Gail Martin - The summoner

"Over here," Harrtuck rasped, dragging Tris by the sleeve toward Vahanian's wagon. The

large cart overflowed with rolls of Cartelasian rugs and bolts of fine Kourdish silks. With the cart between them and the street, Harrtuck nudged Tris. "Climb in, m'boy," Harrtuck whispered. "Unless the guards mean to search every merchant, we can wait for Vahanian here."

They no sooner burrowed beneath the carpets and silks before the voices of the Nargi priests reached them, even louder and more strident. Chaos erupted as the arguments turned to shouts and stacks of goods crashed to the ground. From their hiding place, Tris and Harrtuck could see little, but the sound of running footsteps pounded closer.

Suddenly, the cart lurched forward, then began to roll faster, straight toward the Margolan guardsmen. Behind them, the angry priests came almost within reach of the cart's back gate.

"You there, stop!" the guardsmen ordered, but the wagonmaster paid no heed, driving his cart and horse at breakneck speed.

With a cry, the wagonmaster rode straight for the hapless guards, giving them no choice but to throw themselves out of the way or be ridden down. The tangle of angry priests gave chase, plowing past the guardsmen and knocking them back as the desperate priests lunged toward the escaping cart.

Tris and Harrtuck struggled to hold on as the cart lurched down the rutted street. The rolls of carpet and bolts of silk pummeled them as the wares bounced and shifted. "Hang on!" Harrtuck hissed as the cart cornered on two wheels, spilling some of its precious cargo behind it. The Nargi priests, unable to run any longer, hefted the spilled silks and carpets in the air, still shouting curses and threats.

Heedless of the crowd, the wagon's driver careened through the streets. "Where is he going?" Tris managed through clenched teeth as he struggled to hold on. A roll of carpet whacked him in the head from behind as two more slippery bolts of silk slid down on him from the front, burying him. Some of the loose silks flew behind them on the breeze like richly colored flags.

"Don't know, but he's riding like the Avenger herself is behind us," Harrtuck rejoined, struggling for a handhold and being pummeled by falling carpets.

Their driver gave a cry of exultation as the wagon shot out of the city gates and onto the open road. "We're going to have a long walk back," Tris muttered, hanging on with all his might, his arms aching from the strain. There was no choice but to stay with the wagon, wherever it was headed, at least until it slowed. Finally, at least a half a candlemark after they left the city, the wagon reduced its breakneck pace, then stopped near a small grove of trees.

"Where are we?" Tris whispered. Harrtuck shrugged. "Do you think he knows we're here?"

Harrtuck shook his head. "Can't. Whoever it was wasn't even in sight when we-"

Just then, a crossbow bolt thudded into the carpet a handsbreadth from Harrtuck's shoulder.

"I would advise you to move real slowly," a man drawled. "My aim gets better on the second shot."

Harrtuck broke into a broad grin. "By the Whore!" he spat. "That was your best shot," the armsman rejoined. Tris looked at the soldier as if he were mad, but Harrtuck's grin broadened further.

"Come out!" the wagonmaster ordered, but Tris could hear a shade less certainty in their captor's tone. Slowly, hands raised, Tris and Harrtuck pushed off the bolts of silk and rolls of carpets that covered them and stood.

Their captor's crossbow was notched and leveled at their chests. He was young, perhaps ten seasons Tris's senior, with chestnut brown hair that fell shoulder length in a neat queue. His dark eyes glinted with a quick intelligence, and his tan spoke of seasons spent outdoors. A scar ran from below his right ear down into his collar. But what struck Tris most was the self-assurance in the way he held the crossbow, and in the solid, fighter's stance that told his captives that his marksmanship was no bluff.

"Vahanian?" Tris breathed, his hands still raised in surrender.

"Would you put that toy away, Jonmarc?" Harrtuck groused good-naturedly. "The blood is running out of my fingertips."

Jonmarc Vahanian looked at Harrtuck in astonishment for a heartbeat, and then slowly unnotched and lowered his bow. After another instant, a broad, lopsided grin broke across his

handsome features. "Harrtuck, you old devil," he laughed, stepping forward.

Harrtuck embraced him, and slapped him hard on the back. "You're still alive, Jonmarc," he greeted. "Business must be good."

Vahanian dismissed the remark with a shrug. "You know me, Tov. I get by."

"Who were your friends back at the marketplace?" Harrtuck asked. "Never saw you near so many priests before in my life. I thought for sure the Crone would strike you dead."

Vahanian laughed. "I was just getting a friendly lecture from the local, ah, merchants' guild," he said, but his expression made it plain that he relished the altercation.

"Since when are priests interested in what you have to offer?" Harrtuck asked skeptically. "Don't tell me you've taken a vocation?" he joked.

Vahanian guffawed. "Not likely, unless it's with the Dark Lady," he laughed. "I probably owe her more than a lifetime's service." He sobered. "I've been running some goods into Nargi," he added. "Cartelasian carpets and the like."

Harrtuck stared at him, perplexed. "Why would carpets get a reaction like that from the priests?"

Vahanian stared at the sky in mock innocence. "Couldn't say. Except that somewhere along the line, someone stuffed the carpet rolls with Mussa silks and Tordassian brandy."

Tris watched the entire exchange mutely, trying to get a sense of the adventurer-merchant. If

Vahanian had survived smuggling past the Nargi for long, he must certainly be as good as Harrtuck boasted. But if he were as motivated by profit as he appeared, Tris thought with concern, the sizable bounty Jared almost certainly placed by now might win out over any friendship that Harrtuck presumed. He watched the two men banter and tried to relax, but kept one hand close to his sword.

"You haven't explained yet why you were hiding in my cart, Tov," Vahanian said.

Harrtuck drew a deep breath. "I've got a business proposition for you, Jonmarc. We need a guide."

Vahanian looked from Harrtuck to Tris and back again. "We?"

"Myself, this young man, and two others," Harrtuck replied, sidestepping introductions. "We need to go north, to Dhasson."

"So go," Vahanian countered. "Lots of people do it without a guide."

Harrtuck shook his head. "It's a bit more complicated than that, Jonmarc. You know what the roads north are like come winter, and we're nearly on the storm season. A guide is the difference between making it through and freezing to death, and I've no mind to cheat the Goddess on this one." He paused. "And there's another small aspect I haven't mentioned," he said slowly. "We've got a rather hot cargo to deliver."

Vahanian grinned. "Now you're speaking my language." He frowned. "But Dhasson has open borders. There's not much to smuggle that they won't trade openly, besides dreamweed and you know I don't handle dreamweed."

Harrtuck fixed him with a hard stare. "I don't anticipate trouble getting into Dhasson, Jonmarc. It's getting out of Margolan," he said evenly. "And the cargo is human."

Vahanian looked at Tris with a long, even stare before looking back at Harrtuck. "Say on," he said, his voice skeptical.

Harrtuck shrugged. "I have three friends who witnessed an indiscretion on the part of a rather important nobleman," he lied. "They saw him murder another noble. They managed to get away, but the murderer knows they witnessed the crime. He's placed a bounty to make sure they die before they have the chance to tell the dead man's friends. The three young men have other plans," Harrtuck said drolly.