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

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