Angus frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Are there more ruins over here than elsewhere in the kingdom?”
“Not particularly,” Hobart said. “But there are fewer banners. Those who are over here tend to avoid The Tween, and we thought it would be a good place to find ruins, particularly west of Hellsbreath where the volcanoes are most active. But that was before Ribaldo died. Few enter The Tween without a capable wizard. There are things there that only magic can defeat.”
“I see,” Angus said. “You’re thinking about digging into the remnants of the Dwarf Wars?”
Hobart nodded. “Most of the ruins got buried or were lost,” he said. “We hope to find some of them. That’s why Ortis wants to see your map. He collects them, and he wants to compare it to the others he has. Every mapmaker notes different things, and some of those differences might be important.”
“Well,” Angus said as they rejoined the group around the fire. “I suppose he’d best take a look at it now, then.” He took off his backpack and opened the flap. The map was on top, and he held it out to Ortis. “Here’s the map Voltari gave me when I left. The additions are from Ulrich—except for The Tween. I added that myself.”
Ortis unrolled the map and held it so it caught the firelight. Then he moved closer to the fire and looked more closely at it.
“What else do you do?” Angus said, turning back to Hobart.
“Fight brigands, mostly,” he said. “It’s one of the things banners are expected to do while they’re traveling. The king’s army handles large scale interlopers, but smaller ones are usually left to us. So, if a village is plagued by bandits or wolves or something else that doesn’t warrant the attention of the army, we step in to take care of them. The villagers have to pay, of course, but it’s a reasonable rate, usually not much more than room and board. The wenches tend to be grateful, too.”
“Another reason to be near the border,” Giorge offered as he sat down. “The guardsmen may patrol the area between Hellsbreath and Wyrmwood, but they don’t go much further than that. It isn’t profitable. There isn’t much money in villages.”
“Most of the time,” Hobart continued, “we just travel. There aren’t very many dangers for a group our size, at least within the kingdom, and those there are well known and easily avoided—like the fishmen—if that’s what we want to do.”
“Angus,” Ortis asked from behind him. “You said Voltari made this map, right?”
“Yes,” Angus said. “At least, he had just finished writing on it when he gave it to me. Why?”
“I think it’s an old map,” he said. “A very old one.”
“Oh?” Angus said, moving to stand next to him by the fire. “Why do you think that?”
“Well,” Ortis began, “you said you’ve added to it. Do you remember what was on the map before you made the changes?”
“Certainly,” Angus said. “The terrain, of course, and only a few things were labeled. The Death Swamps, Mountain Dwarves, Tyrag, Wyrmwood, and Hellsbreath were about it.”
“So,” Ortis continued. “All of these villages north of Hellsbreath except Wyrmwood were unmarked.”
Angus nodded.
“And The Tween?”
Angus nodded again.
“What about these plumes? They look like they were added to it by the same hand that labeled the Death Swamps.”
“They were there when Voltari handed it to me,” Angus said. “Of course, he could have added them in himself.”
“Yes, and the roads,” Ortis said. “See? The east-west one to Wyrmwood is much more faded than the others. It was part of the original. The roads through Hellsbreath weren’t, and Hellsbreath wasn’t on it either. It’s a young, thriving city. Wyrmwood, on the other hand, has been around since the initial expansion of the kingdom under the rule of King Urm. It was a garrison at first, and the town grew up around it. That’s what happened in Hellsbreath, too. The people cluster around the military outposts. Also, take a closer look at Tyrag. If you hold the map up close to the flame, you can see that Tyrag is covering up Virag. I think this map is one from the earliest days of the kingdom, possibly even from before the Dwarf Wars.”
“Really?” Angus said. “Maybe I should get a new one, one that’s up to date.”
Ortis shrugged. “Aside from the volcanoes, the terrain hasn’t changed much. There are more villages, towns, and roads, and they can be added in easily enough.”
Angus considered for a moment, and then pointed at ELHOUIT ACHNUT. “What about that?” he asked. “I don’t recognize the language.”
Ortis smiled. “A lot of maps have that notation. It means, ‘Do not go here.’ Usually, it only means that the mapmaker didn’t go there, himself. Sometimes it’s a warning. It’s difficult to tell which. The other classic is ‘Dragons be here.’”
“I wonder why Ulrich wrote that,” Angus muttered. “Why would he not want me to go there? Other than it being in The Tween, of course.”
“The Tween is riddled with stories,” Hobart said over his right shoulder. “It could simply be a friendly warning.”
“Or worse,” Ortis said. “Some of those stories are true.”
“We could find out,” Hobart said. “But I doubt it will be worth it.”
“What about this?” Angus asked, pointing at the faded symbol that reminded him of the runes for flame magic. “It looks old, like the rest of the map.”
“It’s faint enough to be,” Ortis said, squinting. “Maybe tomorrow, when the sun’s out, we’ll be able to see it better. It looks a bit familiar, but I can’t place it right now. I’ll have to compare it to my other maps; it might be on one of them.” He rolled up the map and handed it back to Angus. “Thank you for letting me see this, Angus. It is an interesting map.”
As Angus put the map in his backpack, Hobart said, “Teffles had a wand.”
“Oh?” Giorge said joining them and handing Ortis the clean dishes. “May I see it?”
“Not tonight,” Hobart said. “It’s in Angus’s care for now. We’ll have to discuss it further while we ride.”
“So, are you going to join us, then?” Giorge smiled.
“I haven’t decided,” Angus replied. “But if I do, I will want Teffles’ wand and his book as part of the agreement.”
“That’s a steep price,” Hobart stated.
“Not really,” Angus retorted. “Neither the wand nor the book will be of any use to you; you’re not trained in magic. You can sell them, of course, but at what price? You almost certainly won’t be able to get a fair one without knowing more about them.”
“Be that as it may,” Hobart said. “Do not presume to believe they are yours.”
Angus half-smiled and looked at him, “I am merely the wand’s caretaker for the moment. Besides, I could easily have said nothing about it. You would not have been any the wiser if I had waited to retrieve it until after you dropped off his body at the Temple of Muff.”
Hobart nodded, “True. But you did say something about it, didn’t you?”
“All I am saying now,” Angus said, “is that I have at least a reasonable claim to it.”
Hobart frowned and said nothing.
“What would it take for you to become its owner?” Giorge asked.
“Yes,” Ortis agreed. “Banners always fare better with wizards.”
“I take it,” Angus smiled, “I am a valuable commodity.”
“Yes,” Hobart admitted. “But there is still some question as to how valuable and whether or not we will be willing to pay that price. It already seems to be rather steep.”
“Nevertheless,” Angus said, “if I join your banner it is non-negotiable. The wand and the book must be mine. However,” he hedged, “I would need to see the book first.”
Giorge shifted position and squirmed a bit, producing a small book about three inches square from somewhere on his body.
“I take it you weren’t going to tell us about that, either,” Hobart resignedly accused.
&
nbsp; Giorge shrugged. “I wanted to wait until I got it open.”
“Hand it over,” Hobart said, reaching for the book. Giorge gave it to him, and after a brief inspection, Hobart passed it to Angus. “Can you open it?”
Angus accepted the book and examined it. It was bound by hard leather covers reinforced with iron straps. The clasp was locked. “Is there a key?” Angus asked.
“I couldn’t find one,” Giorge admitted. “It doesn’t make any sense, either. He had to be able to open it, didn’t he? Why else would he carry it around with him?”
Angus brought the book closer to the fire and looked up the spine from both ends. Nothing. He brought out the threads of magic, but there weren’t any unnatural twists or turns in it; the book was just that: a book. Wherever the key was, it wasn’t concealed by magic. He tilted his head and looked back toward Teffles’ corpse. “Do you have a lantern? Torches?”
“Why?” Hobart asked. “The fire is bright enough, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Angus said. “The key may be concealed in the book’s binding or metalwork. If it is, it will be quite difficult to find in these conditions. But that’s not why I want a torch. The key might have been with the wand. I’d like to check it out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Hobart said. He leaned toward the fire and selected one of the larger branches and wrapped his huge hand around it. It was burning well, and when he lifted it up high and held it well out in front of him, the flame shot up about a foot. “Good enough?” he asked.
“It will have to be,” Angus said. “For now.”
Hobart nodded, stood, and started walking toward Teffles’ corpse. Angus and Giorge rose to follow after him.
“You know,” Giorge said. “It might be in there. It would make sense, wouldn’t it? I really looked at that book when I found it, and there isn’t any indication of a secret panel or compartment.”
“Perhaps you missed it,” Angus said, “like you did the one in his sleeve.”
“Doubtful,” Giorge protested. “Unless magic is hiding it.”
“It’s not,” Angus said.
They arrived at Teffles’ corpse and Hobart frowned. “We should have wrapped him up better,” he said, sniffing. “It will attract attention,” he added, spinning slowly around.
“We will,” Angus promised as he knelt down and turned Teffles onto his side and gently shook the arm. Something jangled as it fell from the sleeve, and Angus let Teffles body drop back down. “Bring the flame a bit closer,” Angus requested. When Hobart did so, he reached for the flickering piece of metal on the ground. It was the key. He held it up and looked at Giorge.
“I wonder if there’s anything else in there,” Giorge said, dropping to his knees and violently shaking Teffles arm. But nothing more fell out of the compartment.
Angus put the key into the book’s lock and turned it. The metal snapped apart and the cover popped open.
Hobart moved in beside him and held the makeshift torch close enough for both of them to see what was written there. “What does it say?” he asked. “I can’t read.”
“Property of Teffles, Wizard of the First Order. These are my spells,” Angus said. “It’s written in rather shaky lettering, considering he was a wizard.”
“Why does that matter?” Giorge said. “I thought everyone had shaky handwriting.”
Angus shook his head. “No,” he said. “Wizards have to be precise when they depict the knots they have to make. There are numerous subtle differences based upon a small collection of master runes, and a slight difference can change a spell in unforeseeable ways. Sometimes,” he paused and shook his head. “Sometimes, the changes are disastrous, both for the wizard and those around him. Voltari always told me that an imprecise hand reflects an imprecise mind. It was weeks before Voltari was satisfied enough with my penmanship to let me begin scribing scrolls.”
“What’s this ‘First Order’ business?” Hobart asked. “What order are you?”
“I don’t belong to an order,” Angus said. “They relate to the wizard schools. Voltari was a freelancer; he didn’t run a school. A First Order designation indicates he was a beginner when he wrote that note. The schools go up to the Sixth Order before reaching Master status. The Grand Master is the overseer of the wizard school, and he defines the range of magic being taught within it. A lot of First Orders abandon the art because of the difficulties involved. If his spells were only First Order ones, they won’t be very powerful. Still, I won’t know that until I study them, and this lighting is insufficient for doing so. It will have to wait.”
“At least you got it open,” Giorge said.
“Let’s get back to the fire,” Hobart said. “This stick is getting a bit warm.”
“All right,” Angus said. “Is there anything else a banner does that you haven’t told me about?”
“Exploring ruins, defending villagers, a lot of traveling,” Hobart said. “That pretty much covers it.”
“Don’t forget the odd job here and there,” Giorge offered. “You know how it is, Angus, when our coffers get emptied and need to be refilled.”
“The caravans,” Hobart clarified. “We had to work with one last year. They always need mercenaries. But at least it was only for part of the way.”
“So,” Angus asked. “What are you offering me and what to do you expect in return for it?”
“Equal shares,” Hobart said at once. “After the upkeep.”
“Upkeep?” Angus asked.
“Whatever treasure or payment we receive,” Hobart said, “goes first to taxes, then to tending the needs of our horses, purchasing supplies, and mending what needs mended.”
“Tell him about the armor,” Giorge smirked. “Last time he got it repaired, it cost half the fee we were paid.”
“It needed it,” Ortis said as Hobart tossed the burning piece of firewood into the fire.
“I generally tend to my armor myself,” Hobart said, “but it had a hole in it. I had to have a blacksmith repair it. At least I put off fixing the dent in my helmet, didn’t I?”
Giorge grinned, “I thought it was a fashion statement.”
Hobart groaned and shook his head. “No self-respecting soldier would walk around with their helm dented unless there were no choice.”
“Like I said,” Giorge began, chuckling.
Angus half-smiled and asked, “What else?”
“We split the responsibilities for the group. Ortis is our cook and sets up camp. He also scouts in the wilderness. Giorge is our scout for ruins, villages, and towns. He’s got a kind of charm about him that strangers find infective.”
“So do you,” Giorge countered, grinning, “when it comes to soldiers.”
Hobart’s armor clinked softy as he shrugged. “I know how to speak with them,” he said. “I was one for long enough.”
“Don’t be modest,” Ortis interjected. “Hobart is our spokesman. Whenever we need someone to negotiate, he’s the one who does it.”
“Ortis hunts and scavenges for edible plants,” Hobart continued. “Giorge and I aren’t that good at it, but we can fish with the best of them.”
“We see to the horses while Ortis is making camp,” Giorge added. “We’ll teach you what to do with them when you join us. Other than that, we do whatever needs to be done when it needs to be done. Each of us has our talents, and we use them for the collective good.”
Ortis chuckled. “Really?” he said. “And yet, you didn’t tell us about the book or the wand.”
“I was going to,” Giorge protested. “Don’t I always?”
“So you say,” Ortis said. “But it is of no consequence at the moment.”
“What it boils down to,” Hobart finished, “is that we expect you to pull your weight, and when the time comes to use your special skills that you use them. If you do that, then you’re entitled to an equal share of whatever profits there are from the venture.”
“Reasonable enough on the surface,” Angus said. “What if one of us p
ulls considerably more than his weight? Are there special considerations?”
“For the most part, it equals out over time. Ortis’s hunting ability and bows were invaluable in our latest escapade with the wolves, but without my idea to use Ribaldo’s body as bait, we wouldn’t have succeeded. In populated areas, Giorge is notoriously crafty, a skill that has served us quite well on many occasions. My contacts in the army have provided us with many opportunities and allies. What you will bring is yet to be determined—except, of course, your magic.”
“Isn’t that enough?” Angus asked. “After all, without it, you would not have found the wand or opened this book.”
“So you’ve told us,” Hobart said. “And we have heard it. Still, you must prove yourself useful in battle before we will be fully convinced of your value. We are, after all, taking a chance in asking you to join us, but I believe it is a chance worth taking.”
“All right,” Angus said. “What else?”
“One last thing,” Hobart said. “If you join our banner, you will have to remain with us for a minimum of two years. That’s non-negotiable. After that, you can leave at any time, provided you give us ample notice.”
Two years? “All right,” Angus said. “Here are my terms. First, I keep the wand and this book even if I decide to leave after two years.”
“That’s reasonable,” Hobart said, “provided you use them to contribute to our success while you are with us. We’ll simply deduct their value from your share of the treasure we acquire until a fair price has been established.”
“Agreed,” Angus nodded. “Second, I’ll need a different horse. Max is too skittish for my tastes.”
“Give him some time,” Hobart said. “You’ll get used to it.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Angus said. “If I need to cast a spell while on horseback, the horse must be stable. Max isn’t.”
“Perhaps we can find you a calm old nag,” Giorge offered, “when we get to Hellsbreath.”
The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) Page 12
