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real easy to defeat. He stopped on the porch next to Misty, watching the opponents take their
positions. Lysik Grey suddenly appeared at Arrowsmith's side, and she linked her arm through
his. Arrowsmith glanced down at her, then smiled.
"Hey, long time no see," he said. "What brings you out?"
She turned her bright, pretty eyes towards Arrowsmith. "I've got two taupins on this fight!"
"What? You? Sorry, but you don't strike me as a fan of blood sports."
"I'm not," said Lysik. "But I'm a priestess of the Moon Goddess, and the Moonhound is one of
the Goddess' holy warriors. I have a duty to be here."
"Does your duty include betting?"
"It all goes to the Temple, child," she said primly. She looked up at Arrowsmith, a little
concerned. "You have never seen one of her warriors in combat before, have you?"
"No," said Arrowsmith. "Why?"
"Most people throw up the first time."
 Oh yay, he said, curling his lip.
Arrowsmith watched the two square off in the street. The man she was fighting did seem to be
bigger than the norm. He also seemed just a little too sure of himself. Arrowsmith narrowed his
eyes slightly. This dirtbag had all the swagger of someone who would not think twice of using
every filthy trick he had to win what was supposed to be a friendly competition.
The little black-clad schoolteacher bounced up to Lysik, his long red hair coming loose from its
simple black wooden clip. He was without his long cloak at the moment, and Arrowsmith saw a
brooch pinned to his tunic. It was an eight-pointed star, made of some sort of white crystal. In the
belt about his waist was thrust a dagger. It was strangely made, curved much like a boomerang,
and about eighteen inches long. Another eight-pointed star was inset into the hilt.
He and Lysik screeched and hugged each other. The locals were a friendly bunch, Arrowsmith
had noticed. They hugged, they kissed, they took baths and naps together, ate from each other's
plates and drank from each other's mugs. In fact, a saying for people they didn't trust was, "I
wouldn't take a nap with him\her." It drove him crazy. More than once he'd had somebody come
crashing into his bath. They couldn't understand why it bugged him. Lysik and her friend
exchanged quick pleasantries, then he skittered off, like a ferret with a prize. Arrowsmith
watched him go as Lysik clutched his arm.
"Isn't he just too precious for words? I'm going to marry that man. Of course, he doesn't know
that yet. Oh I'm sorry, I should have introduced you. That was Anakher Snoweaver. He just
moved here from the North Plains to teach school. We were really lucky to get him. It's hard
enough for a small town to get a Thief, never mind one from the House of Snoweaver. People
have to pay to get one of them, and I mean pay big. The only reason he's here is because the
Master Thief happens to live around here somewhere, and Anakher is his cousin."
"Hold it," said Arrowsmith. "Just back up." Lysik looked at him brightly as he tried to sort out
what he'd just heard. "You wanted a thief teaching your kids? This is a good thing?"
"Well he's a Snoweaver, and a priest of Marakim. He's not just some common trash we found
lying on the road."
Arrowsmith stared at her helplessly. "Promise me that at some point you will explain this to me."
Lysik giggled.  Are you not familiar with the Children of the Dawn Thief?
 Well& I m not really from around here.
 Marakim lived centuries ago. He believed things should be balanced. It s all a bit much to
discuss here and now, but his descendants and followers still work to this day to ensure no family
or small community finds itself in such dire circumstances that all they know is despair and
poverty. They do great work, but, they are rather& shall we say& single-minded in their
purpose. They are thieves, not matrons seeking donations at parties. They will see their duties
done, and Snoweaver is among the eldest and most prestigious of Clans. The Master Thief is of
their house, and he dwells near here, which is how we managed to have Anakher, and the school.
They are beloved, and their diligence has spared many from starvation in the street. Still, I
suppose that is small consolation to the merchant who spies five of them bearing down upon his
caravan.
Merc walked into the middle of the dusty street and motioned for quiet. He didn't have to wait
long; Arrowsmith had never seen a fight crowd this restrained.
"First one unable to continue the fight loses!" he announced, then walked onto the ground-level
porch of his inn, sitting on a rail.
The Moonhound and Aldin began circling each other. He moved in a typical fight stance, but her
movements were a little different, more beast-like. In fact, she moved like a wolf. It was
disturbing to watch, unnatural. It made Arrowsmith think of werewolves, but not the Hollywood
ones that roared and lumbered. It made him think of the ones the ancient Europeans must have
feared.
She lunged in suddenly, and instead of returning the move, Aldin surprised her with a kick. He
caught her off guard, and the blow hit her square in the face. She staggered back a pace, shaking
her head. Blood trailed from her lip, and she reached up to touch it. She looked down at her
fingers, then slowly raised her head to look at him. He was grinning at her.
Arrowsmith heard the growling noise, but at first couldn't place it. He glanced about for a dog,
then suddenly realized that the noise was coming from the Moonhound. It was low and savage,
and sounded like nothing human, or even of that world. It was the way he always thought a
demon would sound.
The Moonhound didn't look too damaged by the blow. However it had definitely made her
angry. She and Aldin began squaring off once more. She lunged again, and once more Aldin
kicked. But the Moonhound it seemed hadn't earned her reputation by being a slow learner. She
got around the kick and headed straight for his face.
She fought the way she had been trained, like the wolf that symbolized her Goddess. The style
was fast and animalistic, not the way a human would fight at all. She got the miner by the head
and jerked him off of his feet the way a wolf would pull down a deer. He hit the ground with a
heavy thud. He swung heavily at her, but his fist encountered nothing. He rolled and lunged at
where he thought she must be, and suddenly found himself pounded down to the ground again.
 She doesn t move right, said Arrowsmith, feeling uneasy. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]