Thief's Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) Read Online Free

wasn't the faint stinging in her eyes, or the almost dainty cough that kept traveling up and down her throat like a yo-yo. No, it was instead the sudden gust of warmth, a comforting yet confounding relief from winter's winds, that finally drew her attention from her feet.
    She saw, at first, nothing but the various muted colors and shoddy fabrics that covered the legs and backs of the people before her in the road—more of them, in fact, than was entirely normal. Higher her gaze drifted, higher still, to the flickering glow and the plumes of smoke twisting their way skyward.
    Even at her age, she knew full well the dangers of fire, especially in a neighborhood as poor as this. Should she run the other way? Find a place to hide? Offer, however small and feeble she might be, to help?
    Mother and Father would know. Again winding between, around, and under a thicket of limbs, the hitch in her breath now as much fear as it was smoke, she wormed her way through the evergrowing crowd.
    And then she was near enough to see precisely which building was on fire.
    The frantic adults simply stepped over her as she fell to her knees in the middle of the road, and her scream was just another voice, lost amidst the many voices of the city.

     
    “…and as ever and always, to your endless grace, Vercoule. To you, our most humble thanks for the prosperity you have brought us, the safety you have brought us. For Davillon, which is both your gift to us, and our greatest testament to you. In your name, above all, we pray. Amen.”
    Sister Cateline smiled shallowly at the dull, mumbled chorus of amen , already drowned out by the scraping of cheap wooden spoons on cheap wooden bowls, scooping up mouthfuls of cheap porridge (probably not wooden, but who could really say for certain?). Stretched out before her were a quartet of long tables, crammed to bursting with unwashed children clad in undyed frocks. There had been a time, oh so long ago, where Cateline felt horrible that the convent couldn't provide a more comfortable life for these unfortunate waifs; when she would've felt guilty that the blue and silver of her own habit was so much better kept than the clothes they offered these lost souls.
    Once, but not now. Still she did all she could, but no longer lamented her inability to do more. She'd seen too many of them in her years, and she simply couldn't afford to care any more than she had to.
    She strode forward, wending her way between the tables, and stopped just as swiftly, pinned in place by two tiny, red-rimmed eyes. The new girl—what was her name…?
    “You're not hungry, child?” Duty, more than genuine concern, but at least she'd bothered to ask.
    “Who's Varcool?”
    Cateline felt her jaw drop.
    “You don't know Vercoule, child?” she asked, gently correcting the girl's pronunciation. Many of the nearby children had stopped to listen, some scoffing at the new kid's ignorance, others—just perhaps—hoping for answers to questions they'd never had the courage to ask.
    When the girl shook her head, Cateline continued. “Why, he's our patron god! Vercoule, above all others, watches over Davillon.”
    “What others?”
    “The gods of the Hallowed Pact, of course.”
    “What's the hollow pact?”
    Good gods, was nobody teaching these children anything? Little heathens, running the streets of Davillon. The nun really wanted nothing more than to get the children finished up and put to bed, but even her cynicism recognized a spiritual obligation when it appeared before her.
    “It refers to all the gods of the High Church, child. Uncounted gods ruled before our forefathers carved Galice from the lands of the barbarian tribes. The one hundred forty-seven greatest of them joined together over civilization, promising to watch over humanity.”
    “And Varcoo—Vercoo—”
    “Vercoule.”
    “Vercoule's the biggest?”
    Cateline smiled. “I certainly think so.” Then, somewhat more seriously, “Here, in Davillon, he's the