“Damn cocksure merchant,” muttered Thorn to the fire. Bloodrastor First-of-Warriors herself would have wanted a few comrades along this stretch of the Westmarsh Wheelpath. But the young cloth merchant had refused to hire a second wagon-guard. Afraid to trust anyone they might have found in Sludgepocket. Well, maybe he had a point there. But, gods! It left Thorn his only warrior between Sludgepocket and West-of-Nowhere.
She was rolling Falling Doubles against herself to make the night a little less tedious. Between every few rolls she paused and held the dice quiet in her hand, listening. About two-thirds of the way through the summer night, when the Wine Goddess’ Star was almost touching what would have been the horizon if a person could tell land from sky by anything except that the sky
