cracked breastbone and heart and slit a lung as well.
They clung to each other. One-Thumb watched bright blood spurt from the other’s
back and heard his own blood falling, as the pain grew. The dagger still in his
left hand, he stabbed, almost idly. Again he stabbed. It seemed to take a long
time. The pain grew. The other man was doing the same. A third stab, he watched
the blade rise and slowly fall, and inching slide back out of the flesh. With
every second, the pain seemed to double; with every second, the flow of time
slowed by half. Even the splash of blood was slowed, like a viscous oil falling
through water as it sprayed away. And now it stopped completely, a thick scarlet
web frozen there between his dagger and Lastel’s back – his own back – and as
the pain spread and grew, marrow itself on fire, he knew he would look at that
for ever. For a flickering moment he saw the. image of two sorcerers, smiling.
MYRTIS
by Christine De Wees
‘I feel as young as I look. I could satisfy every man in this house if I took
the notion to, or if any one of them had half the magnificence of Lythande.’
So speaking, Myrtis, proprietor of the Aphrodisia House leaned over the banister
outside her private parlour and cast judgement on the activity of her
establishment below.
‘Certainly, madame.’
Her companion on the narrow balcony was a well-dressed young man lately arrived
with his parents from the imperial capital. He eased as far from her as possible
when she turned to smile at him.
‘Do you doubt me, young man?’