Alara Unbroken - Doug Beyer [5]
Ghedi approached from behind. His man was doing well, and so was he, thought Hazid. The fly was almost in the web.
“Ah, well then,” said Hazid. “Something for the spouse. We have earthen vases from Eos. They’re absolutely lovely.”
“Sir, please step aside,” said the knight. “I’m going to have to inspect the wagons—now.”
“Of course, of course,” said Hazid. “Please, take all the time you need.”
Ghedi was circling. Closer, closer. Any moment …
“Sir, look out!” cried Hazid.
The knight spun around to see Ghedi coming at him with the assassin’s dagger held high. The knight was admirably quick as he put one hand to Ghedi’s weapon arm, drew his sword with his other hand, and hit Ghedi hard in the gut with the pommel.
Ghedi folded in two, the breath knocked from his lungs, and the dagger knocked from his hands. His face was a comical mask of confusion as he fell to the ground.
The knight was over Ghedi in the blink of an eye. He took the dagger from the ground, then shouted an arrest spell over Ghedi’s hands and neck, pinning him. Ghedi’s eyes were bewildered, only turning to a state of ruefulness as the knight led the would-be assassin away to his mount at swordpoint.
That’s what you get for stealing from my inventory, Ghedi, you weak-brained bastard, thought Hazid.
“Thank you for the warning,” said the knight, returning to Hazid once he had fastened Ghedi’s bonds to the mount. “But this attack was a serious breach of the law, and the attacker was under your authority. The fact remains, I still have to inspect these wagons.”
Hazid sighed. He had already done Ghedi a favor today, granting him the destiny he had asked for with his eager fingers. And the poor checkpoint guard was going to ask for his own favor? Hazid had a mission to accomplish, a quest of such utmost importance that the angels themselves wouldn’t—couldn’t stand in his way. It was a burden dispensing fate to so many.
“Drummer! Strike up the caravan drum again, please!” he called. The sound of a deep, reverberating drum answered him.
“Sir,” said the knight. “I’m going to have to ask you to—”
The knight slumped over holding his stomach, falling away from Hazid’s swiftly-thrust dagger. As the knight fell, Hazid plucked the caravan manifest from his hand.
“Get the body into one of the wagons,” Hazid said with a sigh. “Oh, and get his little stamp for the manifest.”
An underling of Hazid’s collected the knight’s stamp and handed it to Hazid. Hazid mashed the stamp into the manifest satisfyingly.
Hazid climbed back onto his wagon and nodded to the driver, before wiping off his own personal dagger with his hanky. “Remind me to tell you of the time I traded with a blacksmith in Eos,” he said to the driver.
The caravan went on its way toward Giltspire Castle, in the heart of Akrasa. Ghedi looked on forlornly, abandoned.
JUND
Until a year ago, Rakka Mar had never considered herself a “mere human.” The phrase would never have occurred to her. The shaman had been entirely her own master, delighting in her savage elementalism, summoning manifestations of fire and rage to use as scourges of those who tried to rule or devour her. But when the sky had opened up and deposited the majestic form of Nicol Bolas before her, she had recognized her insignificance.
The dragon had offered her a choice. He could teach her to summon new kinds of fiery elementals of death, and she could use that power to accomplish a task on Jund for him. Or she could die. She had found him a cogent negotiator. That had been one year ago.
That night, Rakka found herself speaking before the warrior clan Antaga. It was the same speech she had given her own clan—but that hadn’t worked out. She made sure to conjure the same fire for her words that she put into her magic. “Our world yearns to reach out to heaven above us, and hell below,” she intoned. “And heaven and hell yearn to reach out to us as well. They beckon us—to rule them.”
Rakka knew the clan would hang on her every word, even though she had never been its Tol, its leader. She was a taut, sinewy