Thieves World 5 – The Face of Chaos by Asprin, Robert

gotten overbuilt with lean-tos.

Beggar-kingdom, this. Mradhon grabbed a handful ofMor-am’s cloak, pulled,

meaning retreat.

No, Mor-am insisted. He pointed just ahead, where suddenly a figure darker than

the night was treading amid the ragged, lumpish shelters. Ischade paused and

beckoned to them.

Mor-am followed, and Mradhon did, taking it on himself whatever the others did,

wishing now they would keep their feckless help out of this. He gripped his

sword, meaning to kill a few if it came to that, but Ischade kept her pace slow,

down that street of furtive eyes, of watchers within collections of board,

canvas, anything that might fend away rain and wind. The stench rose up about

them, of human waste, of something dead and rotting. He heard steps at his back

and dared not turn his head, praying to Ilsigi gods that he knew who it was. His

eyes were all for Mor-am, for the wand-slender darkness of Ischade, who walked

before them through this aisle of misery.

And none offered to touch, none offered violence. A building made this lane a

cul de sac, a dilapidated, boarded-up building, but light showed from the cracks

about the door.

Sound got out. Mor-am wavered at that whimpering, that human, wretched sound. At

voices. At laughter. He stopped altogether, and Mradhon shoved him, put him into

motion, not because he wanted to go, but because it was not a good moment to

stop, not here, not now, without any path of retreat. There was a moment in

battles, the downhill moment past which there was no way to stop, and they had