“I want to get to the Strangers’ Sooq before the caravan. I must find my friends to arrange things.”
“Can’t I come with you?”
“The mercenaries have set guards. They will not worry too much about a single Chett—many of us travel along the pass—but they will decidedly pay attention if they see you.”
“But what will I do?” He tried not to sound desperate. He searched for courage, but it seemed far, far away.
“I have asked Gatheras to let you stay with him. I told him I would make sure he gets favorable treatment from the Chetts. He agreed, and will take you with him to the sooq.”
“But what will I do when I get there?”
“If I am not there to greet you, you must find a Chett dealer named Kayakun. You can trust this man. He will know what to do. You must follow his instructions precisely. Do you understand?”
Lynan nodded, not really understanding but at least willing to trust Gudon. “What about your knee?”
“Gatheras will help me to the horse. I will have no trouble riding to the sooq. It is not that far for a single rider.” Gudon patted Lynan’s shoulder. “You will be all right. Keep your eyes open. Talk only to Gatheras. If I am not at the sooq, find Kayakun.”
“Are you ready?” Gatheras said behind Lynan, making him start in surprise.
Gudon nodded and Gatheras approached and offered the Chett a hand up. Gudon left the tent without another word. Lynan hugged his knees. He wanted to curl up into a ball and let the world pass him by. He did not want to stand, or leave the tent, or go to the Strangers’ Sooq, or find a man called Kayakun. He wanted the past weeks to evaporate into a nightmare and leave him warm and safe in his bed back in Kendra’s palace.
He stayed like that for several minutes. Gatheras returned and squatted down beside him. “It is the small things in life that make it worthwhile,” the merchant said in a businesslike tone. “Take, for example, the knot you tied on the rope around my wagon. It was a little thing, but it meant a great deal to me. I will take you to the Strangers’ Sooq. It is a little thing, but I think it will mean a great deal to you. Am I right?”
Lynan nodded.
“Good. Now you must do a little thing. You must stand.”
Lynan met Gatheras’s gaze. “I am—”
“Do not say afraid. No one is afraid to stand up.” Gatheras stood up, his arms out wide as if to embrace the idea. “A little thing.”
Lynan swallowed and stood up. “A little thing,” he said, his voice wavering.
Gatheras held out a tunic. “This carries the sign of my house. You will wear it until we reach the Sooq. This is a particular request from Gudon.”
Lynan took off his coat and exchanged it for the tunic.
“Now everyone will think you work for me and not spare you a second glance.”
Lynan frowned. “How much did Gudon tell you about me?”
Gatheras smiled mysteriously. “Are you hungry?”
Remembering the huge meal he had last night he started to say no, but when he thought about it he realized he was hungry. “Yes,” he said.
“Then the next little thing we will do is eat. I cannot have my servants passing out from lack of food. Come with me.”
Gudon kicked the horse into an easy trot. As he rode from the camp, the ground started sloping gently toward the west. It would level out a few leagues on, and an hour’s hard ride after that he would reach the first Chett outposts, single warriors hidden in grass hides who watched the comings and goings of everyone leaving the Algonka Pass.
A mercenary guard rode toward him, keeping parallel until Gudon waved at him and held up two string baskets, each holding one of Gatheras’ beautiful pots. The mercenary shook his head, Gudon shrugged and continued on. After a while, the mercenary dropped back to resume his station.
Gudon thought he had made it through when a second mercenary appeared suddenly from a copse near the river. Gudon did not want to appear like a fugitive, so he slowed and waited for the mercenary to catch up. The rider wheeled his horse in front of Gudon, barring his escape. He was a thickset bruiser with hairy arms and ragged black hair tied back in an ivory pinch. He smiled genially enough and rubbed his chin with a callused finger.
“Early start?” he asked.
“Indeed, master.” He held up his baskets. “I intend to be the first to tempt the markets with my employer’s wares.”
“Who is that?”
“His name is Gatheras; he comes from Sparro.”
The mercenary nodded, then pointed to Gudon’s leg. “Nasty wound. How did you get it?”
“I was bitten by a horse, master.”
The mercenary laughed. “This one?”
“Oh, no. I ate the one that bit me.”
“I heard the Chetts eat those who attack them, even humans.”
“Forgive me, master, but that is a myth. We never eat anything that walks on two legs. So no humans, and no birds.”
“That sounds reasonable.” The mercenary edged his horse closer. “I think I would like you to come with me. My captain would like to talk with you.”
Gudon expressed surprise. “Your captain is interested in pottery?”
“Among other things.” He leaned over to take the reins of Gudon’s horse and never saw the thin bone knife Gudon drove into the nape of his neck. The mercenary gasped once and fell from his saddle. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Gudon quickly reached to grab the stirrup of the mercenary’s horse. The animal whinnied and stamped but did not try to pull away. Gudon tied the reins to his own saddle before carefully dismounting, putting his weight on his left leg. He bent over the mercenary and used his knife to cut out a small square of his cheek muscle, then swallowed it whole.
“In your case, master, I will make an exception about eating my enemy.”
He slipped the knife back into its sleeve behind his neck before quickly tying a rope around the mercenary’s hands and looping it over the saddle of the dead man’s horse. He then hobbled to the other side and used all his strength to pull the mercenary over the saddle. He got back on his own horse, took the reins of the second mount and set off again, singing softly to the paling sky overhead.
“I am starving,” Kumul groaned. He got up from the ground, dusted off the coat he had been lying on and scratched his graying hair.
“Think of all the beef that awaits you at the Oceans of Grass,” Ager said. “Thousands—millions!—of cattle, all waiting to be devoured by a carnivore like you.”
Kumul’s stomach growled so loudly people nearby turned to see what the disturbance was.
“Then again, do not think of it,” Ager suggested. “Think instead of being small, of being invisible. Particularly think of making no sound that will attract attention to you.”
Kumul scowled at the crookback. “I cannot help it. We haven’t eaten properly in days.”
Jenrosa joined them, leading their horses. “The first wagons have set off.”
“Did you see any sign of—?” Kumul began, but Jenrosa shook her head. “Lynan is here. I know it. I can feel it.”
“You are not a magicker, Kumul,” Ager said. “Don’t raise our hopes too high. He may already be ahead of us.” He looked across to the river where the mercenaries were watering their horses. “At least they haven’t got him.”
“I think Kumul is right,” Jenrosa said. “And I am a magicker. I can feel something as well, and I trust my senses in this.”
“Be that as it may, we can’t be obvious about it and go searching for Lynan. We will go with the caravan to the sooq. When the caravan breaks up, we may spot him.”
“The mercenaries are leaving,” Kumul said. The others looked up and saw the company moving out, riding at a trot to get ahead of the caravan and its dust. He wished they could do the same. He noticed that some of them stayed behind. Kumul pointed to them. “They will keep back to keep a lookout from the caravan’s rear.”