step.
Slap. Angus’s hand went to his cheek where his master had struck him.
Run.
He blinked and shook his head. He was panting heavily now.
“Come with me,” Angus said as he stumbled up to the column.
There was another red shadow, this time missing the third teardrop. He pressed the missing section, his thumb slipping as he did so.
Run.
His breath came in strained, painful gasps. Sweat poured down his forehead.
There was a click.
The floor began to rise. It was too slow….
“This nexus,” Ortis said as he stepped out of the entryway before it crushed him. “What—”
“It’s why they built the temple here,” Angus said, shuffling impatiently from foot to foot. “The Tiger’s Eye is a myth,” he lied.
“How do you know that?” Ortis said.
Angus turned and grabbed him by the shoulders. His tone was intense, almost manic. His grip painfully tight. “How did Giorge describe it?” he demanded. “A gift from their god they used to focus energy and turn it into a weapon, right?”
“Something like that,” Ortis agreed, trying to free himself from Angus’s grasp.
Angus let him go as the floor settled back into its original position. He was talking rapidly, his tongue tangling up with itself as he said the words in a mad rush. “That’s what a nexus does. It focuses energy, makes it more powerful.” He was almost shrieking, his head bobbing up and down. Suddenly, he turned and ran toward the opening and leapt across the gaping hole in the floor. Hobart reached out to catch him, but he barely paused as he nearly ran down the corridor.
“We’re leaving,” Angus shouted as he briskly walked through them, pausing only long enough to pick up a torch. He cast the friction spell, and a flame a foot high erupted from between his fingers as he lit the torch. “See?” he said, turning. “That spell should barely produce a spark. We have enough treasure!” He turned abruptly and half-ran down the passage.
“Leaving?” Giorge said, falling in behind him. “But there are so many places to explore!”
Angus stopped at the corner and turned toward Giorge, forcing him to sidestep in order to avoid running into him. “The Tiger’s Eye is a myth!” he gurgled. “It doesn’t exist!”
“But—”
Slap.
He blinked.
Run.
“Leave, stay, I don’t care. I’m going.” He turned and ran down the tunnel. He ran….
21
Still the mind.
Still the body.
Still the mind.
Still the body.
Still the mind.
Still the body.
22
By the time the others reached the top of the stairwell, Angus had composed himself. His panic was gone, except for its fierce memory.
He had walked around the octagonal chamber again and again and again.
His heartbeat had steadied.
His breathing was slow.
His legs were sore.
His back ached.
And he had found something interesting.
Giorge was the first to arrive, quickly followed by the three Ortises. Hobart slogged up last. They threw down the gear they were carrying and sat on it or by it. All of them were breathing heavily.
“Why did we have to leave?” Giorge asked.
How could he explain it to them? He still felt the nexus drawing him to it, but it was more like a dull ache, a craving. How could he explain intoxication? The surge of power, the desire for more, the enticing loss of control? He shook his head. He didn’t have to. A half-truth would do. “I have a spell,” he said. “I call it Firewhip.” He held up his hand in the shape of a claw. “When I cast it, whip-like flames snake out from each of my fingertips. Normally, those flames will only go out ten to twelve feet. If I had cast it down there, those whips would have stretched all the way down the corridor. Even up here,” he made as if he were about to cast the spell. “It would be more powerful than usual. I don’t dare cast it, though,” he continued. “It would probably burn my fingers off.”
“So,” Giorge said. “Don’t cast any spells.”
Angus half-smiled and tilted his head. “I wouldn’t,” he said, “but a nexus is like—” He paused, reached into a pocket, and brought out one of the dried mushrooms he had collected on the plateau. “It’s like this mushroom. It distorts the mind. It makes a wizard see things, feel things, hear things. If I had stayed down there, I would have happily jumped into that abyss.”
“Ortis said something about the nexus,” Giorge said. “You think it’s The Tiger’s Eye. But how can it be that? The Tiger’s Eye is a ruby.”
Angus sighed. “There is no Tiger’s Eye,” he said. “It’s just a story, a distortion of the truth that comes from the passage of centuries. Be satisfied with the rubies we did find,” he added.
Giorge frowned and shook his head. “There has to be more here,” he said. “The Tiger’s Eye—”
“It’s a dream, Giorge,” Angus said. “But you are right. There is something else here.”
“What?”
“Look over here,” he said, walking briskly up to where two of the walls met. “See that?” he said, pointing at a pair of indentations. “What are they?”
Giorge frowned as he studied them, and then said, “Something was stuck in them, I suppose. They kept it in place.”
Angus nodded and held up the torch. “Now, look up. What do you see?”
Giorge looked up and said, “Nothing.”
Angus nodded again. “Exactly,” he said. “But I see a red shadow in the shape of the insignia. It has to be a trapdoor, and it can only lead to one place.”
“One of the rooms up there,” Giorge said.
Angus shook his head. “No,” he said. “The secret compartment you found.”
“Why?” Giorge said. “It might just lead to another tunnel like that one.” He pointed at the rope dangling from the trapdoor they had found.
Angus shook his head again. “No,” he said. “Think about it, Giorge. Why would they mark it like that? They had to keep something very valuable up there, something that needed an extra layer of protection.”
“Like what?” Giorge asked, feeling the wall and testing the corner for leverage.
Angus shrugged. “It could be nothing,” he said. “They may have taken it with them.”
“What are those red shadows, Angus?” Ortis asked as he joined them. “Why is it that you’re the only one who sees them?”
“I don’t know what they are, exactly,” Angus said, “but they are touched by magic. It’s not the same kind of magic I use, but it must be close enough for me to see its mark.”
“All right,” Giorge said. “I can’t climb up this wall and it’s too high for a pyramid, so how do we get up there?”
“Not we,” Angus said. “Me. I’m the only one who sees the insignia.”
“You can tell us where it is,” Ortis suggested.
“It will still have to be me,” Angus said. “I’m the only one who can fly.”
“Then do it,” Giorge said, grinning.
Angus shook his head. “I need to prime for it first.”
“Why?” Giorge asked.
Angus sighed. “I’m tired, Giorge. I don’t feel like explaining it again. But tomorrow, after I sleep and prime the spell, we’ll take a look at what’s up there. Then we’ll leave. Agreed?”
Giorge’s grin diminished. “This is a pretty big temple,” he said. “There has to be other places to look.”
“Angus is right,” Ortis said. “We’ve already been here too long. We still need to get back to Hellsbreath before winter, and each day will make it more and more difficult. We may have had an easy time going across that plateau on the way here, but that doesn’t mean the way back will be easy.”
“He’s right,” Hobart said. “We need to report the fishmen to Hellsbreath.”
“But—”
>
“Giorge,” Hobart said. “Those gems are enough to finance the Banner for years. Isn’t that enough?”
Giorge grinned. “There’s never enough,” he said, laughing. “But I’m outvoted, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Hobart said, quickly echoed by Angus and Ortis.
“Fine,” Giorge said. “After we find out what’s up there, we leave.”
23
The next day, they returned to the octagonal chamber and Angus flew up to the insignia. He pressed it—there were no missing parts—and the trapdoor slid easily upward. He kept pushing until it flopped open. Then pushed the Lamplight spell through the opening and lifted himself up.
It was a narrow vertical shaft that went up for several feet. There were iron rungs embedded in the stone to form a ladder, and he gripped one of them and gently pulled. When it held, he lowered himself and said, “Throw up a rope. There’s a ladder, and it seems to be sturdy enough to hold us.”
When he had the rope, he carefully tied it off before using the rungs to propel himself quickly upward, the Lamplight in tow. At the top, the shaft opened up into a wide, long chamber with a short ceiling. There were rows and rows of cubicles, each one covered with dust and cobwebs. He went to the first one and sat down on the low bench lining the wall. His knees pressed against the underside the table. Within easy reach was a dried up silver inkwell, a quill, and the fragile remains of a scroll. He didn’t bother to lift the scroll—it was too fragile, and he didn’t recognize the language.
Giorge stuck his head up through the shaft, and Angus turned to him. “Stay there for now,” he said. “These scrolls will crumble easily, even in a slight breeze.”
“Scrolls?” Giorge said, pausing with his torso half into the chamber. “Magic?”
“I don’t think so,” Angus said. “At least not this one. I don’t recognize the