Thieves World 7 – The Dead of Winter by Asprin, Robert

brother says you can find that which has been lost.”

She set the cards aside and brought the candlestick to the center of the table.

“If you can describe what it was that you lost. Sit down.”

“It’s not a ‘something,'” Molin explained as he sat on a stool opposite her.

“I’ve had … visions … myself: warnings that there is something within my

past which is-or could cause-great trouble. Illyra, you said once that the

S’danzo saw the past as well as the future. Can you find my-” He hesitated at

the ridiculousness of the request. “Can you show me my mother?”

“She is dead, then?”

“In my birth.”

“Children bring about such longings,” she said sympathetically, then stared into

the void, waiting for inspiration. “Give me your hand.”

Illyra sprinkled powders and oils of various colors on his palm, tracing simple

symbols through each layer. His palms began to sweat; she had to hold his

fingers tightly to stop him from pulling his hand back in embarrassment.

“This will not hurt,” she assured him as, with a movement so unexpected he could

not resist it, she twisted his wrist and held his palm in the candle flame.

It didn’t. The powders released a narcotic incense that not only prevented

injury but banished all worry from the priest’s mind. When she released his hand

and extinguished the candle, most of the morning had passed. Illyra’s expression

was unreadable.

“Did you see anything?”

“I do not understand what I saw. What we do not understand we do not reveal, but

I have revealed so many things to you. Still, I do not think I want to