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

A little wobble in the works.

He caught at his chest, feeling an unaccustomed hammering. He felt it as

threatening at first, and then he realized that it was a thin, occasional beat

in a perfect stillness. It was his own heart giving a little thump of life. And

he felt it because for a moment it had been utterly silent.

“You know,” Haught said, “you understand it now, what I want.” Haught’s fine

hand touched his face, and a little chill numbed him. “Now forget it, dead man.

Just forget it now. Until I need you…. I want to talk to you, Stilcho, Just a

moment. Privately.”

Stilcho blinked. It was the living eye he saw from now. It was his enemy Haught,

a Haught looking uncommonly void of malice, a Haught holding him gently by the

shoulder.

“I’ve wronged you,” Haught said. “I know that. You have to understand, Stilcho

we were both victims. I was yours; you were their pawn. Now I have a certain

power and it’s you who are the slave. A sweet difference for me; and a bitter

one for you. But-” The hand moved softly and warmth spread from it, like life

through clay, so poignant a pain that Stilcho’s vision came and went. “It

need not be bitter. You so scarcely died, Stilcho. Earth never went over you;

fire never touched you. Just a little slip away from the body, a little slip

and she caught you in her hands before you could get much beyond the merest

threshold of hell, drew you back to your body in the next breath; and this

flesh of yours-this is solid, it bleeds if cut however sluggishly; it

suffers pain of flesh. And pain of pride; and pain of fear-“