Zara the Wolf by C. R. Daems Page A

eventually overwhelm me with numbers."
I couldn't help the image of my father being hacked to death by two warriors.
"If you have advance notice, I advise leaving the mules and wagons and
running. Except for the mules, they’ll take little of value to you."
    "So you would run?" He looked angry.
    "No, we have an agreement. I will stay while you or
anyone in your party is alive."
    * * *
    I woke when I heard someone near where I lay. I wasn’t sure
what I heard: breathing, a twig, a dried leaf, or something on their
clothing—slaves learn to sleep lightly. I slid my dagger loose and
waited. Soon my blanket was lifted up and someone reeking of whiskey slid in
beside me, his hand groping for my breast. He was naked. He froze when I laid
my dagger with its cold blade against his stomach.
    "The next time, it won't be a cold blade you feel.
It'll be hot blood and guts running down your legs," I said loudly enough
to be heard by anyone nearby. "No second chance," I said, sensing he
wasn't alone. Sure enough, I heard someone trying to muffle a laugh. As he
inched away from me, I could see it was Dimas, and off in the shadows his
friends Goyo and Juan. I pulled the blanket over me and closed my eyes, hoping I
had discouraged any more late-night visitors.
    * * *
    While I was preparing breakfast, Lutz appeared.
    "Thank you for not killing Dimas. He's harmless, but he
did go too far last night. You handled it well, and your message was loud and
clear." He laughed. "Isn't that ... Indian sword a bit of a disadvantage?
It's several inches shorter than our standard sword."
    "It's light and what I learned with. Besides, the Ojaza
don't fight the way you do. They don't use horses, so the sword needs to be
light. They fight as a team, not as individuals. One will wound you and the
next kill you, or one hold your attention while another kills you."
    "But you don't have a partner." He pressed his
point.
    "Don't confuse they
work as a team with they aren't good fighters. They are better trained than
most soldiers, and they aren't afraid of dying or being hurt."
    "You aren't?"
    "For better or worse, I'm an Ojaza warrior," I
said, knowing I would still be a slave if I had been afraid of dying. But is that still true ? I wondered. I
suspected by now it was burned into my very being—free or dead.
    * * *
    The next several weeks settled into a comfortable routine. In
each new town, Merchant Raigosa set up a tent in the market area, where his sons
and assistants sold merchandise while he visited local artisans, buying
articles unique to the town and meeting with wealthy merchants and royalty to
sell items of interest. Since I didn't cook on those days, I rotated with the
guards, who pulled eight-hour shifts twenty-four hours a day.
    On the road, I would get up early to start breakfast, which
was the last meal until we stopped at night. The others would wake an hour
later and have breakfast. While they packed the mules, I cleaned up and put
away the supplies and cooking utensils. We then traveled until dusk, unless we
made a town that day. At the camp, the mules would be unloaded while I prepared
dinner. After dinner, two guards would begin patrolling—mules, horses,
wagons, and merchandise—two shifts, four hours long, which meant the men
got a rest night every third day.
    "Well Zara, what do you think about caravan duty?"
Dimas asked. I had come to accept him as a good-natured clown. He couldn’t help
flirting, accepted rejection well, and appeared to be liked by the tales I
heard around the campfire at night.
    "Except for the occasional interruption of my sleep, it's
been interesting. I'm enjoying the experience," I said.
    "Did you really live with the savages?" asked Cesar,
the youngest of Raigosa's sons, which got everyone's attention. "That must
have been exciting."
    "No, it wasn't. They raided my village, killed my
father and mother, and made me a slave. Their camp dogs are treated better than
a slave."
    "But they trained you to fight," said