Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [123]
Ah, but who was left?
The Red Wizard drew in a deep breath and started on his journey, heading for another wagon well off to one side. From there he could turn toward the one he sought. As he went, he kept a sharp watch for other men on the move in the spell-smoke. The camp was entirely enveloped by his magic now.
He reached the wagon – dark, still, and silent, with three bodies sprawled about its perch amid dragondroon cards scattered where they'd fallen from nerveless hands. He recognized a guard who'd been along since Scornubel. Not one of the two battered veterans, but a longtime rider with Voldovan. He drew the man a new smile across his throat, stepped hastily back to keep clear of the welling blood, wiped his dagger on the man's jerkin, and went on.
On toward Voldovan's own wagon, where spellfire waited. Along the way he passed a fallen guard who'd been hired in Triel – not one loyal to Thay, but who'd probably not leap to defend a caravan patron in battle, either – and left the man lying, unharmed.
He might not have very long to strike if someone had resisted his spell or shaken off its effects. Some folk always did.
His spell had driven down the last of the dew, and the trampled grass was wet and slippery underfoot.
The Red Wizard walked as carefully and quietly as he knew how, dagger hidden in his sleeve again, hardly daring to hope it was going to be this easy.
Yet no one stirred as he reached the first of the guards and turned the man over with his foot. The man of Thay. He went to the next and slit that guard's throat with quickening excitement. Now, around to the front… spellfire must lie less than a dozen feet away, his for the taking.
*******
"A spell, yes, but what? Not a cloudkill, surely!"
Korthauvar frowned, peering over the rocks.
"Whatever 'tis, I'm not letting it touch me" Hlael muttered. "Not while I have the means to break – ho!
Look there!"
"Falling… dead or asleep," the taller Zhentarim said slowly, backing away from the rocks. "Slumbering men are easy enough to slay… and we could walk right in and take spellfire, with all of them snoring."
"Someone's trying that already and will be ready for us or anyone," Hlael hissed fiercely, "and that's if yon spell doesn't take us down!"
He retreated until he stood in a clear, level area on the very lip of the drop to the road below. There he shook out his sleeves and announced, "Stand back, Kor. I'm going to break that spell. Look, it's spilling over the rocks at us already!"
Korthauvar nodded. "Do so, without delay, or spellfire may be snatched from under our very hand after all."
Hlael nodded grimly. "Not something I'd like to have to explain to Hesperdan, if he isn't watching us right now." He raised his hands, and began his casting.
"He is," Korthauvar of the Zhentarim muttered to himself, casting a quick look around at the night.
"Oh, he is."
*******
The dagger plunged in, the Red Wizard winced and pulled, and another throat bled. He shuddered. A good fireball, now, or lightning to hurl men shrieking, left them just as dead, but not this… this … boarlike butchery… He set his teeth as his gorge rose, shook his head, and went on.
There was but one guard more, draped over a corner of the wagon-perch, Voldovan's boots beside him.
The caravan master had fallen back inside his wagon where all was dark and still. The Thayan eyed that dark gap cautiously. Dare he hope the spellfirewench and her mate slept, too?
Best stick to the plan. The guard first, then Voldovan – then truss the young mage and have him out of the wagon and away into the night. If she awakened while he was still out hunting the two veteran guards, he'd have a hold over her… and even if the caravan went on, she'd stay to search for her Narm.
'Twould just be a matter of waiting, as she clambered and peered and called in vain, until exhaustion took her into real slumber, and he could enspell her at will.
The Red Wizard smiled, stepped forward, raised his dagger