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

Angus said. He brought the magical energy into focus and prepared to
grab a deep, brick-red strand—a powerful one with a great deal of flame held
within it.
    The thief complied slowly, keeping his eyes crammed shut and
his fists clenched. He was very young, with only the barest whisper of a black
moustache tickling his upper lip and a few hairs dabbled on his chin. His hair
was short, little more than half-inch-long black stubble barely visible against
the black lining of his light gray cloak and the soft brown of his smooth skin.
He was scrawny—a fine quality for a thief—thin and gangly, well-muscled, wiry.
Along with the reversible cloak, he had on supple light brown leather
garments—tunic, trousers, boots, belt—that no doubt twisted and bent with him
when he was contorting his body into different positions. There were several
small pouches hanging from the interior of his cloak, probably containing
picks, wires, string—anything that might come in handy while he was practicing
his trade.
    Angus stood up and took a step forward. “If you resist,” he
said, approaching the thief with caution, “I will increase the intensity of the
spell.” He half-smiled at the half-truth, and then finished, his voice soft,
unforgiving. “It will get much warmer, and the blindness will become
permanent— If you survive.”
    “Please don’t,” the thief said, his voice a low, steady
tenor. “I won’t resist.”
    “What shall I call you?” Angus asked from a few feet in
front of him. “Your real name,” he added, “not an alias.”
    The thief frowned for a long moment, and then said,
“Giorge.”
    “Well, Giorge,” he said. “I am going to search you. Don’t
worry,” he added, smiling. “I’m not going to take anything.” He paused and
said, meaningfully, “I am not a thief.”
    Angus did a thorough job of checking Giorge for hidden
weapons, mentally inventorying the thief’s gear without removing any of it.
When he was satisfied he didn’t have anything to worry about, he walked over to
the window. A rope was dangling from the roof, and he snapped it sharply,
sending ripples upward until the grapple broke free. He pulled the rope and
grapple into his room, closed the window, and latched the shutters. When he was
finished, he returned to the thief, leaned in close to his ear, and purred,
“Are you alone?”
    The thief gulped and nodded.
    “Good,” Angus said, detaching the Lamplight spell from
Giorge’s forehead and guiding it to the center of the room. He expanded it,
reducing its intensity so that it cast a soft glow around the room, and left it
hovering there. “Your eyes,” he told Giorge, “will begin to recover in about an
hour, but you will have difficulty seeing for the next few days.”
    The thief didn’t respond or move.
    “You have friends here,” Angus continued. “I saw them when I
arrived.”
    Still no response.
    “I assume they know you are here,” Angus continued. When
Giorge said nothing, he asked, “Do you have a room in this inn?”
    The thief hesitated, decided not to respond.
    “Now, now, Giorge. I could always reattach the Lamplight
spell. It is of little consequence to me one way or the other.”
    “Yes,” Giorge said. “I have a room.”
    “Good,” Angus said. “Then you can find your way back to it.”
    Angus picked up the thief’s knife—a short, thin blade more
suitable for puncture wounds than slashing ones—and walked over to the door. He
listened carefully for a few moments before lifting the latch and taking a
quick look outside. No one was lurking in the hall so he opened the door all
the way and moved back to the center of the room.
    “Lower your arms and take three steps forward,” he told the
thief, “then turn left.” When the thief had done so, Angus moved in behind him
and lowered his voice. “Spread the word,” he said. “I am to be left alone. If
not,” he moved the Lamplight nearer to the thief’s eyes and squeezed it until
it was an