Alara Unbroken - Doug Beyer [4]
Hazid’s caravan had stopped just shy of the border of Akrasa, Bant’s proudest agricultural country, ostensibly to conduct trade. “Trade” was Hazid’s favorite word. You get something, I get something, he thought. We’re both happy, except that you’ve lost something precious, and I’ve lost nothing, and by the time you realize your mistake I’m a countryside away. His dagger, for example, had come from a smithy on the Jhessian coast who had wanted out of his lowly laborer’s caste. Hazid didn’t blame him for that, not in the slightest. The man had thought that a proper Akrasan sigil would earn him the status he desired, as well as passage out of the bandit-ridden town to which his station condemned him. Instead, the piece of tin Hazid traded him had earned the man a month in jail for fraud, caste infringement, and possession of a counterfeit sigil. The dagger was a work of art, though. It fit the part precisely—an assassin’s dagger, concealable and deadly sharp, made for nothing but killing a man.
“Master Hazid,” said one of Hazid’s men, to get his attention.
A knight of sigiled caste was making rounds through the caravan. The knight wore blue linen over his chain-mail, with a broad white bird blazoned across the tabard, identifying him as a Knight of the Bright Dove. It was a minor order, but well—respected, often charged with keeping the peace at border crossings.
Hazid gauged that the knight was assigned to inspect the caravan. If he were like others of his order, he would be passably smart and difficult to bribe, but would also travel alone. He would check the wagons in the caravan, looking for any merchandise that shouldn’t be there. And unless Hazid did something, the knight would find what he sought. Hazid needed to be quick, before the gentleman of the Bright Dove had time to examine the first wagon. It was time for the beautiful little dagger to do its thing.
And he knew just who should hold it. “Ghedi, come here,” called Hazid.
One of Hazid’s larger, stronger merchant underlings plodded over to him. Ghedi was a simple man, broad of shoulder but not of mind. He had aspirations to be a thief, but had the grace of an ox. “Yes, Master Hazid?”
Hazid put his hand on Ghedi’s shoulder and looked around circumspectly as he spoke. “Ghedi, I need to know that you’re a man I can trust, a man I can use. You want to be useful to me, don’t you?”
Ghedi’s grin was the perfect response. He was not a talkative man. Hazid clapped him on the shoulder.
“I want you to take this,” said Hazid, “and do something useful with it.” He slipped the dagger into Ghedi’s hand and glanced over at the knight significantly. “Be careful.”
Ghedi grinned as he moved away, holding the dagger against his thigh.
Hazid turned to the representative of the Bright Dove. “Good sir!” Hazid said magnanimously, striding over to the knight. “I bid you welcome, yes indeed!”
“Good day,” said the knight. “Can I see a manifest for this caravan, please?”
Ghedi was walking in a wide circle around to the knight’s blind side.
“Of course, of course,” said Hazid, and produced one. “Here you are.”
The knight took the scroll and unfurled it, reading intently.
“Mostly farming implements, as you can see,” said Hazid. “A bit of this and that, as always—we’ve been as far as Jhess this month. Anything in which I could interest you? Perhaps something for the children … Wooden toys from Valeron?”
“No children,” murmured the knight. “This manifest has an out-of-date stamp. If you and your merchants could step to the side for a moment, please,