no one to stop him.
She would find him if she wished. He was sure of that. There was a long list of
those who might be interested to find him – but he walked the street past the
bridge by daylight in the town. Traffic had begun, if late. There were walkers
on the street, folk with unhappy, hunted looks.
‘Vis,’ someone said. He heard rapid steps. His heart turned in him as he looked
back and saw a man of the garrison. ‘Vis, is it?’
He thought of his sword, but daytime, on the streets – even in Sanctuary – was
no time or place for that kind of craziness. He struck an easy stance, impatient
attention, nodded to the man.
‘Got a message,’ the soldier said. ‘Captain wants to see you. Mind?’
THE ART OF ALLIANCE
Robert Lynn Asprin
A large blackbird perched on the awning of the small jeweller’s shop, its head
cocked to fix the approaching trio with an unblinking eye, as if it knew of the
drama about to unfold.
‘There it is. Bantu, just like I told you. I’m sure it wasn’t there last week.’
The leader of the group nodded curtly, never taking his eyes from the small
symbol scratched on one of the awning posts. It was a simple design: a
horizontal line curved downward at the left, with a small circle at its lower
right end. No rune or letter of any known alphabet matched it, yet it spoke
volumes to those in the know.
‘Not last week,’ Bantu said, his jaw muscles tightening, ‘and not next week.
Come on.’
The three were so intent on their mission within that they failed to note the
loiterer across the street, who regarded them with much the same careful