Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [57]
Onthur was the heavier of the two guards, and he was doing just what Arauntar had told him to: jumping up and down in one spot, in a place where he could grab a support-brace to keep from falling over if he had to. The entire floor of this wagon was false, raised about the width of a large man's hand above what it should be – and Orthil very much wanted to know what was hidden there.
Arms, it sounded like, or perhaps armor. Crash.
Onthur looked to Arauntar for direction. The guard held up a staying hand in reply as he half-drew his sword and stepped forward. Lavlaryn was furiously readying his bowgun as Onthur stopped leaping and silence fell.
Into it Arauntar said calmly, "I'm glad ye've nothing to hide, merchants – because that should mean there won't be any unpleasantness about yer showing us yer hidden cargo. We haven't searched this wagon so often out of accident, nor for our own amusement.
We spotted the false floor right away and figured ye were just getting something out of Scornubel unseen … but as time passes and attacks come down on us swift and heavy, Master Voldovan thought it'd be best if we knew all yer little secrets."
"Of course, Swordmaster," the weaver began, but the furrier drowned him out.
"Nothing in this wagon has anything to do with brigands or poses any danger to anyone on the run."
"Of course," Arauntar agreed, as Onthur lazily drew two throwing-daggers and Lavlaryn brought his now-ready bowgun down into a steady aim at the furrier's face. "However, my orders are very blunt and very clear: I am to see all, and so will Master Orthil – and we shall judge dangers… and consequences."
The weaver sighed and waved one hand in a gesture of submission. "In the interests of saving time, why don't I go with one of your men and fetch Master Voldovan now? If you really must see it all, we should bring back several guards to shift things, or we'll be spending the day camped right here… where we were attacked last night and where so many folk went missing. I'm sure none of us would want that."
Arauntar gave Sabran a smile that had very little mirth in it, and said, "So much, at least, we agree upon. Go with Onthur now."
*******
Flamewind was a good horse – a princely gift, in fact, even if the Master of the Shadows had followed up his munificence with a death sentence – but Flamewind was now something else, too: exhausted.
Sharantyr had ridden all night and through the dawn, and if she'd been anywhere else but the Blackrocks, the merciful thing to do would have been to let Flamewind drink, and eat, and rest for two days, at least. However, to leave any creature alone in this stretch of country – especially here along the Trade Way, which predators regarded more or less as an ever-laden butcher's block, providing ready meal after ready meal – was very far from merciful.
Wherefore Sharantyr now walked along the wagonroad, leading her unsteady horse through the bright morning. She could see Face Crag in the distance, not all that far ahead – but, on foot and walking slowly, still a very long way off.
The rustling she'd been expecting for some time occurred at that moment, and she laid her hand upon Lhaeo's little pouch and waited quite calmly for the attack to come.
There were four men – lawless adventurers wielding swords and not bows or spells – and they stood large and tall in their dirty and mismatched armor. They swaggered down out of the trees without haste and ranged themselves across her path with crossed arms and confident sneers.
"Well, well," the tallest one said slowly, an unfriendly and yet at the same time overly friendly gleam in his eyes. "The gods do bring us some wonderful things. Gems, good swords, coins in plenty… and now, a beautiful wench."