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

“Our priest,” Siveni said, and sounded as if she could have said something else,

but would not. She got up so quickly that the marble bench fell one way and the

elegant brazier the other. Her spear leapt into her hand, sizzling. “I’ll-“

“We’ll,” Mriga said, on her feet now. It was odd how eyes so icy with anger

could still manage tears that flowed. “Come on.”

Thunder cracked about them like sky ripping open. The neighbors all around

turned in their direction and stared. Uncaring, two goddesses, or one, shot

earthward from the bright floor of heaven, which, behind them, hesitated, then

furtively turned to dirt.

The fire by the Maze-side street barricade had died down, and the street was

empty except for the slain and the scavengers. Now and then someone passed by-a

Stepson on one of their fierce horses, or a random member of some Nisi death

squad, or one of Jubal’s people just slipped out of the blue on business. No one

noticed the grimy street idiot, sitting blank-eyed beside a trampled corpse;

much less the sooty raven perched on a charred wagon and eyeing the same corpse,

and the younger, arrow-shot one it lay on, with a cold and interested eye. Black

birds were no unusual sight in Sanctuary these days.

“His soul’s gone,” Mriga whispered to the bird. “Long gone, and the poor body’s

cold. How? We came straight away-“

“Time here and there run differently,” said the raven, voice hoarse and soft.

“We might have done something while the tie between soul and body was still

stretching thin. But it’s too late now-“