"Thieves World v2 7 - 1988 - Dagger - D Drake" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

steel to others.

"You'll want this anyway," said the stranger, lifting his dagger by its
crosshilt so that the pommel was toward Samlor.

Not a threat, only a man with something to sell, thought the Cirdonian as he
sidled away from the stranger to get to the bar. Harmless, almost certainlyЧbut
Samlor moved to his left, guiding Star ahead of him so that his body was between
her and the weapon that the other man insisted on displaying. The fellow had
sized up Samlor as he entered the Vulgar Unicorn, guessing his occupation from
his appearance. A con man's trick, perhaps; but not an assassin's.

There was no reason to take chances.

"When are we going to sleep, Uncle?" asked Star with a thin whine on the last
syllables which meant she was really getting tired. That was understandable, but
it meant she was likely to balk when she needed to obey. She might even call him
"Uncle Samlor" despite being warned that Samlor's real name would make both of
them targets.

DAGGER 5

Star was an unusual child, but she was a child nonetheless.

"Two mugs of blue John," said the Cirdonian, loudly enough for the tapster
halfway down the bar to hear him. They already had the attention of the fellow,
an athlete gone to fat but still powerful. He was balding, and his scars showed
that he had been doing this work or work equally rough for many years.

If something had cost him his left thumb during that timeЧhe was still the one
walking around to tell the tale, wasn't he?

'7 wantЧ" Star piped up.

"And two beers to wash it down," Samlor said loudly, cutting her off. As his
left hand reached down for his belt purse, he let it linger for a moment where
Star's hood covered the whorl of white hair that was the source of her name. She
quieted for the moment, though the touch was gentle.

Star's mother had immersed herself in arts that had ultimately killed herЧor had
led her to need to die. Her child had terrifying powers when necessity and
circumstances combined to bring them out.

But Samlor hil Samt had no need of magic to frighten anyone who knew him as well
as the child did. He would not cuff her across the room; not here, not ever. His
rage was as real as the rock glowing white in the bowels of a volcano. The
Cirdonian's anger bubbled beneath a crust of control which split only when he
chose that it should, and he would never release its destruction on his kin,
blood of his blood ... his seed.