Thieves World 8 – Soul of the City by Asprin, Robert

from the inky doorway where he had been posted.

“Take him to the palace,” Walegrin commanded, taking a cloth from a sack at his

feet and carefully cleaning his hands.

“S-s-she’ll know. When I d-d-don’t come back. She’ll look for me.” The ex

hawkmask’s voice was shrill with desperation as he was hoisted to his feet. “You

said gold-you said: ‘gold for information’.”

“It doesn’t pay to sell out your family-pud, I thought you’d’ve learned that by

now,” Walegrin replied coldly. “Take him to the palace.” He nodded and another

soldier stepped forward to see that the command was carried out quietly.

Walegrin threw Mor-am’s mug into the garbage that lay everywhere in the burned

out, sky-roofed warehouse. It had come this low: Rankan soldiers holding forth

in ruins; listening to the ramblings of the city’s scum; talking to the dead and

the undead. A delegation was coming from the capital. His orders were to keep

Sanctuary quiet, to keep it free of surprises and, above all, to keep an ear out

for rumors about the Nisi witch. He rested his hand on his sword hilt and waited

for the next one.

“He might be right, you know,” a voice called from the darkness.

A man separated from the shadows-mounted and armed. He came through a gap in the

walls-the man’s head wreathed in shifting moisture, the horse as cool and shiny

as a marble statue. Walegrin stood up, his hand remaining on the sword.

“Slow up there,” the stranger ordered, swinging his leg over the saddle. “Word’s

out you’re talking to anybody-even other Rankan soldiers.” His words emerged in