The Tiger's Eye (Book 1)

by Robert P. Hansen

  “I hope you aren’t planning to test me,” Angus demanded. “I tend to be a light sleeper with a quick response.”

  Hobart chuckled. “There’s no need to test you, Angus. Giorge already did. It wasn’t intended to be a test, mind you; he was acting on his own in Wyrmwood. As for that work crew’s tent, you caught him reconnoitering. He was not at all pleased about that, by the way. He thinks he moves like a spider on silk.”

  Angus smiled. “Not quite,” he said, dismounting. He winced, wobbled, and leaned against the colt’s side to steady himself. His inner thighs were half-numb, and his rear end was painfully stiff. After a few seconds, he hobbled up to the post and wrapped the reins around it. He glanced at Hobart’s knot and mimicked it. It was a loose knot, one that would unravel when pulled fiercely. Max nuzzled up to the pole, nearly knocking him over.

  Hobart chuckled. “You’ll get used to riding soon enough,” he said. “You’ll be sore for a few days until then.”

  Like my feet? Angus thought, remembering the cracked and bloodied calluses he’d gotten during those first few days of walking. “You said he ran the wrong way,” he said.

  “I did?”

  “Yes,” Angus said. “When we first met.”

  “Oh,” Hobart shrugged, removing a bag from his saddle and bringing it up to his horse’s head. “There you are, Leslie,” he said, opening the bag. As the large mare stuck her muzzle in and began chewing, he turned back to Angus. “That’s mostly true,” he said. “He did run, but that was after he shouted warning. I’ll give him that much credit. His loud, girlish shriek woke all of us up. A good thing, too; the wolves were already at the edge of our camp and might have gotten all of us if it weren’t for him. But he should have seen them long before he did, and if he had, he might not have died.”

  “Didn’t he try to cast a spell?”

  “Who knows?” Hobart said. “All he did was stand there and wave his arms about as the wolves rushed him. Then he ran….” Hobart lowered the saddlebag, and nodded to Angus. “There’s a feedbag on your saddle. Do you want to give it to him?”

  Angus shook his head. “It looks like you know what you’re doing, and I need to take care of something before it gets dark.”

  Hobart laughed. “It’s just as easy to relive yourself in the dark as it is in the daylight.”

  “It’s not that,” Angus said. “Reconnoitering.”

  “Ortis will let us know if there’s anything to worry about,” Hobart said.

  “Not that kind of reconnoitering,” Angus said. “I need to find the right place to sleep.”

  Hobart eased the half-empty bag from Leslie’s muzzle and patted her neck before he strapped it back to the saddle. “We’ll leave them saddled for now,” he said. “I want to meet that family, first.” He moved to Angus’s saddle and unstrapped one of the bags. “Ortis was the first to act,” he continued. “He shot arrows at the wolves, hitting two of them before I had my sword in hand. He was shooting his next volley when Teffles ran into the arrow’s path. There was nothing Ortis could do about it. The arrow had already been fired. We tried to help him, but the wolves delayed us too long.”

  “Why didn’t you leave his body in Wyrmwood?” Angus asked.

  “We would have,” Hobart admitted, “but one of his twenty-three conditions he had for joining my banner was that his body would be delivered to the Temple of Muff if he died. The nearest one is in Hellsbreath. We stopped in Wyrmwood three days ago to update the banner’s roster and look for another replacement. That’s when Giorge decided to find out what you could do.”

  Angus nodded. “All right,” he said. “I need to take a look around now.”

  “No need,” Ortis said as he led a horse to the pole and tied it up. “These caravan stops are always built in the defensible positions.”

  Angus sighed. How could they understand that what he wanted to find was the optimal spot for casting his spells? How could he explain that the distribution of the magical threads varied greatly, and that there were dead zones, places where certain types of magic could not be cast? “That’s not what I’m looking for,” he said.

  “Well, the stew will be ready in a few minutes,” Ortis said. “I hope you like rabbit.”

  Angus shrugged. “I’m rapidly learning to tolerate a wide variety of foods,” he said as he turned away from them and drew the threads of magic into his awareness. He walked around the camp in a looping spiral that eventually brought him to the fireplace near the center of the campsite. No matter where he was within the caravan stop, there was ample access to the magic he needed. He had begun to let the magic slide away when something nearby drew his attention. It was a cluster of threads wrapped tightly together in an unnatural pattern. He walked up to it and let the magic fade to the background enough for him to see its mundane surroundings. He was only mildly surprised to find the source of the magic was Teffles’ corpse.

  Perhaps they underestimated him? Angus wondered.

  “Don’t worry, Angus,” Giorge said as he came up next to him. “Ortis won’t shoot any arrows through you. You move too quickly.”

  “That’s not it,” Angus said. “I was just wondering what happened to his spells.”

  “His spells?” Giorge frowned. “They died with him, didn’t they?”

  “Doubtful,” Angus said. “Did he have any scrolls with him?”

  “No,” Giorge said. “All we found on him was a little book none of us could read. You’re welcome to it, if you decide to join us.”

  “And that?” Angus said, pointing at the bulge of Teffles bent elbow.

  “You want the corpse?” Giorge asked, his voice lilting. He raised eyebrows raised and his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Not the corpse,” Angus said. “What’s on it.”

  “On it?” Giorge mused. “You like that robe? Really? I think it’s rather gauche, myself. Way too many colors for my tastes.”

  “No,” Angus said, bending down. “Not the robe, the magic.” He reached to unwrap the corpse, but Giorge put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t,” he said. “At least not here. He’s been dead a few days, remember? That robe is the only thing keeping the scent of decay from agitating the horses. Besides,” he grinned, “it would be impolite to have a naked corpse lying around. What would our neighbors think?”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Angus said. “By the stream.”

  “What do you think is there?” Giorge asked. “I did a pretty good job of searching him before we wrapped him up.”

  Angus smiled. “Did you check his sleeves?”

  “Sure,” Giorge said, folding his arms and scowling. “Why? Do you think I missed something?”

  Anger? Pride? Angus tilted his head up to half-smile at Giorge. “There are ways to conceal items from casual observation.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t casual,” Giorge protested. “I was quite thorough, I assure you.”

  “Can you see magic?” Angus asked.

  Giorge frowned for a moment, and then a slow smile eased into place. “You say there’s magic there?”

  Angus nodded.

  “How could I have missed that?” Giorge said, kneeling beside him and reaching for the robe. This time, Angus held his hand out to stop him.

  “Giorge,” he said. “You didn’t find it the first time, what makes you think you will this time?”

  Giorge grinned. “I didn’t know it was there until now. It’s always easier to find something when you know what you’re looking for.”

  Angus chuckled. “And what is it you’re looking for?”

  “Why—” Giorge frowned. “You said—” He shook his head. “Right. I still don’t know what it is. But I do know that it is there.”

  “Unless I’m lying,” Angus said.

  “You’re not,” Giorge said, his voice confident and dismissive. “You’ve seen something. You can describe it to me.”

  “I could,” Angus admitted. “But it wouldn’t do any good.”

  “Why
not?” Giorge demanded.

  Angus sighed. “All right, Giorge. It’s in a magically concealed compartment in his robe’s sleeve. Unless you know the precise place to look for the opening and have the ability to release the knot securing it in place, you will never find it.”

  “And you can?”

  Angus nodded. “Of course. I am, after all, a competent wizard.”

  “Do you want it?” Giorge asked.

  “Perhaps,” Angus said. “It may be quite useful to us, or it could be very dangerous. I won’t know which until I open the compartment.”

  “Well,” Giorge hedged, “if you join Hobart’s banner, I am sure you can negotiate with him. He’s quite reasonable, you know. But you’re right; it will have to wait until tomorrow.” He stood up and turned. “It’s time for supper and sleep. We have a long ride tomorrow, and Hobart will want to make an early start.”

  Angus rose and nodded, letting the magic finally slip away. “Lead on,” he said, falling in stride behind him.

  3

  Angus stirred his stew around with the spoon Ortis had given him. It was a strange but edible concoction of bits of meat, chunks of a root he didn’t recognize, berries, and plant leaves. It was bland, no hint of seasoning at all—much different from the food served at the inns. Perhaps if he had eaten them separately? Meat first, then the roots and leaves, finishing up with the mild tartness of the berries? But they were mixed together, and—

  “I hope it isn’t that bad,” Ortis said.

  “No,” Angus said. “Just different.”

  “This road is traveled too much for better,” another Ortis noted. “Most of the more appealing plants have been scavenged, and few animals live near enough to the road for hunting. We—” the third Ortis took over as the second one took a bite and the first swallowed “—are fortunate it isn’t caravan season. The road gets stripped bare when they pass through.”

  Angus nodded. “I am grateful for the stew,” he said. “I just have a lot to think about right now.”

  “Yes,” Hobart agreed. “We all do. We still need to decide where to go after we drop Teffles’ body off at the temple.”

  “I thought we were spending a few days in Hellsbreath,” Giorge said.

  Hobart nodded and filled his mouth again. “After that,” he said as he chewed.

  “We’ll decide that once Angus joins us,” Giorge said.

  Angus looked up at Giorge, noted the whiteness of his eyes and teeth as the firelight flickered on them. They were a sharp contrast to the peculiar orange reflection of Ortis’s eyes. “You seem to have decided that for me,” he said. “What makes you think I will join you?”

  “What else are you going to do?” Giorge countered.

  “There’s work for wizards in Hellsbreath,” he said. “I had thought to stay there.”

  “Bah,” Giorge waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll get bored.”

  Angus chuckled. “I’ve spent years living alone in a tower with Voltari. Boredom is a way of life for me.”

  “All right then,” Hobart asked between bites. “What do you need to know?”

  Angus lifted a spoonful of meat to his mouth and considered while he chewed. Everything? he thought, but dismissed it. Too vague. “Let’s start with you,” he said, pointing his spoon at Ortis. “What are you?”

  “I’m a triad,” one of the other Ortises said as the first one met his gaze. “There aren’t very many of us left.” Another of him continued. “We are a single entity,” the third offered. “Our thoughts and experiences are shared.” Then, together, they said, “We are three in one, one in three.”

  “I’ve never heard of triads,” Angus said, “and Voltari’s library is extensive.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Hobart said. “I’ve traveled across Tyr’s Kingdom and into many of those surrounding it and never encountered another like him.”

  “My people scattered centuries ago,” Ortis said. “Most of us are north of the Death Swamps.”

  “That’s where we met,” Hobart said. “He staggered out of the Death Swamps one day, and into our bivouac. We took him in, and he provided us with a great deal of useful information.”

  “There are lands north of the Death Swamps?” Angus asked. “Voltari’s map didn’t indicate any.”

  “You have a map?” Ortis asked. “May I see it?”

  “He has an affinity for maps,” Hobart said. “We’ve relied upon his extensive knowledge of them on many occasions.”

  “It’s in my backpack,” Angus said. “I’ll show it to you in the morning, before we leave.”

  “It will still be dark,” Hobart said. “We won’t be staying the whole night.”

  “Then we’ll have to do it when we stop,” Angus said. “I doubt there will be anything on it that you haven’t already seen. It’s a rough depiction of the Kingdom of Tyr and surrounding mountains. There really isn’t much on it.”

  “I was hoping to reach Hellsbreath tomorrow night,” Hobart said. “It will be a hard ride.”

  Angus frowned, “We will need to stop,” he said. “I will need time to retrieve whatever is secreted in Teffles’ robe.”

  “There’s nothing there,” Hobart said. “Giorge would have found it. Right Giorge?” Hobart grinned.

  “Well,” Giorge hedged. “I was going to tell you about that.”

  Hobart set his spoon in his empty bowl, gulped down what was in his mouth, and said, “You were going to tell us about what?”

  “Well,” Giorge began, “Angus said he found something. It’s concealed by magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Yes,” Angus said. “Giorge couldn’t have found it even if he had ripped the robe to shreds.”

  “See?” Giorge said. “It has to be valuable to be hidden that way.”

  “The compartment could be empty,” Angus suggested. “All I saw was the compartment, not what is inside of it.”

  “Really?” Giorge said. “That would be so disappointing.”

  “When were you two going to tell us about this?” Hobart demanded.

  Angus shrugged. “After I found out if there was something there.”

  “Why didn’t you look?” Ortis asked. “You had time.”

  Angus nodded pointedly at Giorge. “The stench,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” Ortis said. “The smell will be tolerable for at least another day or two.”

  “The horses,” Angus said.

  “They’re stout mountain stock,” Hobart said. “What of them?”

  “Giorge said the smell would disturb them—and our neighbors.”

  Hobart stood up and said, “Why don’t you show me what you’re talking about, Angus.” When Giorge began to rise, Hobart tossed him his bowl and spoon. “You can stay here, Giorge. Someone needs to tend to the dishes.”

  Angus stood, handed Giorge his bowl, picked up his backpack, and followed Hobart across the campsite until they stood over Teffles’ corpse. One of Ortis joined them. The robe had been loosened, as if someone had taken it off the corpse and put it back on. “Giorge,” Hobart muttered. “We have to watch him pretty closely; he has twitchy fingers. Are you sure he couldn’t find it?”

  Angus sighed, brought the magic into focus, and knelt down. He opened the robe until Teffles’ arm flopped free. He peeled back the sleeve and studied the knot holding the compartment closed. It was a simple enough knot, one that could be opened with a quick little jerk and retied almost as quickly. He reached out for it and tugged sharply. The compartment opened, and magical energy erupted from it. He reached in and touched a small, cylindrical device and pulled it out. The magic within it pulsed, unable to escape the carefully constructed sequence of knots binding it to the magic within the object. He lifted it and let the magic slide away—whatever it did, it would take a considerable amount of time for him to decipher it; for now, it was enough to know that it was there.

  “A wand?” Hobart muttered, reaching out with his mailed paw.

  Angus jerked it away and said
, “Don’t touch it. We don’t know what it does, and if you accidentally trigger it, anything could happen.”

  Hobart looked skeptical but retracted his arm. “All right,” he said. “What do we do with it?”

  Angus frowned. It looked fragile—a thin piece of ivory carved into a ten-inch column whose girth was little more than the quill he used for writing. Runes and sigils were etched in a spiral down most of its length, the same pattern of three repeated several times. “For now,” he said, “I’ll carry it. When we get to Hellsbreath, I should be able to find out what it does. If not, there will be other wizards there who will be able to do it—for a price.” He slipped it into his sleeve and secured it with a pair of clasps that seemed to have been made for just such a purpose.

  Hobart frowned. “Angus,” he warned. “You are not yet a part of this banner. That wand does not belong to you.”

  “Nor to you,” Angus countered. “It was Teffles’ wand.”

  “Yes,” Hobart said, “and he’s dead. He had no heirs as far as we know, so his equipment became the property of King Tyr upon his death. Of course,” he hedged. “As a banner representing his interests, we have an obligation to tend to it until such time that we can present it to him.”

  Angus tilted his head, half-smiled, and said, “Nevertheless, I am the only one present who is qualified to tend to it.”

  “Perhaps,” Hobart agreed, “but you are not yet a member of this banner. It is not your concern.”

  “Let’s return to discuss this with the others, shall we?” Angus said. “I understand Giorge found a book in Teffles’ possession, and I would like to look through it.” He rose to his feet.

  “What kind of book?” Hobart asked.

  “Probably a book of spells,” Angus said.

  “We will consider it,” Hobart said, rising. “Only so far as to find out what the book is.”

  As they walked back to the fire, Angus asked, “What else does your banner do besides hunting wolves?”

  “Lots of things,” Hobart said. “We’ve explored ruins, of course; every banner does that. It’s often the best place to find treasure. Unfortunately, every banner knows that too, so most of the ones in Tyr have already been ransacked. Not all of the banners are thorough, though; we’ve found a few things that have been overlooked. That’s why we’re over here.”