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

universe informed him from Shupan-sea’s mouth. “Carefully.”

Torchholder nodded. The vial contained blood from the Stormchildren, venom from

the snake Niko had slain with Askelon’s weapons, and ichor from Roxane’s giant

serpent which had been combined and distilled four times over with I powders

the Beysib priests knew but had no names for. The ‘ scent of its vapors could

kill a man; a drop of the fluid might poison an army. Molin intended to be very

careful.

“The vial first,” the avatar informed him. “Poured on the knife edge and offered

to each of our children.”

Molin remained slack-jawed and motionless.

“The snakes,” Shupansea’s normal voice whispered, but the Rankan priest did not

begin to move. “Hold your breath,” she added after a long pause.

He had once said to Randal that he did whatever had to be done, be it moving the

Globe of Power or unstoppering the lethal glass teardrop. He held his breath and

tried not to notice the green-tinged fumes or the sizzling sound the liquid made

as it ate through the carpet and on into the granite beneath. The obsidian shook

when he extended it toward the smallest of the serpents-the one with its leaf

nosed head resting on the Beysa’s right nipple. He was prepared to die in any

number of unpleasant ways.

The beynit’s tongue flicked a half-dozen or more times before it consented to

add a glistening drop of venom to the sulphurous ooze already congealing on the

knife edge-and it was the most decisive of the lot. His lungs strained to

bursting and his vision drifting amid black motes of unconsciousness, Molin