The face of chaos - Thieves World 05 by Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey Page A
Authors: Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Short Stories, Fantasy Fiction; American, Fantasy - General, Anthologies, Science fiction; American
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amusement. Her bare feet trod costly silk strewn on time-smoothed boards, and thick carpet of minuscule silk threads, hand knotted, dyed in rarest opalescent dyes - collected for a fee, provenance forgotten. Had someone plundered the hoard, she might not have cared or missed the theft - or might have cared greatly, depending on her mood. Material comfort meant little to her. Only satiation - when the need was on her. And lately - lately that need had quickened in a different way. One had affronted her. She had, in the beginning, dismissed the matter, clinging to her indolence, but it gnawed at her. She had thought upon this thing, as one will think on an affront long after the moment, turning it from one side to the other to discover the motive of it, and she had discovered not malice, not anger, but insouciance, even humour on the part of the perpetrator, this witch, this northron demigoddess, be she what she was. The affront lay there a good long while, gnawing at the laissez-faire on which her peace was founded - for, without that habit of laziness, she hungered more often; and that hunger led to tragedies.
Such a thing had happened because she was lazy, because there were costs of power she had never wished to pay. This witch slaughtered children, plucking them from her hands; and dropped the matter at her door. This witch went her way, indifferent, having fouled her nest, her eyes set on further ambitions, in professional disregard. This was worth, after thought, a certain anger; and anger eroded itself a place and grew. She ought, Ischade thought, to thank the Nisi witch for this discovery, that there were other appetites, and one great one which could assuage that moon-driven hunger that had held her, so, so long. She understood - oh, very much of what passed in the streets, having been on the bridge, having been everywhere in Sanctuary, black-robed, wrapped in more than robes when she chose to be. The world tottered. The sea-folk intruded, assuming power; Wizardwall and Stepsons fought, with ambitions all their own; Jubal planned
- whatever Jubal planned; young hotheads dealt in swords on either side; death squads invaded uptown; while across the White Foal the beggar-king Moruth made his own bid. All the while the prince sat in his palace and intrigued with thieves, invaders, all, a wiser fool than some; priests connived, gods perished in this and other planes
- and Ranke, the heart of empire, was in no less disarray, with every lord conniving and every priest conspiring. She heard the rain upon the roof, heard the thunder rattling the walls of the world and heard her own catspaw returning up the path. She shod herself, flung her cloak about her, opened the door on Mor-am's rain-washed presence.
'Take a dry cloak,' she said, catching up a fine one, dark as hers. 'Man, you'll catch your death.'
He was not amused; but she unwound the pain from him, cast one cloak aside, and adjusted the finer one about his newly straightened shoulders, tenderly as a mother her son, looking him closely in the eyes.
'Gone?' she asked.
'They'll try to trick you.'
'Of course they will.' She closed the front door, opened the back, never glancing at either. 'Come along,' she said, flinging up her hood, the wide wings of her cape flying in the wind that swirled the random, garish draperies of the house like multicoloured fire. The gust struggled with the candles and the fireplace and failed to extinguish them, while mad shadows ran the walls, 'til she winked the lights out, having no more need of them. Something rattled. Mradhon Vis opened an eye, in dark lit by the dying fire in its crooked hearth. Beside him Haught and Moria lay inert, lost in sleep, curled together in the threadbare quilt. But this sound came, and with it a chill, as if someone had opened a door on winter in the room, while his heart beat in that blind terror only dreams can give, or those things that have the unreality of dreams. He had no idea whether that rattle
Such a thing had happened because she was lazy, because there were costs of power she had never wished to pay. This witch slaughtered children, plucking them from her hands; and dropped the matter at her door. This witch went her way, indifferent, having fouled her nest, her eyes set on further ambitions, in professional disregard. This was worth, after thought, a certain anger; and anger eroded itself a place and grew. She ought, Ischade thought, to thank the Nisi witch for this discovery, that there were other appetites, and one great one which could assuage that moon-driven hunger that had held her, so, so long. She understood - oh, very much of what passed in the streets, having been on the bridge, having been everywhere in Sanctuary, black-robed, wrapped in more than robes when she chose to be. The world tottered. The sea-folk intruded, assuming power; Wizardwall and Stepsons fought, with ambitions all their own; Jubal planned
- whatever Jubal planned; young hotheads dealt in swords on either side; death squads invaded uptown; while across the White Foal the beggar-king Moruth made his own bid. All the while the prince sat in his palace and intrigued with thieves, invaders, all, a wiser fool than some; priests connived, gods perished in this and other planes
- and Ranke, the heart of empire, was in no less disarray, with every lord conniving and every priest conspiring. She heard the rain upon the roof, heard the thunder rattling the walls of the world and heard her own catspaw returning up the path. She shod herself, flung her cloak about her, opened the door on Mor-am's rain-washed presence.
'Take a dry cloak,' she said, catching up a fine one, dark as hers. 'Man, you'll catch your death.'
He was not amused; but she unwound the pain from him, cast one cloak aside, and adjusted the finer one about his newly straightened shoulders, tenderly as a mother her son, looking him closely in the eyes.
'Gone?' she asked.
'They'll try to trick you.'
'Of course they will.' She closed the front door, opened the back, never glancing at either. 'Come along,' she said, flinging up her hood, the wide wings of her cape flying in the wind that swirled the random, garish draperies of the house like multicoloured fire. The gust struggled with the candles and the fireplace and failed to extinguish them, while mad shadows ran the walls, 'til she winked the lights out, having no more need of them. Something rattled. Mradhon Vis opened an eye, in dark lit by the dying fire in its crooked hearth. Beside him Haught and Moria lay inert, lost in sleep, curled together in the threadbare quilt. But this sound came, and with it a chill, as if someone had opened a door on winter in the room, while his heart beat in that blind terror only dreams can give, or those things that have the unreality of dreams. He had no idea whether that rattle
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