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

“You must have one.”

Ischade was silent. “Please pardon me,” Mriga said. “I shouldn’t have asked.

Power is a private thing.”

“You need not come with us,” Siveni said, without turning around, from ahead of

them. “You’ve already fulfilled your part of the bargain. Though we haven’t paid

you yet-“

Ischade didn’t stop walking, but there was a second’s hard look in her eyes that

was more than just the reflection of Siveni’s lightnings. “Don’t project your

fears on me, young goddesses,” she said, the voice silken, the eyes dark and

amused. “I have no reason not to see her.”

Mriga and Siveni both most carefully held their peace. Tyr, though, whined once

and wagged her tail, and for the rest of the walk never once left Ischade’s

side. Ischade appeared not to notice.

“See,” she said. “The gate.”

The south gate looked much as it did in Sanctuary, and made it plain that some

passions had not entirely died out here; the posts were splashed with PFLS and

gang graffiti. But there were no guards, no Stepsons, nothing but iron gates

that stood open. The great courtyard inside was drowned in shadow, and the

wailings of hell seemed subdued here. On the far side of the courtyard lay what

had looked like the Palace from a distance, but here proved itself to be an

edifice not even Ranke in its flower could have built: all ebony porticoes and

onyx colonnades, smoke-black pillars and porches, massive domes and shadowy

towers, halls piled on mighty halls, rearing up in terrible somber grace till

all was lost in the lowering overcast. Ischade never paused, but went right in