Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [60]
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"No, I want both of ye," the caravan master said sourly, snatching a look back over his shoulder to make sure Onthur was keeping the weaver out of earshot. "There could be walking skeletons or clawing-at-us corpses or even helmed horrors under that floor – and yon bastard get of a serpent would stand there smiling at me while his little surprises tore my men apart!"
"Cheery image," Shandril commented wryly. "Lead on."
Orthil Voldovan gave her a suspicious look and then rounded on Narm. "Well? And ye?"
"Where she goes, I go," Narm said quietly. "We told you that."
"Hmmph, yes. Come on, then!"
It was only a few hurrying strides to the wagon, but the eyes of the entire caravan seemed to be on the small knot of guards trotting along with the weaver.
Voldovan seemed not to see the audience, but Beldimarr and two other guards smoothly stepped aside to take up positions around the wagon, facing out to keep the curious at a distance, while everyone else boiled up into the wagon with loaded bowguns, and herded Sabran down to join the indignantly sputtering Mhegras.
"I-I-protest in the strongest possible term – " he began, but the caravan master drowned him out.
"If ye'd dealt with me more honestly, ye two, I'd be politeness itself to ye, but 'tis a bit late for protests now. If ye'd like this to take as little time as possible and win for yerselves the best treatment I can find in myself to give ye, kindly reveal the swiftest and least damaging way to take up this floor – or I just might be inclined to use axes and make my own haste!"
"That won't be necessary, Roadmaster," Sabran said calmly. "If you light two lanterns and take up these two boards here, you'll find cross-spars. Pull them along, and you'll release a section of flooring from here to here that lifts in one piece."
"Why don't we aim our bowguns at the two of ye – while ye do it?"
"Certainly, if you'll help us with these coffers…"
The coffers were lifted aside, and hard-eyed guards crowded close to watch the merchants narrowly as the section of floor was freed and lifted aside – to reveal oiled cloth sacking sewn around large, thin somethings.
"Stand back now," Voldovan ordered, and then waved two of his men wordlessly forward. The guards probed the bundles with their daggers, cautiously lifted one bundle with the words, "Feels like armor plate," and slit its stitches, only to draw out – -a blued, curving sheet of armor plate.
"Looks like barding," the caravan master said slowly, and then raised his gaze to meet that of Sabran. "Well?"
"Peytrals – twenty-two identical plates."
"What are peytrals?" Narm muttered. Shandril chose that moment to look at the two merchants and discovered both of them staring at her restlessly, almost quivering with – fear? Anticipation?
Eagerness to do something?
"Horsebreast armor, lad," Voldovan said absently, watching one of his men bend down with a lantern and peer into the hole, seeking to see what was under the rest of the false floor.
"Looks to be all the same stuff, Master," the guard called, after long moments of twisting and peering.
"Any enchantments on them?" Orthil asked the weaver, who shook his head. Voldovan turned without pause to Narm and asked, "Is he telling the truth?"
Narm swallowed, doffed his helm, and handed it to – Voldovan, who snatched it with a curt shake of his head as Narm was handing it to Shandril. The caravan master gestured to her to keep aside from Narm and watch the two merchants. She nodded and did as she was bid.
The young mage frowned, raised his hands, and cast a careful detection spell Jhessail had taught him, a variant of the common magic that could see linked castings and layers of magic… even where one had been cast to conceal another.
The furrier – Mhegras of Esmeltaran – seemed to sneer slightly at Narm's spellweaving. Shandril regarded him thoughtfully; a mage, perhaps?
"N-no," Narm said slowly. "No magic on any of the goods here, that I can see." He raised his head and gave Mhegras an apparently