The Tiger's Eye (Book 1)

by Robert P. Hansen

  “Try to keep up,” Hobart said, spurring his horse to a light run on the nearly clear, well-traveled road. The others fell in behind him, with Angus near the rear taking a long look behind them before he urged Gretchen forward.

  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 ca
t-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.