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

large ear inquiringly.

Even as a dog his ears are too big for him, thought Lalo. Fascinated in spite of

himself, he watched as the animal sneezed again and trotted across the room. The

tavern door obligingly opened itself, then snicked shut after him. And then

there was only the crackling of the fire and the whisper of rain against the

windows to keep him company.

I dreamed it, thought the limner, but the armband still lay before him, striped

with all the colors of the lines that sectioned Sanctuary. And what is my color,

the color of magic? Lalo wondered then. But there was no one to answer him.

He dropped a few coins onto the table and stuffed the armband into his pouch.

Then he jammed his hat on over his thinning hair and wrapped the damp cloak

around him. Now it smelled of dog as well as of wet wool.

And as that scent clung to the cloak, the mage’s words stuck in Lalo’s memory.

His step quickened as he headed for the door. He had to warn Gilla-he had to get

home.

“You tell me, Wedemir-you see more of the town than I do. Is your father right

to be afraid?” Gilla paused in her sweeping and leaned on the broom, staring at

her oldest son. Her two younger children were sitting at the kitchen table,

drawing on their slates with some of Lalo’s broken chalks. Chalk squeaked and

Wedemir grimaced.

“Well, you still need a pass to get around,” he answered her, “and who’s

fighting whom and why seems to change from day to day. But having the real

Stepsons back in their barracks seems to have calmed the Beysibs down.”