The Tiger's Eye (Book 1)

by Robert P. Hansen

  Ortis smiled softly and lowered his voice again. “Softly, Angus. We don’t need to be overheard.”

  “Fine,” Angus barked. “What of them?” he continued in a harsh, barely restrained whisper.

  “They are secure,” Ortis said. “Giorge….”

  “Giorge?” Angus half-shouted as the furrow of his brow attacked the bridge of his nose and his teeth gnashed together. “What did he do?”

  “Let’s just say he acted quickly, before the guardsmen arrived. Your backpack, scrolls, and map. You needn’t worry about them.”

  Angus shook his head and almost turned away from Ortis. Giorge is the reason I’m in here. Remember that.

  “Now,” Ortis said. “It will help us in the negotiations if we knew what happened. Why don’t you tell me? I will report it to the magistrate, and if he is satisfied with your explanation, it will greatly reduce the amount of time you spend here. Speak the truth to me, Angus; the magistrate will almost certainly send a Truthseer to verify what you tell me.”

  “A Truthseer?” Angus asked.

  Ortis nodded. “They use magic to divine the veracity of the claims being made. As I understand it, there are subtle but clear distinctions between how a person’s body reacts when they tell the truth and how it reacts when they lie. A Truthseer is trained to recognize these changes, even when there is an attempt to distort them with magic.”

  “Very well, then,” Angus said. “As you know, I told all of you not to disturb me while I was in that room….”

  9

  Several days later, four armed guardsmen and a wizard escorted Angus from the dungeons to the lift area, where his friends were standing beside a large pile of gear, including several coils of ropes. As he neared, Giorge unslung Angus’s backpack from his shoulders.

  “Here,” Giorge said, holding out Angus’s backpack.

  As Angus reached for it, the wizard escorting him put up a restraining hand and said, “He is still in our custody.”

  The four guards took up a position around Angus and the wizard removed a small, tightly wound scroll from his sleeve. He unrolled it to its foot-long length, cleared his voice, and read through its contents in a clear, loud voice:

  By order of Theodorus, Magistrate of Hellsbreath, Angus, wizard and member of The Banner of the Wounded Hand, is hereby banned from this city for a period of five years. At the end of this period, if Angus wishes to regain admittance to Hellsbreath, he must provide payment adequate to cover any and all expenses related to the repairs of the city wall for which he has been responsible. Such payment will be reduced by the 5,000 gold coins that have already been surrendered by The Banner of the Wounded Hand in his name. If an additional 2,500 gold coins are provided at any time during the five year ban, said ban will be rescinded and Angus will be allowed admittance into the city without further penalty. However, during any and all future visits to Hellsbreath, be they before or after the ban has been lifted, Angus will be required to surrender all magical devices, books of spells, scrolls, or other paraphernalia pertaining to wizardry into the care of the Wizards’ School for the duration of his stay in Hellsbreath. Such items shall be returned to him unaltered only after he has left the confines of the city wall of Hellsbreath.

  This injunction has been duly recorded, and a report of this incident has been properly transmitted to the records officers in Tyrag and Wyrmwood. This copy of the injunction is provided to Angus for presentation to all records officers upon entrance to and exit from any and all regulated regions of the Kingdom of Tyr.

  The wizard paused, scrunched up his eyes a bit, and muttered to himself for a few seconds before finishing, “The injunction is signed by the Magistrate of Hellsbreath, Theodorus the Third; by Hogbart, holder of The Banner of the Wounded Hand; and by the wizard Angus, apprentice of Voltari, Blackhaven Tower.” He rolled up the scroll and handed it to Angus. “Present this to the scribe below as you leave. He will note your departure and update the banner’s records accordingly.”

  His escort continued to stand around him, with the wizard—a fat oaf in need of a shave—directly in front of them. He sighed, nodded to his companions, and asked, “May I join them?”

  “You are still within the city walls,” the wizard said, his voice bland.

  “Very well,” Angus said, crossing his arms and gritting his teeth. After two weeks in the dungeons, he had had more than enough dealings with hostile guards, the magistrate’s bureaucratic attitude, and of Hellsbreath itself. If he had had more time to visit the city proper, he might feel differently. But…. “How long before the lift comes back up?”

  “It will be a while,” Hobart said. “If you would have been here ten minutes ago, we could have gone down then.”

  “No,” the wizard said. “It will return quickly. Your group will be the only ones going down.”

  “Why?” Hobart asked.

  The wizard shrugged. “Orders,” he said. “I believe the magistrate wants to be rid of you as quickly as possible, now that he’s made his decision.”

  “More cost,” Hobart grumbled. “Now we have to pay for the whole lift.”

  The wizard shook his head. “The magistrate said it would be worth losing the fee for the lift just to get Angus out of the city before he could cause more damage.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Hobart muttered, glaring at Angus.

  The escorts remained stationed around Angus until the lift returned, and then they ushered him into it before the rest of the banner was allowed to join them. Nothing was said as they descended at a rapid, disorienting pace, one that was much faster than their trip up. When they reached the bottom, Angus was quickly ejected from the lift, and the rest of the banner was barely given enough time to remove their gear before the lift began to rise.

  Giorge finally gave Angus his backpack, but he didn’t bother opening it; there was no time, and it didn’t matter anyway. Besides, if Giorge had taken anything….

  Bandor was standing solemnly next to their horses, not far beyond the scribe’s station. He had them all saddled and ready to go. There was a new one, but Angus didn’t have time to worry about that; he needed to present the injunction to the scribe. As he moved to do so, his companions gathered up their gear and walked silently past him, toward the horses.

  Angus stepped in behind them, following only far enough to reach the scribe’s station, where he stopped and turned. The others continued on to the horses, and Hobart greeted Bandor with a grateful nod, clasping his arm and handing him a coin for his troubles. Then Bandor turned and limped toward the stables.

  “Well?” the scribe asked. “Are you just going to stand there?”

  “Sorry,” Angus said, his heart heavy in his hand as he slowly held out the scroll.

  The scribe accepted it, read through the injunction carefully, opened his book to a page labeled “THE BANNER OF THE WOUNDED HAND,” and made several quick notations. When he finished, he let the scroll roll up into its natural form and set it along the top of the book. Angus thought about reaching out for it, but he didn’t; the scribe would give it back to him when he was ready to do so.

  The scribe looked up at him, glanced high up over his shoulder, and shook his head before reaching for the thin slip of parchment that had marked the page for the—his—banner. He squinted at it, shook his head again, and muttered, “It’s a mistake.” Then he looked at Angus, shook his head once more, and said, “You are far too fortunate.”

  He opened the chest next to his podium and read through the message on the piece of parchment once more. “Far too fortunate,” he said again as he lifted a wand case from the chest and laid it across the pages of his book. He held it there with one hand to keep it from sliding, and then brought out Teffles’ book with the other.

  The scribe looked at Angus once more, sighed, and handed him back the injunction.

  Angus put it in a pocket of his robe and waited, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest.

  The scribe opened the wand case and took out Teff
les’ ivory wand. He studied it for a few seconds and muttered, “Admirable craftsmanship.” Before he handed the wand to Angus, he glanced back over his shoulder and shook his head again. “Far too fortunate.”

  Angus gratefully accepted the wand and secured it in the straps in his robe’s left sleeve. When the scribe handed him Teffles’ book, he put it in the large pocket near his belt. He intended to read more from it as he rode, and it would be easier to access from there. Since there was little to do while he had been in the dungeon, he had spent his time trying to memorize Teffles’ shorthand and learning how think with it, and he was anxious to find out if his efforts had paid off.

  “I trust you will use those more wisely from here on out?” the scribe said.

  “Yes,” Angus said. Even though he hadn’t needed the lesson; he had learned it well enough. “It was an accident.”

  The scribe studied him for a long moment before chuckling and shaking his head. “Well,” he said, his smile mechanical, “I hope you enjoyed your stay in Hellsbreath. Do come back again…in five years.”

  “May I go now?” Angus asked. “My companions are waiting.”

  The scribe waved him away, not bothering to watch him as he left.

  “Angus,” Hobart said, holding out the reins of Teffles’ horse. “Meet Gretchen. She’s all yours, so you’ll have to tend for her yourself. We’ll teach you how. I hope you learn quickly.”

  “I do,” Angus said as he mounted his new horse and patted her neck. She was a docile, short steed, and the saddle was almost comfortable. They rode in silence until they were past the cloud of ash and across the river. They returned the sheets to Jagra, and Hobart looked back at the city and whistled. “No wonder they were angry,” he said. “I thought it looked bad enough from inside.”

  “Wow,” Giorge said. “I am so glad you didn’t hit me with that thing.”

  Angus turned and gulped. A work crew was assembling a scaffold up against the wall, and they had already reached two thirds of the way up. Above them was a gaping hole, nearly as wide as the scaffolding—one in which ten men could easily stand abreast. He couldn’t see any cracks radiating out from the hole, but they were nearly a mile away. Still, its edge appeared to be quite smooth, as if someone had carefully tunneled their way out of it.

  “You did that?” Jagra asked, fear and admiration raging over his face as he looked from one to another of them.

  “Yes,” Angus said. “It was an accident.”

  Jagra looked at the wall and shook his head. “I would hate to see what you could do on purpose,” he said. “I was here when it happened. When I looked over, I swear I saw snow falling from that hole.”

  “Oh?” Angus said, his interest keenly piqued. “Can you describe it to me?”

  Jagra shrugged. “What’s to describe? There was a big clap of thunder, and then there was a hole in the wall and it was snowing. It didn’t snow very long, though.”

  Disappointed that he couldn’t offer any more details, Angus thanked him and they moved on.

  “Angus,” Giorge said a few minutes later. “It was a lot like what Jagra said. But it wasn’t snow. It was the stone. It fragmented into little bits and blew out of the room.”

  “I see,” Angus said through clenched teeth. Giorge’s voice grated against his nerves like—like army ants driving spikes into his back. “Did you see how it happened?”

  “Not really,” Giorge admitted.

  “Why not?” Angus asked, his anger threatening to break free. “You were there,” he said, his voice low, desperately even.

  Giorge shrugged. “I was hiding,” he said. “When I looked in and saw you with that wand pointed at me….” He shook his head. “I don’t want to see you look at me like that again.”

  “Then don’t try to steal from me anymore,” Angus bellowed, his fury barely restrained. “I told you not to intrude when I was in that room. I told all of you not to do it.”

  “But—”

  “Now you know why!” Angus shouted, feeling his shoulders tense. “When a wizard studies magic, when he is testing things like—” he slipped the wand easily into his hand with a slight flexing of his left forearm and a tweak of the wrist and pointed it at Giorge. “It is dangerous. A mistake, no matter how slight it may be, can have deadly consequences. If I hadn’t redirected the energy of this wand away from you, you would have been disintegrated, not the wall!” That’s what it does! Angus thought, excitedly. It disintegrates things!

  Giorge scrunched up in his saddle, trying to avoid Angus’s eyes, Angus’s fury, Angus’s wand. He looked at his horse’s head, and said nothing.

  “Angus,” Hobart said. “He didn’t realize—”

  “No!” Angus shouted as he turned on him, the wand waving about recklessly. “He didn’t think. All he wanted was an opportunity to steal from me. He’s been trying to do that ever since I met him, and he hasn’t learned his lesson yet, has he? If I turn my back on him, he’ll put those twitchy little fingers of his into my pouch and take everything that he could get. He probably already has,” Angus said, taking his backpack off and ripping open the flap. “I haven’t even had a chance to find out what’s missing,” he fumed, rummaging through the scrolls and counting them.

  “They’re all there,” Giorge mumbled. “I wasn’t there to steal from you.”

  “Really?” Angus scowled, relishing how it felt to finally release the pent-up anger flowing through him. “Why did you pick the lock on my door, then?” he demanded.

  Giorge continued to stare at his horse’s head as he repeated, his voice low, tight. “I wasn’t there to steal from you. I needed to talk to you. I had found a buyer for those coins, and I wanted to give you your share. When you didn’t answer, I assumed you were gone.”

  “And my presumed absence gave you the right to enter my room?” Angus demanded. “It didn’t occur to you that I might not want to be interrupted?”

  Giorge toyed with Millie’s mane, gently wrapping it around his finger over and over again. “No,” he said. “I didn’t think that. I was too excited.”

  “Excited?” Angus glowered. “Why? Because you thought you could finally rummage through my things? So you could pick and choose what to take later?”

  “Angus,” Hobart said, his voice almost as tight as the grip on his saddle horn. “He is part of this banner and so are you. We do not steal from each other. We help each other when needed, and that is what Giorge did.”

  “Help?” Angus scoffed, laughing bitterly. “By getting me thrown into the dungeon? How is that helpful?”

  “Not that,” Hobart admitted. “But he did save your life.”

  “What?”

  “And most of your treasure,” Hobart continued.

  “Oh really,” Angus retorted. “And just how did he do that?”

  “Angus,” Giorge said, his voice soft, urgent. “I know I made a mistake, but I assure you I meant you no ill will.”

  Angus was breathing heavily—It is important.—and gripping the reins so tight in his right hand that he couldn’t have cast a spell if he wanted to—and he desperately wanted to. But the wand…. “All right then,” he said, his tone sharp, barely restrained as he lowered the wand and rested it against his thigh. His jaw muscles ached as he asked, “Fine! Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  “Will you listen?” Hobart asked.

  Angus nodded, rapidly tapping the wand against his thigh to keep from lashing out with it. He was still furious, but a part of him knew a lot of the anger wasn’t really directed at Giorge; it had been building within him ever since Voltari had thrown him out of Blackhaven, and Giorge was just a convenient, easily justifiable target for his rage. Still….

  The tapping was quite rapid, quite firm—and the wand was a delicate piece of ivory. He looked at it, grimaced, and slid it expertly back into its straps. Then he pried open his right hand and let the reins drop. Gretchen didn’t move; nor would she unless he directed her to do so with his legs. How do I know that? Angus ranted
in his mind. How can I not know who I am but can remember things like that?

  “Like I said,” Giorge began, gently patting Millie’s neck. “I had sold your coins. The buyer paid more than what I had expected—a lot more—and I was excited about it. When you didn’t answer, I thought I would surprise you with the news. I had exchanged the two you had left for a pouch of gemstones, and I was going to leave those gems on your table.”

  “Where are they now?” Angus demanded.

  “We had to use most of them to get you out of the dungeon,” Giorge said. “There were a lot of bribes involved, and that was before the fine. After the upkeep and taxes, we distributed what was left. Your share is in your backpack with your garnets.”

  “My garnets?” Angus asked. “They confiscated them.”

  Giorge smiled at Millie’s neck and said, “They only took the ones they found,” he said. “I made sure they didn’t find very much.”

  “You took my garnets?”

  “Yes,” Giorge said. “And all the other things I could find. You know,” he added, looking sidelong at Angus without turning his head. “If I didn’t know you were a wizard, I’d think you were a thief by all the things you had hidden under that robe of yours.”

  “You searched my tunic?” Angus accused, his eyes narrowing as he pressed his lips tightly together.

  Giorge nodded and turned to tell his horse the rest of the story. “Yes,” he said. “When I saw the wall, I knew you were going to be taken to the dungeons, and I didn’t want them to take everything you had. I couldn’t take the wand; they were bound to find out about that. So I grabbed your backpack and made a thorough search of your clothes. I left Teffles’ book on your desk, too. It would be less suspicious than finding a wizard without one, and I thought you’d want your scrolls more.”

  “All right,” Angus said. “You pocketed my things and then what?”

  “I did what I could to help you,” he said. “You hit that wall pretty hard. When I saw you crumpled up like that, I thought you were dead. But you weren’t. It was pretty bad, though. Your skull was tender and scrunched when I touched it. Half your ribs were cracked or broken. There was something wrong with your back. But you were still breathing.”