The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) (33 page)

20

By the time Angus had finished priming his spells—Lamplight,
Flying, Puffer, Arclight—Ortis had returned and Giorge had woken up. Giorge
could hear again, but his vision was still blurry.

Ortis told them the cat-things were still in the grain near
the temple, but they were keeping their distance. The horses were fine.

“Well?” Angus asked as he joined them. “Are we going to look
in that room again, or not?”

“You know there’s nothing there but the pit,” Hobart said.

“Yes there is,” Giorge said. He reached into his tunic and
brought out a small pouch. He opened the ties and tipped some of the gems into
his hand. “I dropped the other bag,” he said.

Hobart reached over and picked up a pea-sized emerald.
“These will fetch a handsome price,” he said. “How many are there?”

“Enough to lift Angus’s injunction, winter in Hellsbreath,
and buy Hedreth’s inn a half-dozen times.
If
we get the other bag.”

“Don’t forget the taxes,” Hobart said. “The king will want
his share.”

“That’s what the other bag is for,” Giorge said. “We can
leave it here and let the king’s men come back and get it for the king, can’t
we?”

Hobart glared at him and shook his head. “The king is
generous enough to us as it is. He deserves his due.”

“Oh?” Giorge countered. “And what, exactly, did he do to
help us find this place? Did he come down here with us? Did he almost die? Did
he go blind? No. We’re not even in his land anymore.”

“That isn’t quite true,” Hobart said, frowning. “He claims
The Tween as his own.”

“So do the Dwarves,” Giorge said. “Maybe we should pay
them
taxes.”

“Never mind that,” Ortis said. “There will be plenty of time
to argue the point on our way back to Hellsbreath.”

“Right,” Angus said. “You said you dropped another pouch in
that room. How do we get down to it?”

“What about that spell you used to lift the rope?” Hobart
asked. “That pouch has to weigh a lot less than the rope.”

Angus tilted his head and half-smiled. “If I can see it,
I’ll try,” he said. “But I will have to go into the room to see it.”

“So,” Hobart said. “You’re going to fly, then?”

Angus nodded. “Unless you have another idea for avoiding the
stakes.”

No one had any suggestions, and into the silence Giorge
said, “At least I can see a little better today.”

“Sorry about that,” Angus said. “I tried to minimize the
risk from the wand.”

Giorge nodded. “Hobart told me. I should thank you for
getting me out of there, but,” he shrugged and pointed at his eyes. “I might
have found a way out myself, if you’d given me more time.”

“We didn’t think we could wait,” Hobart said. “Besides, if
we get those other gems, it will surely be enough to hire a healer when we get
back to Hellsbreath.”

Giorge shrugged. “At least I didn’t fall and die,” he said,
grinning. “All my plans seemed to end that way.”

“Look,” Angus said. “I’m going to see if I can find the
pouch. Are you coming or not?” He turned and walked down the corridor, casting
the Lamplight spell as he went and placing it over his left shoulder. When he
reached the end of the corridor and turned, he sought out the faint strand of
blue and tied the knots for the flying spell. By the time he reached the room,
he had the third spell—Puffer—ready in his mind. He pushed all of the other strands
away from him, and kept them at the periphery of his visual field.

He leapt through the hole he had made with the wand and
fell, stopping himself in a hover a few feet above the stakes. He maneuvered to
the column with the bowl on it, and looked at the floor below him. He frowned.
It was covered with a thick layer of rock dust, and he couldn’t see the pouch.
He sighed, cast Puffer, and began blowing the dust outward in a spiral away
from the column. When he found the pouch, he intensified the breeze and tried
to lift it from the floor. It fluttered, and the pouch became upright with the
drawstring sticking up straight, but that was all he could manage. He frowned;
it was as he had feared: the gems held the pouch down. He sighed and carefully
maneuvered among three stakes, but he didn’t fit well and came up about a foot
short.

He rose sharply and stopped when he was next to the bowl. He
hovered there and pulled off his boot. He set it in the bowl and carefully
lowered himself with delicate little vibrations on the thread of the flying
spell. He continued to nudge the spell until his leg was positioned above the
opening among the stakes, and then lowered himself at a very slow rate, sweat
beading on his brow from the effort to control his descent. When he felt the
ties of the pouch with his big toe, he wiggled it around until the drawstring
looped around it, then lifted himself gently into the air. When he was free of
the stakes, he rose more rapidly, rising above the bowl and dropping the pouch
into it.

There was a click.

The floor began to slide back down the wall.

The others watched as it descended into its natural place.

Hobart frowned from the doorway, with Ortis looking over his
shoulder. “Now what do we do?” he asked, staring at the gaping hole in front of
him where the wand had destroyed the floor.

“What happened?” Giorge asked from behind them.

“The floor slid back into place,” Ortis said.

“Why did it do that?” Giorge asked, pushing past Ortis.
“What did you do?” he asked Angus.

Angus reached for his boot and slid it onto his feet. Then
he removed the pouch from the bowl and flew up to them. “The bowl must be
weight-sensitive,” he said. “When I put these back in the bowl, there was a
click, and the floor went back into place.”

“What can we put in it?” Giorge asked.

“We haven’t found anything down here that’s heavy enough,”
Hobart said. “It’s all empty corridors and rooms.”

“The feedbags,” Ortis said. “We can put one of them on it.”

“It needs to be about the same weight,” Giorge muttered.
“The feedbag will be too heavy.”

“But the grain won’t,” Hobart said, turning. “And we can
fill it again when we go.” He walked past them, carrying the torch.

“I’ll look around while we wait,” Angus said, executing a
slow pirouette and stopping when he faced the far wall. The strands of flame
were potent, encroaching upon his awareness even though he fought against them
and pushed them even further away. He focused more acutely on the strands of
sky magic that he needed to keep floating. Then he dipped down into the hole and
flew up to the column. The rope was still dangling, and he picked it up. Before
heading back up through the hole with it, he looked around at the pit, at the
walls, at the column. There were three or four skeletons that he thought about
investigating, but the stakes were in the way, and he didn’t have the time.

When he floated back up through the hole and handed the rope
to Giorge, he said, “We can use this to reach the floor if we need to.”

Giorge accepted it, shrugged, and said, “It’s only about
eight feet,” he said. “We should be able to jump across it.”

Angus ignored him and fluttered around the room, looking for
doors, seams, panels—anything that might lead to an opening. He was at the far
wall when Hobart returned with the feedbag. He went to get it and then began
pouring the grain into the bowl. When he thought he had enough, he stopped, and
Giorge said, “More.”

Angus looked at him and shook his head. “This should be
enough for two pouches of gems,” he said.

Giorge shrugged and said, “More.”

“Why?” Angus asked.

Giorge sighed and reached into his tunic. He brought out
another, smaller pouch.

Angus shook his head and put more grain into the bowl.

“All right Giorge,” Hobart said. “You’re paying for a
Truthseer when we get back.”

“Now Hobart,” Giorge said. “You know me. Don’t I
always
share what I find?”

Hobart frowned at him.

“Eventually?” Giorge added.

“As far as we know,” Hobart said. “You could have held out
on us lots of times.”

Giorge shook his head. “Never,” he said. “It’s always for
the sake of the Banner.”

“Really?” Hobart said, his voice dry.

Giorge nodded enthusiastically, held out the little pouch,
and shook it. “You don’t think protection from theft is free, do you? These
gems will keep the thieves of Hellsbreath away from us all winter and then
some.”

“Unless they want more of them,” Hobart grumbled.

Giorge shook his head. “Never,” he said. “Dirk wouldn’t let
them.”

“Dirk?” Ortis repeated. “Isn’t he the one who sent the
Truthseer after you and Angus?”

Giorge nodded. “Nobody in Hellsbreath crosses him more than
once, and few do it the first time. These stones will guarantee his
protection.”

Angus settled down onto the floor with his full weight. It
clicked, but nothing more happened. “It seems to be all right,” he said. “But
keep hold of the rope, just in case.” He also kept the spell active as he
walked to the back wall, the one behind which the nexus had to lie. Where would
they hide a door? A loose panel?
Something
to grant him access to it? Or
was there another room that led to it?

He was so intent in looking for it that he let the strand
slip free of his grip and let the magic dip from his awareness. But there was
nothing. He finally turned away from it and shook his head. “I can’t find
anything,” he said. As he said it, he glanced at the bowl and frowned. There
was another red shadow, a small one on the back of the column on which the bowl
rested. As he hurried up to it, he noticed that a different part was missing on
this one. Like he had done with the first one, he pressed the missing section
and waited.

There was a click.

The floor began to move downward at a slow, steady rate.

“Angus!” Giorge shouted as the rope slipped from his hands.

But Angus wasn’t worried; he was confident it wasn’t a trap.
He smiled and turned around.

The floor continued to drop for about six feet, and on the
far wall, there was a slot just wide enough for an average man to squeeze
through. He walked up to it, guided the Lamplight inside, and it flared
brilliantly, writhed uncontrollably, and escaped his control.

“Duck!” he yelled as he twisted away from the opening and
covered his eyes. A moment later, the Lamplight exploded in a violent burst of
light.

“Are you all right?” he yelled to the others, blinded by the
near-darkness he found himself in.

“No,” Giorge said. “I still can’t see well.”

“I’m weak,” Ortis said, “but recovering.”

“We ducked,” Hobart said. “What was that?”

Angus frowned. “Light another torch and throw it over here,”
he said. “The Lamplight burned out.”

By the time Hobart had another torch lit, Angus was growing
accustomed to the darkness. Hobart tossed the torch into the corner away from
Angus, and he went quickly over to retrieve it. Then he went back to the
opening and held the torch inside.

It flared, burning more brightly than normal, its flickering
flames dancing on the smooth, reflective surface of a small circular, domed
room. Hovering in the center of it was a huge ruby, at least as large as
Hobart’s fist. It floated there, slowly rotating, its facets flickering as the
torchlight struck them.

Angus stepped through the opening and slowly, gently,
brought the magic around him into focus. Beneath the ruby, a huge strand of
deep crimson raged, an inferno held barely in check. It struck the bottom of
the ruby and fractured, breaking into powerful, fluctuating strands that shot
outward from the ruby’s facets. They writhed furiously as if they were trying
to come back together, and then shot upward and outward, away from the ruby,
away from each other. It was entrancing, enthralling. It called to him.

Join us.
A chorus of voices sang out.
Be one with
the magic.

It was a delightful, radiant offer.
Join us.

He stepped forward—

Be one with the magic.

There was nothing under his foot!

He toppled forward, lost his balance.

He dropped the torch.

For a long moment, he hung there, suspended above a vast
chasm.

Join us! Join us!

A hand grabbed his robe from behind and pulled him back.

He watched the torch tumbling further and further into
nothingness—a nothingness that would have consumed him if—

He shuddered and turned around. His breathing was labored,
his heart pounded in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Ortis asked, once Angus had regained
his footing. “What’s in there?”

Angus shook his head. “Nothing,” Angus said, pushing his way
out of the entrance. “It’s a trap!”

“Let me see,” Ortis said, trying to step past him.

Angus barred him with his arm. “It’s too dangerous,” Angus
gasped. “You’ll fall.”

“We’ll get a rope—”

Angus shook his head. “It’s a hole that goes down for
hundreds of feet. Thousands. The torch I dropped is still falling.”

Ortis stepped forward and felt his way around in the
darkness until he reached the edge of the pit. He looked around, looked down,
and said, “It’s too dark in here. I can’t see anything.”

“Exactly,” Angus said. “That’s all there is. Nothing.”

“But the Lamplight—”

Angus struggled to get his breathing under control, to calm
his heart. “There is a nexus—a confluence of magical energy—down there. A major
one,” he said.

Join us
—a soft whisper, almost distant now, almost
more compelling than the jubilant cry.

“It’s the source of the fire magic in this area,” Angus
rushed on, as much to hear himself as to tell Ortis. “The flame magic surges up
from that abyss and fragments into dozens of tendrils, each one intensely
powerful. The tendrils shoot outward in all directions, weakening as they get
further away from here.”