if he landed inside the ruins. If they didn’t attack, he could cast
a spell or two….

He looked for a place to land away from the fires and the
cat things. If he landed quietly, perhaps they wouldn’t notice. But he needed
them to notice him; he wanted to see their eyes. He
needed
to see their
eyes….

No, the spell first. He would see their eyes then. Wide eyes
full of terror….

He rounded the temple one more time to slow down. How far
have I come? How many miles? Two? Three? Would they follow him? He’d have to
make sure they did, wouldn’t he? It was foolish to come alone; he could get
captured, eaten….

There,
he thought.
The rubble will block their view
of me. If they don’t see me, I’ll have time
….

He wrapped his black robe tightly around him and did his
best to land—fall, really—as quietly as he could. As he descended, he caught a
glimpse of the temple interior. The outer wall had collapsed, but the inner
chamber was still standing, and inside it was a smaller fire with at least a
dozen fishmen gathered around it. There were no cat-things, only the fishmen.
And they had axes, no spears or bows. Was that all of them? Or were there other
fishmen deeper in the temple ruins?

When he struck the ground, he didn’t bother to wait to see
if he had been heard. The spell was too complex; he needed as much time to cast
it as he could get. He released the sky strand and reached for several strands
of flame and earth. He began weaving them together as if he were making a blanket,
and as he worked, he reached for the strands within himself and integrated them
into the complex pattern of the spell. He began to sweat as the threads writhed
around him, within him, their potent energy blending with his own, intensifying
it.

Minutes passed as he struggled to force the unruly threads
into the unnatural design. An eerie silence fell in around him, enveloped him.
No hiss or howl from the cat-things. No fishmen charging in to kill him. Just
himself and the overwhelming power radiating through him, from him. Then he
reached the last knot, the one from which he could not return.

He tied it, and the threads ignited, their flames violently
cascading through him, almost wrenching him apart—but the knots held! He had
cast it properly! In his exultation, he lifted his hands above him—

They were on fire! They
were
fire! They burned with
white-hot intensity, and he relished the energy surging through him. He let it
go, and a ball of flame shot upward and exploded outward, sending out a shower
of sparks over the temple grounds. He laughed—a hideous, monstrous laugh—and
turned to the rubble in front of him. He held out his hands, stepped forward….

Flames shot from his hands and the stones began to glow red,
then white, then
melted
. He stepped into the pool of lava, relishing the
fierce intensity of the heat, adding it to his own. He stepped forward, through
the gap he had made….