Wizard Eyes

byRobert E. Vardeman“Get out of my way,” Darroh snarled, kicking at the beggar.The unkempt indigent curled into a fetal ball to protecthimself. Seeing the sores and scabs exposed through theragged clothing as the beggar twisted, Darroh realized thatthe despicable fool had learned the best ways to protecthimself through trial and error.

“Please, good sir, I can help you. I know the city. Thegreat city of Darwuun can devour you if you do not know itsways. I can guide you!”Darroh paused. He was a master thief and pridedhimself on blending into whatever town he entered, lookinglike someone who belonged and never deserving a secondglance by the constabulary. He stood medium height andcarried his weight lightly, had dark hair neither too long nor too short to avoid drawing comparisons, and his colorationwas whatever he chose through clever use of cosmetics. Didone of his prowess really need an urban guide? Darwuunwas hardly a great city or even a minor one. Without theseaport it would wither and blow away inside a week.Darroh spat in contempt.“Tell me where I can find the richest man in the city,” hedemanded.“A copper would feed me for a week,” the pitiful beggar said, curling his legs under him and pressing his back againsta stone wall for protection. Rheumy gray eyes peered atDarroh, pleading. The beggar was pathetic.“A silver,” Darroh said, the coin appearing as if by magic between his dexterous fingers. He almost laughed at the waythe wretched beggar responded to such wealth.“There are many. The duke’s tax collector lives verywell down the road outside town.”“Too far to walk,” Darroh said, playing with the beggar.“There is the chief of the constabulary. He is a wealthyman.”Darroh shook his head. It never paid to rob anyoneresponsible for enforcing the law. They had long memoriesand short tempers when it came to their own riches.“Then there is old Togoi. No one knows what he does,

but he lives well. There,” the beggar said, his eyes darting back and forth between a solid wall circling half the block and Darroh’s silver coin glinting in the late afternoonsunlight. “Togoi lives alone, but he sometimes seesmerchants from afar.”“Merchants,” mused Darroh. “Very well.” He tossed thesilver coin into the air. It spun rapidly, climbed an invisiblearch into the air and started down toward the beggar’s bony,outstretched hands. Before the supplicant could grab thecoin, it vanished. Darroh’s hands were far quicker than anyfalling coin—or starving beggar man.Laughing lustily, Darroh strutted down the street, circledthe compound housing Togoi’s palatial home, then crossedthe road to avoid being accosted again by the angry beggar.He had learned all he could about his next victim—and didnot want to incite his last.* * *For such a wealthy man, Togoi took few pains to preventunwanted visitors. Darroh snorted in disgust as he movedlike a shadow through the well tended, luxuriant gardensurrounding the house. He had seen this trait before in thetruly well off. They thought themselves above intrusion,though he had to admit he had been clever getting past a fewof the ward spells Togoi had set. Those pitiful magicalcontrivances might catch or scare away lesser thieves, butTogoi—and the hamlet of Darwuun—had never seen the likeof Darroh of Farcanyon before.He paused before the ornately carved wood doorssoaring twice his height. Darroh laid a cautious hand on a panel. Slight warmth told him more about the temperature