“It will be good to see some other people,” she said. “The caravan will have supplies, and we can trade them kank honey to replenish our provisions.”
“I was thinking more about hearing news of Nibenay,” said Sorak.
“But this caravan is on the route from Tyr,” Ryana said.
“Or else it came up from Altaruk, which means it may have originated in Gulg. In either case, the merchant houses have extensive interests, and their caravans range far and wide. Their drivers will have all the latest news from other cities.”
As the sun was setting and they drew closer, they could hear the sound of music coming from the spring, and smell the odor of cooking meat. Their mount began to pick up its pace, sensing the herd-raised kanks used by the caravan to haul its cargo. As the kank gathered speed, Ryana remembered what Sorak had said about how kanks were “slow-moving” creatures. Perhaps they were to an elfling, who could run like the wind, but Ryana was now glad she had stayed behind while Screech had gone ahead to meet the wild soldier kanks. She could never have outrun the creatures had they charged.
Soon, they could make out the shapes of people moving up ahead and see the flames of their camp fires. As they approached, the mercenaries hired to protect the caravan and its valuable trade goods came out to meet them. They seemed wary, and with good cause. For all they knew, Sorak and Ryana could have been advance scouts for a raiding party. Marauding bands had been known to infiltrate caravans by posing as simple pilgrims or travelers. In fact, Sorak had foiled just such a plot in Tyr, and saved one of the caravans of a large merchant house from being ambushed by a band of marauders from the Mekillot Mountains Tribes of nomadic elves were also known to attack caravans from time to time, so the mercenaries hired to guard them took no chances.
“Hold where you are and identify yourselves!” one of the mercenaries cried out as they approached.
Sorak halted the kank and called back, “We are merely two pilgrims on our way to Nibenay.”
“Dismount, then, and come forward,” the mercenary said. The others stood with their weapons held ready, alert for any sign of treachery.
Ryana noticed that they had spread out and were looking not only at them, but at the trail beyond them and in all surrounding directions in case their arrival was meant as a diversion for an attack by an armed party. These men were well trained, she thought, but that only made sense. The rich merchant houses could easily afford to hire the finest mercenaries. The merchant houses depended on the caravans for their livelihood, and so they were not known to spare any expense when it came to protecting them.
Caravans fell into one of two basic categories: slow-moving and fast-moving. The advantages to a fast-moving caravan, such as this one, were that the journeys took less time, and therefore were more profitable. Berths were sold to passengers traveling from one city to another, and the fees usually included the rent of a tame kank for a mount as well as basic necessities such as food and water for the journey. A first-class berth with a caravan offered a few more luxuries, but for an extra charge, of course. The slow-moving caravans were usually much more heavily laden, and since their pace made them more vulnerable to attack, they employed huge armored wagons drawn by mekillot lizards. With the exception of the mercenary outriders and the wagon handlers, the entire caravan was contained inside the huge, armored enclosures. This practice had its own advantages and disadvantages. It was a slow and lazy way to travel, in that the passengers simply rode inside the wagons. At the same time, the interiors of these wagons quickly became oppressively hot despite the open ventilation ports, and the frequently cramped quarters were not very amenable to those whose nostrils were easily offended. Because the mekillots were huge, slow-moving creatures and sluggish in their temperament, the drivers did not like to stop, and rest periods were few and far between. The giant mekillots were also difficult to control. Even their psionic handlers were sometimes eaten if they carelessly strayed within reach of the mekillots’ long tongues. Most travelers preferred to book passage with the fast-moving caravans, even if it meant being exposed to the elements throughout most of their journey.
As Sorak and Ryana approached the mercenary captain, they were able to get a better look at the company, and the mercenaries were able to get a better look at them. It was a mixed group, composed primarily of humans, with a few demihuman half-breeds. They were all well armed and in prime physical condition. Ryana knew that this group was not the entire force. Some would be posted as pickets around the perimeter of the oasis, while others would either be guarding the caravan goods against the potential of light-fingered passengers or taking their rest in the camp.
It was a large caravan, composed not only of a train of loaded kanks and those employed as mounts, but a number of light, partially enclosed carriages drawn by one or two kanks in harness. This meant that there were some important personages traveling with the caravan.
Looking beyond the mercenaries to the camp in the oasis, Ryana’s suspicion was confirmed when she saw several large and comfortable tents set up beneath the palms, with guards posted outside them. As she looked toward the tents, a man in robes came out of one of them, glanced in their direction, and started walking toward them at an unhurried pace. A cluster of guards fell in beside him.
“You wear a handsome sword, pilgrim,” said the mercenary guard captain, looking Sorak over carefully.
“Even a pilgrim must protect himself,” said Sorak.
His gaze flicking back to the sword, the mercenary captain said, “That seems like quite a full measure of protection. From the shape of the scabbard, it appears to be a rather unusual blade.”
It was, indeed, Ryana thought, and if the mercenary captain were an elf and not a human, he might have recognized it as Galdra, the legendary sword of the ancient elvish kings.
“May I see it?” asked the captain.
Sorak reached for the hilt, then hesitated slightly when he saw the other mercenaries tense. He drew Galdra slowly. The sight of it produced an immediate reaction among the mercenaries.
“Steel!” said the captain, staring at the wickedly curved blade. “It must be worth a fortune. Now what would a simple pilgrim be doing with such a blade?”
“It was a gift from a very wise old friend,” said Sorak.
“Indeed? And who would that friend be?”
“High Mistress Varanna of the villichi convent.”
This, too, provoked a reaction of great interest among the mercenaries, and they murmured among themselves.
“Be silent!” their captain commanded, and they obeyed at once. He never took his gaze off Sorak. “The villichi are a female order,” he said. “It is a well-known fact that the priestesses do not admit males to their convent.”
“Nevertheless, Sorak was raised there,” said Ryana.
“Sorak?” The man with the robes came up behind the mercenary captain. The guards on either side of him rested their hands lightly on the pommels of their obsidian-bladed swords. “I know that name. Are you the one whose warning prevented the attack on the recent caravan from Tyr?”
“I am,” said Sorak.
“It would be to his advantage to claim that, whether it was true or not,” the captain said. “How do we know he is the one?”
“There is one way of knowing,” said the robed man. And turning to Sorak, he said, “Would you be so kind as to pull back the hood of your cloak?”
Sorak sheathed the blade and did as he was asked. At the sight of his features, and his pointed ears, there was once again an excited murmuring among the mercenaries.
“An elf!” said one of them.
“No, he is not tall enough,” another said.
“A half-elf, then.”
“Neither,” said the robed man. “He is an elfling.”
“An elfling?” said the captain with a frown.