The Thief Who Spat In Luck's Good Eye: A Free Sword & Sorcery Novella by Michael McClung

Author:Michael McClung
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: fantasy adventure swords and sorcery, fantasy action, sorcery fantasy adventure, sword and sorcery
Publisher: Michael McClung

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In all, some twenty men and twice as many mules emerged from the death lands. They looked tired and travel worn. They were also remarkably alive. That fact was far less interesting to me then than the rations I knew some of those mules were carrying. Just thinking about salt pork and trail bread made my mouth water. I was afraid they’d hear my stomach rumble from across the square. I swallowed my saliva, pressed my free hand against the hollow of my stomach, and held still.

One man stood out from the rest. Where the others led mules, he rode a beautiful bay gelding. Where the others wore chain mail, he had on gold-washed half-plate. Everything about him screamed nobility. The Duke of Vibourg, I presumed. He sat there astride his horse and took a long, lingering look at his surroundings. The back of my neck went cold, and I held absolutely still: not breathing, not blinking. His eyes slid past me. For the first time in months I forgot my hunger.

He dismounted, and I saw he wasn’t a tall man. He wore his thinning blond hair shoulder length, loose, and where the others of his party were dirty and deeply tanned, he was pale, his clothing and armor spotless. I disliked him immediately.

The party began to spread out around the square, pulling packs from mules, drinking water from skins, pulling off boots, taking a cursory look at their surroundings. Almost immediately the Duke spoke quietly to one of the men, presumably the officer in charge, and the man began shouting orders.

“No time to gawk and lolligag, you bastards! Keep ’em moving. We’ll camp in front of the temple, and that not a moment before the city has been reconnoitered. Move!”

The soldiers complied hastily, if not happily. As they made their way further into the city, they passed me by without a single glance up. When they’d gone a safe distance on, I slipped out of my tree, gathered up a few nuts in the tattered tails of my shirt, and slunk off to a secure, out-of-the-way spot on the opposite side of the city.

Six months I’d gone without seeing another soul. Here was my first and probably my only chance to escape Thagoth. I should have been thinking about these things, about how they could have made their way through the death lands—about securing some of their food, at the very least. Instead I thought about the Duke. What I’d sensed from him across the square.

I’d felt power rolling off him in waves, power I’d only felt from Holgren when he was actively working magic. I felt another sensation gnawing at my gut as I slunk away that afternoon: Fear.

Several pairs of hate-filled eyes followed me as I paced a few yards away from the border of the death lands. They were intent, and malignant, and patient. I had no doubt that if I were to stick a hand or a foot past that invisible boundary, it would be bitten off, or worse.

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