Orthil's jaw dropped and he stared at her in bewilderment. "Wha-buh-"
"Orthil," Shandril said icily, paying no attention to the gathering crowd of gawking men behind her but knowing quite well how their numbers were swelling, "get! Unless you'd be so kind as to take that blandreth off the boil and make thrusk for us. In fact, I'd like that-and over a tankard each, you can tell us about your trifle of trouble whilst I finish getting dressed… after, that is, you let me start getting dressed!"
Eager hands lifted the blandreth off the fire, stirred the thrusk, and handed tankards up to the baffled-looking caravan master. Shaking his head a little, Voldovan took them, set them down carefully, then whirled to face the crowd and roared, "Get out of here! Each of ye, to yer own beast and harness! Make ready to roll wagons-now!"
He pulled down the wagon-flap again to shut out the watching world, turned back to Narm and Shandril, and asked politely, "Thrusk, anyone?"
Narm couldn't hide his grin. Shaking his head, he accepted a steaming tankard, set it aside to avoid scalded lips, and went on settling his nondescript armor into place and rolling away bedding.
Shandril, wearing nothing but boots and the strange network of straps that would hold up her greaves and armored stomacher when they were fastened, strolled from the depths of the wagon over to Voldovan, turned her back on him, and said, "I've no Storstil nor Narbuth handy, so could you do me up, sir?"
For a moment she thought she was going to get a tankard of scalding thrusk flung over her, but instead she felt warm breath on her bare shoulder blades and heard the loud hissing of the caravan master heaving a gusty sigh. The sound of tankards being carefully set down again followed, and then rough-surfaced knuckles were gently snugging straps together down her back.
Orthil said in a low voice, "I-my apologies, both of ye. I'm… not a happy man, this morn. There was more trouble in the night."
"What sort of trouble?" Narm asked, taking his first cautious sip of thrusk-then grimacing and wishing he hadn't. Boiled tongue for breakfast again.
"More folk gone."
"Gone?" Shandril asked, as wiry, dirty hair brushed her behind and those hardened fingers laced and buckled their ways down to her ankles.
"Gone-vanished, leaving their wagons behind, goods and all. If they fought, we heard it not, and no one saw anything. I sent the lads out to search the woods and they found tracks, right enough: leucrotta and bear, plus a little blood here and there."
Narm and Shandril both heard the "but" in the caravan master's tone. Shan turned to regard Voldovan with a thoughtful frown on her face, but it was Narm who prompted him. "But-?"
"The tracks don't come close to any wagons. The beasts might have scavenged the dead, but they didn't drag or chase them away from camp. Why'd the men stray? Or did someone-a few men at least, it'd take-creep in with knife or strangle-wire and carry them off? If so, why steal nothing? Folk scared by brigands and all our warnings don't just wander from their wagons, right past my guards, and get clear out of a rock cleft unseen!"
"You need our magic," Narm said quietly, "now that you've come and seen and made sure we aren't the murderers you're looking for."
"I've made sure of nothing, lad," Voldovan told him heavily, "but for what 'tis worth, no, I don't think either of ye were snatching away a dozen merchants last night. I–I don't hold with wizards. There's none in Scornubel as I'd trust within a kingdom of me, and I can't afford one casting from any of'em, let alone entice one to set foot in the Blackrocks and ride guard for me. Damned expensive, arrogant nuisances, but when ye need them, ye really need them!"
The caravan master took a swig of steaming thrusk that would have cooked Narm's gullet, realized who he was talking to, and added hastily, "Uh, no offense meant to ye, lad and lady."
Back in her corner, Shandril waved a dismissive hand and returned to Voldovan with a despairing look and the heavy chaos of her breastplate in her arms. The caravan master drained his tankard in another throat-scalding swig, hastily lifted the garment, and turned it so that she could step in under his hands and let him lower it into place.
"Watch this," the maid from Highmoon said sharply to her husband. "I won't be troubling Master Voldovan to be dressing me every morn, no matter how much he enjoys it."
Orthil gave her a half-amused snort and said grimly to Narm, "Ye may have to get battle-spells ready, lad, if this goes on. Those brigands haven't done with us. They probably took the Two Pools trail and will be waiting for us next night. Or they're shadowing us, along the ridges. Either way, we're so much cook-meat on firespits once they learn how weak we're getting."
"Voldovan?" a rough but familiar voice called from close by outside the wagon.
"In!" the caravan master called curtly, and Arauntar thrust his head in at the flap, Beldimarr at his shoulder. "Well?"
"We've searched all. Nothing."
"Just gone, hey?"
The veteran guards nodded in grim unison.
"Any of the wagons better than what's still rolling?"
Arauntar shook his head. "Two clients lost theirs, an' we've shifted them to the best abandoned ones already. Valuable cargo, food, an' wagon wheels are in the other ready-wagon. Packed to the high hoops, 'tis."
"Thank the gods ye two know what to do. Anything to come in here?"
"A dozen strongchests an' a water barrel, if there's room."
"Oh, there'll be room. With just the lass riding the perch and one of ye as drover, we can pack this one to the hoops, too. Gods, but the hay's going fast."
"We'll be staying together," Narm said quietly, "Shan and me. At all times."
Orthil glared at him. "Oh ye will, will ye?"
"Yes," Shandril told him crisply, hefting her helmet. "We will, Orthil."
"That'd be best," Arauntar said quickly, ere Voldovan could draw breath for the angry tirade that by the look on his face seemed to be building swiftly to an eruption, "now that so many of us guards're down. With 'em both together, it takes only one of us to watch 'em. B'marr and I can take turns at that."
Beldimarr nodded, and then looked at Orthil.
"Well," the caravan master growled, "seeing as how ye seem to have it all worked out, why don't we just do that?" He eyed Narm and Shandril suspiciously, then whirled to peer at Arauntar and Beldimarr.
After a long, narrow-eyed look, Voldovan turned back to the mage and the spellfire-maid and growled, "If I thought ye'd worked a spell on these two to get them to say aye to yer plan, it'd be my sword ye'd both be feeling about now." He sighed. "My scheme was to have a hold over ye, lass, to guard against any tyranny ye might feel the need of dispensing, by having thy husband elsewhere, in our grasp. I can make the same threats with crossbows, if need be. Be warned."
"Oh, aye," Beldimarr growled before Shandril could reply, "one more thing: Carngaur died. The lance must've been poisoned."
"Buried?"
"Nay-let him poison a few leucrotta an' do us all one last service. He's back in the woods a-ways."
The caravan master nodded, sighed again, and made a large, circular knot in one of the tally-cords at his belt.
"He has a wife," Arauntar said softly, and Orthil frowned and changed the knot to another. Then his hands went to his other hip and held up some of the cords hanging there.
"We haven't the day it would take to tally every last chest and coffer and cask moved here or there; just tell me what wagons to tie off."
"Well, now. Dead folk can't pay us outstanding passage costs-an' we're going to have a real battle if we try to charge men who lost wagons any costs that come with another one we salvaged, to give to them…"