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quietly went on his way.
The Moonhound shook her head, smiling. She bent down to give Infamous a kiss on his cheek.
"It's good to have you home again, Master Thief," she said.
Infamous smiled at her, his flat black eyes looking a little softer now. The Moonhound smiled
back at him, but, as always, she was struck by how truly drawn and weary Infamous' face was.
Like Misty, there was Elven blood in him, but one would never know by looking at him. Except,
she thought, perhaps by his size. He was not as tall as many men, and although he was sinewy
and strong, he was so slight that the Moonhound was fairly certain Monshikka could fit both of
his hands around his waist. Of course, she mused, Monshikka would rather put his hands around
his throat.
She touched Infamous' face, running her hand over the high cheekbones and finely tapered jaw.
He had beautiful features, something else he owed to his Elven mother. They were delicate,
except for the slightly hawkish nose, but even it was not overly prominent. In fact, Infamous
Keeper was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen, except she was one of the very few
people who ever got a good look at his face. All most people ever saw of Infamous Keeper was a
lot of hair and two very nasty black eyes glaring suspiciously at them.
"Well you're certainly a mess," she said quietly. "What's thief-wire, anyway?"
"A fine, flat wire, extremely thin and flexible, and completely invisible at night," said Infamous.
"It's deadly stuff. I can tell you, if it had been properly strung across that window, and not just
lying on the floor like it was, I wouldn't be sitting here telling you about it. As it was, I hardly
escaped. It took me hours to cut my way out of it. Stuff clings worse than an ex-lover."
Blackbird laughed, and the Moonhound grinned as she began pulling herbs out of a cupboard. As
she began mixing them into a paste in a small bowl full of hot water, she said,  What's that
saying of yours? 'All thieves find their way home eventually.'"
"That," said Infamous, "is part of the doctrine of Marakim, father of all thieves, and what that
saying actually boils down to is: 'thief, you are going to be dead one day.'"
Blackbird shook his head. "Maybe you should find another god to worship," he said.
"Certainly," said Infamous. "Right after you get another wife."
"Marakim is a decent god," said the Moonhound. "He cares for the impoverished, and children as
well as thieves. He's not without his redeeming features. Of course, we all know that the Moon
Goddess is a far superior deity."
On this note, Blackbird rose to his feet. "I have to leave now, I get nervous when caught in the
midst of debates between worshippers of a thieving god and a warrior-fertility god."
"That's goddess!" yelled the Moonhound at Blackbird's retreating back.
"Coward!" added Infamous.
"I don't hear either of you," said Blackbird as he left the room.
Misty charged into the kitchen like a warhorse, dropping Infamous' pack to the floor and hanging
his cloak up on a peg near the door. "I'm hungry!" he yelled at no one in particular, and began
digging through the cupboards for something to eat. Wess strolled in after him, quietly closing
the door and bolting it. Misty found a honey muffin and, by some great force of will, managed to
stick the entire thing into his mouth. As he sat down at the table, attempting to chew it,
Monshikka chose that moment to reappear.
"Misty!" he roared.
"Leave him alone," said the Moonhound. "If he speaks with that in his mouth we'll all wear it."
"I'm waiting for him to sneeze, personally," said Infamous.
Misty chomped happily on his muffin, saying nothing. Wess filled his pipe, while Monshikka
began making himself some tea. The Moonhound used a warm, damp cloth to clean the thin but
deep cuts all over Infamous' body, then smeared them with the herb paste to take out any
infection. The cuts did not look new, but they looked as though they had been broken open
repeatedly, and not permitted to heal.
"Infamous," she said softly, "you're nothing but an overgrown child. Look at this mess."
Infamous just closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the familiar sounds and smells all around
him. It was good to be home.
***
At first, Arrowsmith couldn't understand why it seemed the entire staff of the Galloping Troll
was in his room. He stared at them, puzzled, shivering as the sweat dried on his body. As he
reached down to pull the covers up higher, Merc waved a large rusty knife.
"What in great holy creation were you yelling at?" he shouted. "I thought it must have been
wighthounds with all the noise you were making! I thought you were having your throat slit!"
Gradually, Arrowsmith began to recall bits of the nightmare he had been having, and realized he
must have been screaming in his sleep. "I had a bad dream," he said quietly.
Merc dropped the knife to his side and sighed. "Is that all! You scared us, boy, and maybe half
the town as well!"
"Sorry," said Arrowsmith quietly. He reached for his cigarettes and took one out of the package,
lighting it. 'Only three packs left after this,' he thought, 'then I have to quit whether I like it or
not.'
Khinna sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. Most of the people behind her, including
Merc, began to shuffle out of the room, heading for their own beds now that the emergency was
over. Cora remained, sitting close to Arrowsmith.
"What was the dream about?" Khinna asked.
Arrowsmith drew on his cigarette, trying to steady his hands. "I keep having this dream," he said,
"about a forest. All of the trees are enormous, unlike any I've ever seen, and they're all overhung
with lichen and have branches so big you can't see the sky. The dream is sometimes different, but
the forest is always the same. And I can hear wolves all over the place. I wasn't afraid of the
wolves, but there was something in the underbrush. All I could see at first was its red eyes. But
then it raised itself up, and it had three heads. It looked like a dog, but the black fur was all
covered in mats and tangles, and it had sores all over its body, running sores, I could smell them.
It had eight legs. It leapt for me, and I guess that's when I began to scream. It said something to
me, too, something I don't understand at all." Arrowsmith paused in his story to take another drag
off of his cigarette. Cora and Khinna waited. "It said, 'the jewel for my master, the thief for me,
the cold of the earth for you.'"
"That's terrible!" said Cora.
"You don't have any idea what it means?" said Khinna. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]