He dipped down lower, until he was a dozen feet or so above the newest lava flow. It was a relatively thin layer draped over the older flows. It had flattened out and dripped over the sides of those old flows just before it reached the roadbed. The next older flow was probably about the same thickness, stacked on top of an even earlier one, which was stacked on another one….
There was no way to tell how many times the volcano had erupted, but the mountain had clearly been bleeding from an open wound for some time. The wound would scab over until the pressure popped it loose and another bubbly flood of lava sputtered out. But it all started from the same general location a few dozen feet above the roadbed. He landed roughly on the older flows, and the grassy ground easily held his weight.
“So,” he muttered, testing his footing. “The horses should be able to walk on this. All the lava seems to have built up from the north, where it tapers easily down to the roadbed, to here, where it is like a cliff. All I need to do is make it possible for them to get past that new deposit and onto the firmer footing of the older ones. Can I do it with two blasts? One from the front to get rid of the fragile stuff, and the other slanting up from there to here?”
He took a short leap and glided past the surface of the recent flow and dropped down in front of it. He took three paces back—no sense in getting hit by the debris—and took out the wand. He braced himself, held on tightly to the light blue strand of the flying spell, and made the quick series of gestures to activate the wand. The last gesture ended with the wand directed straight ahead at the lava flow. There was a deafening clap of thunder, and the fragile black wall in front of him exploded into a cloud of tiny black beads that settled softly to the ground in front of him and rolled slowly to a stop.
Where’s the recoil?
A moment later, a soft puff of air bounced past him, barely ruffling his robe and dusting him with the fine black particles.
Is that it? In Hedreth’s, the wave of force had propelled him backward as if he were a tiny leaf. But here? A tiny puff of air? He waited, watching the little black beads flutter softly to the ground, much like snowflakes falling on a calm day.
Nothing.
He lowered the wand and surveyed the damage. There was a tunnel. It started out fairly narrow—scarcely wider than five feet—and fanned outward in a growing cone that bit into the new deposit of lava, the older rock beneath it, the roadbed, and upward through the older flow.
How far?
He took a step forward, the glass-like fragments grinding together between his boot and the roadbed. He stepped back from his footprint and frowned. If he hadn’t been holding the light blue strand, he would have slipped….
He bent down and examined the blanket of shards. The road was covered with a half inch of not-quite-powdery residue. He picked up a few of the smooth, rounded granules and pinched them between his finger and thumb. They slid easily from his grip and shot outward. “The horses will fall,” he muttered. “So will we.”
He tweaked the strand of sky magic and rose unsteadily upward until he was about a foot above the roadbed. Then he eased himself slowly forward, studying the smooth sides of the cone, counting the various layers of each eruption, and rapidly calculating the approximate distance of the wand’s effect.
Twenty-five feet, he decided. Possibly a bit more. The effect tapers significantly toward the end.
He reached out for the rough edges of the exposed rock at the end of the tunnel and decided a second blast would be enough. But he wouldn’t be able to do it from within the tunnel, not if he wanted the bottom to be level. He would have to do it from above. If he did it right, the two cones would intersect at their wider termini, thereby making a gradual slope for the horses to travel between them. If he started at the bottom, there was no guarantee that a single blast would reach the surface, and there would be a ridge the horses would have to jump up to—and that only if he could maneuver his body at the right angle.
Where should he start the tunnel? He needed to measure it; he didn’t want to waste a third blast just because he came up a few feet short. But how?
He turned and flew rapidly out of the tunnel he had created and continued on down the road until he nearly crashed into his companions. “I need ropes,” he said.
“How long?” Hobart asked as he moved to the new horse, the one heavy-laden with ropes. “We have several.”
“One that’s about—” How long would it need to be? He closed his eyes. “The slant side of the triangle would be twenty-five feet. The vertical side would be about twenty. That would make the horizontal side….” He mumbled through a series of numbers and finally said, “Fifteen feet. I need a rope that is about fifteen feet long.”
“All ours are longer than that,” Hobart said, pausing in his efforts to free one of the long coils of rope.
“My net is about the right length,” Giorge offered.
“Let me have it,” Angus said. “Quickly, before the spell escapes me.” The pressure from the thread was already causing his shoulder to ache and his fingers to cramp; it wouldn’t be long before it escaped him altogether.
Giorge detached the net from his belt and handed it to him.
“When you hear thunder,” Angus said as he turned, “it will be safe to come forward. But don’t go into the tunnel until we clear out the debris.”
“Debris?” Hobart asked. “Will it be difficult to move?”
Angus half-smiled, tilted his head toward Hobart, and said, “No more than sand would be.” He leapt into the air and flew low and fast; the spell was nearly free of his control, and if he fell, he didn’t want to fall far. But it held until he topped the lava flow and deposited him in a tumble atop the second newest layer, the part that had the least amount of support left beneath it. He rolled forward several feet and came up in a crouch. Part of the ground had given way where he had landed, and there was a rough-edged gap in the smooth arc carved out by the wand. He frowned. He needed the rope to stretch almost to the edge so he could count off the fifteen feet he needed to cut through. How—
He looked down at the weighted rope in his hand and half-smiled. Giorge had been twirling it around and tossing it at a bush several feet from him. If he did that….
But Giorge kept missing. He never once got close enough to graze the bush’s leaves with a soft breeze, and the weights kept getting tangled up. What hope did he have to do it? How many times would it take him?
It didn’t matter. He couldn’t fly until he primed himself for the spell again, and if it took him ten times—a hundred times, even—he would eventually succeed. First, though, he needed to find out how long the rope was. He set it down and walked its length, estimating each pace as a yard. If he was correct, the rope and the net together were seventeen feet long. Now, he needed to start about eight feet from the lip—the tunnel he’d made went deeper than the lip itself. That meant he needed to be twenty-three feet from the lip. The length of the net’s rope plus two yards — about two paces. He moved close enough to the rim to toss the rope without risking falling through, and gripped the weighted end of the net in his right hand, the way Giorge had done. But Giorge had twirled it around, and that didn’t feel right to him. Instead, he held the weights in his hand, let the rope dangle loosely on the ground, and threw it overhand, as if it were a spear. It flung outward until it reached the end of the rope and snapped back. The net spread out suddenly, landing just short of the rim.
“Well,” he half-smiled. “Not bad, eh? A near-perfect toss on the first try! And I’ve never even held one of these things before.” He set the rope on the ground, stretching it out the way he had when he had measured it, and stepped two more paces, turned, and made a mark with his heel. Then he retrieved the net, winding it up the way Giorge had done it when he retrieved the net. He set it on the ground behind him, and flexed his forearm and turned his wrist. The etched surface of the ivory felt rough against his fingers as he stepped up to his mark. Then, like he had done below, he backed up three plac
es. He adjusted the angle of his arm to make sure the three parts of the triangle he saw in his mind would meet, practiced positioning the wand a few times, and then went through the sequence to release the wand’s spell.
The thunder was softer this time, and the recoil was almost completely absent. But a gaping hole formed in front of him, and a cloud sprayed outward along the cone’s length. As the particles of dirt and rock settled, he stepped forward to get a better look at what he had done. If it didn’t meet up with the first tunnel….
Light shone through from the other end of the tunnel he had created, and when he knelt before it, he could see the two cones had intersected as he had expected. But there was a bit of a problem. This one was too deep, cutting into the rock further than he had expected—but not so far that it would create a problem for the horses, if they went slowly.
Why is it deeper? he wondered, stepping into the tunnel and counting the paces. What’s the difference that would make this one five feet longer than the other? There has to be one, doesn’t there? Voltari always said magic followed strict laws, and if something went wrong, it had an explanation. Usually, he said it was my incompetence. But the wand? Could it vary like that? And what about the recoil? Why was it so fierce in Hedreth’s but negligible here?
He didn’t have time to work through the puzzle; his companions were coming….
14
It took nearly an hour to clear a path for the horses to go single file through the tunnel, and then another half hour to regain their footing on the roadbed. They rode at an easy pace, and the roadbed continued to hug the mountain’s slope, gradually rising and falling with the contours of the mountain. In the late afternoon, they came upon a clearing carved into the mountain’s face where it was somewhat leveler than the surrounding areas. It was mostly bare rock, but near the mountain’s upslope where the wind swirled there was a thin layer of dirt with small plants clinging to it.
“They must have used this for their campsite while they were building the road,” Hobart said. “They would have turned it into a caravan stop after they finished.”
“Why bother?” Angus asked. “What was the point of building this road in the first place? There’s not much here but mountains, and they keep getting higher.”
Hobart shrugged. “More trade with the dwarves, probably. The road out of Wyrmwood is difficult to travel, and the window for caravan travel is fairly small if they want to avoid the snows. Another road down here would provide an alternate route.
“They were also looking for another pass into the Western Kingdoms,” he continued. “Hellsbreath Pass is the only way through, and there are always threats about closing it down. So far, there hasn’t been enough animosity between the Western Kingdoms and the Kingdom of Tyr to lead either to close their border, but the threat is always there. And if the bandits ever get unified, they might be able to block it. It’s a fairly narrow, easily defensible pass.”
“Well,” Giorge asked. “Do we stay here for the night or keep going?”
“Why don’t you scout ahead a little ways,” Ortis suggested. “We’ll wait for you here.”
“All right,” Giorge said, spurring his steed to a light trot.
“Maybe you should go with him,” Hobart suggested. “In case he finds something he can’t deal with.”
Ortis nodded as one of him started out after Giorge.
“If we stay here,” Hobart said. “We’ll need to find shelter. It feels like a frost in the air tonight.”
“I’ll get some firewood,” Ortis said. “The roadbed ends about a mile ahead of us. The old road is still evident, but mainly because it is still relatively flat. Most of the stones are covered, and it’s rising sharply.”
“Maybe we should keep going,” Hobart suggested as he pointed at the cliff. “If we’re going to cross that ridge tomorrow, I’d rather it was in the daylight.”
“We won’t reach it tonight,” Ortis said. “We may not get there tomorrow, either. The road is rising and curving with the mountain. The summit of this mountain connects up with that one,” he pointed at the cliff. “The road follows it. We’ll be going north on this mountain until we reach the south face of that one, and then turn west for quite a while before reaching the cliff.”
Hobart frowned. “Are there any caves?” he asked. “I’d rather spend the night in a cave than out in the open here. That west wind is already picking up, and it’s going to get cold.”
Ortis shook his head. “We haven’t found any yet,” he said. “And the mountainside is too steep for the horses to climb. The old road narrows in places; it wasn’t built for a caravan. If they had kept building this road, they would have had to cut deep into the mountainside to make room for one. It’s still wide enough that we don’t have to worry about it, but don’t be surprised if we can’t turn the horses around at some point. This clearing is our best option for tonight.”
Hobart sighed. “We’ll be taking it slow, then?”
“Yes,” Ortis said. “There isn’t any point in hurrying on a trail like this.”
“What if we get attacked?” Angus asked.
“By what?” Ortis countered. “There hasn’t been any sign of animals much larger than a rabbit since we got out of that valley. I don’t think the larger animals come up here; the mountain is too steep, and there isn’t much food. Now, when we get to that cliff, it could be different. There’s bound to be caves, and most caves are occupied by something.”
“We won’t have to worry much about bears,” Hobart added. “They’ll be foraging in the valley for the late season berries and fish. They’re going to be hibernating soon, and some of those caves will be ideal places for them to sleep through the winter. We’ll have to watch for them when we come back.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of things other than animals,” Angus said.
“Dwarves?” Hobart chuckled. “We’re in The Tween, remember? They don’t come this far out from their holes, and even if they did, they’d likely be underground. Of course, we’ll have to watch for them in the caves, too. We don’t have to worry much about Hellsbreath’s patrols, either; there’s been no sign of them coming this far, their tracks stop at the lava flows. I think they camp there and turn back around to haunt the valley.”
“Hunt, more like,” Ortis said. “They aren’t just patrolling for hazards, you know. There are plenty of deer in the valleys, and the patrol serves as a hunting party, too.”
Angus frowned. Something was bothering him. “If there aren’t any tangible dangers,” he asked, “why do people avoid The Tween?”
“Most people don’t want to come in here to begin with,” Ortis said. “Those who do often find it too challenging for travel. The valleys are okay—except when it rains; then the rivers and streams bloat up and the flooding can wash away anyone careless enough to be too close to them. Mudslides and rockslides generally happen then. But the easily accessible valleys are few, and the mountains around them are difficult to climb.”
“Don’t forget the volcanoes,” Hobart added. “The lava flow Angus blasted through isn’t the only one out here, I assure you.”
“And the winter,” Ortis added. “The further you get into The Tween, the longer the winter is. Unless you have a very good reason for coming here, it isn’t worth the risk. A half day from the roads, and it’s about as unfriendly a country as any you’ll encounter.”
“Those are the things we all know about,” Hobart said. “They keep most people out. But others, like us, who are foolhardy enough to enter The Tween generally don’t come back. If they do, it was because they were frightened out of it before they got much further. Haven’t you felt it yet? A sense of foreboding clinging to the air and eating away at you?”
Angus shook his head. “I’ve felt nothing of the sort,” he said. “Have you?”
“Not yet,” Hobart chuckled. “But we’re still on the fringe of The Tween. It might not hit us until tomorrow or the next day.”
“By the way, Ang
us,” Ortis said, turning to him. “If we had gone around the other side of this mountain, we never would have gotten to that cliff. These two mountains are connected; there isn’t a pass between them. You should be grateful you had the wand. We are.”
“Or will be,” Hobart corrected, “once we get there and find treasure. If we don’t, we’ll probably regret the use of that wand.”
“You know, Angus,” Ortis said. “You can use that wand to make a cave for us, can’t you? It would make the journey faster. We wouldn’t have to stay here tonight, and wouldn’t have to waste time finding shelter as we go.”
Angus shook his head. “I’d rather be subject to the elements.”
“Why?” Hobart asked. “We know the wand can do it.”
“It’s not that I can’t do it; it’s that I don’t want to,” Angus said. “It isn’t wise to waste magic in that way.”
“It wouldn’t be a waste if it kept us warm,” Hobart grumbled.
“I’d agree with you, Hobart, but it doesn’t work that way. I can only use the wand six more times before the magic is gone.”
“Really?” Ortis said. “I thought those things lasted forever.”
Angus half-smiled. “No magic is ever permanent. Not even the magic around us. It changes over time. A wand like this only contains the spells that are captured by it when it was made. When I found this one, it contained nine spells. I’ve used three of them.”
“Is it the same with the scrolls?”
Angus shook his head. “The scrolls aren’t magical. They contain the instructions for casting spells. That’s why I have to prime myself with them; the magic is both within me and around me, and I draw upon both of them according to the instructions given in the scrolls. But I have to memorize those instructions; if I cast them from the scroll, I risk losing it.” Careful, Angus, don’t say too much. The explanations only get more and more complicated, and they wouldn’t understand them anyway.
The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) Page 23