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

Ischade smiled and held her peace. “Well,” Siveni said, “she is a bitch …”

Tyr swung her head around-she was washing, with one leg up-and favored Siveni

with a reproachful look.

“An extraordinary one,” Ischade said, “but still a bitch; and as such no male

dog, even a supernatural one, would fight with her under any circumstances. I

suppose that even here, dogs will be dogs … Canny of you to bring her. Shall

we go on?” And she swept on into the darkness that the Hound had blocked. Mriga

followed, thoughtful.

On down they went, the light of Siveni’s spear burning bluer and brighter. The

sound of moaning and screaming grew less distant. Goddess or not, Mriga shook.

The voices were lifted less in rage or anguish than in a horrible dull

desperation. They sounded like beasts in a trap, destined to the knife, but not

for ages yet-and knowing it. A horrible place to spend eternity, Mriga thought.

For a moment she was filled with longing for her comfortable, dirty hut in

heaven, or even for the real thing of which it was the image-the rough hut in

the Stepsons’ barracks, and her own old hearth, and Harran busy on the other

side of it. At least one of us will get out of here, Mriga thought. The sunlight

for him, if for no one else…. ,

Siveni glanced over at Mriga with a curious look and opened her mouth, just as

Ischade glanced lazily over her shoulder at them. “We’re close to the ferry,”

she said. “I trust you brought the fare?”

Mriga shook her head, shocked. Her omniscience hadn’t warned her of this. But