The Tiger's Eye (Book 1 of the Angus the Mage Series)

further. “Giorge was able to negotiate a very lucrative deal for those coins of yours, so much so that he is trying to convince us to go north to get the one you spent. But that’s not our concern at the moment. Hedreth will be pacified, I assure you, but the magistrate is another matter. You will have to pay for the repairs to the city wall.”

  “The city wall?” Angus repeated. “How much damage did I do?”

  “You can see for yourself when we leave,” Ortis said. “For now, let’s just say that Hellsbreath will remember you. The magistrate, too; he is inclined to ban you from Hellsbreath for life, even if you have a tolerable explanation. Of course, since you’re part of our banner, we may have to join you in that exile. Hobart says it is part of the magistrate’s negotiation strategy.”

  “What else did they confiscate?” Angus asked, his voice sharply tinged by a sudden, deep, upwelling of fear.

  “Very little, actually,” Ortis said. “The garnet and coins from your robe. Don’t expect to get them back. The fine will easily surpass their value.”

  “What about my scrolls?” Angus demanded. “Teffles’ book?”

  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 qu
ick 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 Teffles’ 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