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

stay next to his shoulder.”

  “Giorge!” Hobart called several times as Angus made his way gingerly to his side.

  “It’s no use,” Angus said through his robe. “He must have been deafened by the noise. It was pretty bad out here, and must have been much worse in there.”

  “You’ll have to fly over—”

  “Can’t,” Angus said, shaking his head. “I have to prime for it before I can cast it again, and that would take too long.”

  “I’ll get a rope,” Hobart said, turning. “You can climb down—”

  “Won’t work,” Angus said. “There were stakes beneath the floor, just like in the pit under the stairwell.”

  “What can we do, then?” Hobart asked, flexing his hand like he wanted to hit something.

  The haze had settled enough for them to see Giorge’s outline. He was clinging to the bowl with his head down and his chest on top of it.

  “I don’t know,” Angus said. “At least we know he’s alive.”

  “Maybe I can throw him a rope,” Hobart suggested. “If he catches it—”

  “He’ll have to let go of that podium to catch it,” Angus interrupted. “He’ll fall.” Then he frowned. “Why would you throw him a rope?”

  “If he ties it to the podium,” Hobart said through his hand, “and I hold it over here, he can crawl across. I’ve even seen him walk along a rope before.”

  “It might work,” Angus said. “He already has a rope tied around him. If we bring the other end over here, do you think he will understand what we’re doing?”

  Hobart frowned and dropped his hand from his mouth and nose long enough to call out, “Giorge! Can you hear me?”

  No answer.

  “He has to be deaf,” Angus said. “It should wear off in time, but he can’t hear us now.”

  “I think he’ll figure it out,” Hobart said. “But it might take him a little while.”

  “Let’s hope he does,” Angus said, drawing the magic around him into focus. He winced and his arm reflexively went up to shield his eyes. It did no good; there was a huge swath of flame magic dancing around in front of him, and the strands almost blinded him; they were even brighter than the complex network of spells protecting Hellsbreath. He gasped and dropped to his knees, letting the magic fade back into the background. After it was gone, the after-image lingered for several seconds.

  Hobart half-reached for him, paused, and asked, “Are you all right?”

  Angus blinked several times, the rock particles scraping uncomfortably against his eyes. “I will be,” he said after a moment. “It caught me by surprise.”

  “What did?” Hobart asked.

  Angus shook his head and held his breath until he could bring the robe back over his nose. “It might have been the tumble I took catching up to me,” he lied. How could he explain what he had seen? Hobart wouldn’t even begin to understand it, and this was not the time for a lengthy explanation. Even if it were, he wouldn’t be inclined to tell him.

  He pushed himself into a seated position and leaned against the corridor wall. This time, he turned away from the room and brought the energy into focus. It was more tolerable with the energy behind him, but there was still a tremendous array of flame magic to draw upon. Fiercely brilliant, deep-red threads of great power. But he needed sky magic, not flame, and it took a long time to single out a thin blue strand from all the red chaos surrounding him. When he found it, he held his breath and tied the quick knot for Puffer. Then he braced himself, sending the magic as far to the periphery as he dared before turning around. The magic was so strong that it looked as if he still had it fully in focus, but it was manageable.

  He sent the light breeze toward the rope dangling from Giorge, and it fluttered. He squeezed the knot a little tighter to make the breeze stronger, reducing his control over it. Nearly a minute passed before he was able to bring the rope into reach with a series of rapid bursts of wind. Hobart leaned forward to grab it.

  The rope was barely long enough to reach through the hole in the floor-now-wall, and when he had a firm grip, Hobart gave it a brisk tug.

  “Stop!” Giorge yelled. “You’ll pull me off!”

  “Giorge!” Hobart called as he let up on the rope. “Can you hear me?”

  No response.

  “Let me try,” Angus said, reaching out with his right hand. He took the rope and flicked it back and forth, sending a series of waves down the rope toward Giorge. He kept flicking it for several seconds, and then stopped abruptly.

  “What good will all that wiggling do?” Hobart asked.

  Angus shrugged. “I’m hoping he will realize we’re holding onto the rope and want him to tie it off.”

  Another minute went by, and then Giorge stirred, tentatively shifting his position until his knees were in the bowl. He balanced precariously and loosened the rope loop around his chest. He slid it down to his knees and worked it over his feet. He held onto the rope at the loop’s knot, and then maneuvered very slowly until he was scrunched up enough to pull the loop tight around the podium.

  Angus handed the rope back to Hobart, who pulled the rope taut and braced himself.

  Giorge continued his slow, methodical ballet of slothful movements until he was dangling upside down from the rope. He slowly slid away from the podium, his hands pulling him along with his legs trailing behind, wrapped around the rope.

  Hobart coughed and leaned back, but shook his head when Angus moved to help him with the rope.

  Once Giorge had moved a few feet, he began pulling with greater urgency and quickly crossed over the pit. When he was within reach, Angus tapped him on his shoulder and guided him through the opening and into the tunnel.

  “My eyes,” Giorge sputtered. “I can’t see.” He coughed.

  “Can you hear us?” Angus asked.

  No answer.

  “Let’s get him out of this corridor,” Hobart said. “There’s too much dust in the air.”

  Angus nodded and led Giorge down the corridors, not entirely sure who was leaning against whom. When they reached the control room, they set him down and washed the dust off Giorge’s face. His eyes were bright red, and they poured water over them for several seconds, despite his attempts to avoid it.

  “Can you hear anything?” Angus asked, his voice loud. “Can you see?”

  Giorge closed his eyes and didn’t respond.

  Angus took went to his backpack, opened it, and scrounged around until he found the pot of healing balm. He pried open the lid and looked inside. It was nearly empty, barely half an inch of the goop clung to the bottom. He reached inside with two fingers and brought out a big glob. He looked at Giorge and said, “I hope this works on eyes as well as it does on skin.”

  Hobart frowned but said nothing.

  Angus spread the salve around Giorge’s eyes first, then on the lids. He was sure the pain was already subsiding, as it had done with his own burns, and he hoped that Giorge would trust him to spread the goo onto the eyes, themselves. Surprisingly, Giorge opened them on his own and didn’t even flinch as Angus’s fingers moved gently over the spongy surface. When he finished, Hobart took a clean piece of cloth out of a sack and wrapped it around Giorge’s eyes.

  “Do you think it will help?” Hobart asked.

  “I have no idea,” Angus said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “I’ll keep watch on him,” Ortis said as he leaned heavily against the doorway. “What happened?”

  While Hobart gave him a brief recap of what he knew, Angus recaptured the Lamplight and stood up. He lifted the empty water flask and said, “We need more water. I’ll try to find some down here.” He squeezed through the doorway, past Ortis—who had something sticky on his arms and hands—and went down the corridor, back to the chamber Giorge had found. He doubted he would find water in it, but he needed to get another look at the magic, first.

  The dust was still settling, still obscuring his vision, but that didn’t matter; the magic would still be clear, an
d he needed to find out where it was coming from. He knew what it was, and it frightened him, intrigued him. It was a nexus.

  18

  Voltari turned to Angus and said, “It is time for you to learn where the magic comes from.”

  Angus frowned. “I thought it came from the strands of energy surrounding us.”

  “That is what we draw upon,” Voltari said. “It is not the source from which the strands sprout.”

  Voltari put his hand on Angus’s shoulder and tweaked the strands of his teleportation spell. It was not the usual quick flick of his fingers that would take him from one room to another; rather, it was a complex series of gestures that danced along the knots he had already set in place. Then the practice chamber disappeared, and he was surrounded by the black strands of death. There were many of them, very dark and waving about as if they sought to devour something, anything, everything.

  “We must not stay long,” Voltari said. “Do you see the strands?”

  Angus nodded. “Yes, Master.”

  “Do you see where they come from?”

  Angus studied their pattern and realized they all originated in the deep crack below them. He pointed. “They seem to be coming from down there,” he said.

  Voltari nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It is a nexus.”

  Angus frowned. Nexus? It was a new concept, and he wondered what it was. He was about to ask Voltari when his master continued.

  “A nexus,” Voltari said, “is a fixed point of magic. It may be a place where the threads come together, merge, and separate again, or it is the place from which a particular form of magic