Fantastical Ramblings (7 page)

“You may be smarter. But perhaps you are not more stubborn,”
a soft, gentle voice said from Katya’s left side.

She started, hands reaching for weapons as heat infused her
face. Not noticing the approach of another could cost her her life. The
recharged blue bead remained quiet.

In all the dust, noise, and general chaos of preparing a
caravan for departure, the tall, slim woman escorted by a quad of black-skinned
servants had drifted close, but not so close as to be alarming. The silent men,
clothed in elaborate kilts of gold-fringed linen, each held a corner pole of
the peaked canopy that sheltered the lady.

The stillness of the lady’s spirit struck Katya before her
flowing white hair, white skin, white gloves, and white gown registered in her
mind.

“Lady Sha’awna, I presume,” Katya turned to face the woman
she was charged to protect.

The albino bowed, formally.

Katya returned the bow, then remembered the lady could not
see. “I am Kat,” she replied. “The camel is ready for you to mount. I have
contrived a saddle with stirrups for the canopy poles as instructed.” Katya
checked over her shoulder to make sure the camel had stayed down.

It sat calmly chewing and re-chewing its cud. Katya didn’t
trust it. She stepped to the side and behind the camel’s shoulder, gesturing
the escorts to keep Lady Sha’awna out of range.

Just then the camel spat. The greenish gob landed in the
center of the clearing but bits of it sprayed the feet of the closest man. Seemingly,
he took no notice.

All around them shouts and curses erupted as wagons, camels,
guards, and merchants moved into the line of march.

“We must hurry, Lady, or we will eat the dust of those who
go before us,” Katya urged.

“My baggage?” Lady Sha’awna asked. She did not look around,
as a sighted person would. Nor did she raise her eyelids above a slit, giving
the impression that she looked down her thin, straight nose at the world.

“I loaded your two trunks and mine on another beast myself,”
Katya explained, all the while urging the black men forward with hand gestures.

“Excellent. Ramir, my hat?” she asked.

The servant behind her and to her right unfolded a white
broad-brimmed garment complete with gauzy veil from somewhere. He placed the
head covering into Lady Sha’awna’s hand without disrupting his control of the
canopy.

With her face and hair protected from the unrelenting sun,
Lady Sha’awna flowed rather than walked to the camel. Her graceful movements
barely stirred the ever-present dust, leaving her white gown as clean as when
she arrived. Only then did Katya notice that delicate cords attached to her
wrists connected her to the bearers. Their movements, however slight, signaled
her. In a complicated ceremony, the men placed the canopy poles in their
appointed places and lifted her onto the camel’s back. Only when she was in
place did they disconnect the cords. Satisfied that she was safe and
comfortable, each man handed his cord to Katya, symbolically entrusting the
lady to her charge. “Protect her,” the first man said.

“Care for her,” said the second.

“Talk to her,” added the third.

“Love her as we do,” whispered the fourth.

Each one fixed Katya with a fierce glare. She knew that if
she failed, they would seek her out and take their revenge.

Katya bowed to them, moved by their care for the lady. “I
will see her safe,” she told them sincerely.

The men returned her bow and retreated into the crowd.

With less ceremony and considerably less grace, Katya threw
herself atop another camel that had bided his time by casually browsing on the
lidded basket that contained fresh vegetables for the trip. Since the prideful
animal couldn’t feast on the contents, he contented himself with the basket.

With some well-chosen curses, Katya kicked him into lurching
motion as she grabbed the leading rein on Lady Sha’awna’s beast. The more
docile pack animals followed.

Life on the road for the regular travelers quickly took on a
routine. Katya followed their lead. They traveled in a casual order, spreading
out as far as the road and packed verge allowed for three to four hours, then
stopped at an oasis. Katya helped Sha’awna dismount and guided her to a shady
spot beneath a date palm. Everyone walked about, stretching cramped muscles and
chafed skin. The camels drank from a pool. People drank from their own water
vessels and then refilled them from a well.

Katya kept a wary eye on their traveling companions,
counting and re-counting the numbers of servants, merchants, and mercenaries
until she knew them all—one hundred all told—by their stance, their gait, their
smell. Some things could not be masked with magical glamour. She dared not rely
on clothing, faces, and hair as keys to identity. Those could be changed
quickly, as she did routinely when in need of anonymity.

A four hour rapid march brought them to the next oasis an
hour before sunset. While the light held, they made camp. Katya made short work
of pitching a tent that held their possessions and two folding cots. “We have
not much room or luxury, Lady Sha’awna. I chose efficiency and simplicity in
our accommodations.”

“Wise, I’m sure,” Sha’awna replied. “Simple attracts little
attention from more aggressive and greedy travelers.”

“To be sure. The sun is almost down. It will get cold
quickly. You will need a cloak.”

“Yes. Will you prepare our evening rations?”

“I have arranged for us to eat with the mercenaries hired to
guard the caravan. I scouted them yesterday. We can trust them not to poison
us, as my cooking would surely do.”

They laughed together as they walked around the camp, easing
the stiffness and aches of a long journey.

A wiry man with grizzled hair, gathered at his nape with a
leather band, ladled a thick stew into the wooden bowls Katya had brought to
the communal campfire.

“Not what you are used to, plain fare, but nourishing and
filling,” Katya explained as she seated Sha’awna on a camp stool the cook provided.

“I’m certain it will be delicious.” Sha’awna smiled as she
sniffed the fragrant food.

“What general do you report to?” Cannik, the captain of the
mercenary guards asked, taking a stool beside Katya. He looked pointedly at the
grip of Katya’s longest dagger, peeking out from the folds of her robe.

“In the past I reported to General Maassar of the Wind
Sabres. Now I work alone,” Katya openly assessed his own weaponry—visible and
potential.

“I do not know this General Maassar or the Wind Sabres,” Cannik
said.

Katya’s time with them had been brief, and long ago. The
general would remember her for many reasons, her skill with weapons the least
part of it.

“General Maassar has worked for a minor king on Alary,” she
named the continent to the west of Melanesia, “for nearly twenty years.” And
far enough away that Cannik would not go looking for information any time soon.

He jerked a nod of acceptance.

“Easy day of travel tomorrow,” Cannik said. “The oases are
close together. We take frequent rests. Then they spread out. We’ll have long
hard hauls until we reach the big river and the beginning of the wet lands. We’ll
have to start before sunup and stop well after sundown to guarantee stops with
water.”

“You sound as if you’ve made this journey before,” Katya replied.

“Twice a year for the past ten
.
I
know the road and the
danger spots.”

“Is there danger from raiders?” Katya had asked many
questions before beginning this journey. Some questions could only be answered
by those who had traveled this way before with an eye to the dangers.

“We’re too close to the city for raiders to feel safe from
pursuit. They’ll hit us four days out, in the pass, beside the river before we
come to the ford.”

Katya nodded. “Logical. Narrow road. No exits or places to
hide. They block our retreat and wait for us to come to them, a place where
they can drop rocks and shoot arrows from above.”

Cannik nodded. “I know the place.”

“Can you and a select few of your men ride ahead and climb
above the raiders before they get into place?”

Cannik nodded again. “We try that every trip. They either
hit us at another place, or fade away and wait for another caravan.”

“You have a leak.” Katya looked determinedly at her bowl
rather than at the men around the fire.

Cannik nodded again, without committing himself.

They ate in silence for several moments. Lady Sha’awna sat
so still, Katya guessed she listened closely to several conversations.

“Will you come with us on the scouting party? I can always
use another trained warrior.” Cannik looked up from his meal and caught the
gaze of each of the ten men in this circle. Then he shifted his posture to
inspect the two adjacent circles.

“I must stay with my lady.”

“Another...?”

“Another has not taken a vow to protect her at all costs. I
will stay with my lady and help you as I can from her side.”

Lady Sha’awna brushed Katya’s arm lightly. Not an accident. Katya
leaned slightly toward her charge, touching the back of her hand.

“The man three to my left listens to you most avidly and
ignores the conversation with his mates.”

“Interesting,” Katya and Cannik said together. Then caught
each other’s gazes and chuckled.

“I thank the lady for her observation,” he whispered,
masking his words with a spoonful of stew before his mouth. “I will tend to the
issue later.”

The next week passed as Cannik had predicted. Katya and Lady
Sha’awna eased the long dusty hours with conversation, alternately walking and
riding. They talked of politics in Jakarr, the power of the temples, the cost
of bread and silk, the dishonesty of the merchants. Katya found her charge a
well-educated and well-versed conversationalist; a quality cultivated among the
best courtesans. They talked of many things, except themselves. Even when they
discussed religion neither volunteered information about their own faith.

As the hours of travel grew longer, and their water rations
shallower, dust ingrained in clothing making people itch and short of temper. Grit
worked its way under camel saddles turning surly beasts of burden into foul
tempered monsters unafraid to lash out with heavy hooves and smelly spit.

The blue bead warned Katya of danger inside the tent on the
third night. She drew her daggers before pushing aside the canvas flap. The dim
light from a few torches and cook fires showed a round bulge on the end of her
cot that should not be there.

The left hand dagger flew and imbedded into a fat viper
before she thought about the nature of the danger. Patience frayed to rags by
the heat, the dirt, thirst, she stabbed and dismembered the creature again and
again until Sha’awna’s grip on her wrist finally stopped her.

“I think you have made your point.”

Cannik removed the remains by the simple expedient of
lifting the slashed-to-ribbons blanket and carrying it away to toss the snake
meat into the desert for scavengers.

Katya spent a cold night rather than admit she had perhaps
responded to the minor threat more fiercely than she should.

The next day brought a steady wind that circled and played
with the dust, sending cyclones of it into their eyes, their hair, their teeth.
They walked, letting the camels shield them from some of the blowing dirt.

“I need a bath,” Lady Sha’awna announced as they approached
the evening oasis two hours after sunset. “I need clean clothing. I need
protection from the sun!” She stamped her foot and crossed her arms refusing to
move forward.

The caravan flowed around her as a river forges a path
around a tiny island.

“My regrets, Lady. We all want a bath, clean clothes, and
real beds. Those are not options,” Katya tried to soothe her. Her own words
sharp.

“Options! When have I ever had options? No one asks what I
want. I am bought and sold, shunted from place to place so I will no longer
disgrace those I leave behind. Their choice. Their options.”

Katya cringed beneath the tirade. “Out here none of us has
choices,” she placated.

“You chose to come out here. I did not.”

“You had the choice to sail with your prince. I know a sea
voyage is riskier...”

“No, I did not have that choice. No one thought to offer it
to me.” Lady Sha’awna lifted her chin and firmed her posture. “Choices. Everyone
has choices but me.”

Before Katya could think about a reply a scream rose from
the oases. She had a dagger in one hand and a throwing star in the other before
the shouts of alarm gave way to crisp orders from Cannik.

“My lady, stay behind me,” Katya ordered. With a wide
gesture she swept her charge away from the surge of traffic, human and animal. Then
she checked Sha’awna’s fine silk cord attached to her left wrist, her off hand.
Keeping a wary eye on as wide a scene as possible Katya edged across the
wasteland toward the swath of green around the wells. Sha’awna led the camels.

As the animals neared the oasis, their nostrils flared at
the scent of water. They brayed, loudly. Their ears flicked forward and back. They
stepped more quickly and eagerly.

“Keep the animals back!” Cannik shouted.

Katya stopped short. Sha’awna ran into her. The camels tried
to lurch past them in their hurry to reach the life-giving water. Katya made a
desperate grab for their reins and dug in her heels. She needed all her
considerable strength to slow them. They protested mightily, noisily, with much
stamping of feet and bellowing and spitting.

“Stop those camels!” Cannik said again from much closer. Katya
dropped her full body weight into the rough dirt and scrub and still the beasts
dragged her forward.

Cannik lunged and added his own weight to the reins. With an
annoyed scream the camels dropped, folding their knees beneath them. They
continued protesting the humans’ unreasonable action of keeping them from the
necessary water.