Aftermath- - Thieves World 10 Read Free Page B

constant surveillance."
    "You expect someone to make a move?" Targ asked. Cade shrugged.
    "If they do not, I will." And with that he was gone-Targ got up and locked the door. He could see no trace of Cade in the night, and if he couldn't, no one he knew could.
    "Well, what do you think?" he said.
    "I don't know. He's strange," Marissa answered, "scary." Targ snorted. "He is a fanatic, a madman." Targ sat down and reached for the wine. "And probably the most dangerous man I have ever met." There was fear in Targ's gray eyes, and that made Marissa shiver. Whatever could scare the strange mercenary was nothing she wanted to deal with. What had that old merchant Rotten her involved in?

CADE 19
    Targ opened the trapdoor to the roof, climbing up the ladder with silent agility. His sensitive nose welcomed the fresh air. The roof was flat,
    and a thin three-foot wall surrounded it. Targ moved to the wall, peering
    over at the house next door. The two-story building was cloaked in shadows; no light showed from behind the thickly shuttered windows. Targ stared at the dark shape for a long time, trying to spot any figures that
    might be concealed in the shadows, but he could detect nothing. His thick hands fondled the pommel of his sword. His eyes burned red in the night. Even if Cade was hidden somewhere in those shadows, Targ knew from long experience that he would be invisible. Cade. He swore under his breath. Cade.
    He knew Cade was uncomfortable with this job; it wasn't their usual sort of job. This wasn't for money, or for the great war he always spoke about; this was for Cade. Targ looked over the roofs of the town; somewhere out there a murderer, a torturer was hiding, but it wouldn't do any
    good: Cade would find him and Targ refused to even try to imagine what that madman's vengeance would be ...
    No, this wasn't their usual sort of job at all.
    Targ shifted nervously, sniffing at the wind. The air carried its own messages, its own secrets, and the scents spoke to Targ, as they never could to an ordinary manSometimes Targ wondered if Cade was a man. What really went on in his mind? Who could say? Only Cade, and he wasn't talking. But together the two had shared much. If killing and blood could be considered sharing. How many had the two killed? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Targ had quit counting long ago.
    Cade hated this place, hated Sanctuary. Only his brother's death could have brought him back. Targ knew Terrel had been the only person Cade really cared about and now he was dead.
    "Gods," Targ mouthed. He heard a cry. It sounded like a woman. The lonely sound was lost in the wind. Was it fear in that sound, or madness?
    In Sanctuary it was hard to tell the two apart. Perhaps he should go and see, perhaps . . . but no. His illusions of being the great hero were long
    gone, lost in that same night that had taken his ordinary mortality away.
    He would help Cade as he always did. First because Cade only asked him to help kill those who deserved it, the real bastards. And second because Cade knew, knew of his curse and never showed fear, or disgust
    ... or much of anything.
    How could he explain to Cade that he liked Sanctuary? There was something here, something that soothed and calmed the curse. He had only needed to kill twice since he came here. For two months he had lived with the slave girl and successfully hidden the truth from her. And
    >0 AFTERMATH
    both of the kills had been ones who deserved it ... Targ growled softly In his throat, remembering the screams and the blood. Murderers and rapists both, they had deserved it. They had.
    He had heard there was a vampire here, Ischade. A vampire. In all the years he had been fighting the great war, never had he met a real vampire, or for that matter a real werewolf. Cade watched the sun rise slowly, its light defining the harsh edge of Sanctuary. He reached back and slowly braided his long hair. It was an Ilsigi warbraid, something not seen in Sanctuary in a long time, something