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

The Stepson cried out, once, sharply, back arching, but the river took the

sound.

It was a boat, running on the flood. Erato saw it, his first thought that some

riverfisher’s skiff had come untied in the White Foal’s violence.

But the boat came skimming, running slowly like a cloud before the wind across

the current, in a straight line no boat could achieve in any river. Erato

stirred in his concealment, hair rising at his nape. He scrambled higher amongst

the brush, disturbed one of his men.

‘Pass the word,’ he said. ‘Something’s coming.’

‘Where?’

‘River.’

That got a stare, a silence in the dark.

‘Get the rest,’ Erato hissed, shoving at the man. ‘They’re going to come ashore.

Hear me? Tell them pass it on. The back of the house: that’s where they’ll

come.’

The man went. Erato slipped along the bank at the same level, towards the

brambles, which served as effective barrier. The house they watched – they did

not venture liberties with it, did not try the low iron gate, the hedges. Try

reason, he thought. He was in command. It was on him to try reason with the

witch; and it had to be the witch out there: there was nothing in all sanity

that ought to be doing what that boat did. He moved quietly, gathered up men

here and there while the boat came on.

The bow grated on to rock and kept grating, pushing itself ashore, and the

Stepson moaned anew, leaning against the gunwales of the boat.

‘Bring him,’ Ischade said, and Mradhon looked up as the witch stepped ashore, on

the landing which rose in steps up to the brambles. He flung an arm about the