Thieves World 4 – Storm Season by Asprin, Robert

“What place?” Moria demanded, shoving Mradhon’s arm.

Mradhon ignored her, hauling the slave to his feet. She got up too, knife aimed,

but not meaning to use it. The slave had straightened up like a human being, if

a frightened one, and moved free of Mradhon’s grip, travelling with lithe speed.

Mradhon followed and she did, as far as the opening of the alley.

“River,” the slave said, delaying there. “By the bridge.”

“Move,” Mradhon said.

The slave rolled his head aside, staring back at them, muttered something.

“Seh,” Mradhon repeated. “Move it, man.” Mradhon set an empty hand on his

shoulder. The slave gave a gasp for air like a diver going under and headed down

the next alley, stopping again when they reached a turning.

“Lost,” the slave said, seeming to panic. “I can’t remember; and there were men

men with swords-and the screams-It was the house by the bridge, that one-“

“Get moving,” Moria hissed frantically and jabbed him with the blade. The slave

flinched, but Mradhon stayed her hand with a grip that almost broke her wrist.

“He’s likely still alive,” Mradhon said. “You want my help, woman, you keep that

knife out of my way; and his.”

She nodded, wild with rage and the delay. “Then quit stopping.”

“Haught,” Mradhon said. “Stay with us.”

They went, running now, with no pauses, down the twisting ways even she did not

know; but it was Mradhon’s territory: they passed through a shanty alleyway so

close they had to turn their shoulders and came out upon sight of the bridge.

It was quiet, excepting the wind, the dry, muttering thunder. A lightning flash