Fantastical Ramblings by Irene Radford Page B

her charge. “Protect her,” the first man said.
    “Care for her,” said the second.
    “Talk to her,” added the third.
    “Love her as we do,” whispered the fourth.
    Each one fixed Katya with a fierce glare. She knew that if
she failed, they would seek her out and take their revenge.
    Katya bowed to them, moved by their care for the lady. “I
will see her safe,” she told them sincerely.
    The men returned her bow and retreated into the crowd.
    With less ceremony and considerably less grace, Katya threw
herself atop another camel that had bided his time by casually browsing on the
lidded basket that contained fresh vegetables for the trip. Since the prideful
animal couldn’t feast on the contents, he contented himself with the basket.
    With some well-chosen curses, Katya kicked him into lurching
motion as she grabbed the leading rein on Lady Sha’awna’s beast. The more
docile pack animals followed.
    Life on the road for the regular travelers quickly took on a
routine. Katya followed their lead. They traveled in a casual order, spreading
out as far as the road and packed verge allowed for three to four hours, then
stopped at an oasis. Katya helped Sha’awna dismount and guided her to a shady
spot beneath a date palm. Everyone walked about, stretching cramped muscles and
chafed skin. The camels drank from a pool. People drank from their own water
vessels and then refilled them from a well.
    Katya kept a wary eye on their traveling companions,
counting and re-counting the numbers of servants, merchants, and mercenaries
until she knew them all—one hundred all told—by their stance, their gait, their
smell. Some things could not be masked with magical glamour. She dared not rely
on clothing, faces, and hair as keys to identity. Those could be changed
quickly, as she did routinely when in need of anonymity.
    A four hour rapid march brought them to the next oasis an
hour before sunset. While the light held, they made camp. Katya made short work
of pitching a tent that held their possessions and two folding cots. “We have
not much room or luxury, Lady Sha’awna. I chose efficiency and simplicity in
our accommodations.”
    “Wise, I’m sure,” Sha’awna replied. “Simple attracts little
attention from more aggressive and greedy travelers.”
    “To be sure. The sun is almost down. It will get cold
quickly. You will need a cloak.”
    “Yes. Will you prepare our evening rations?”
    “I have arranged for us to eat with the mercenaries hired to
guard the caravan. I scouted them yesterday. We can trust them not to poison
us, as my cooking would surely do.”
    They laughed together as they walked around the camp, easing
the stiffness and aches of a long journey.
    A wiry man with grizzled hair, gathered at his nape with a
leather band, ladled a thick stew into the wooden bowls Katya had brought to
the communal campfire.
    “Not what you are used to, plain fare, but nourishing and
filling,” Katya explained as she seated Sha’awna on a camp stool the cook provided.
    “I’m certain it will be delicious.” Sha’awna smiled as she
sniffed the fragrant food.
    “What general do you report to?” Cannik, the captain of the
mercenary guards asked, taking a stool beside Katya. He looked pointedly at the
grip of Katya’s longest dagger, peeking out from the folds of her robe.
    “In the past I reported to General Maassar of the Wind
Sabres. Now I work alone,” Katya openly assessed his own weaponry—visible and
potential.
    “I do not know this General Maassar or the Wind Sabres,” Cannik
said.
    Katya’s time with them had been brief, and long ago. The
general would remember her for many reasons, her skill with weapons the least
part of it.
    “General Maassar has worked for a minor king on Alary,” she
named the continent to the west of Melanesia, “for nearly twenty years.” And
far enough away that Cannik would not go looking for information any time soon.
    He jerked a nod of acceptance.
    “Easy day of