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

on their feet.

‘Get in,’ said Ischade. ‘It will take us all.’

Mradhon climbed aboard, stepping over the corpse, which moved, which moaned, and

his nerves prickled at that unexpected life. Greater mercy, he thought, with

this stirring between his feet, to use the sword: he had seen deaths such as

this Stepson faced when the wounds went bad, the gaping socket of the missing

eye thus close to the brain – it would be bad, he thought, while the boat rocked

with the others getting in. He reached over the side, dipped up water with his

hand, passed it over the Stepson’s lips, felt movement in response.

Ischade’s robe brushed him as she took her place. She knelt there all too close

for any comfort; she bent her head, bowed over, her hands on the wounded face.

There was suddenly outcry, a struggling of limbs beneath them … ‘For the gods’

sake!’ Mradhon exclaimed, his gorge rising; he thrust at Ischade, shoved her

back, froze at the lifting of her face, the direction of that basilisk stare at

him.

‘Pain is life,’ she said.

And the boat began to move, slowly, like a dream, the while the wind swirled

about them and the river roared beneath. His companions – they were hazy shapes

in the night about Ischade. The wounded man stirred and moaned, threatening

instability in the boat should his thrashing become severe. Mradhon reached down

and held him, gently. The witch touched him too, and the struggles took harder

and harder restraint. The moans were pitiful.

‘He will live,’ she said. ‘Stilcho. I am calling you. Come back.’