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

Suddenly Latilla screeched and grabbed for her little brother’s arm. Alfi’s

slate crashed to the floor and he began to cry.

“Mama, he took the chalk right out of my hand!” exclaimed Latilla.

“Red chalk!” said Alfi through his tears, as if that explained it. He glared at

his sister. “Draw red dragon to eat you up!” He slid down from his chair to

retrieve the slate.

Gilla smacked his bottom and pulled him upright. “You’re not going to draw

anything until you learn some self-control!” She glanced toward the shut door to

Lalo’s studio. He had said he was going to paint, but she had seen him fast

asleep on the couch when she looked in a quarter hour before.

“You’re going to your room, both of you!” she told her small son and daughter.

“Your father needs his rest, so play quietly!”

When they had gone, she picked up the fallen slate and fragments of chalk and

turned back to Wedemir, who had sat through the altercation trying to look as if

he had never seen either his brother or his sister before.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she said softly. “Lalo is not afraid

of the Beysib. He’s afraid of magic.”

“Name of Ils, Mother-the Stepsons’ pet mage is trying to recruit him.” Wedemir’s

black brows nearly met as he frowned. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Stay with him! Protect him!” Gilla said fiercely. She began sweeping again with

long, hard strokes, as if she could thrash out all her fears.

“He’s not going to like me tagging after him-“

“Neither of you will like it if he runs into danger alone….” There was a