Thick as Thieves by Tali Spencer Page B

it.
    Madd stiffened. Then he seemed to shrink. His shoulders slumped beneath his threadbare cloak, and he averted his eyes for a moment before he reached out and placed his hand on Vorgell’s arm. Even through heavy garments, that touch could spark a man’s blood.
    “I’m sorry, Vorgell.”
    Vorgell tucked the bundle with the cloak of shadows against his side and laid his hand over Madd’s, glad for the gesture. Talking about this… was harder than he’d thought it would be. “I tried to save her. I failed, and was forced to flee for my own life. I joined an outcast band. You know the rest.” He dropped his chin to his chest then said, because the time had come to release his pain, “They hung her and skinned her. Skinned her so the shaman could wear her. She made him powerful.”
    “Damn, Vorgell.”
    “I have no family now. My father’s clan is ended among the Scur.”
    “You mean you won’t go back?”
    “Never.” He laughed bitterly. “It would not be a good idea.” But he was talking with Madd again, and that alone made the world seem better.
    “But if you hate magic… well, I know why you saved me. But why did you ask me to use magic yesterday, for the fight?”
    “Because I fight to win. A successful warrior uses every available weapon, even those he despises.”
    “Do you despise me?” Madd was serious, his expression challenging. He was used to being despised.
    Vorgell felt his heart melt. He could never despise Madd. “No,” he admitted. “I have yet to see you use magic for foul purposes. But if I ever get the chance, I will slay the shaman who killed my sister.”
    “Well, if you’re ever crazy enough to go there, let me know, because you’re going to need me.”
    Something splashed in the river. All three men turned to see the gentle rings left behind by fish. The sun had cleared the horizon, though the city still blocked it from view. Among the buildings at their back, shutters slammed open and cart clatter heralded people starting their day.
    “Do you know why witch Circles despise males who use magic?” Tagard addressed Vorgell, his deep eyes sparkling like those of a friendly tavern keeper.
    “No, Tagard! For love of the moon—”
    Vorgell cocked a look at Madd. Why was Madd protesting? “But I want to hear this,” he said.
    Tagard apparently took that as reason enough to continue. “They look down on us because male witches don’t use magic the way witch women do. Magic comes from life, you see, and women are fashioned to create life, so they create magic also. That gift is why wizards hunt them. Collect them. Why they can use our women to breed fiends. But witch men… don’t create magic. Before we can use it, we must consume it.”
    “Aw hells.” Madd looked ready to throw Tagard into the river. He shot Vorgell a look that said he wanted to leave before worse could be revealed.
    “What do witch men consume for this magic?” Vorgell asked. He had a pretty good idea already… but if there was worse, he wanted to hear it. How bad could it be?
    “Oh, anything that’s alive will suffice. Fresh and still living, of course, not cooked. Cooking destroys life, hence destroying the magic. Fruits picked off the tree or vine, and greens straight from the earth are good. But higher forms of life yield greater returns. Again, the meat must be alive… not cooked.” Tagard looked almost gleeful. “Worms will do. Fresh eggs or fish. Insects in season. I prefer big juicy slugs—or a jigger of hot blood—myself.”
    Vorgell looked at Madd with fresh understanding of their situation. Telling Tagard about his magic-laced semen would be unwise.
    “Are you happy now?” By the look of him, Madd was ready to give Tagard all the blood—or river slugs—he could handle. “Why the hell did you have to go and tell him that?”
    “Because it’s something your friend needs to know if he’s to be among us. The land he comes from doesn’t have witches, not like us. He’s short of