The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (30 page)

Angus nodded and attached the Lamplight to Giorge’s
shoulder.

Giorge laughed as the Lamplight followed him through the
trapdoor. The tunnel was short, and the top of his head was still above the
floor. Then he paused and turned back to Angus. “This is the spell you cast on
me in Wyrmwood, isn’t it?”

Angus nodded. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I attached it to your
forehead that time.”

Giorge poked it with his finger—which passed through the
glowing orb—and shook his head. “It’s not as hot.”

Angus half-smiled and asked, “Would you like it to be?”

Giorge shook his head and dipped down below the lip of the
trapdoor, and the room suddenly grew much darker.

“I’ll get the torch,” Ortis said as he stepped out of the
room.

Angus moved to the trapdoor and dropped down into it. The
crawlspace was barely four feet high and less than that wide. It seemed to run
straight for quite some distance, but he couldn’t tell how far; Giorge was in
his way. There were no side tunnels that he could see, and he stayed crouched
at the entrance until Giorge stopped.

“What is it?” Angus called when Giorge hadn’t moved for
nearly a minute.

Giorge looked back and waved him forward. When Angus was
almost up to him, Giorge turned sideways and said, “There’s another trapdoor.
It’s stuck.”

“Are you sure?” Angus asked.

Giorge took hold of the handle and pulled. It didn’t budge.
“I think it’s barred from the other side.”

“Let me try,” Angus said, squeezing past him. He pulled on
the handle but the trap door didn’t budge.

“See?” Giorge said. “We need Hobart down here. He might be
able to do it. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“It must not be a wooden bar,” Angus said. “If it was, it
would have crumbled when we pulled at it.”

Giorge nodded. “Iron, most likely. If it’s rusted, Hobart
might be able to snap it.”

“Let’s find out,” Angus said, turning down the tunnel.

“I’ll check the rest of the tunnel,” Giorge said from behind
him, moving down the corridor.

“Don’t go too far,” Angus called.

12

With a mighty heave, Hobart wrenched the trapdoor open.

Then he banged his head on the ceiling and cursed for five
minutes.

13

“What did you find at the other end of the corridor?” Angus
asked.

“Another trapdoor,” Giorge said. “It opened in the room at
the end of the other corridor. They must have had two bolthole entrances, and
they both led to here.”

“We’re going to need our gear,” Hobart said. “The floor is
too far down for jumping.”

“Let me take a look,” Giorge said.

After Hobart moved back a bit—a difficult thing to do for
him; the tunnel was scarcely wide enough for his broad, armored
shoulders—Giorge put his hands to either side of the trapdoor opening and
shoved his head into it. After a few seconds, he lifted it again and said, “You
can lower me down. It’s only about twenty feet.”

“It’s too far—”

“No,” Giorge said. “I’ve fallen further before.”

“Let’s just wait for the rope,” Hobart said, crossing his
arms.

Giorge sighed, sat back on his heels, and waited.

“What did you see?” Angus asked from behind Hobart.

“It’s a big room supported by pillars,” Giorge said. “There
are about a dozen or so skeletons scattered on the floor and some kind of pit
in the center. It looks like there’s a stairwell leading down, but I can’t be
sure.”

When Ortis brought the rope, Hobart held onto it while
Giorge slid down into the chamber they had discovered. When he let go of the
rope, Hobart handed the rope to Angus and crawled to the other side of the
trapdoor. He repositioned himself to face Angus by lying down, rolling over,
and then sitting back up.

“Toss me the rope,” he said. “I’ll hold it while you and
Ortis climb down. See if there is anything down there that we can use to prop
the trapdoor open. If you find something, we can anchor the rope to the handle
on the trapdoor. If there isn’t anything, I’ll find something up here after the
rest of you get down there.”

It was, as Giorge said, about a twenty foot drop. There had
been a ladder, but it had long since disintegrated, leaving behind a pile of
sawdust at the bottom of the drop.

“Well?” Hobart called from above him. “Is there anything we
can use? Or do we have to get something from up here?”

“Give me a minute to look around,” Angus said. “It’s a large
chamber.”

When he saw the skeletons, Angus brought the magic energy
into focus, but the skeletons did not radiate the tell-tale black tendrils of
the dead-but-not. The only thing magical in the area was the Lamplight spell,
so he let the magical threads fade into the background again.

“It’s a large octagonal room,” Angus shouted up to Hobart.
“Do you think a bone from one of the skeletons will work?”

“No,” Hobart said. “The trapdoor will shear it off,
especially with my weight added to it.”

“Look at this,” Giorge said, holding up a skeletal arm.
There was a twisted, tarnished copper bracelet on it. He slid it off the bones
and shook the dust off. He looked closely at it before tossing it to Angus. “Recognize
the insignia?”

Angus studied it for several seconds. It had three teardrop
shapes radiating out from a circular center. “Part of it resembles the mark on
my map,” he said. “But only superficially. I’ll toss it up to Hobart and see if
he or Ortis recognize it.”

“They all have one,” Giorge noted, gathering them up. “They
must have been priests or monks.”

It took three tosses before Hobart finally caught the
bracelet. He barely glanced at it before passing it back to Ortis. Not long
after that, he said, “We don’t recognize it, but if you throw a few more of
them up here, we should be able to wedge them under the trapdoor to keep it partly
open.”

“Why not go back and get one of the dwarf axes?” Angus
asked. “Wouldn’t they be better?”

“Ortis tried to get one off the floor of that room you
burned,” Hobart said. “It’s fused into the stone and won’t budge. The others
are with the horses, and Ortis is already on his way back.”

Angus threw a few more bracelets up to Hobart, and then he
and Giorge surveyed the area. Two of Ortis joined them, and Hobart lowered
ropes, torches, lantern, and sacks—empty and full ones. By the time Hobart, the
last to climb down the rope, had arrived, they had a fairly good idea of where
they were. It was a thirty foot octagonal chamber, and the trapdoor deposited
them on one side of it. In the center of the chamber was an open, circular
stairwell leading down.

“Those bracelets aren’t worth much,” Giorge said, “but it is
something. Hopefully we’ll find something more valuable down there, like The
Tiger’s Eye.”

“One thing is certain,” Hobart said. “No one has been here
before us. But that doesn’t mean the priests left much behind when they fled.”

“Why die here if they weren’t protecting something?” Giorge
asked. “They could have left after their attackers were gone, but they stayed
down here until they died.”

“Perhaps,” Hobart said. “These could have been the ones who
were too injured to go with them when they left.”

“They may have died of old age,” Ortis suggested. “There’s
no sign of wound marks on the bones.”

“Even better,” Giorge said. “If they died of old age, then
their treasure would still be here.”

“Yes,” Ortis agreed. “But where?”

“How long will this thing last?” Giorge asked, pointing at
the Lamplight still attached to his shoulder.

Angus shrugged. “Up to a day. It depends on the strength of
the thread; the more powerful it is, the shorter it lasts. This one was an
extremely strong strand, so I wouldn’t expect more than ten to twelve hours
before it escapes.”

“We have a dozen torches,” Ortis said. “And a cask of oil
for the lantern.”

“Let me have that torch,” Giorge said, taking the lit torch
from Hobart and tossing it down the stairwell. Several seconds later, he
whistled and said, “It’s deep, but it has a bottom.”

“All right,” Hobart said. “If this is an Angst temple, what
do we know about them?”

Giorge shrugged. “They were fanatics who disappeared about a
thousand years ago. They worshipped a fire god of some sort. The Tiger’s Eye
was a gift from that god, and some say they used it to focus that god’s energy
into a weapon. Considering they’re dead, that part probably isn’t true. I
couldn’t find out anything else about them while I was in Hellsbreath; it’s one
of those legends people talk about but don’t really believe.”

“You should have told me about The Tiger’s Eye,” Angus said.
“I would have looked for information on it in the Wizards’ School’s library. It
is quite extensive.”

Giorge shook his head. “I couldn’t risk others finding out
what I was looking into. They might have followed us. Or worse. The Tiger’s Eye
is one of those treasures that a lot of people dream about and would kill
for—and not just the ones who kill for fun or money. If anyone knew we had a
map that might lead to it, it would not have gone well. Of course,” Giorge
grinned, “if we find it, we’ll become legends—and targets, just like all the
rest of the extremely wealthy.”

“If we survive,” Angus mused, looking down at the distant
flicker of flame at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Well,” Hobart said, “We won’t find it here.” He turned to
the stairwell and started down.

14

“I don’t like this,” Ortis said as they stopped to rest.
“We’ve been going down these steps for almost an hour without finding any
openings.”

“I know what you mean,” Giorge added. “I’m bored. I thought
something would have happened by now.”

“It is a bit odd,” Hobart conceded. “But, if you have a
great treasure, wouldn’t you protect it with something like this? By the time
we get down to the bottom, we’ll be too tired to fight effectively.”

“I’d protect it with traps,” Giorge said, grinning
mischievously. “Lots of them.”

“They only took advantage of a natural formation and added
the stairs to it,” Angus said. “There are probably more natural tunnels at the
bottom.”

“Giorge is right, Angus,” Ortis agreed. “There could be
traps. Maybe he should take point and the rest of us follow in a staggered
formation.”

“Fine with me,” Giorge said, moving to the front. “I’m bored
anyway.” One at a time the others followed, each about twenty steps behind the
man in front of him. Twenty minutes later, Giorge was at the bottom of the
stairwell waiting for the others to join him.

“Nothing,” Giorge grunted, sneering and slapping the rough
wall of the stairwell.

“Not quite,” Angus said. “Don’t you see it?” He pointed at a
reddish shadow on the wall. “Right there?”

“See what?” Hobart puffed as he joined them. He slid the
ropes from his shoulders and dropped them to the floor, and then he sagged
heavily against the stairwell wall.

“Did either of you bring a bracelet?”

Giorge grinned at Hobart. “I thought they might come in
handy as a doorstop,” he said, taking a bracelet out and handing it to Angus.
“What are you looking at?”

“The wall,” Angus said. “There’s a dull red shadow. Are you
sure you can’t see it?”

“I don’t see anything but the wall,” Giorge said.

“That’s all I see,” Hobart added. “What does it look like?”

Angus pointed to the bracelet. “It’s like this insignia,” he
said. “The curves of the shadow follow the same pattern, but this section is
missing.” He traced the shadow for them. “I think it’s a seal of some kind.”

The others stared at the wall until Ortis said, “Are you
sure? I don’t see anything either.”

“Yes, it’s right—”

A series of snapping sounds echoed down from high above
them, steadily growing louder as their echoes approached.

“What’s that?” Ortis asked as he turned around and ran up
the stairs.

“A trap!” Hobart cried. “And we’re caught in it!”

“How?” Angus asked, turning to follow Ortis.

“No!” Giorge warned. “The steps are collapsing! We can’t get
out that way.”

Angus paused, but Ortis kept running.

“We can only wait to see what happens when they reach us. It
might not do anything other than collapsing the stairs and leaving us here.
Or—”

There was a horrid grating, and the floor began sliding into
the wall, moving slowly toward the symbol Angus had seen.

Giorge frowned and moved to the edge of the floor where it
was already opening up. He sighed. “Or it could drop us into something pretty
nasty.”

“What is it?” Hobart asked.

“A pit,” Giorge said as he knelt down and leaned over the
edge. “It’s about thirty feet deep. There are iron stakes—a lot of them. There
are some skeletons, too; they look like adventurers by their armor and
weapons.”

Angus studied the shadowy insignia. It had to be a key,
didn’t it? A way to open a door that only the followers of Angst could see?
There had to be a way to open it, didn’t there? No one would make such an
elaborate trap that ended nowhere, would they? They could, but…. He pushed
against the different parts of the shadowy insignia, but nothing happened.
Then, on impulse, he pushed the section of the wall where the missing part of
the insignia should have been. It gave, sliding inward about two inches, and the
rest of the insignia evaporated. A moment later, a section of the wall slid
apart to reveal a narrow opening. Beyond it was a long tunnel, just wide enough
for a large man to pass.

“Quick!” Angus cried, as he stepped through the opening. A
moment later, Giorge followed after him. But Hobart lingered on the retracting
floor near the opening.

“There has to be a way to reset the trap or make it stop,”
Giorge said, pushing past Angus. “We have to find it!”

About five feet inside the tunnel, there were two small side
passages. Giorge took the left and Angus the right.

“It’s in here,” Giorge called.

“How does it work?” Angus asked as he joined him. It was a
small chamber, and along the left wall were a series of metal gears and levers.
The gears were turning steadily, clicking noisily as the teeth meshed and rust
flaked free.

“Give me a minute,” Giorge said, tracing the connections of
the gears and levers.

“Ortis doesn’t have a minute,” Angus said.

“I know,” Giorge said. “Can you do anything?”

Angus nodded, went back into the main tunnel, and sought out
a blue strand of sky magic. It was difficult to find one; they were deep enough
underground that almost all of the magical strands were the red shades of flame
magic—many of them quite dark and radiating tremendous power—or brown ones of
earth magic.

Hobart tossed the ropes he had carried down into the tunnel
and stepped into the narrow opening. He turned and stared up the stairwell.

Angus finally found a faint blue strand and reached for it,
weaving it into the knotted sequence for the flying spell. It was a weak
strand, easy to manage but not very potent. His spell would not last as long,
but it would be easier to manipulate it.

“Gods,” Hobart muttered as the floor clanked to a stop in
the wall beneath them.

“Let me by,” Angus said.

Hobart barely looked up as he reached for the rope and said,
“I have to catch him if I can.” He made a large loop in the rope and squatted
down, bracing his calves and shins against the tunnel walls. The rope dangled
below him as he extended his arms and made a practice toss with the noose.

“I
will
catch him if you let me by,” Angus said from
behind and above him.

Hobart turned and looked as if he were about to protest, but
when he saw Angus hovering behind him, he hunched down as far as he could.

Angus guided himself out by pulling with his hands instead
of working the spell; the area was narrow, and his ability to aim was still
uncertain.

“Here,” Hobart said, holding out the rope. “Take this.”

Angus nodded, took hold of the rope and tweaked the thread.
He shot forward more quickly than he expected and barely managed to redirect
himself upward before banging into the wall. The rope dangled beneath him like
a long tail as he rose rapidly upward for about fifty feet. Ortis was tumbling
down the slope of the stairwell, each of his constituents about ten feet apart.

Angus positioned himself, took hold of the rope, and whipped
it around until most of it was lying on the stairwell. If Ortis was lucky, if
he was quick enough, he might be able to catch onto it. But Angus didn’t want
to rely upon luck; he brought his skills into play. He estimated the distance
between himself and the first Ortis; he anticipated the trajectory for where he
would be in three seconds, and he tweaked the thread, directing himself to that
location.

He overshot it, but it didn’t matter. His timing was right,
and Ortis collided with him, grappled with him, clung to his arm. Then Angus
banged into the wall and almost lost him—but Ortis was clinging too tightly to
him for that—and for controlling the spell!

“Get on my back!” Angus shouted. “I need my hands!”

Ortis hesitated only briefly before he maneuvered himself
into position, his arms and legs wrapped around Angus’s torso and hips. Then
the second Ortis was upon him, lunged for his legs. The impact and additional
weight almost caused Angus to lose control of the thread—and would have if it
had been a stronger one—and made maneuvering too difficult for his novice
ability at flight. He floated outward, away from the slope, and fluttered
downward. He had to drop the rope to regain control, and by the time he had,
the third Ortis was past him.

Angus frantically redirected himself downward, and they
dropped quickly—too quickly; the pit was rapidly approached, and in
desperation, Angus redirected them sideways and used the wall to brake to a
stop, almost losing both Ortises in the process.

The third Ortis tried to leap for Hobart, tried to catch the
rope Hobart threw near him—but missed them both. When he struck the stakes,
both of the Ortises with Angus tensed, the one clinging to his chest nearly
cracking ribs as he squeezed the air from Angus’s lungs.

“Grab him!” Angus gasped, as he guided them to the wall near
Hobart.

The tenseness in the Ortises suddenly eased, and the one
dangling from his feet relaxed his grip, began to slide limply down the wall.
The one wrapped around him began to tilt away, to slide, but Angus spread his
legs as wide as he could and used his right arm to grip Ortis’s wrist. With his
left, he lowered them down until they were level with the opening, and then
used it to push himself along the wall until he could step inside. Once there,
he turned around and let Ortis slump to the ground. Then he turned to the third
Ortis, the one he had not been able to catch.

“Found it!” Giorge cried into the sudden silence. A moment
later, the stairwell floor began to slide slowly out of the wall.

Angus flew cautiously to the third Ortis. He was impaled on
metallic, spear-like stakes in the middle of the pit. One of them jutted up
through his back, another pinioned his left leg, and a third had torn through
the soft flesh of his right arm.

The floor was already a foot away from the wall, but it
would take time to reach the other end. If he hurried….

Angus let himself fall until he was almost on top of the
spear-like stakes, and then arrested his descent by transferring the momentum
horizontally. When he was near Ortis, he stopped and, rather than flying closer
to Ortis, used the spikes as if they were stepping stones, lightly pushing off
from one to the next until he was hovering next to Ortis.

He paused, turned back toward the opening, and shouted,
“He’s dead.”

The floor now extended about five feet—a third of the
way—and would soon be over his head. He prepared to fly upward, but Hobart
stopped him.

“Not yet,” Hobart shouted. “You need to bring his body
back.”

Angus frowned.
What’s the point? Does it really matter
where he’s buried?
Then he shrugged.
It did to Teffles. Maybe it does to
Ortis, too.

Angus gripped Ortis’s belt firmly in his right hand, and
tugged on the thread, urging it to lift them up. He had braced himself for the
jarring resistance of Ortis’s body, but was pleasantly surprised by how easily
his corpse slid free from the stakes. He rose upward several feet, his right
arm and shoulder straining against the additional weight of Ortis’s body. He
redirected them sideways until they were over the floor—it had passed the
halfway point—and dropped him. He fell only a few feet, and when he landed, he
quivered a bit and didn’t move any more.

Hobart hurried out to him, lifted him easily over his
shoulder, and carried him into the tunnel.

Angus settled down onto the floor, quickly adjusted to its
motion, and was about to release the thread when Hobart returned to the entry.

“We’ll need all the food we can spare and more,” Hobart
said. “We don’t have nearly enough down here. Can you get more?”

“Why?” Angus asked. The thread was weak, and even though he
could control it for a while longer, he wasn’t sure how long.

“Ortis can sometimes heal himself,” Hobart said. “But he
needs to eat a lot to do it.”

“All right,” Angus said, “I’ll need a torch.”

“Giorge! Light a torch!”

While he waited, Angus reasserted his control over the
thread by reinforcing the fraying knot. It was the only thing he could think of
doing to extend the spell’s life, and he wasn’t sure it would work. But if he
lost control while he was flying up or down the stairwell….

When he had the torch in hand, he lifting himself rapidly up
through the stairwell. When he reached the octagonal room, he slowed his ascent
and redirected himself to the rope dangling from the trapdoor. He used it to
guide himself upward, and then half-crawled, half-fluttered down the tunnel,
the smoke of the torch stinging his eyes. Once in the room, he half-ran,
half-floated until he was outside, and then flew to the horses. He quickly
gathered up the hardtack and was about to go back when he remembered something
Fyngar had written:

The plains folk gathered around a pile of grain that was
taller than they were and began eating.

If Ortis was one of them, couldn’t he eat grain? He decided
to find out. He gathered the full feedbags from some of the horses and tossed
them over his shoulder before flying back into the ruins. By the time he
reached the bottom of the stairwell, he was out of breath. He dropped the sacks
and feedbags, and slumped to the floor. The stairs still clattering into place,
and they were getting closer. He let the spell go and waited for his breathing
to ease before carrying the supplies into the tunnel.

“How is he?” Angus asked when he found them in the
antechamber opposite the trap’s control room. It was a small chamber—not quite
a ten foot cube—and Ortis was lying on the floor in its center. The two healthy
constituents were on either side of the dead one, and each one was holding onto
a hand.

“Not good,” Hobart said, rising to help him. When Angus
handed him a feedbag, Hobart raised his eyes and said, “Grain?”

Angus shrugged. “It’s food, isn’t it?”

Hobart shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll eat it if there isn’t
anything else left.” He positioned the food around Ortis, within easy reach of
the healthy one’s hands, and then knelt to whisper something in his ear. When
he was finished, he rose and walked over to Angus and Giorge.