The Tiger's Eye (Book 1)
Page 36
I was summoned, he thought, surely he does not wish me dead? He gritted his teeth and, his fingers shaking, reached into the gaping maw, twisting his forearm away from the fangs as best he could. He touched the tongue, and the eyes—beady little rubies worth a fortune—pierced through him, their sinister glow a casual warning of the power held by its owner. No one would dare steal them, not from Argyle.
The tongue was rough, like a dog’s, and dry as the stone it was carved from. He gripped it tightly—too tightly—closed his eyes and pressed down. The mouth slowly closed in upon his arm, tickled his skin, and clamped down. The lips were a smooth ridge biting into his skin without breaking through. The grip was firm and unyielding, but the fangs held their place.
“Who calls upon me?”
Fanzool opened his eyes and let out his breath. Sweat began to swell up at the roots of the hairs on his temples, and he tried to speak. “F-F-F—” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He tried to clear his throat, but there was nothing blocking it but his tongue.
“Who calls upon me?”
The voice was more insistent, and the lips tightened slightly. Blood trickled from a tiny pinprick as the fangs lowered. It was a strange voice, dark and hollow like the corridor, a sepulchral echo of life filtered through stagnant air. It didn’t come from the snake; it was just there, all around him, pressing in….
“Fanzool!” he gasped, staring wide-eyed at the fangs. If they lowered much more….
The blade was cold and sharp at his elbow. It felt heavy in his white-knuckled grip, and he gritted his teeth from the effort to keep it in place. He wanted desperately to pull it back, but if the snake bit down….
The eyes flashed, and a pair of brilliant red lights bore into him for a brief moment. Then the snake’s mouth opened. It was a full second before he jerked his arm out and a few more before he put his dagger back into the sheath tied to the sash of his robe.
“Enter.”
Had the voice changed? Was it…friendly?
Fanzool shook his head. He was imagining things. The voice was never friendly. Argyle was never friendly. Except when he planned to do something particularly nasty….
The catch on the door released, and it slid silently aside.
Light burst into the corridor, and Fanzool shielded his eyes until they adjusted to it. When they had, he stepped forward and the door slid shut behind him.
“Fanzool,” Argyle purred. “I have been waiting for you.”
Fanzool gulped, lowered his eyes, and let his arm fall to his side. He said nothing; there was no need. Argyle would make it clear when he was to speak and what he was to say.
“Come,” Argyle said.
Fanzool took several steps forward, stopping only when he saw Argyle’s feet. They were huge feet, each one at least as long as Fanzool’s forearm, and the boots were deadly. They were braced with iron straps, and short, flat, jagged barbs jutted out all around their edges. One kick to the neck….
He had seen that once…. But he wasn’t worried about the feet; Argyle preferred to use his hands—or his dog. The paws—black ones as large as Fanzool’s head, tipped with four long, curved claws that resembled a cat’s more than a dog’s—were at the edge of his vision, quivering in anticipation.
Fanzool waited. He still did not look up; Argyle hadn’t given him permission to do so. His fate—like so many others—was held in Argyle’s vice-like grip, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was but a small cog in the giant’s carefully constructed machine. He did his job, and was generally rewarded with a few coins and Argyle’s quick dismissal….
“You said he was dead,” Argyle accused, his voice careless, dispassionate.
Fanzool flinched. He didn’t need to be reminded of whom Argyle spoke; there could be only one such person: Typhus. “Yes, Argyle,” he said, his mind racing. “All indications were—and still are—that he is.” If only the augury had been clearer….
Argyle flipped a coin several times, and then said, “Take a look at this.”
Fanzool lifted his gaze up past the sitting giant’s knees, and craned his neck until he saw the huge hand. Argyle was wearing a vibrant blue pantaloon and a frilly green silk blouse. It was his favorite outfit! He isn’t going to kill me! The blood…. Argyle tossed a coin toward him, and Fanzool hastily reached out to catch it. Once he had it in his hand, he looked at it. It was a simple gold coin. He frowned.
“Tell me,” Argyle said. “What do you see?”
Fanzool frowned. “A gold coin,” he suggested.
“No,” Argyle said. “That is one of the coins he took from me.”
“Are you sure?” Fanzool said before realizing what he was saying. “There are other coins like this one.”
Argyle dismissed his question with a casual wave, the breeze from which caused Fanzool’s hair to flutter. “Perhaps,” he said. “I want you to tell me where this coin has been and who has had possession of it.”
Fanzool nodded. “I shall do so at once,” he said. “The augury—”
Argyle put his hand on the armrest of his makeshift throne. It was built from bones, and the armrest ended with a cluster of skulls mortared together, each seeming to be eating the one in front of it. He began thrumming his fingers on the skulls, the sound of the hollow tapping echoing through the chamber. He leaned forward, sneered, and repeated. “You said he was dead.”
Fanzool gulped, feeling sweat funneling down his backbone. “Yes,” he agreed. “He is.”
“Perhaps,” Argyle said, letting his other hand come to rest on his dog’s head. He patted it gently, stroked it behind the ears, and his other hand mimicked the motion on the skulls. “You must find out.”
“Of course,” Fanzool said, excited by the implication that he would still be alive when he left. “I shall consult the spirits—”
“No,” Argyle said.
Fanzool’s tongue tried to swallow his teeth, and he gurgled with the abruptness of his silence.
“That coin,” Argyle continued, “was brought to my attention by an associate in Hellsbreath. It is but one of several that were sold there by an enterprising young upstart named Giorge. My associate knew of my interest in such coins, and pursued the matter to his satisfaction. He sent a Truthseer—” Argyle looked meaningfully at Fanzool “—to discuss the matter with this Giorge fellow, and she was satisfied with the truthfulness of his answers. The coins came from a wizard named Angus. That wizard was also questioned, and the trail ended at Blackhaven Tower. I want to know where the coins were prior to that time.”
Fanzool’s heart slowed, and he felt the blood fleeing from his skin to hide deep within his chest, where it burbled furiously. Voltari….
“The Truthseer did not return,” Argyle said. “And my associate was reluctant to send another.” Argyle paused to study Fanzool for a long moment before continuing. “I understand you know the mage who dwells there?”
Fanzool licked his lips and nodded. He couldn’t speak the name….
“Good,” Argyle said, smiling happily. “I want you to pay him a visit.”
“Me?” Fanzool gulped.
“Yes,” Argyle said, leaning forward and clasping his hands together before him. “Speak with this mage. Find out what he knows about him. If this is one of the coins he took from me, I want to know where he was when he had it last. Then I want you to go there and find his body.” He leaned back, shook his clenched hands and let them fall easily to his lap.
“I,” Fanzool began, paused, licked his lips with a dry tongue. “My lord Argyle,” he said, hoping the formality would ease what he had to say. “He will not see me.”
“Who will not see you?” Argyle said, separating his hands and putting them on the skulls of his throne.
“The mage,” Fanzool said, his fear torn between the one before him and the one from his past. “He does not receive visitors.”
“Ha!” Argyle laughed. “You must convince him to see you.”
“I—” how could he exp
lain it? What part of the truth could he offer that Argyle would accept? “He will kill me on sight.”
Argyle smiled, the wicked, indifferent smile of a man who knows the power he has and how to wield it to achieve his goals. “And I will kill you if you fail.”
Fanzool shuddered, blinking back the tears threatening to overwhelm his composure. Voltari….
“You will speak to this mage, and you will find out what he knows of the coins. And you will bring Typhus or his body back to me.” The smile broadened, and he leaned forward until his gigantic head hovered only a foot from Fanzool’s. “Take Sardach with you. Surely this mage won’t refuse a visit from him.”
Not Sardach! Fanzool’s knees buckled and the tears began to fall.
Argyle leaned back and began to laugh. They were deep, resounding laughs that bounced around the room and joined together to form a chaotic melody of sadistic glee.
Fanzool dropped his head in his hands, the gold coin pressing against his cheek. He sobbed uncontrollably, the fear pounding through him.
A nearby shadow separated itself from the wall and floated quietly toward him….
###
Thank you very much for reading The Tiger’s Eye! I hope you liked it, and if you did, a review would be much appreciated. Also, the second book in the series (The Viper’s Fangs) should be finished near the end of the summer in 2014. In the meantime, you might want to consider purchasing one or more of my other works.
Thanks again!
Robert