Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

The demon snorted in disgust. "You call this a caravan?"

Safar sighed, leaning against the portable barricade blocking the road. Five soldiers-three of them human and all wearing the uniforms of Protarus' troops-guarded the barricade. About a mile beyond were the Naadan city walls.

"It's a long story sergeant," he said. "And not a very pleasant one, either. A year ago I was sitting pretty.

A dozen wagons, a score of camels plus horses and men and…" he glanced at Leiria, lowering his voice,

"…And I had a proper guard, if you know what I mean. Six outriders and a retired captain of the king's own to lead them."

He let his voice rise again. "But you don't want to hear my tale of woe, sergeant. Times being what they are, there's hundreds of poor merchants just like me all over Esmir. So broke we clatter like a glazier's cart on a badly cobbled street. All we ask is a chance to get back on top again. Hell's, I'd settle for just staying even!"

The demon shrugged, massive shoulders rising like mailed mountains. "What do I care, human? You and your entire shabby lot can turn into dust and blow across the desert, for all it means to me."

He jabbed a taloned-thumb at the gates of Nadaan. From beyond came the caterwaul of bad music and the babble of a great crowd. "Besides, rules'r rules. If you wanna to sell your trash at the Naadan Fair you gotta have a permit. No riffraff allowed. And that's my job-to keep out the riffraff."

Once again his eyes swept Safar's ragged outfit, but this time his look was more meaningful. "Smells like riffraff to me," he said.

Safar slipped a fat purse from his sleeve. He gave it a good shake so the silver rattled.

The demon's long, scaly ears perked up at the sound.

"Are you sure we can't come to some sort of arrangement, sergeant?" he asked. "Hmm?"

As they came to the city gates Leiria cantered closer to Safar. "You're getting to be such a good liar," she teased. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

Actually, he was. As far as Leiria and the others knew they were in Naadan on a routine raiding mission.

Which was far from the truth.

"I'm not ashamed one bit," Safar laughed. "But I am damned thirsty. In fact, before we get down to the business of robbery why don't we try some of that famous Naadan ale?"

Leiria wrinkled her hose. "I was just looking for something nice to say," she laughed. "Actually, I hear their ale tastes like mare's piss," she said. "But he looked like the sort of creature who liked mare's piss, if you know what I mean."

She made a rueful face. "Guess I'm getting pretty good at lying myself."

Safar flinched and looked away so she didn't see the guilt in his eyes.

Inside the gates all was madness. It was the last day of the fair and the streets were packed with revelers.

Traffic was a great drunken weave with no apparent purpose or goal. There were tribes and villagers from all over the vast high desert region. There were painted faces, scarred faces, veiled faces, faces with filed teeth, faces pierced with jewelry, and, yes, even a few faces that would have been ordinary except they stood out among so many exotics.

Until recent years the Naadan Harvest Festival-which the fair celebrated-had been a minor event that drew only nearby farmers and herdsmen. It certainly hadn't been large enough to entice Methydia to stop with her circus when she and Safar had passed this way. The circus had instead gone to Silver Rivers, a much larger and richer town and many miles distant. But a series of disasters had reduced Silver Rivers to a ghost city, where the only inhabitants were bandits. Silver Rivers' misfortune, however, had been Naadan's good luck. Five years of rich harvests-so rare in recent times that it seemed a miracle-had turned the city into a thriving center of life and commerce.

The once sleepy water hole in the middle of the Northern Plains now enticed people from hundreds of miles around-including Safar Timura and his band, who quickly unburdened themselves of their paltry caravan by simply walking away from it. Sharp-eyed thieves led the wagon and animals off before Safar and the others had melted into the crowd. Just as the shrewd demon sergeant had noted the caravan was worthless. The goods were trash. The animals spavined. They were all surplus booty from an encounter that had gone badly for a group of seedy bandits.

"So much for my debut as a merchant prince," Safar joked, after they'd all found a grog shop and had ordered up mugs of cold wine. "Shed my whole caravan and didn't earn a clipped copper for my troubles."

Renor, who had been driving the wagon, snorted. "Oh, I don't know about that, sir. We couldn't throw the stuff away or bury it because it'd give us away. And the animals were not only useless, but eating us out of hearth and home. Hells, we made a profit just by getting rid of them."

He took a long happy drink from his mug. "Least, that's how I see it, Lord Tim-" and one of his companions elbowed him before he could get the whole name out.

Realizing he was in the middle of a packed bar, and someone might overhear him, Renor blushed and ducked his head. "Sorry," he said. "I'm not used to so many people about."

A man staggered into their table, sloshing his drink all over them. "That's what I tole him," the man roared into Safar's face. "An' if he dares say the same thin' to me again, while I'll spit in his face! The dirty son of a…" and then the man realized Safar was a stranger and his voice trailed off. He burped and pulled back.

"You're not my friend," he said, surprised. Then he shrugged. "Just don't tell nobody, right?"

"Right!" Safar said and the man staggered away. He turned back to Renor. "No need for sorries," he said. "In this place we're as safe as in the middle of a forest."

Unnoticed by them, across the room the drunk suddenly straightened. He looked back at Safar's table, measuring with sober eyes. Then he smiled and exited the tavern whistling a merry tune.

Back at the table, Safar refilled everyone's mugs, saying, "You're in charge of this little expedition, Leiria.

Why don't you give us our orders now so we can drink up and be on our way?"

Leiria nodded. "This should be fairly simple," she said. "Easier than most, as a matter of fact, because we have a good map of Naadan, thanks to that little trove of maps we got from Coralean.

"You've all got your copies, right?" The men all nodded, but just the same they patted their pockets to make sure. "And you all know which area you're to do your snooping in, right?" More nods.

"Fine. Now, here's what to look for. If you have barracks in your sector, check to see how many beds they have. That'll tell us the exact number of soldiers on hand during normal times. My guess is that most of the soldiers we're seeing are here temporarily for fair duty and will be gone within a day or two.

"Also, if there are any storehouses in your area of search, see what kinds of grains, food, clothing, etcetera are inside. The more portable the better. Pay close attention to this, because we want to have a good shopping list drawn up when we show up here with our army to talk things over with the king.

Quintal, I think his name is.

"We also need first hand knowledge of all the ways in and out of the city. Maps are good, but they aren't always up to date, or even accurate when they are. We don't want to have to beat a hasty retreat, then find that the gate we're heading for-a gate clearly indicated on our map-has long since been covered up. Or was just a royal architect's dream that never got funding."

She looked at each man. "Is that all clear? You understand what you're supposed to do and how to do it? I know we've gone over it all before, but I want to make sure. We can't afford any mistakes. Protarus'

soldiers are none too bright, but they can be as error-prone as they like. For us one mistake might be a death sentence."