Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

Enik-whom the men did listen to, when they were of a mind to-strode toward where Larajin and Dray sat, wiping a trickle of sweat from his forehead. Sunlight glinted off a gold ring on his little finger, which seemed to be a new addition to his otherwise scruffy wardrobe since their departure from Ordulin. As he stared up at Dray, she noted that he had none of the traditional deference that a hireling normally displayed in the presence of a noble. Instead he met Dray’s eye directly, cheek puckering as he sucked his tooth.

“Sun’s hot, and it’s been a thirsty march,” Enik said. “How about we open a couple of bottles from the cargo and slake our thirst?”

Dray opened his mouth as if about to protest, but then his eyes got a dreamy, faraway look. He licked dry lips, and nodded.

Paitar, 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, Paitar,” 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, Paitar 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. Paitar 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 like 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 Paitar 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 and joined the sellswords near the rear wagon. Larajin was suddenly very aware that she was the only woman among more than a dozen men, all of them rapidly getting drunk-and all of them capable of being magically compelled to do whatever Enik wanted them to. Maybe she should just strike off through the woods on her own and hope forthebest.

“These woods used to be part of Cormanthor, didn’t they?” she asked Dray.

He nodded.

“I’ve heard of a place called the Tangled Trees, where the wild elves are said to live. How close is it-are we under any danger of attack?”

Dray waved a hand at the forest to their right. “It’s somewhere in that direction, but don’t worry, Thazienne, my dear,” he reassured her, patting her hand. “It’s deep within the forest, at least three days’ march from here. The wild elves shy away from the road. We’ve nothing to fear from them.”

Larajin squinted ahead into the mist and saw that it was thinning. The wizard must have completed his task. A breeze that was probably magical, given the muggy stillness of the air elsewhere in the wood, was blowing the last of the mist into the woods at the side of the road.

“I’m going ahead to talk to Klarsh,” she told Dray. She jerked a thumb in the direction of the sellswords. “I think you’d better see to them. If you don’t, they’ll drink all of your cargo.”

Dray swallowed the last of the ice wine and laid the empty bottle on the floor at his feet.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “It is time we got moving, anyhow. I’d like to get to Essembra in time for a hot meal and a bath, to wash the dust from my hair.”

He tied off the reins and climbed down from the wagon. As he walked away, Larajin reached for her bag. Holding it in front of her body, she chose her moment carefully-when Dray was busy shaking a finger at a bored-looking Enik-and slipped down from the wagon. She jogged up the road, keeping the wagon between herself and the men, hoping that Enik would be too busy working his magic on Dray and Paitar to notice. She felt guilty abandoning them-both seemed like decent men-but sticking around seemed like a bad idea. She might be able to counter a simple charm, but she didn’t know any spells that would protect her from more than a dozen drunken men.

Hopefully, it would be some time before anyone noticed she was gone. It would take Dray some time to get the caravan moving again-especially if Enik “persuaded” him to join in another round of wine. By the time they looked around, she would be well into the woods. The only problem was that she had to get far ahead of the wizard before entering the forest. His magical wind had rather quickly blown the mist to either side of the road. Slow to dissipate, it clung between the trees in wispy patches, drifting to a halt when the breeze Klarsh had summoned was gone.