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

through
Hellsbreath.
    Wyrmwood was a thriving town with hundreds living there, and
even though he couldn’t remember having been there before, he navigated through
the streets as if he had been. The town was constructed in a pattern of
concentric rings. Beyond the outer wall were the farmers and cropland. The
outer wall was a low, three-foot high stone barrier constructed of granite
blocks held together with mortar. It was fairly new, judging by the rough
granite surface and slightly weather-stained mortar. Just inside the wall was a
ring of one-floor, thatch-roofed hovels and single-room shanties. Figures moved
furtively among the mud streets like small packs of dogs prowling in the
shadows, yipping and laughing as they nipped at each other. Ruffians?
Workers heading home? He brought his robe a little closer about him and
dropped his consciousness to a slightly deeper level, bringing the magical
energy into the periphery of his awareness. No. Miners. Coal mines to the
west.
    A second wall like the first, but five feet high,
discolored, and smoothed by weathering, separated the miners’ dwellings from
the rest of the town. Unlike the first wall, it had a guard waiting at the
gate, and a line of people waiting to enter. The guard barely glanced at most
of them before gesturing them inside, but once in a while he would study a face
closely and ask questions before finally letting them enter. He refused passage
only once, and the man protested—until the guard barked a sharp command and
three other guards hurried into the gap in the wall made by the gate. The man
gave up and, hurling curses back at the guards, pushed his way through the line
behind him. Angus frowned as the man grew nearer; the people were stepping
aside to give him plenty of room to pass, but he adjusted his own path and kept
bumping into them.
    Angus stood his ground, drew his dagger, and let the rest of
the gathering step aside. The man followed the throng, made a staggered lunge
toward Angus, saw the dagger, and stopped. He stood still for a long moment,
perfectly poised with his weight on one foot. “I suggest,” Angus hissed, “you
find another mark.” The man pivoted easily away from him and promptly bumped
into the next small group, his fingers sifting through folds of their clothes,
deftly searching for coin purses and other valuable items. Angus watched him
until he was far enough away before returning his dagger to his sheath. He
looked back to the gate and took several steps forward, catching up with the
rest of the line.
    Someone finally shouted, “Thief!” and Angus sighed. Not
my business, he thought as others joined the cry of “Thief! Thief!” Those
around Angus turned, and some of them reached for their pockets. Two hands fell
on nothing, and they took up the shout of “Thief” and ran after him. Angus
stepped forward into the vacuum they left behind.
    The victims of the thief continued shouting.
    The guards pretended not to notice.
    Angus stepped forward, a pace at a time.
    He was behind only three people when the first victim barged
past him, panting heavily and demanding that the guard catch the thief.
    The guard shook his head. “Not my job,” he said. “My post is
here. You’ll have to take it up with the magistrate.”
    “The magistrate!” the man bellowed. “He doesn’t care about
what happens out here!”
    Four more victims joined him, and the guard looked them
over. “Sure he does,” he said. “I’m sure if you take it up with him, he’ll do
his best to catch the thief.” He half-turned and called, “Isn’t that right,
Norby?”
    Three guards came into view, and one of them—the largest
one, easily a head taller than the others and nearly neckless, with shoulders
twice as wide as a normal man’s—grunted in agreement.
    The group of victims fumed, and the first one demanded,
“Then take us to him!”
    The gate guard smiled and repeated, “Not my job.” He paused
to study their faces, shrugged, and