“Are you having any luck?” Giorge asked.
“The deer trail continues north,” Ortis said. “But the other tracks are heading west. There’s no hint of a blind to ambush the deer.”
“What do their tracks look like?”
“Pretty much what I said before,” Ortis said. “They—”
Hobart had reined in Leslie at the top of a small rise and held up his arm for silence. When they got closer, they found out why: He had found the road. There was a bridge crossing over the glutted stream, and next to it was a small cluster of crudely constructed huts.
4
Just north of the bridge was a bloated pond, beside which six huts had been constructed from pine branches mixed with mud. Around them were loose clods with pine needles embedded in them. To Angus, they looked like giant, overturned bird nests. There was no indication of tools being used to build them, and parts of the outer layer were still green.
“I wonder what made those,” Angus said, making no effort to keep his voice low.
“Quiet!” Hobart hissed. “We don’t want to fight them if we don’t have to.”
Angus shrugged and lowered his voice a bit. “I don’t think there’s anything there,” he said. “There’s no smoke.”
“That means nothing,” Hobart said. “A lot of creatures can withstand the cold better than we can.”
“Do you see anything moving around down there?” Angus asked.
“They could be nocturnal,” Hobart said. “They could be sleeping.”
“I don’t think so,” Angus said. “I think Ortis was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Ortis asked.
“Your inference,” Angus began. “Are you still following the tracks?”
“Yes,” Ortis said.
“Which ones?” Angus asked.
“Both,” Ortis said. “The deer trail is still heading north, but I’ve found a spot where I can wait for them. The others are still heading west.”
“East, I should think,” Angus said.
“East?”
“Don’t talk so loud,” Hobart hissed. “Or move back.”
Angus chuckled, tried to lower his voice. “The most recent tracks are heading east, aren’t they? Then they turn south?”
After a pause, Ortis nodded.
“And they are heavier than the ones that came north?”
Ortis nodded again.
“Good,” Angus said. “Keep following that trail. I think it will end up there,” he pointed at the huts.
“How could you possibly know that?” Hobart asked.
Angus shrugged. “Unless those huts have doors on the north side, they’re being used for storage,” he said. “The pine needles are mostly old and brown, and those clumps on the ground look like something clawed them from the huts. The ones with green pine needles have been added to patch up a recent hole.”
“He may be right,” Ortis said. “I can see the huts now; this trail does lead to them.”
“I wonder what they’re keeping in them,” Giorge muttered. “It has to be valuable for them to go to this much trouble to hide them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hobart said. “We’re not going to disturb them.”
“Why not?” Giorge asked. “Aren’t you curious?”
“We’re going to take our horses over the bridge, ride a safe distance, and make camp.”
“Giorge is right,” Angus said. “We should find out what is inside those things. It will help us to narrow down who made them, won’t it? We’ll be able to prepare more effectively for whatever might attack us, right?”
Hobart stared for a few seconds before reluctantly nodding. “I suppose so,” he said. “But when they find out we’ve disturbed these things, they’ll probably come after us.”
“They’ll probably do that anyway,” Giorge said. “We knew the chance of that when we started across this plateau. The next time they come up here, they’ll know we’ve passed by. If they’re hostile, they’ll chase after us; if they’re not, they still might want to find out who we are and what we’re doing up here. Opening one of those things won’t change that, will it?”
“All right,” Hobart said. “We’ll investigate them after Ortis determines if there is anything lurking around over there.”
5
Ortis took his time approaching the strange-looking huts, but nothing seemed disturbed enough by his presence to attack. When the others joined him a short while later, it was clear that Angus was right about one thing: the huts didn’t have doors.
“I’ve looked around,” Ortis said. “They made a lot of a tracks heading north, but they stop not far from the pond. It's a field of some sort. I don’t recognize the plants, but they’re growing in rows as if farmers have been caring for them.”
“Oh?” Angus asked. “Can you describe the plants?”
“I’ll bring one back with me.”
“These are grain bins?” Hobart asked. “I thought they hunted deer.”
“There was no sign they killed any deer,” Ortis said. “They may have only been using the same trail.”
“I wonder what they could be,” Giorge muttered. “There aren’t very many fire-builders who don’t eat meat.”
“Just because they didn’t kill a deer here, it doesn’t mean they haven’t killed them somewhere else,” Ortis said.
“Or have cat-like features,” Angus said, frowning. He turned to Ortis and asked, “Is there anything else about the tracks that you can tell us?”
“Only a puzzle,” he said. “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,” Angus 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 looming in front of him.
“They seem to be traveling back and forth from the north to the west,” Ortis said. “The latest group went west. We’ll need to watch for them.”
“We’re only a few days from the temple. Do you think they live there?”
Hobart frowned. “We’ll find out. We’ve come too far not to.”
“It could only be a small portion of their number,” Ortis said. “There is considerable traffic, here.”
“If we ride hard, we can catch up to them before they get to the temple,” Hobart suggested. “It would be easier to fight them out in the open.”
“Assuming we have to fight,” Ortis said. “They may not be hostile.”
“How many people come out of The Tween?” Hobart countered. “W
e need to be prepared. Keep an eye open for a defensible position, in case we need to retreat.”
“Explain something to me,” Angus said. “We’ve crossed over other trails like this in the past few days. Some of them have been even more recent with the creatures heading north at a rapid rate. Others were older trails, heading south at a much slower pace. They were all small groups, perhaps four or five, right? Now, here we have a larger group who are ahead of us. Does anyone else feel like we’re getting squeezed into a trap?”
“Now you’re starting to think like a soldier,” Hobart said. “It could be a trap, but I don’t think so. There hasn’t been enough time for them to spread word about us. Still, they should know we are traveling down this road, and that would tell them where we are likely going. But Ortis said these tracks are a couple of days old, and we didn’t see the first signs until about three days ago. They would have to have seen us before that to plan an ambush.”
“It could be the way they hunt,” Angus suggested.
“Then why not kill the deer?” Ortis countered. “I’ve scouted every deer trail we’ve seen, and there’s no indication of them killing any. There are other places they could easily kill them, but they haven’t. Instead, they grow mushrooms.”
Angus nodded. “I just can’t shake the feeling that they’re organizing an attack, and we’re about to ride into it.”
“Not if we don’t get going,” Hobart said. “The sooner we catch up with them, the sooner we find out what we’re up against. We shouldn’t have too much trouble with twenty of them, especially if you have that spell you threw at Giorge back at the construction site.”
“And the wand,” Ortis added. “It would wreak havoc on an army.”
Angus sighed. They still didn’t understand the difficulties involved in casting spells, or how vulnerable he was when he did it. But they were right; the Firecluster spell would wreak havoc on them if they were close to each other—if he could finish casting it in time. It was a complex series of knots, and weaving them together took concentration and time. Then there was the last knot, the one he wasn’t sure he had primed correctly. If he hadn’t, what would it do? More damage? Less?
The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) Page 27