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

throwing out.

Enveloped in big brown cloak from crown to instep, the youth leaned his staff

against the wall; a shade under an inch and a half in diameter, the inflexible

rod was six feet long, five inches longer than its owner.

“‘Lo, Ahdio. Hey, Sweetboy.”

He unclasped and twisted out of the hairy cloak that looked nigh big enough for

Ahdio, except in length. As usual, Throde’s brown hair came out of the cloak’s

hood mussed in six or nine directions. He carried the garment over to hook it on

one of the pegs just inside the door, on (he wall opposite the eight or so

untapped tuns of beer. He turned back to Ahdio, left hand pushing his hair up

off his forehead above the left eye in a gesture Ahdio had seen a thousand times

or more. His smooth face was long and bony, and his lean body gave that

appearance. Ahdio knew that was a bit deceptive; wiry and rangy, Throde had good

musculature. Even his bad leg looked strong, though Ahdio had seen his helper

only once without leggings, even back in high summer. He introduced Throde as

his cousin’s son, from Twand. Ahdiovizun was not from Twand. Neither was Throde.

“Ah. New tunic?”

Throde blinked and little twitches in his face hinted at a smile. He looked down

at the garment, which was medium green with a wave-imitating border at neck and

hem, in dark brown. Ahdio recognized that gesture, too; Throde wasn’t studying

the tunic, he was ducking his head. The lad was shy, and just a shade more

gregarious than his walking stick.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Good for you. Good-looking tunic, too. Going to have to think about a new belt