Thieves World 4 – Storm Season by Asprin, Robert

debris outside. He dreamed her walking the streets of Downwind this time, her

black robes unsullied, and the stench became the musk that surrounded her, like

the smell of blood, like the smell of dead flowers or old, dusty halls.

He waked in sweat, more than once. He lay awake and stared into the dark: the

draft had put the wick out. It always did. He reminded himself that there was

the silver; he felt it in the dark, like a talisman, proving that that meeting

had been real.

He needed anonymity and gold. He needed power that could put locks on doors. He

put fanatic hope in this Jubal, who had once had both.

Whenever he shut his eyes he dreamed.

iii

There was silence in the small company, a prolonged silence inside the cramped

quarters that had been one of their safe shelters, with Mor-am sulking in a

crouch against the wall and Moria folded in the other comer, her arms about her

knees. Eichan occupied the cot, crosslegged, arms wrapped about his huge chest,

his dark head lowered, uncommunicative. What could be done had been done. They

waited.

And finally the scurrying came in the alley outside, which brought heads up and

got Moram and Moria to their feet: no attack, not likely. Two of their own were

on the street now, watching.

“Get it,” Eichan said, and Moria unlatched the door.

It was Dzis, who stepped owlishly into the faint light they afforded inside-no

mask, not on the streets these days: all Dzis managed was dirt, and the stink

that armored all Downwind’s unwashed. “He went where he said,” Dzis said. “He’s