A man was blocking the path of his caravan.
The stranger was alone, waiting atop a hardy desert oeikani, in the center of the wide, shallow rut through which the wagons were travelling. Ret a Jheheph recognized the white garb. He smiled. He had been expecting this.
The Zyraii rider maintained his position, though the caravan's pace did not slacken. As the gap between him and the lead wagon shrank, the assistant caravan master looked questioningly at Jheheph.
"Continue on," he commanded.
Finally, when the caravan was only a few dozen yards away, the Zyraii began walking his animal backward. Jheheph shrugged. They were close enough. He signalled a halt.
Jheheph himself rode to the head of the line, a slave beside him with a broad feather fan to ease the effects of the sun. He waited casually on his thoroughbred. Soon another slave brought a platter of dates. Jheheph ate one very slowly, and spat the pit out in the direction of the Zyraii.
"You are in the way, Po-no-pha."
"I am Shigmur of the T'lil," the rider replied. "You are entering my tribe's land."
"So?"
"Tribute is required."
Jheheph smiled. "Surely you are mistaken. The Alyr and the Olot took no tribute."
"We are not Alyr or Olot. Pay the tithe, or you may not cross our land."
Jheheph raised his hand. Abruptly, two archers hidden in the lead wagon stood up and fired arrows.
The Zyraii ducked to the side. One of the shafts missed entirely, the other caught him through the veil. He was moving instantly. The archers fired again, but the rider weaved out of the way. By the third set of shots, he had gained speed and was soon out of range.
"Too bad," Jheheph muttered.
"Do we chase him?" the assistant master asked.
"No. We'll be seeing him again."
R'lar broke the arrow and pulled it out of Shigmur's cheek. It was a clean wound, in through the mouth and out by way of a cheek. All things considered, it was as minor an injury as he could have hoped for. Granyet brought a bandage.
"That was a true feat ofhaiya!" R'lar exclaimed.
Others added their congratulations. Alemar and Elenya hid their own incredulousness. Even Lonal, up at the crest of the hill with the lookouts, was gazing at Shigmur with envy.
No wonder the Zyraii people had a reputation for being fierce.
The twins climbed up to the vantage point. The caravan was emerging from a series of low, weather-pocked hills and was now threading its way west, to the rugged terrain in which the Zyraii were hidden, across the small flatland that marked the border of T'lil territory, where Shigmur had issued his challenge. This was the main trade route between Azurajen and Surudain.
"Where is the end of it?" Elenya asked, trying to determine where the line of wagons stopped. "Are they all this big?"
"No," Lonal answered. "This is the largest I have seen."
They waited. Finally the tail end reached the valley floor. In the meantime, the lead wagons reined up. Their passengers climbed out and began setting up camp, though it was still early in the afternoon.
"They won't dare the hills at night," Lonal deduced.
"It was as the Olot and the Alyr told us," one of the seconds said. "They have no intention of paying us our rightful tithe."
"They smell the fort two days behind them, and it gives them confidence," Lonal said.
"What can you do about it?" Alemar asked.
"We will fight."
"What?" Elenya exclaimed. "Where are you going to get the warriors? Can't you see how many men-at-arms are riding next to those wagons?"
"It is a matter of honor. They have ignored our rights. We can't let the precedent be set. The T'lil is the last tribe on this route with the might to challenge them. We'll attack tonight."
Ret a Jheheph sent away his concubine. He would have no women tonight. He was waiting for a different kind of excitement. He sucked his pipe and waited, in a soft chair, staring out at the moonlit terrain.
He could almost hear the minds of the barbarians. He sniggered. They would not have any ideas that he had not already anticipated.
Not far away, three men waited next to a dim lantern. At first glance, one would not say that they resembled each other. The first was obese, with a heavy black beard and clothing similar to a guard. The second was gaunt and balding, wearing gauzy, effeminate robes. The third was small, wrinkled, and very brown, dressed in only a loin clout and headband. Nevertheless, they were the same in one respect.
They all waited, Jheheph with the calm of the man whose money has always bought him what he wanted, the three others with the vigilant attitude of craftsmen called upon to perform their very best work.
Suddenly the sentries began to shout.
In the muted light of the moons, Jheheph could see a line of shadowy, four-legged shapes bearing toward the caravan from all directions. Within a few moments, he could hear the beat of oeikani hooves.
The small brown man cried out and pointed at the sky.
For a moment, it seemed as if stars were falling. Then the streaks became fire arrows, which landed between and upon the wagons and coaches. The sentries ducked behind cover and wielded their own bows, sighting their targets whenever the riders lit fresh arrows.
Just as he had predicted. Jheheph smiled.
Women began pouring out of the wagons and tents, collecting in the center of the encampment, out in the open. They knew the Zyraii code would save them from harm – as long as they stayed out of the battle and out of the way. Jheheph's concubines lorded it over the slave girls.
Most of the fire arrows did no damage. Some struck the dust, some bounced off the starched hides placed on the wagons specifically to fend off such attacks, others changed direction at the last instant and fell wide. The three men by the lantern concentrated, keeping their eyes on the sky, focused on each new volley.
A few wagons were not so lucky. Their owners rushed to try and smother the flames with blankets or sand. But their efforts were often futile; the Zyraii had treated their missiles with oil. Soon several wagons became bonfires.
None of Jheheph's own were touched, however. He sucked another lungful from his pipe, enjoying the narcotic buzz, amused by the frantic activity around him. After all, the less merchandise that arrived in Surudain, the more valuable the remaining goods would be. And those would be his.
The three men were sweating now, though they had never risen from their positions. They were stretching their skills to the limit. A pity, thought Jheheph. Good sorcerers were scarce in the Eastern Deserts. Moreover, those with real talent were seldom for hire; they seemed to have their own methods of making themselves rich. But these would do. If he could make it through the Zyraii web just once without being forced to pay the tithe, all the merchants of the Sea of Azu would flock to be part of his caravans.
The twins answered Lonal's summons, joining him on the hilltop from which he had chosen to observe the battle. They could see fires burning below them, but not nearly as many as there should have been.
"They are using sorcery," Lonal stated.
Alemar nodded. "They are creating wards around the wagons. Certain magicians have the talent."
"Whatever it is, it's effective. I need your help."
Alemar exchanged glances with Elenya. They had been expecting this, ever since they had first detected the spells. They had agreed upon an answer.
"No."
Lonal scowled. "You mean you don't have the skill?"
"No, we could probably do something. We simply don't wish to."
"I see," the war-leader said flatly. "You were willing to fight the Buyul."
"We had no choice. They attacked us."
"You're trying my patience. If you won't be warriors, you might as well stay in camp and be shepherds."
"If necessary," Alemar said.
Lonal turned toward Elenya and met the same determined refusal in her expression.