Vengeance of the Dancing Gods by Jack L. Chalker Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
reception hall and picking at the fine meal Durin, Ruddygore's elfin master chef, had prepared for him. How quickly the time passed, he reflected, and how much older he felt.
Not that he wasn't physically as good as he ever was, but now more of that speed and quickness came from spells and elixirs, dearly bought, instead of through natural training, as it had been not too many years ago.
He wondered, sitting here, why he felt so depressed.
Things were not, after all, that bad, and he really had no complaints. The life of a thief was a lonely one, but he had chosen it, rather than being forced into it. Those who were forced into it were amateurs and tended to remain so. He had only sympathy for them. He, now, was different.
He was rich, he was famous—or infamous, depending on who heard the name and under what circumstances —and he had the friendship of the head of the Council and the two demigods who dominated life, particularly in the area of the river. Few had ever caught him and none had ever held him; he was getting into his middle forties now, pretty old for any sort of thief.
He loved a good roll in the hay with a willing wench, but there was no end of those, and he wished no lasting commitments to anyone. To make such a commitment was to make him eternally vulnerable. He was, in fact, at the top of his profession and he had achieved everything in his wildest dreams—plus a lot more.
And that, of course, was the root of the problem. When one has broken into dark towers ruled by witches and ancient gods and stolen their treasures, picking the unpickable locks and breaking the unbreakable spells, what was there left for him? He could, he reflected, do no better than to equal himself in the future, and one of these days even he would make afatal mistake, borne of carelessness or age. No human being was perfect. It was this knowledge —that he should quit now, while well ahead, or inevitably die—that was eating at him. He was the gambler who was now ten thousand ahead, able to support himself 34 VENGEANCE OF THE DANCING GODS Page 25 Chalker, Jack L - Vengeance of the Dancing Gods forever, who knew that if he played long enough he'd lose it all, but could not stop playing because, really, he didn't want to do anything else.
And what challenges were left? What had not he or one of his colleagues never failed to crack that was worth cracking.
With a start, he thought of one. One right below him, in fact, and the best guarded of the lot. He could recite the names of two or three dozens of the finest who had tried it. He'd never seen them again,and probably would not, in this life. It had never occurred to him to steal from Ruddygore. Mooch off him, certainly, and use his name and political influence where it was advantageous—but steal from him? The man was the most responsible for elevating him from petty con man and minor crook to the king of thieves he now was.
But did he have to steal—or merely solve the problem.
He dwelt on the idea that evening as he put away his things and made ready for bed. He looked at his shaving gear and then stared into the mirror and scowled. Nothing, no reflection at all, stared back. It was as if he were invisible; yet, of course, he was solid and real. He'd been cutting himself shaving for several weeks and still hadn't really gotten it right. He would grow a beard and to hell with it, except that trimming a beard was just as difficult.
It hadn't seemed much of a curse, and it really wasn't, considering the alternatives, but that demon sure had one hell of a nasty sense of humor.
He'd traded the jewel off quickly, as agreed, to a young and ambitious black magician with some useful spells to trade. He hoped the kid thought fast. He kind of suspected that the other part of the deal, that the priests not catch up with him, had been handled by them blaming whoever had the gem. If so, the twerp better grow up real
Not that he wasn't physically as good as he ever was, but now more of that speed and quickness came from spells and elixirs, dearly bought, instead of through natural training, as it had been not too many years ago.
He wondered, sitting here, why he felt so depressed.
Things were not, after all, that bad, and he really had no complaints. The life of a thief was a lonely one, but he had chosen it, rather than being forced into it. Those who were forced into it were amateurs and tended to remain so. He had only sympathy for them. He, now, was different.
He was rich, he was famous—or infamous, depending on who heard the name and under what circumstances —and he had the friendship of the head of the Council and the two demigods who dominated life, particularly in the area of the river. Few had ever caught him and none had ever held him; he was getting into his middle forties now, pretty old for any sort of thief.
He loved a good roll in the hay with a willing wench, but there was no end of those, and he wished no lasting commitments to anyone. To make such a commitment was to make him eternally vulnerable. He was, in fact, at the top of his profession and he had achieved everything in his wildest dreams—plus a lot more.
And that, of course, was the root of the problem. When one has broken into dark towers ruled by witches and ancient gods and stolen their treasures, picking the unpickable locks and breaking the unbreakable spells, what was there left for him? He could, he reflected, do no better than to equal himself in the future, and one of these days even he would make afatal mistake, borne of carelessness or age. No human being was perfect. It was this knowledge —that he should quit now, while well ahead, or inevitably die—that was eating at him. He was the gambler who was now ten thousand ahead, able to support himself 34 VENGEANCE OF THE DANCING GODS Page 25 Chalker, Jack L - Vengeance of the Dancing Gods forever, who knew that if he played long enough he'd lose it all, but could not stop playing because, really, he didn't want to do anything else.
And what challenges were left? What had not he or one of his colleagues never failed to crack that was worth cracking.
With a start, he thought of one. One right below him, in fact, and the best guarded of the lot. He could recite the names of two or three dozens of the finest who had tried it. He'd never seen them again,and probably would not, in this life. It had never occurred to him to steal from Ruddygore. Mooch off him, certainly, and use his name and political influence where it was advantageous—but steal from him? The man was the most responsible for elevating him from petty con man and minor crook to the king of thieves he now was.
But did he have to steal—or merely solve the problem.
He dwelt on the idea that evening as he put away his things and made ready for bed. He looked at his shaving gear and then stared into the mirror and scowled. Nothing, no reflection at all, stared back. It was as if he were invisible; yet, of course, he was solid and real. He'd been cutting himself shaving for several weeks and still hadn't really gotten it right. He would grow a beard and to hell with it, except that trimming a beard was just as difficult.
It hadn't seemed much of a curse, and it really wasn't, considering the alternatives, but that demon sure had one hell of a nasty sense of humor.
He'd traded the jewel off quickly, as agreed, to a young and ambitious black magician with some useful spells to trade. He hoped the kid thought fast. He kind of suspected that the other part of the deal, that the priests not catch up with him, had been handled by them blaming whoever had the gem. If so, the twerp better grow up real
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