A Merchant’s Luck

by Michael R. Meyerhofer

part 2 of 7

Hess turned in the direction of the twisted woodlands of Nelophi and sniffed the air. The motion caused her russet braids to spill over one bare, sun-bronzed shoulder. She said, “No. And given the gods’ rot-curse, I should be able to smell them at least a mile away.”

Castor knew better than to doubt her senses. Saying nothing, he reclined as much as his Floating Throne allowed. He tried to make himself comfortable, but his back felt cramped. He would have ordered the magical chair to descend the few feet it hovered off the ground so he could walk, but he could not remember the proper command words.

He figured Hess remembered — she remembered everything — but he was not about to embarrass himself by asking. He thought about calling his servants to bring another bottle of Dwarfish wine, but the potent stuff curdled his stomach if he drank it too often. Castor closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

“You can’t possibly still be tired!” His bodyguard’s voice rang in his ears, startling him. “I know you merchants are fond of sloth, but it’s the middle of the afternoon!”

“Can’t you at least pretend to respect me?” Castor snapped back. “You’re the most aggravating bodyguard I’ve ever hired!”

Violet dark eyes studied him for a moment, then Hess laughed. “Would you still respect me if I did?”

Castor considered the matter. “No,” he admitted finally. Once again, he fought to conceal a grin. As much as he enjoyed the wealth and privilege afforded by his recent success, he admired his bodyguard’s bluntness.

He was just contemplating this when the Satyr froze in her tracks. She stopped so abruptly that Castor continued in his floating chair until he remembered the proper command-word to freeze the chair in mid-air. “What is it?”

Hess hurried to his side. Even with Castor’s magical chair floating several feet off the ground, the Satyr warrior-woman hovered over him. Her strong, slender fingers curled around the hilt of her sword. Her violet eyes narrowed, turning this way and that. “We’re about to have company.”

Castor’s pulse quickened. This would not be the first time assassins had sought him on the open road, far from the protection of whatever Halfrealm king he happened to be selling to, but his bodyguard’s keen senses had always detected them well in advance.

Hess seemed to read his thoughts. “I should have caught their scent before this, but I barely caught a whiff of it just now.” She shook her russet braids. “I still can’t tell what or how many, which means they must be shielded by magic.”

This worried Castor even further. There weren’t many assassins left who could afford the magical trinkets necessary to hide their scent from a Satyr. Those who could were not only formidable, but well-paid.

And if they know I have a Satyr bodyguard, what else do they know? he wondered with dread. He twisted awkwardly in his floating chair, glancing at the fourteen wagons behind him. “Maybe we should call up the guards—”

But Aesho Hess was already shouting. “Captain Therocles, circle the wagons!” She drew her favorite weapon — a bastard sword tempered in wytchfire — and gestured directions for the wagons. Tiny flicks of blue flame ignited just above her sword-hilt, coursing along the length of the blade. Even in the Halfrealms, Wytchblades were rare. This one had been a gift from Castor.

Hess dashed about with alarming speed, her chain-mail skirt fluttering about her swift, equine legs. All self-consciousness vanished as she used her legs to their fullest potential, dashing to and fro, herding Castor’s guards into defensive positions.

Captain Therocles had official command over Castor’s caravan guards, but even an imposing mercenary in full plate knew better than to question the orders of someone like Aesho Hess. The guards knew better, too. They obeyed her as quickly and efficiently as possible. Moments later, all fourteen wagons had been lashed into a tight circle. Even Therocles took up position where Aesho indicated, arming himself, like the others, with a crossbow.

Castor watched from his floating chair. He had the distinct feeling that he himself had been forgotten. He still could not remember which command-word settled the magical chair on the ground, and it was too high a jump for his weak knees.

Then Aesho Hess whirled and galloped back as fast as her two equine legs could carry her. “Why in the gods’ name are you just sitting there?”

Castor blushed. “I can’t remember which word—”

Hess spoke the command-word herself. Castor’s floating chair settled gently on the ground. Castor rose, grateful for the opportunity to stretch his cramped legs, but Hess suddenly changed her mind. “Sit back down!”

Such was the sharp tone of her voice that Castor obeyed.

Hess strode away from the wagons, toward a thicket of dogwoods in the distance. She spoke another word over her shoulder, and Castor’s floating chair rose to follow.

Castor cursed. “Hess, I can control my own damn chair! Now, let—”

“Shut up!” his bodyguard hissed. She grabbed his chair and maneuvered it out of sight. Another word settled it onto the ground. All the motion made Castor’s head spin. He was about to protest when the warrior-woman grabbed the front of his silk robes and yanked him out, tossing him to the ground.

“Stay down,” she whispered.

Castor looked dizzily out from cover at the circled wagon and the rest of his highly paid guards. “Wait... why aren’t we staying with the wagons?”

“Because that’s what they expect.”

Hess folded her back-bent legs beneath her. Thanks to discreet slits in her chain mail skirt, she settled her great height until she too disappeared behind the thicket of dogwoods.

Castor shook his head, his heart pounding. “Are you sure—”

“Whisper!” Hess commanded.

Castor swallowed hard, frightened by her sternness, and lowered his voice. “Are you sure they mean us harm? These are busy roads. Maybe they’re just travelers—”

“Using magic to hide their scent? I doubt it.” Hess sheathed her Wytchblade, concealing its brilliant blue flames beneath the dark fabric of her scabbard. She readied her crossbow instead. It was a weapon so large that most full-grown men could not have used it. It was designed to propel up to five crossbow bolts at a time. Since only the central bolt could be accurately aimed, it was a weapon designed for use at close range against greater numbers.

Aesho effortlessly spanned the weapon, then docked it with a single bolt for now, meaning she could still pick off an attacker at long range, if necessary. She gave Castor a harsh, sidelong glance. “Whatever you do, stay put. And for gods’ sake, stay quiet!” She faced the road again. “I wonder which pompous sorcerer you rankled this time!”

Castor was about to protest his innocence when he remembered her orders. Since when does a merchant lord take orders from his bodyguard? he thought.

He suddenly realized he was having trouble breathing. He covered his mouth with one hand to conceal his own wheezing. He stayed crouched behind the dogwoods, so close to Aesho that he could smell over the blossoms the faint traces of her favorite Elfish perfume masking the strangely sweet musk of the Satyr-fur covering her legs. After a while, he slowly lifted his head enough to see through the thicket.

They appeared a moment later, twenty-fold, dressed all in black.

Proceed to part 3...