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

‘Mor-am,’ Ischade said, never turning her head. ‘Remember.’ And more quietly:

‘Get him away now. I have further dealings with these here.’

The nightmare lasted. The silence held, that chill quiet lying over all the

alley with its sea of tents. Not the look of her eyes that had wrought this

quiet, no, Mradhon reckoned, but some subtler spell. Or fear. Perhaps they knew

her. Perhaps here in Downwind she was better understood than across the river,

for what she was, and what her visitations meant.

‘Come on,’ Mradhon said. He heaved the limp arm further across his shoulder.

‘Gods blast you,’ he said to Moria, ‘get going -‘ for Mor-am began to run,

limping, down the lane between the tents and shelters, off into the dark.

It would hold, he thought, only so long as Ischade was in the way, only so long

as Ischade dealt with Moruth, who was somewhere in that room. What estate would

distinguish a beggar king, he wondered in a mad distraction, panting through the

tents, managing with Haught to drag the bleeding half-corpse past obstacles,

boxes, litter and heaped-up offal of the beggar-king’s court. He wished he had

known the face, had gotten the image clear, but he had focused clearly on none

of them, not one, the way he had not focused on the man he was carrying. He had

nightmares enough to last him; he bore this one with him, past the end of the

street, around the corner. He twisted his neck to look to his side.

‘Moria. Little fool,’ he panted, ‘get up ahead, get in front of us, don’t

straggle.’

‘Where’s my brother?’ she asked, her voice verging on panic. She had her knife;