RET AJHEHEPHwas a rich man. Half the wagons in the caravan belonged to him; the other half to the traders who had paid his stiff fees. If he were so inclined, he could ride within his own personal coach, cushioned in velvet and canopied in fine Cilendri silk. Furthermore, where other merchants endured the journey from Azurajen to Surudain without the comfort of their wives' company, Jheheph always brought at least five of his favorite concubines and provided each with accommodations nearly as luxurious as his own. The oeikani beneath his saddle was of the most exclusive, thoroughbred stock. Ret a Jheheph was used to having his way.
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.
"To hell with you, then," Lonal told them. "We will fight without your help."
As Shigmur's oeikani deftly avoided a shrub, the war-second realized how much easier it was to see his surroundings. He glanced to the horizon. Motherworld had risen. He lit one more arrow and let it fly, then retreated out of bowshot. The rest of the Zyraii riders did the same.
The caravan had suffered, but not greatly. Shigmur had seen some of his own shots swing wide, and knew that his tribe's marksmanship was not to blame. He saw several Zyraii bodies on the ground nearer the wagons, and even more dead oeikani. Their archers were good. Furthermore, the night had never become properly dark. Serpent Moon and Urthey had not set, and now Motherworld was up, bright and more than half-full, with the Sister soon to follow. Not only would they would be easier targets now, but he could see some of the caravan guards mounting their oeikani in order to chase them. It was at this point Lonal had planned the retreat.
Shigmur waited for the horn notes from the hills. Soon they came. Carry on, they said.
So be it. Shigmur lifted out another arrow, making sure he got none of the oil on his hands, and reached for his striker. The T'lil began to close in again.
Why didn't they stop? Jheheph was no longer amused. The barbarians had lost the advantage of the dark. His own mercenaries were out among them now, breaking their formation. Yet the fire arrows kept falling. Suddenly, Jheheph jumped to his feet.
"That's one ofmy wagons!" he yelled. His slaves tried to snuff the blaze, but it got away from them. A cargo of rare birds and their cages began to go up in smoke.
The caravan master ran over to the sorcerers. "Do something!" he cried.
The thin, effeminate man was startled. The arrow he was warding struck the coach of one of Jheheph's concubines. Jheheph was incensed.
"My lord," the small brown man said firmly, "do not interrupt us."
Jheheph nearly struck the man for his temerity, before he saw that his threats would only worsen the sorcerers' performance. Jheheph left them alone, turning his anger once more toward the Zyraii riders.
He saw one of the barbarians fall off his animal. Elsewhere, two of his guards were hit by demonblades. His side was suffering casualties, but Jheheph was confident that the odds were in his favor. The Zyraii could not harm the wagons without coming within range of the well-protected archers. Now the Sister was beginning to rise, and it would soon be almost as light as daytime.
He did not see the lone Zyraii bearing down on him until almost the last moment. The white-robed warrior burst through the outer line of wagons, whipping his wounded oeikani to a frenzy of speed. Jheheph felt his heart quail, but in another instant his personal guards had collected between him and the Zyraii, pulling out swords and nocking arrows. The rider changed direction. Only then did Jheheph see the torch in the man's hand.
"Stop that man!" he shouted.
Many tried, but the wagons and other guards were often in the way, and the Zyraii was a phenomenal rider. Though both man and oeikani had been struck more than once, their agility had spared them fatal blows. Horror-stricken, Jheheph saw the torch flung into the very wagon he most wanted to save.
"My carpets!" he screamed as a fortune in fine weaving caught fire.
He was so aghast that he barely noted the rider's escape. The man was not so lucky on the way out. Once clear of the caravan, he presented an open target. They failed to stop him, but his back fairly bristled with wood and feathers by the time he won clear.
Something in the way the rider weaved away from the arrows, as well as his size, jogged Jheheph's memory.
Two young Po-no-pha found Shigmur beside his dead oeikani and brought him back to camp. He was unconscious, but still alive.
Lonal and the twins arrived simultaneously. The war-leader leaned over Shigmur. The war-second's clothing was drenched in blood, his skin white. He still had seven arrows in him; it was hard to say how many others might have struck him.
Lonal looked up angrily. "This might have been avoided had you chosen to help."
Alemar squatted down and touched Shigmur's back. His fingers came away bloody. "Get me water," he told Elenya calmly. She ran to comply.
"I won't accept responsibility for his death," Alemar said, "but I will for his life."
"He hasn't much of that left," Lonal said.
"I can save him."
Shigmur opened his eyes. He was lying on a blanket under a tarp. It was daylight. Lonal was leaning over him with concern. Yetem was standing behind him. Not far away, Tebec was soundly asleep, looking strangely pale. Many other Po-no-pha were near.
"How are you?" the war-leader asked.
Shigmur wasn't sure. He had fallen unconscious with the certain knowledge that he would not awaken until the next life. He couldn't tell if this were a dream or if he had simply been reincarnated with extraordinary quickness. He could still feel the places where the arrows had struck. They felt like bruises. He sat up.
"How long has it been?"
"It is early afternoon after the battle," Lonal said.
That did nothing to relieve Shigmur's confusion. "Has there been a Hab-no-ken here?" he asked.
"In a sense," Lonal said, gesturing toward Tebec.
Yetem stepped forward. "Hold out your hands," she said.
He did so. She dropped seven arrowheads into his palms. "I thought you might want those to keep as souvenirs."
"Thank you," he said, wiping the bloodstain off one of them. "I will do that…though I am tempted to send them back where they came from."
"You'll have your chance," Lonal said. "Go back to sleep."
Elenya walked with Lonal a short way from Shigmur's resting place, out of the hearing of the others nearby.
"I, too, would like to thank you," Lonal said. "And I will be sure to tell your brother."
"You're welcome," she said. "I'm curious, though. If you knew there might be a battle, why didn't you bring healers with you?"
"Hab-no-ken do not come at a war-leader's order." He glanced back at the shelter. "Tebec doesn't look good."
"They'll both be on their feet by morning. My brother will feel weak for a few days, Shigmur for about a month."
"Can they travel?"
"On a litter, yes. Why?"
"Then they can join us at the ambush point. I think Shigmur would want to be there when we confront the caravan."
Ret a Jheheph was in a foul mood. The sorcerers stayed out of his sight, his slaves' bodies smarted from his lash, and the concubine who had presumed to complain about her burned coach had been forced to walk the entire previous day, until the soles of her feet, unused to even the slightest effort, had begun to bleed.
They had seen no more Zyraii. A few of the slaves, seeing the bodies of the slain riders, dared to hope that the barbarians had decided to cut their losses and had permanently retreated, but Jheheph knew this was a fantasy. The desert men were too stubborn for that. Jheheph would have his chance for revenge.
It was near dawn. Motherworld was high, as was the Sister, and the east was pale. The caravan had been travelling for two hours, penetrating the thickest part of the hills through a narrow defile. The guards kept their glances on the boulders and ridges to either side of the road. The pace was brisk; everyone wanted to reach the plain as soon as possible.
Suddenly the lead wagon and team disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Jheheph rode forward, and soon he could make out the trouble. A pit had been dug across the road and concealed. The wagon and oeikani had fallen within. It was too deep for the team to pull out by themselves, forcing the caravan to halt.
Jheheph looked to the slopes even before the shouts rang out. Hundreds of white-robed Zyraii revealed themselves. They were armed with bows. Some of the arrows were already burning. The caravan guards rushed for cover.
The Zyraii did not shoot. The mercenaries, after a sporadic initial volley, realized that the barbarians were deliberately giving away the advantage of surprise, and they stopped short. If this were an ambush, it was a strange one.
Jheheph could not fathom it, either. Either the Zyraii were going to fight, or they weren't. Both sides waited several tense moments, then a single man stood up from a hiding place and walked down to the roadway immediately in front of the trench.
"Don't shoot," Jheheph ordered his men. His curiosity was aroused.
The man in the road stared straight at Jheheph. "I've come to give you another chance," he said.
Jheheph's jaw dropped. He recognized the voice. It was the same Zyraii who had first confronted them two days before, who – so Jheheph had believed – had also set fire to his precious carpets. But surely it was a trick; that man must have died of his wounds.
As if reading the caravan master's mind, the Po-no-pha untied his upper robes and removed them. When he turned his back, several of the watchers in the caravan gasped. Jheheph stared at the scars and began to shake.
The man turned back. "I ask again – pay the tribute. If not, we will fight again. As you can see, the sons of T'lil are not easy to kill." He put his garment back on and stood there, waiting.
Jheheph licked his lips nervously. He called the small brown wizard to him. "What is this sorcery?" he demanded.
The sorcerer shrugged. "How should I know? I make wards. That's all."
Jheheph stared at the Zyraii, and at the others up the slopes, and at the spot in the line where his carpet wagon should have been. He could fight. He could have his slaves fill in the pit, he could send his mercenaries up into the rocks. They still out-numbered the barbarians. They could win. If he hadn't felt confident of that fact, he would not have challenged the T'lil in their own territory.
But – was it worth the loss of cargo like his carpets or his birds? The wealth he had with him now, though only a small part of his fortune, was still staggering. It would serve no one if turned to ash. He had depended too much upon minor magicians. And what good were the best mercenaries against warriors who could rise from the dead?
He called his quartermaster to him. The words nearly choked him; he uttered them only through clenched teeth:
"Pay them."