Gudon tapped him on the shoulder. “Do not turn around, but wait for him to pass. A tall man on a big horse.”
A moment later Lynan saw the man come into view. He was dressed in leather armor and was inspecting every one he passed. He threw Lynan and Gudon a lingering glance, but moved on.
“Mercenary,” Lynan said.
“Truth. Searching for us. Prado or one of his men must have survived, and their friends have come looking for us.”
“How do you know that? They could be looking for someone else…” The argument sounded hollow even to him. “Why didn’t he look us over more closely?”
“Think, little master. If you were searching for a prince and a pilot, who would you assume was on the horse?”
Lynan laughed. “Your injury may yet do us good.”
“This time, but perhaps not next time,” Gudon cautioned. “We must become even less conspicuous. Early in the morning, before the dust rises, we will be more obvious.”
The wagon in front of them hit a hole in the road. The load of fragile pottery shifted, and the straw boats at the back started to slip through a loosened knot. Lynan threw Gudon the reins and rushed forward. He tightened the rope across the back of the wagon and retied the knot. A short, bearded man appeared on a donkey. He raised a cane to strike at Lynan’s hands.
“Good sir!” Gudon cried out. “He has saved your goods from destruction!”
The merchant hesitated, holding his cane high in the air.
“Sir,” Lynan said in as meek a voice as possible, “the rope was loose. See the knot I have tied? Is this yours?”
The merchant lowered his arm and leaned over the donkey to see the knot. He had a small, sharp face, and his eyes gleamed like a rat’s. “My father’s soul,” he sighed, shaking his head, “that is not my knot. Forgive me, sir. You have done me a great favor and I would have caned you for it.” The merchant sucked through his teeth. “But there is an obligation. You will eat in my tent tonight.”
“That is too much generosity,” Gudon argued. “It was only a knot!”
Lynan scowled at Gudon. They had no food, and the crazy pilot was throwing away a free meal!
“Too much generosity!” cried the merchant. “I will show you too much generosity! Not only will you eat with me tonight, you will sleep with me and my servants so you will be safe from brigands!”
Gudon bowed his head. “You are munificent.”
The merchant puffed himself up. “Yes. And I am generous.”
“Indeed,” Gudon agreed, smiling faintly. “My name is Gudon. My friend’s name is—”
“Migam!” Lynan said quickly.
“Migam,” Gudon confirmed.
“Good to meet you, I am sure. I am Goodman Gatheras, merchant from Sparro, dealer in the world’s finest pottery. Have you seen my wares?”
“Indeed,” Gudon said. “We have been following your wagon for several hours and admiring the pottery.”
“The Chetts will buy all of this?” Lynan asked.
“Most of it,” Gatheras replied. “Much of which they will then sell on to merchants from Haxus in the spring. I also sell some of my wares to other merchants like me. The Failing Sun Caravan is a great opportunity to meet those from faraway lands.” He looked downcast then. “Alas, it is also a great opportunity for thieves.” He blinked at Lynan. “For which I mistook you.”
“An innocent mistake,” Lynan told him.
Gatheras sat erect on his donkey, a proud king dressed in a merchant’s finery. “Not only am I munificent and generous,” he declared, “I am also plenteous. Not only will you share our food and our tent, but I offer you the protection of my company all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq.”
“Ah, benevolence!” Gudon cried, raising his arms in supplication. “What fortune to have tied your knot!”
The merchant nodded stiffly, accepting the compliment. “I must see to the knots on my other wagons. Excuse me.” He tapped the donkey with his cane and trotted off into the dust, muttering to himself: “Munificent… generous… plenteous… benevolent…”
“Your good deed has served us well,” Gudon said to Lynan.
“The mercenary returns,” Lynan said under his breath.
The rider in leather was in more of a hurry going back down the line. He barely glanced at the pair.
“The real danger will be at the sooq,” Gudon said. “It will be easier for them to discern between merchants and freeloaders like us.”
“How are we going to find Lynan amid all this?” Jenrosa asked. She coughed as even more dust found its way down her throat. All around her trundled wagons, herds of people and stamping horses. She desperately wanted to ride, to try and get above at least some of the dust and confusion, but Kumul had insisted they stay on foot. It was the only chance they had of making himself and Ager even remotely inconspicuous.
They had reached the pass an hour before. Ager had known of the Failing Sun Caravan from his work with merchants, but Kumul and Jenrosa were overwhelmed first by the spectacle and then by the confusion. They felt like grains of wheat floating helplessly with the current of a great river. The sun, low in the western horizon, was shining full on their faces; it looked obscenely distended and red in the haze, but its light was still strong enough to make them squint.
“We have no chance of finding him in this crowd without bringing attention to ourselves,” Ager said. “We will have to wait until we reach the Strangers’ Sooq at the end of the pass.”
“How long?” Jenrosa asked.
“I have never traveled this road, but I have been told the journey from Daavis is four days with a wagon: two days to reach the Algonka Pass and two days to cross and reach the sooq. We came onto the road about halfway along the pass. So a day, maybe two, at the most.”
“And if we do find Lynan there, what next?”
“Into the Oceans of Grass,” Kumul said, not sounding too happy about their prospects. “If we have figured all of this out, then so have the mercenaries.”
They had noticed the scouts moving up and down the line and had dismounted before being seen, taking cover behind a large wagon carrying sheep hides built up into fleecy hills.
“We might have seemed nothing more than guards for some of the merchants,” Ager suggested weakly.
“We have no reason to expect fortune to favor us so suddenly,” Jenrosa said.
“She is right,” Kumul said. “They will recognize us if they see us.”
“Then, when the caravan halts for the night, we must find our way to its center,” Ager said. “There is some obscurity in numbers.”
Kumul agreed. “If Lynan is among this lot, then we may find him there, too.”
“We might do better to search for his wounded companion,” Jenrosa suggested.
“Good idea,” Ager said. “But our main objective at this point should be to remain unnoticed until we reach the sooq.”
They trudged on, keeping an eye out for any sign of more mercenaries. Jenrosa tried to take in what was going on around her, the merchants and their colorful clothes, the different goods being carried by the wagons, but she had to concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other. She was more tired than she could have imagined possible back in her slow and comfortable life as a student magicker. She wondered if she would ever have that again, that feeling of not being hunted, of not desperately seeking some kind of sanctuary. That, in turn, made her think of the Oceans of Grass; the very name suggested vast distances where an army could lose itself, and a germ of hope kindled in her heart. Perhaps there, an insignificant speck, she would find peace again. Even as she had the thought, something inside of her rebelled against it. Life in Kendra may have been comfortable, but it had also been numbingly boring. Would the Cherts allow her to practice her magic? What magic did they use? Could they teach her?