Free The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) by Robert P. Hansen Page B

didn’t trade with Tyr. That and Hellsbreath is too
strongly defended to get rid of Tyr’s influence altogether without open war,
and they don’t want that any more than King Tyr does. Still, every now and then
they remind us they are there.” He gestured at the rock.
    “You think they did that?” Angus asked, looking at him for
the first time. The man’s eyes were shrewd little hazel orbs that concealed a
keen mind. His skin was tanned and wind-burned; and his hair was a tangled mass
of oily, dark brown curls lined with streaks of gray. On top of all of it was a
light sprinkling of granite dust.
    The man shrugged, “Not this one,” he said, smiling. He only
had teeth on the left side, and his smile looked like a mountain dwarf had
carved a cave into his mouth. “There’s no sign of it being undercut, and them
dwarves tend to keep deeper in The Tween. Wyrmwood sends patrols this far
south—and a few hills further— and Hellsbreath patrols the rest of the road.”
    “I see,” Angus said, a bit cowed by the man’s size. He was
half a foot taller and outweighed him by fifty pounds, all muscle. He turned
back to the road and started walking again.
    The man fell in stride beside him again, and they walked in
silence until they were almost past the tent. “If I might make a request, Fair
Wizard?” the man finally said.
    Angus nodded curtly without turning or slowing.
    “Well,” the man hedged. “I would be most grateful if you
joined us for the evening meal and, if it be to your liking, stay the night.”
    Angus stopped, turned, and tilted his head. “For what
purpose?” he asked. “It will be a clear night with a full moon, and I’m far
from tired.”
    The workman rubbed his chest, grinding the dusting of rock
into his tunic. “Well,” he hedged, “I—that is, we would be glad for your
presence, Fair Wizard. The Tween,” he looked back at the boulder, the men, and
the tent. When he turned back, he shook his head and shrugged. “There’s things
in The Tween,” he finished. “Things that come at night. They don’t come this
far often, but it isn’t unheard of.”
    Angus half-smiled. “Surely you are prepared for them.”
    The workman nodded. “Yes,” he admitted. “But a wizard…” He
paused, shrugged again, and added, “It’s the men, see. They would sleep more
easily if they knew your magic was with them.”
    Angus sighed. Perhaps he would be better off not wearing the
robe? But then, he was certain at least one or two of his encounters would have
gone badly if he hadn’t been wearing it. There was something mysterious about
wizards; they could see things others couldn’t, and draw upon powers that were
a complete mystery to the rest of humanity. But for those who could see the
magical strands, who could manipulate them, wizards were no different than the
workmen chipping away at the rocks: craftsmen plying a skill. It just happened
that the skills they plied could be far more powerful than a mallet and chisel.
    “A meal would be most welcome,” Angus said, “but I will stay
the night only on two conditions.”
    The workman grinned and looked as if he wanted to clamp onto
Angus’s shoulder with his huge hand. He stopped himself, and asked, “What might
they be, Fair Wizard?”
    Angus smiled. “First, call me Angus,” he said.
    The workman nodded. “Angus it is, then,” he said. “The
second?”
    “Tell me more about this Tween. It is new to me, and I would
be grateful for any information you have on it.”
    His grin broadened and the cave in his mouth deepened as he
gestured to the tent and said, “Done!” Then he turned to his crew and shouted,
“Stow the gear and clean up!”
    “What shall I call you?” Angus asked as the workers began to
tie down their pulleys and gather up their equipment.
    “Billigan,” he said, smiling.
    “That’s an unusual name,” Angus asked.
    Billigan nodded. “The Tween is an unusual place,” he said.
    “Oh?” Angus asked. “Were you