Aftermath- - Thieves World 10 by Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey Page B
Authors: Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Short Stories, Fantasy Fiction; American, Fantasy - General, Fantastic fiction, Fantastic fiction; American
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Ischade. If this goes wrong, we need someone on the outside who knows where we went and what happened. And we may need Ischade's—your help."
"He didn't say that."
*'No, he didn't. I'm going with him, and I'm saying it."
"I'll come—"
"He did say that, Strat. He wants you here, just in case . . ." It sounded like what it was, a whitewash.
Strat's horse backed a few steps and from there she heard Straton say,
"Go on, then. Ischade's warned him off, told him something. I'll find out
what. You need help, you'll get it." His voice was thick. She was glad she couldn't see his face. She ran blindly to her horse, grabbed a handful of mane, vaulted to its back, and urged the skittish roan toward the iron gate where weird flowers bloomed. In her belt, the talisman she'd taken from Zip seemed hot against her leathers, hot enough to make her sweat.
It was the proximity to Ischade's wards, she told herself-Nothing to fret over. She had plenty to worry about without adding the talisman into
the bargain.
WAKE OF THE RIDDLER 67
Crit crossed one leg over his saddle's pommel and lit a smoke, staring at the building across the street. No sign on its steps or to either side of
the rubble they'd passed getting here, of the whirlwinds and firestorm of
destruction that had ravaged Tasfalen's ancestral home. This building was intact, its shutters drawn. The vampire had been certain of where to look, but uncertain that looking was wise.
"She said," Crit told Kama, "that Tasfalen's in there, with Haught. You remember Haught."
"I remember," Kama said through clenched teeth. Mor-am and Vis were off to one side, ordered to accompany them by Ischade, who evidently was in charge of more than her Foalside cottage. Damn Tempus, for putting Crit between sorcerous rocks and political hard places. Vis had brought him to Mor-am, who'd grinned and brought him to Ischade with more satisfaction than Crit liked. And the vampire had been civil. Both of them had kept Strat's name out of the conversation. "Our mutual friend" was what they called Straton, and because of that friend, Ischade was willing to tell Crit where
to look.
And to warn him: "There is more, Critias, in that home than just two men in a house. Do not go inside, but merely open the doors—if you can."
This was said for Strat's sake, Crit knew, not his own. He unclenched a fist with difficulty and found he'd dug his nails into his palm, that his
fingers were stiff from the clench. "She said," he told Kama, "you'd have
the right key for this lock."
"Excuse me?" The woman on the roan kneed her mount closer.
"You heard me. Got anything on you that might do the trick?"
"You're sure she didn't mean that metaphorically?" And Crit knew what Kama was alluding to: Tempus and an inhuman sprite had coupled before a magically locked door uptown, and things had happened.
"I don't care what she meant, we're not trying anything like that. What have you got that might work?"
"Keys," said Kama with maddening common sense. "Lots of keys. To my place, the guardhouse, the Shambles safe house, Molin's—"
"Spare me the list. Let's try some." He swung first one leg and then the other over his gray's withers, reaching for his crossbow as soon as his feet
hit the ground. A bolt might smash the lock, even if it were a stout one.
They drop-tied the horses without a word, a sign both of them were thinking this might not be survivable. Crit cast a look at Kama, wondering how she'd managed to insinuate herself into this so fast, so deftly. And admitting he was glad to have someone there. He was a Sacred
)8
AFTERMATH
Bander, trained to depend on a partner. He wouldn't have tried this alone, and Vis wasn't the sort of man you could trust your right side to.
Not that Kama was any sort of man at all.
Having crossed the street, Crit looked back once because he'd heard Vis's voice—not words, just a tone. And saw a wave of farewell so eloquently hostile and so gloating that he almost shot the mere
"He didn't say that."
*'No, he didn't. I'm going with him, and I'm saying it."
"I'll come—"
"He did say that, Strat. He wants you here, just in case . . ." It sounded like what it was, a whitewash.
Strat's horse backed a few steps and from there she heard Straton say,
"Go on, then. Ischade's warned him off, told him something. I'll find out
what. You need help, you'll get it." His voice was thick. She was glad she couldn't see his face. She ran blindly to her horse, grabbed a handful of mane, vaulted to its back, and urged the skittish roan toward the iron gate where weird flowers bloomed. In her belt, the talisman she'd taken from Zip seemed hot against her leathers, hot enough to make her sweat.
It was the proximity to Ischade's wards, she told herself-Nothing to fret over. She had plenty to worry about without adding the talisman into
the bargain.
WAKE OF THE RIDDLER 67
Crit crossed one leg over his saddle's pommel and lit a smoke, staring at the building across the street. No sign on its steps or to either side of
the rubble they'd passed getting here, of the whirlwinds and firestorm of
destruction that had ravaged Tasfalen's ancestral home. This building was intact, its shutters drawn. The vampire had been certain of where to look, but uncertain that looking was wise.
"She said," Crit told Kama, "that Tasfalen's in there, with Haught. You remember Haught."
"I remember," Kama said through clenched teeth. Mor-am and Vis were off to one side, ordered to accompany them by Ischade, who evidently was in charge of more than her Foalside cottage. Damn Tempus, for putting Crit between sorcerous rocks and political hard places. Vis had brought him to Mor-am, who'd grinned and brought him to Ischade with more satisfaction than Crit liked. And the vampire had been civil. Both of them had kept Strat's name out of the conversation. "Our mutual friend" was what they called Straton, and because of that friend, Ischade was willing to tell Crit where
to look.
And to warn him: "There is more, Critias, in that home than just two men in a house. Do not go inside, but merely open the doors—if you can."
This was said for Strat's sake, Crit knew, not his own. He unclenched a fist with difficulty and found he'd dug his nails into his palm, that his
fingers were stiff from the clench. "She said," he told Kama, "you'd have
the right key for this lock."
"Excuse me?" The woman on the roan kneed her mount closer.
"You heard me. Got anything on you that might do the trick?"
"You're sure she didn't mean that metaphorically?" And Crit knew what Kama was alluding to: Tempus and an inhuman sprite had coupled before a magically locked door uptown, and things had happened.
"I don't care what she meant, we're not trying anything like that. What have you got that might work?"
"Keys," said Kama with maddening common sense. "Lots of keys. To my place, the guardhouse, the Shambles safe house, Molin's—"
"Spare me the list. Let's try some." He swung first one leg and then the other over his gray's withers, reaching for his crossbow as soon as his feet
hit the ground. A bolt might smash the lock, even if it were a stout one.
They drop-tied the horses without a word, a sign both of them were thinking this might not be survivable. Crit cast a look at Kama, wondering how she'd managed to insinuate herself into this so fast, so deftly. And admitting he was glad to have someone there. He was a Sacred
)8
AFTERMATH
Bander, trained to depend on a partner. He wouldn't have tried this alone, and Vis wasn't the sort of man you could trust your right side to.
Not that Kama was any sort of man at all.
Having crossed the street, Crit looked back once because he'd heard Vis's voice—not words, just a tone. And saw a wave of farewell so eloquently hostile and so gloating that he almost shot the mere
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