Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [27]
Paltar, having overheard the exchange, strode forward. "That's not a good idea, my lord," he told Dray. Eyes narrowing, he gave Enik a sideways look. "The men
should stay sharp. We've still got a way to-"
Dray cut him short. "Don't be silly, Paltar," he said. "In this heat I'd like a drop myself." He turned to Enik, and with an exaggerated wink, added, "No more than a bottle between every two men. I expect you to stay sharp."
Enik touched his forefinger to one eyelid-obviously a signal his men understood, for they were on their feet in an instant, crowding around the back of the last wagon in line. Boards creaked as a crate was opened and corks popped, and the sellswords were tilting bottles to the sky, Adam's apples bobbing as they gulped down the wine.
Shaking his head and muttering curses under his breath, Paltar let his hand drift toward the hilt of his sword. A moment later, when Enik wrapped an arm around his shoulder and murmured in his ear, he nodded, and a slow smile spread across his face. Letting Enik lead him, he made his way back to the last wagon, ignoring the questioning looks the drivers gave him.
As Enik threw a leering grin back over his shoulder at Larajin, Dray reached into one of the crates behind him and pulled out a slender blue bottle that bore an elaborate label.
"Ice wine," he told Larajin. "The finest the Foxmantle vineyards has to offer, from the pick of last year's crop. Very expensive-which is why I insisted on driving this wagon myself. The other wagons all carry lesser vintages. Would you do me the honor of sharing a bottle with me, Thazienne?"
Larajin was still watching the sellswords at the back of the caravan. They'd passed a bottle forward to the driver of the rear wagon, and seemed to each have a bottle to themselves. Paltar was drinking and laughing with the rest of them, one arm draped around Enik's shoulder.
"Dray," she cautioned as he popped the cork of the bottle in his hand. They're drinking more than you permitted."
He glanced back briefly, then shrugged. "So they are.
Even so, they're still more than a match for elves. And don't forget, we have Klarsh with us."
He peered ahead, trying to spot the wizard through the thick white mist, then he glanced up at the sun, noting its position in the sky.
"We should reach Essembra well before evening," he said, "and I don't anticipate any trouble along the way. All of the attacks have been on the stretch of road north of town. We'll be perfectly safe, even with a tipsy guard. Let them have their fun."
Larajin knew nothing about soldiering, but she didn't think it prudent for the sellswords to be letting down their guard within the wood, even in an area that was supposedly safe. When Dray offered the bottle to her, she declined it with a slight shake of her head. She peered into his eyes. Even though he'd drunk only a little wine, they had a dreamy, glazed look.
"Dray," she said carefully, "it looked as though you were going to tell Enik that his men couldn't have any wine. What changed your mind?"
Dray shrugged again and took a pull from the bottle. "Delicious!" he pronounced. "I'll have to commend our vintners." Then he seemed to remember Larajin's question. "Oh, yes. Enik. He seems hke a good fellow. I like him."
The vagueness of his reply clinched it. Dray might be foolhardy-taking a caravan north when war was imminent proved that much-but he wasn't stupid. Enik must have used magic on Dray, to convince him that he was harmless. Some sort of spell, no doubt, or that ring.
Now that she thought about it, Larajin could remember several times in the last few days when Dray or Paltar had been about to reprimand one of the sellswords, only to change his mind at a word from Enik. Larajin shuddered, thankful that Enik hadn't tried using the ring's magic on her. Or maybe he had tried, and one of the goddesses had been watching over Larajin.
In any case, she didn't like the look Enik had just given her as he tipped back his wine. Three of the five
drivers had tied off their reins