Read Online Aftermath- - Thieves World 10 by Robert Asprin, Lynn Abbey - Free Book Online 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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leader to his chair.
"The antidote!" he yelled.
"None." Amuuth's voice was harsh. "None. A gift from the finger of a dead fish-eye." Cade said nothing, not taking his eyes off his enemy. His
hand reached down to touch the boy. He was already dead. All hope dies in hell's capital, in Sanctuary.
Cade was still for a moment, then slowly he tipped his head back until he stared at the ceiling.
"Mother!" he cried. He was on his feet, his sword cutting the air before he knew what was happening. The sword sliced through Amuuth's neck, the head spinning away. It was so fast that the blood geysered up from between his shoulders.
Cade leaped at the body, chopping and cutting, screaming all the while. His yell was incoherent, but any who heard that sound would never forget the madness in it. Eventually he quit chopping the body, but
only when it was no longer recognizably human. For a moment longer Cade stared down. His sword dropped from the red hand. He collapsed next to Raif, holding the boy's head in his lap, but he could think of nothing. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. He sat, gently rocking the corpse in the warehouse full of corpses, the rats in the
shadows the only witnesses to his agony. Rocking back and forth, the vast emptiness around him still seemed to echo with his cries. Targ went to Sarah's house; he knew Marissa would still be there. The blood was off him. He had swum in the bay to get rid of its sight and scent. But it was bad. The curse had raged through his veins, alive with its deadly passions. Now it was all through, all done. If only the second
one hadn't begged so much, if only he hadn't cried . . . Inside the house Sarah and Marissa sat in the main room as if waiting. He guessed that Marissa must have told her friend that this was the night
of Cade's vengeance. It didn't matter. He sat next to them, thankful for their silence, their lack of questions.
Cade came in an hour later. They were all shaken from their private thoughts by the sound of his fist on the door. Sarah went to the door and
looked through the grate, her face turning white at what she saw on the other side. She unbarred the door to let her brother-in-iaw enter. The smell of the corpse wafted in with the wind. Targ growled at the scent but he said nothing. Sarah stood to one side of the door. The other
two sat facing it silently. Facing Cade.
He stood there, holding Raif's body. Behind him the gray night Writhed, outlining his powerful form, along with his pitiful burden. The 48 AFTERMATH
light was not bright, but it was bright enough to show his bloodstained clothes. Bright enough to show the one tear winding its way through the scars and drying blood on his face.
Cade had only cried twice before in his life. This, he swore, was the last
time he would, ever . . .
"I'm home."
WAKE OF THE RIDDLER
Janet Moms
Tempus was gone from Sanctuary, taking his Stepsons and the Rankan 3rd Commando with him, leaving only outcasts and dross behind. In the wake of the Riddler's passing, the town seemed more changed than it should have been because one man (called variously Tempus, the Riddler, the Black, and more scatalogical apellations) had gathered his private army of less than a hundred and departed. Sanctuary seemed emptied, drained, frightened, and confused.
It cowered like a snow rabbit run to barren ground and surrounded by wolves. It shivered and sniffed the breeze, as if undecided as to which way to run. It hunkered in desperate paralysis, seeming to dream of better days while the cold spring wind blew wet promises of life inland from the sea and the wolves skulked closer, red tongues lolling in slavering jaws.
Among fetid streets on this spring evening in question, militias are keeping order, stamping round comers with deliberate tread. Whores whisper rather than croon in their doorways. Drunks slither along whitewashed walls, afraid to stagger boldly in gutters where beggars lurk with
ready blades. And the wind comes in
"The antidote!" he yelled.
"None." Amuuth's voice was harsh. "None. A gift from the finger of a dead fish-eye." Cade said nothing, not taking his eyes off his enemy. His
hand reached down to touch the boy. He was already dead. All hope dies in hell's capital, in Sanctuary.
Cade was still for a moment, then slowly he tipped his head back until he stared at the ceiling.
"Mother!" he cried. He was on his feet, his sword cutting the air before he knew what was happening. The sword sliced through Amuuth's neck, the head spinning away. It was so fast that the blood geysered up from between his shoulders.
Cade leaped at the body, chopping and cutting, screaming all the while. His yell was incoherent, but any who heard that sound would never forget the madness in it. Eventually he quit chopping the body, but
only when it was no longer recognizably human. For a moment longer Cade stared down. His sword dropped from the red hand. He collapsed next to Raif, holding the boy's head in his lap, but he could think of nothing. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. He sat, gently rocking the corpse in the warehouse full of corpses, the rats in the
shadows the only witnesses to his agony. Rocking back and forth, the vast emptiness around him still seemed to echo with his cries. Targ went to Sarah's house; he knew Marissa would still be there. The blood was off him. He had swum in the bay to get rid of its sight and scent. But it was bad. The curse had raged through his veins, alive with its deadly passions. Now it was all through, all done. If only the second
one hadn't begged so much, if only he hadn't cried . . . Inside the house Sarah and Marissa sat in the main room as if waiting. He guessed that Marissa must have told her friend that this was the night
of Cade's vengeance. It didn't matter. He sat next to them, thankful for their silence, their lack of questions.
Cade came in an hour later. They were all shaken from their private thoughts by the sound of his fist on the door. Sarah went to the door and
looked through the grate, her face turning white at what she saw on the other side. She unbarred the door to let her brother-in-iaw enter. The smell of the corpse wafted in with the wind. Targ growled at the scent but he said nothing. Sarah stood to one side of the door. The other
two sat facing it silently. Facing Cade.
He stood there, holding Raif's body. Behind him the gray night Writhed, outlining his powerful form, along with his pitiful burden. The 48 AFTERMATH
light was not bright, but it was bright enough to show his bloodstained clothes. Bright enough to show the one tear winding its way through the scars and drying blood on his face.
Cade had only cried twice before in his life. This, he swore, was the last
time he would, ever . . .
"I'm home."
WAKE OF THE RIDDLER
Janet Moms
Tempus was gone from Sanctuary, taking his Stepsons and the Rankan 3rd Commando with him, leaving only outcasts and dross behind. In the wake of the Riddler's passing, the town seemed more changed than it should have been because one man (called variously Tempus, the Riddler, the Black, and more scatalogical apellations) had gathered his private army of less than a hundred and departed. Sanctuary seemed emptied, drained, frightened, and confused.
It cowered like a snow rabbit run to barren ground and surrounded by wolves. It shivered and sniffed the breeze, as if undecided as to which way to run. It hunkered in desperate paralysis, seeming to dream of better days while the cold spring wind blew wet promises of life inland from the sea and the wolves skulked closer, red tongues lolling in slavering jaws.
Among fetid streets on this spring evening in question, militias are keeping order, stamping round comers with deliberate tread. Whores whisper rather than croon in their doorways. Drunks slither along whitewashed walls, afraid to stagger boldly in gutters where beggars lurk with
ready blades. And the wind comes in
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