Alara Unbroken - Doug Beyer [10]
Couldn’t this blasted cat go any faster? “We’re approaching the castle, sir,” said one of his guards on horseback.
“Good,” said Hazid. “Ready the chanters.”
“Yes, sir.”
The castle rose into view like a white whale breaching the surface of the sea. Glimmering buttresses capped with towers of gold reached for the sun, and the wind pushed waves of brilliance across Akrasa’s ocean of brown grass. It was among Akrasa’s first citadels, and was still the largest. The four towers supported a central stronghold, and lifted it high off the ground to symbolize the elevated nature of the higher castes. Hazid had no problem with that notion of social order; he got what he wanted out of it by preying on the rules upon which it ran. In effect, Hazid’s entire career was based on identifying those strong, supporting towers upon which all of society rested. Once those foundational supports were breached, the spoils were always left hanging, defenseless, in the middle of the open air.
“Sir, a contingent of knights approaches from the castle,” said Hazid’s guard.
“What’s the status of the chanters?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Fine, then. Begin forming the circle. Direct the knights to me.”
“Right away, sir.”
He saw them: humans and rhoxes, their armor gleaming in the sun, riding in formation across the grass to his wagon. He made a point of waving cheerfully. Meanwhile, the other wagons in his caravan, dozens of them, split off and began encircling the castle. They had to drive off the road, and many of the horses and leotau stumbled as they broke into the high grass. But their wheels cut lines through the fields, and began forming a curve.
“Halt, please, sir,” said the lead knight, a young woman of about twenty.
“Yes, of course. Good day, my dear,” said Hazid. He halted his wagon. “The famous Giltspire Castle. It’s more beautiful than the last time I was in Akrasa—how could this be? Could the Amesha have blessed the citadel recently? I must say, the shine on the towers is intoxicating.”
“Manifest, please,” said the knight.
“Of course, of course. Here you are, my dear. Signed and stamped by your own Sir … Hadadir, was it?”
The knight squinted at the stamp. “You saw Sir Hadadir? He hasn’t checked in for some time.”
“Such a pity, that! And he was so punctual with our inspection.”
“Can you tell me what happened when you obtained this stamp?” asked the knight.
Careful, thought Hazid. Ghedi may have been discovered already; or worse, the insolent dolt may have sought help himself, and told the whole story. Still, Hazid couldn’t resist a little embellishment. “My old servant Ghedi, that misguided bastard, decided that your Hadadir was the man who’d had a fling with his wife. No truth to it, you understand—although cuckoled he was, that part’s true—but Ghedi got it in his head that the border man was the one. That’s Ghedi for you. I knew he’d come to nothing. He took one look at that Sir Hadadir and went for him with a blade the size of my arm. Hadadir ran off, and we left Ghedi behind.”
The knight inspected the seal on the manifest, then looked up at Hazid’s rapidly expanding caravan. The farthest wagons had already looped halfway around the castle, but approaching them were rhino-faced rhox knights bearing pikes and axes. “This is a serious matter,” she said. “I’m going to have to ask you to step down from the wagon, Mr. Hazid. Please tell your caravan drivers to halt their wagons, now.”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid they’re stone deaf, and willful besides,” said Hazid. Hurry up, he thought. Get that circle in place, and we can make history with this spell. If the wagons didn’t get into place soon, they were in danger of missing