Robert Asprin – Thieves World 09 – Blood Ties

When the dun horse began pacing forward again, between Fulcris and his accosters, Fulcris paced too. He noticed that the newcomer never so much as glanced at him. They took about twenty steps without anyone’s saying a word. By that time, the other two were well behind them. The newcomer leaned back to swing a big-thighed leg over the pommel of his saddle, which was molded in the shape of a turtle’s head. He dropped to the ground a foot from Fulcris.

Surprisingly blue eyes looked into the very brown ones of the caravaner. They were about the same height. The traveler was bigger.

“You a caravan guard?”

“Aye. Those two-“

“Mean on strong drink. You took a wound a few days ago?”

“Aye. You just-“

“I could sure use some wotter, and your arm could use something.”

Not much for talking, Fulcris thought, and nodded. “Right. Just over here.”

“Uh. Wait here. Jaunt.”

Fulcris assumed that was the name of the big man’s horse. He tried not to talk as they walked toward his old tent of faded blue and dull yellow stripes, but just now that was impossible.

“I started with the caravan in Twand. Those two joined us in Aurvesh. Just a little trouble the first night, and me’n another guard had to forbid them anything stronger’n water. Caravan stopped here to break up; sort ourselves out.

You know. They went right on into Sanctuary last night lookin’ for what we kept from them. They obviously had some more this mom-ing.”

“Urn.”

Sure not a talker, Fulcris mused. “Oh-name’s Fulcris.”

“Strick.”

Guess that’s his name, Fulcris thought. And didn’t this man speak quietly and in an unusually matter-of-fact voice, no matter what he was saying or talking about! “The arm’s not bad, but it could’ve made a difference. Thanks, Strick.