edge of the road, near the now-steepening drop to the valley floor. The sounds grew louder as he approached—definitely metal striking metal—and he brought the magical energy around him nearer to the surface of his consciousness. It was heavy-laden with earth magic, but there were still plenty of strands of flame available.
He edged around the corner and the sounds grew louder. They were now accompanied by occasional muffled voices, and then he saw why: Rockfall. A massive granite boulder had tumbled down the hill and come to a rest in the middle of the road. A group of workmen were chipping away at it with chisels and mallets. As he neared, he noticed a growing pile of manageable stone slabs stacked next to the dwindling boulder. Each slab looked to be about the same size and color as the cobblestones: two foot gray-green squares one foot deep.
Angus approached the construction crew cautiously but not with fear; they were unlikely to be a threat. Still….
Most of the workmen ignored him and kept chipping away at the stone. They seemed to be grouped in three, one holding the chisel and turning it, and the other two alternating hitting it with a mallet. The granite was hard, resistant, and tiny puffs of rock dust and rock chips fluttered up with each new strike a mallet made. When the man orchestrating the activity saw Angus, he stared for a few seconds and then stepped onto the scaffold that had been assembled next to the stone. He bounced down quickly and jogged up to Angus.
“Greetings, Fair Wizard,” he said, as if it were Angus’s name. “A fine evening will soon be upon us, eh?”
“Indeed,” Angus said, watching the workmen. “A most pleasant one.”
The man fell in at a deferential distance beside Angus and absently brushed stone dust from his clothes. He walked with him for a few paces before asking, “Have you a place to stay the night?”
“I had thought to make the next village,” Angus said, raising his voice a bit to combat the clatter. “Or inn. They seem to be spaced most reasonably on this road.”
“Yes, yes,” the man agreed. “Near Wyrmwood, but not here.” He hesitated, leaned in conspiratorially, glanced around, and said, “We’re too close to The Tween.”
The Tween. What is it? Why does it worry him so? “A caravan stop, then,” Angus said, slowing to a stop near the boulder and watching the men working. There were ten of them, three groups cutting the stone and a boy moving among them with a large jug of water. He occasionally splashed a little water on the groove being chiseled or poured some in a workman’s mouth.
“There’s them,” the man agreed, stopping. “But no tents up yet.” He gestured at a large tent anchored to the cobblestones and said, “That’s the last shelter you’ll find until a day from Hellsbreath.”
“What is this Tween I’ve been hearing about?” Angus asked.
“Ah,” the man said, shaking his head. “It’s a bad place. King Tyr claims it for his kingdom but doesn’t patrol it. The mountain dwarves repel any attempt he makes to settle it. They don’t like encroachment in their territory, and they only barely tolerate the road. They wouldn’t even do that if they 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 born there?”
Billigan nodded again, then hurried away to supervise the other workers as they prepared for the evening.
Angus continued to watch for a minute, and then turned away from the worksite to examine the worker’s camp. It was a fairly basic temporary encampment a short distance south of the boulder, far enough away to avoid the rock dust and chips but close enough to be useful. It consisted mainly of a large tent anchored to the cobblestones of the road on one side and to the hillside on the other. There were no horses in sight, nor could he hear any, but here could be some behind or inside the tent; it was large enough to house a couple dozen men.
The workmen gathered together on the road and made their way noisily toward the tent, laughing and joking with each other. Billigan hurried up, and they quieted somewhat as he pointed at Angus. Then they resumed their good humor with an even more strident tone. What do they expect to happen? Angus wondered, not sure what he could do if something did happen. The best spells take time to weave….
“Angus!” Billigan
shouted, gesturing for him to join them on their way to the tent. “These are my men,” he continued, pointed to each one and rattling off a list of names that Angus promptly forgot. He greeted them as a group, and they moved into the tent. He followed after them, Billigan at his side.
“We don’t have much,” Billigan said. “But you’re welcome to share in it.”
“Thank you,” Angus said. “I require very little, other than information.”
“Of course!” Billigan said, holding the tent flap open until Angus moved past him.
The tent was lit by a pair of lanterns hung on the tent poles, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The workers moved quickly to the left, where the boy with the water jug was standing next to a barrel of water. They stripped off their tunics and trousers, throwing them into a pile next to the boy or, laughingly, onto him. He waited until the last one had finished, then picked up the first tunic. He shook it vigorously, sending out a small cloud of sweat-drenched rock chips and dust, and then tossed it in a new pile next to the barrel. He picked up a second one and did the same thing.
The workers left him and the settling cloud behind them and walked across the tent to gather around an overturned barrel with a stack of water basins and a cluster of ewers on it. Next to it was a second barrel of water, and they began washing off the worst of the grit still clinging to their