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

“There seemed to be more of them going south than had come north. There may have been some waiting for them here who went back with them, but the tracks are too numerous and muddled to be sure. But there doesn’t seem to be any tracks much older than a week or two, and I can’t find any others leading to this spot from a different direction.”

  “They may not be the ones who build the fires,” Hobart suggested. “We’re still a fair distance from that river.”

  “It isn’t the plants,” Ortis said. “It’s the mushrooms growing in their shadow. There are a lot of new shoots and shriveled stems. They may be harvesting the mushrooms on a regular basis, but it can’t be a very large crop. Certainly not enough for them to need bins.”

  “Maybe they use them to dry the mushrooms?” Angus suggested. “They appear airtight, don’t they?”

  “Could they be fishing?” Hobart suggested. “The mushrooms might be useful for bait, if they have a strong stench.”

  “We should look in one of them,” Giorge said. “If we’re careful, we can cut out a section and replace it without too much trouble. There’s plenty of mud to use to seal up the seam.”

  “Why didn’t they cut out their own lids?” Hobart asked. “If they don’t have blades, it would eliminate almost all of the possibilities we know about.”

  “Don’t open the bin yet,” Ortis said. “I recognize these mushrooms. If they’ve been dried, we don’t want to breathe them in.”

  “These clods were pulled loose,” Hobart said, stooping to pick a few of them up. “These marks are from four claws spaced closely together.” He handed it to Ortis.

  Ortis studied it for a brief moment and nodded. “Four claws, each about the size of your little finger.”

  “What’s wrong with the mushrooms?” Angus asked. “Are they poisonous?”

  “In a way, yes,” Ortis said. “If you eat them, they will confuse the mind.”

  “How so?” Angus asked.

  “You see things that aren’t there,” Ortis said. “Sometimes you don’t see what is there.”

  “Disorienting hallucinations?” Angus muttered. “What happens when you cook them?”

  Ortis shrugged. “Same thing, I suppose,” he answered. “I’ve never tried it. The raw ones were bad enough.”

  “Does it matter?” Hobart asked. “We’re not going to eat them.”

  “It might,” Angus said.

  “Why?” Ortis asked. “We need to keep our wits about us, don’t we? What if whatever is up here attacks while we’re under the influence of those—what did you call them? Disorienting hallucinations?”

  “It wouldn’t take all of us to find out what they do,” Angus said. “Only one of us would need to be subjected to them.”

  “Hey!” Giorge almost shouted from the northernmost hut. “This one doesn’t have any patches. It’s still sealed up.”

  “I’m not eating any of those mushrooms,” Hobart said, his tone adamant.

  “If I do it,” Ortis said. “It will affect all of my constituents. We would be too vulnerable.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you seeing things that aren’t there, Angus,” Giorge agreed. His knife was in his hand, and he was probing the mound with it. The mound was almost as tall as he was—perhaps four feet—and nearly as wide. “I’ve seen what you can do when there are things there,” he finished.

  “I don’t understand why you would want to do this, Angus,” Hobart said. “There’s no point to it, as far as I can see. If you want to addle your wits, we can break out the wine.”

  “We have wine?” Giorge asked. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “It’s to bribe the dwarves,” Ortis said. “In case we encounter them.”

  “The Tween,” Angus began. “You said you felt like something was watching you, but whenever you look for it, there is never anything there, right? If this mushroom causes hallucinations in a high dose, what would a low dose do? If someone burned it, would the smoke carry its effects in diluted form? Or will it be more potent, like the Truthseer’s incense? The effects of this mushroom might go a long way toward explaining away the paranoia people feel in The Tween. Wouldn’t it be worth it to find out?”

  Hobart looked at Angus, shook his head, and said, “No.”

  “He’s right, Angus,” Giorge added. He had selected a spot and slipped his knife in, pressing on the hilt until the blade disappeared. “We’re not here to find out why The Tween affects people the way it does; we’re here to find The Tiger’s Eye.”

  “Oh?” Angus countered. “How will your cutting into that thing help us achieve that goal?”

  Giorge shrugged and grinned, sawing away with his knife. “It might,” he said. “I don’t know yet. But it is here, and so are we. It’s a shame not to take a little peek at what’s inside.” He completed sawing his circle and used his knife to pry out the plug he had just cut.

  “Well?” Hobart asked. “What’s in it?”

  “I can’t tell,” Giorge said. “There isn’t enough light. I’m going to have to make it bigger.” He began sawing again.

  “Here,” Ortis said, holding out one of the mushrooms to Angus. “You can dry this one and try it yourself after we’re out of The Tween.”

  “That will work,” Angus said, “but I’ll need more than just one specimen.”

  Ortis shrugged. “I’ll take you to them after Giorge is finished.”

  “We need to leave,” Hobart said. “We have less than an hour to find a campsite before it gets too dark.”

  “Why not stay here?” Angus suggested. “These bins will provide some protection, and it should be easy enough to defend ourselves here.”

  “Quiet!” Giorge suddenly half-shouted and waved for them to come nearer. When they were close enough, he said, in a very soft tone, “It’s not a bin. It’s a weapons cache.”

  “What!?” Hobart said, moving to bump Giorge out of the way so he could see for himself. His face paled, and his receding hairline drew a bit closer to his forehead as he frowned. “Dwarves,” he muttered. “I’d recognize their make anywhere.”

  “Why would dwarves leave weapons here?” Ortis asked.

  “For the things that were here a week ago,” Hobart said. “They must be trading with them.”

  “What could they give the dwarves?” Angus asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hobart said. “Tyr trades them grain, wine, cloth—whatever they can’t find or make underground.”

  “Why would they want weapons?” Angus asked.

  “For the same reason we have them,” Ortis said. “Protection, war, food, power.”

  “I need a torch,” Hobart said.

  “Why?” Angus asked.

  “I think I see a stairwell,” he said.

  “A stairwell?” Giorge repeated, moving forward to try to look through Hobart. “I wonder where it goes.”

  “Down to the dwarves,” Hobart said. “The steps are shorter than my foot and drop quickly.”

  “We need to check the others,” Giorge said, turning.

  “No need,” Hobart said. “They already got what was in them. We need to seal this one back up and try to make it look like it hasn’t been disturbed.”

  “That will be difficult,” Giorge said, pointing at the crumbled chunks next to Hobart’s feet.

  Hobart frowned. “All right, then,” he said. “We’ll need mud and pine needles. We’re going to patch this up as tightly as it was when we got here, and then we’re going to leave. Whatever was here last week will come back for these axes sometime, and I don’t want to be here when they do.”

  Giorge thought for a moment, shrugged, and moved toward the pond. “I’ll get some mud.”

  “I’ll get the pine needles,” Hobart said, moving toward one of the nearby pine trees. When he got there, he grabbed a branch, thought better of it, and then scooped up handfuls of dried pine needles from the ground.

  “We’d better help them,” Ortis said.

  “After you show me where the mushrooms are,” A
ngus said. “I may as well get them before it’s too dark to see.”

  “All right,” Ortis said. “We can bring mud back when we return.”

  6

  The drizzle dried up near midnight, and the next day dawned bright and full of the sounds of birds and insects. The road continued to pose a problem; in places it was so overgrown that they had to travel a considerable distance to go around the blockage. In other places, it looked like it had been swept clean. But they made progress, and even though they didn’t encounter any of the creatures, they saw more signs of them. Then, on the morning of their fifth day on the plateau, the road they were traveling on intersected another one.

  “Well,” Angus said. “This road isn’t on my map. Where do you suppose it leads?”

  “Let’s check your map to make sure,” Hobart said. “You might have overlooked it.”

  “No,” Angus said, removing his backpack and taking out his map. “See? No suggestion of another road going across this plateau.”

  “Why would it be here?” Giorge asked. “There are impassible mountains to the north and south. It has to be to something on the plateau, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t like this,” Ortis said, kneeling to study the road. “There are fresh tracks. No more than two days old. A lot of them.”

  “More of the same?” Hobart asked.

  “Most of them, yes. About twenty, by the look of it,” Ortis answered. “There are a few boot prints. Wide soles, stubby feet, but definitely boots. The impressions of the toes are deeper than the heel. It might be one of them wearing boots, but I don’t think so. They are too large.”

  “Which way do they go?” Angus asked, staring at the mountain