Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [42]
Send for me when you need me."
Her level tone made the guards relax visibly. Both of the Harpers nodded approvingly and almost imperceptibly.
Orthil also gave her a nod, still glowering, and wheeled his mount. He pointed at Arauntar, then at Beldimarr, and then at Shandril's wagon in silent reminder ere he spurred his wearily foaming horse to the next upright wagon and roared at the night,
"Varlamar! Torches in those braziers, for the love of all the gods!"
Arauntar and Beldimarr rode up to Shandril with muttered growls of "Sorry, lass," and swung down from their horses, handing her the reins. :
As they shouldered past her into the gloom, bloody swords first, she murmured, "Show me what to do for Thorst, will you?"
********
Thoadrin of the Cult reined in under the dead duskwood tree, looked around the half-seen circle of men who'd already gathered there, and then glanced back down the road. The moon was rising; he could see the distant prow of Face Crag against the sky, and the kindlings of many tiny flames thereabouts.
"Report," he ordered, not bothering to keep the smile off his face. "Curthryn, you first."
"We lost Jaskel, and I think Murbryn. Others, too.
The Dark Blade of Doom yet lives. He's posing as the blandreth-dealer in the maroon wagon with the yellow star on its side."
"Leave him for now," Thoadrin said. "There'll be plenty of time for a slaying to befall him later, if his next attempt to capture the lass fails. Enough of losses; what gains?"
"Three guards, and as many fat, shrieking merchants, or more."
"I slew one, and four merchants. One of them crashed his wagon," another Cult warrior said eagerly.
"I wounded a guard and two merchants – one should die soon," put in a third.
The reports continued, brief and unboasting.
Thoadrin smiled in the darkness, well pleased.
He said as much to his men before asking if any of them were hurt. This had been a good harrying. He'd called them off the moment things started to turn against the Cult blades, when most of their lances and bolts were gone and the caravan guards had gotten over their shock and were seeking to strike back.
Let them wait, and lose sleep for another night where no attack would come. Untrammeled by wagons, Thoadrin's band could take the Two Pools overland trail, probably buy more bolts from the traders at Dowan Pool, and be waiting for Voldovan's caravan two nights hence to do it all again. Yes, it had been a good harrying.
There was plenty of time yet for the caravan to be stripped down to one spellfire-wielding wench, frightened and alone, trying to race a wagon to Waterdeep ere her wounded man, lying in the back, died of his wounds. Thoadrin's smile broadened.
Yes, his men were good enough to bring things to that.
********
The first needle broke, but Marlel wasted no time on curses. His left boot always carried three needles and goodly lengths of thread and stout waxed cord. The latter would do for this quick stitching, to gather the gaping lips of the slashed false belly together under a hastily donned new robe from Olimer's best chest.
He slashed off the trailing end of cord, let the robe fall back into place, and stowed the needle back in his boot just as the heavy boots of Voldovan's trained hounds landed upon the perch outside the curtain.
Marlel turned, blinking, as the curtain was roughly plucked back and the brute Beldimarr thrust a lantern inside, with the tip of his drawn sword glimmering beside it. A second grizzled veteran guard – Arauntar, that was the name, as much a lout as his sword-companion – brandished another ready blade a pace back, his eyes leaping here and there across the interior of Haransau Olimer's Best Blandreths wagon.
"How fare ye?" Arauntar asked bluntly. "Hurts?
Goods damage? We've orders to search every wagon."
Haransau Olimer waved an airy hand. "I live, unscathed by the grace of Tymora, and so am at peace with Faerun – so long as ye guard me well when I must sleep, as must soon befall. Wherefore search away, my bold protectors – search diligently,