inner thigh, probably the right. Maybe that’s part of the reason he walks the
way he does. Cat-supple and yet sort of stiff of leg all at ,once. A tumbler’s
gait – or a punk’s swagger. Don’t tell him I said!)
Anyhow, about the weapons and my first impression that he couldn’t be poor.
There’s a throwing knife in that leather and copper armlet, on his right upper
arm, and another in the long bracer of black leather on that same arm. Both are
short. The stickers I mean, not the bracers or the arms either.
All that armament would be enough to scare anybody on a dark night, or even a
moonbright one. Imagine being in the Maze or some place like that and out of the
shadows comes this young bravo, swaggering, wearing all that sharp metal! Right
at you out of the shadows that spawned him. Enough to chill even one of those
Hell Hounds. Even one ofyou-know-who’s boys in the blue hawk-masks might step
aside.
That was my impression. Shadowspawn. About as pleasant as gout or dropsy.
SHADOWSPAWN
by Andrew Offutt
His mop of hair was blacker than black and his eyes nearly so, under brows that
just missed meeting above a nose not quite falcate. His walk reminded some of
one of those red-and-black gamecocks brought over from Mrsevada. They called him
Shadow-spawn. No compliment was intended, and he objected until Cudget told him
it was good to have a nickname – although he wished his own weren’t Cudget
Swearoath. Besides, Shadowspawn had a romantic and rather sinister sound, and
that appealed to his ego, which was the largest thing about him. His height was