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

window.

Niko gazed after Randal as the mage ran, full-tilt, into the bushes. He nodded.

“Now it’s just the two of us, is that it?”

“Well …” she temporized, “there are my snakes, of course.” She was primping up

her beauty in a way he couldn’t see, letting her young and girlish simulacrum

come forward, easing the evil and the danger in her face and form. By all she

revered, did she love this boy with his hazel eyes so clear and his quiet soul.

By all she held sacred, the feel of his hand on her back as he ushered her into

her own house in gentlemanly fashion was unlike the touch of any man or mage

she’d ever known.

She wanted only to keep him. She sent away the snakes, having to discorporate

one who objected that she would then be defenseless, open to attack by man or

god.

“Take that silly armor off, beloved, and we’ll have a bath together,” she

murmured, preparing to spell water, hot and steaming, in her gold-footed tub.

And when she turned again, he’d done that and stood before her, hands out to

strip her clothes away, and his body announced its intention to make her

welcome.

Welcome her he did, in hot water and hot passion, until, amid the moment of her

joy and just before she was about to begin a rune to claim his soul forever, a

commotion began outside her door.

First it was lightning that rocked her to her foundations, then thunder, then

the sound of many running feet and chanting priests as all Vashanka’s priesthood

came tramping up her cart-track, battle-streamers on their standards and horns