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

worse.

“If you just wouldn’t-“

“Oh stop,” Mriga said, waving her hand and sitting down on the crude bench that

appeared behind her. In front of her appeared a rough table loaded down with

meat and bread and watered wine of the kind Harran used to smuggle for them from

the Stepsons’ store. Now that she was a goddess, and not mad, Mriga could have

had better; but old habits were hard to break, and the sour wine reminded her of

home. “Want some?”

“Goddesses,” Siveni said, looking askance at the table, “don’t eat mortal food.

They eat only-“

“‘-the gods’ food and drink only foaming nectar.’ Yes, that’s what I hear. So

then how am I sitting here eating butcher’s beef and drinking wine? Who could be

here but us goddesses? Have some of this nice chine.”

“No.”

Mriga poured out a libation to Father Ils, then applied herself to a rack of

back ribs. “The world of mortal men,” she said presently, while wiping grease

off one cheek, “mirrors ours, have you noticed? Or maybe ours mirrors theirs.

Either way, have you noticed how preoccupied both of them are just now with cat

fighting? The Beysa. Kama. Roxane. Ischade. If all that stopped-would ours stop

too? Or if we stopped-“

“As if anything mortals do could matter to the gods,” Siveni said, annoyed. She

thumped the ground with her spear and an elegant marble bench appeared. She

seated herself on it; a moment later a small altar appeared, on which the thigh

bones of fat steers, wrapped attractively in fat and with wine poured over, were

being burned in a brazier. She inhaled the savor and pointedly touched none of