He let out a slow breath. It would not happen this day. The sky remained empty, and his hope remained unanswered.
About an hour before sunset and far short of the planned stop at the water hole, the caravan master brought his wagons to the top of a broad hill and had them draw together in a circle. In the last light of day the tribesmen gathered all the dried dung and dead brush they could find for a fire. They cut thorny bushes and formed them into a corral for the oxen. The horses were watered from the precious store of barrels kept on the wagons for emergencies, then they were fed and tethered inside the circle of wagons.
Ulin and Challie lit the fire and hurriedly prepared a quick meal for the men while Lucy took care of their draft horses.
They were scrubbing the pans with sand in the lingering light of early evening when Akkar-bin approached them.
His cold eyes regarded them for a moment before he spoke. “Have you weapons to defend yourselves if the draconians attack?”
Lucy glanced up from where she was kneeling in the sand and hefted the large iron skillet she had been cleaning. “I was taught by a master,” she said, her expression and voice completely serious.
Ulin knew exactly what master she was referring to, for he had seen his grandmother clear the Inn at closing time with a similar “weapon.” He almost laughed when he saw Akkar-bin’s face. The Khur’s humorless gaze stared at Lucy as if he thought she had slipped into dementia.
“We have only small weapons,” Ulin said, drawing the man’s attention away from Lucy. “Is there a sword I could borrow?”
Akkar-bin grunted a reply and jerked his hand toward the wagon containing the shipment of swords. “Take one from the crate. They are straight blades intended for a customer on the Blood Coast. They will be easier for you to handle than our scimitars.”
With another blank look at Lucy he turned on his heel and strode away.
Lucy snorted a suppressed laugh. “That man is hopeless. There are rocks in the desert with more imagination.”
“Maybe,” Ulin agreed. “But he does know his business. I don’t know why you bother trying to goad him.”
“He’s a challenge,” Lucy replied, her grin wicked.
Ulin left the women scrubbing pots and went to the wagon Akkar-bin had indicated. With the help of the driver, he found a long crate labeled WOOL DYES near the top of the load. Curious, he pried off the lid. Inside was a layer of hand-sewn bags containing various colors of dye. Beneath that lay perhaps a dozen swords, carefully wrapped in lengths of thick felt. Ulin pondered just who this customer was-a fuller who kept his own army? The driver winked and handed him several swords to try.
After a few minutes of hefting and testing, he found one to his liking and thanked the driver. Although Ulin was competent with a scimitar, he preferred the straight blade of a good broadsword, and this one seemed to be a fine one with a good leather grip and excellent balance. He carried his new sword back to the cook wagon and helped Lucy and Challie settle things for the night.
It proved to be a long and tense night that ended uneventfully with a red sun pushing above the skyline at dawn. There had been no sign of draconians or anything else threatening, and the caravan remained unmolested. Weary and relieved, Ulin and the girls fed the Khurs and prepared to get underway.
The caravan made good time that day, stopping only once at a tiny watering hole to refill the barrels and water the stock. The guards remained alert both before and behind the caravan, and Akkar-bin sent out scouts to keep a watch for signs of marauders. Near midday the caravan master called a halt at a small oasis already occupied by a clan of nomads. The safety afforded by the additional numbers of fighting men more than compensated the caravan for the fee charged by the clan chief for use of the wells. That night the Khurs slept well after thoroughly enjoying the services and refreshments offered by the tribesmen.
Heads were aching the next morning when Akkar-bin roused his crew and got them moving. Ulin had to treat several minor injuries won in fights the night before and a number of hangovers brought on by the powerful Khurish liquor. Nevertheless, the wagons were on the road in short order and headed east for their final push to Flotsam.
Perhaps it was the afternoon heat that bore down on them, sapping their strength and dulling their senses. Perhaps it was the effects of celebrating the night before. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep or the relief brought on by the impending end of the journey. Whether it was one factor or a combination of several, the effect was a lethargy that settled over the entire caravan several hours after noon. The men’s voices stilled until the only steady sounds from the train were the jingling of the harnesses and the plod of the oxen’s hooves on the sand-covered road. The drivers dozed on their seats.
The rearguard, annoyed by the cloud of dust kicked up the oxen, gradually dropped farther and farther back until the occupants of the last wagons could no longer see them. Akkar-bin and the point guards fought their drowsiness and tried to stay alert, but their attention was wavering when the caravan entered a short ravine between two tall hills.
The cook wagon rolled along at the rear of the caravan as usual. Lucy drove this afternoon while Challie sat beside her and Ulin slept in the back under the shade of the canvas cover. Lucy breathed a sigh of gratitude when they entered the ravine. Red rock walls reared over their heads and cast the narrow trail into shadow. It wasn’t much of a change, but any interruption from the fierce sun was welcome. She glanced back down the trail and still could not see the rearguard through the hanging clouds of dust, nor could she see much in the ravine ahead. The head of the caravan was lost from sight among the steep walls of stone.
The first indication of trouble they heard was a thud on the side of the wagon.
Challie looked over her side and cried, “Lucy! That’s an arrow!”
Abruptly, the air seemed full of arrows, dropping down from above. Several passed close to the women or slammed into the wooden slats of the wagon. One struck their wheel horse on his flank. He screamed in fear and pain, and both horses reared in panic, causing the wagon to jerk and pitch.
Just ahead, the driver of the freight wagon slumped in his seat. His oxen stopped in their tracks, blocking the path.
A shrill scream followed by several more pierced the hot, dusty air. Many voices shouted now, from behind and ahead and from above.
Ulin jolted upright as Challie fell backward over the seat and landed on top of him. “What’s happening? What’s going on?” he shouted, still groggy from sleep.