man on his right at Wizardwall who hasn’t left in good standing with the guild.’
When they’d voted, with Straton overseeing the count, to abide by the rules
they’d lived to enforce, he said honestly that he was glad about the choice
they’d made. ‘Now I’m going to split you into units, and each unit has a choice:
find a person, a mercenary not among us now, a warm body trained enough to hold
a sword and fill your bed, and call him “brother” – long enough to induct him in
your stead. Then we’ll leave the town yet guarded by “Stepsons” and that name’s
enough, with what we’ve done here, to keep the peace. The guild has provisions
for man-steading; we’ll collect from each to fill a pot to hire them; they’ll
billet here, and we’ll ride north a unit at a time and meet up in Tyse, next
high moon, and surprise theRiddler.’
So he put it to them, and so they agreed.
NECROMANT
C. J. Cherryh
The wind came from the north tonight, out of chilly distances, sending an
unaccustomed rain-washed freshness through the streets of Downwind, along the
White Foal where traffic came and went across the only bridge. The Stepsons had
finally done the obvious and set up a guard post here; in these fractious times,
things were bad indeed. Previous holders of power in Sanctuary had been content
to watch and gather information. Now (when subtlety is lacking, one tries the
clenched fist) they meant to control every move between Downwind and the Maze.
Tonight another guard was dead, pinned to the post beside the guardhouse; the
second one – no one knew where. The word spread in all those quarters where folk