Keith Decandido - Under the Crimson Sun

Rol gave her that annoying smile of his that he always used whenever he was chatting up a woman. “I’m fine, Tirana, really.”

“I’m kind of bleeding a little,” Gan said. With the adrenaline from the fight wearing off, his knees were starting to wobble, and he feared he was about to fall over.

Tirana turned as if noticing Gan for the first time, a look Gan was, frankly, used to from women Rol was flirting with. “Oh, dear, that looks horrible. You need to come back with me, I’ll patch you right up.”

“My daughter’s right,” the head slaver said.

Now Gan shot Rol a look. Why did it not surprise him that Tirana was the slaver’s daughter?

The slaver continued: “That was pretty damned brave, there, what you two did. That was an anakore, yeah?”

Gan nodded, and instantly regretted it, as the action made his head swim.

The next thing he knew, the slaver was holding him upright-which was good, as Gan no longer felt at all confident in his legs’ ability to do so. The man had to be at least in his fifties with bony arms and breath that came straight from the sewers of Under-Tyr, and the fact that Gan needed his help did more to bespeak his weakened condition than the blood that continued to seep from his shoulder and cheek.

“I’ll stay on patrol,” Rol said. “That anakore looked like he was alone, and there aren’t any other signs of anything, but it’s better to be safe.”

“That ain’t necessary,” the slaver said. “Whyn’t you come back to our carriage, let us get you a drink for your troubles?”

“Thanks, but no. Take care of him, though, will you? I still have a few uses for him.”

Gan couldn’t even work up mock outrage at Rol’s comment. Besides, if Rol was still abusing him, that meant that his wounds weren’t all that serious. Which, of course, they weren’t. This was a normal comedown from a fight, particularly one with a lot of bleeding. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and Gan was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Tirana got on the other side of Gan from her father, and the pair of them each supported Gan under his arms. However, Tirana was calling back to Rol as they guided Gan toward the carriage. “I’ll be back in a little bit with a drink for you, at least. It’s a draft my uncle developed, it’ll keep you awake.”

“Thank you, Tirana, that’s very kind.” Rol’s voice grew distant as they made their way toward the caravan.

“Let me guess, you use that draft to pep up the slaves before they go into the arena?” Gan’s own words sounded slurred-he definitely needed to get the bleeding stopped soon.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” the slaver said. “Don’t you worry none, Tirana and me, we’ll fix you right up.”

Gan did not nod, having learned his lesson from the last time. He did, however, hope that this draft worked. Making Rol take the entire night to guard the caravan was going to take a lot out of him …

The red sun was just starting to peek over the eastern sand dunes when Yarro awakened. The rest of his family was still asleep-they had been awakened twice in the middle of the night, and so slept past sunup. But Yarro always rose when the sun did. He felt that if he did not start when the day did, then the day was incomplete.

Yarro couldn’t bring himself to blame his family for sleeping in a bit-though he fully intended to, at the very least, castigate his son-in-law for waking late. But between that anakore that attacked and the slavers deciding all of a sudden to leave in the middle of the night-and making a horrible racket as they did so-nobody in the caravan got a good night’s sleep.

Still, they needed to get a move on. That was three attacks on the caravan since they went out, and Yarro was starting to understand why caravan masters charged so much for their services.

He really hoped that the next couple of days of the trip would go more smoothly. Luckily, they had rid themselves of the slaver and still had their two new bodyguards.

Yarro didn’t really understand those two. If Storvis and Mandred grieved for their comrade, they didn’t really show it. In fact, based on how they deflected any attempt to even mention the man, Yarro wondered if they had even liked him all that much.

He stepped out of the tent, looking at the large gap in the gathered carriages where the slaver had been. If nothing else, not having them around would allow them to move faster, since it was all canvas carriages that were left.

Looking around, he couldn’t spot either Storvis or Mandred. The former, he knew, had been injured by the anakore, and it was possible that Mandred was sleeping somewhere.

He did see T’Kari, the warrior who was on her way to Raam to meet up with her ranger lover. She was traveling with a group of bards, who were contracted to do work for one of the Nawab-caste families. She was practicing some physical moves with a certain elegance. Yarro watched as she kicked and punched and blocked-and then stumbled.

“Fripping sand,” she muttered.

Since she was pausing, Yarro took advantage to speak to her. “T’Kari, have you seen Mandred or Storvis?”

“Who?”

“The bodyguards?”

T’Kari sneered, “What, the thugs? Couldn’t even handle an anakore.”

Yarro said nothing, preferring to remain civil, but he fumed over her criticism, since he’d asked her to protect the caravan, but she refused unless Yarro paid a price he could not afford.

“Anyway,” she continued, “didn’t you hear? They left with the slavers.”

“What?” Yarro blinked a few times. “Why did they do that?”

Shrugging, T’Kari said, “That’s what Tirana told me. When Calbit decided to head out in the middle of the night, Tirana told me that the thugs were going with them. I guess they figured they could squeeze more out of them-or maybe they thought Urik was a better destination.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Yarro said. “Storvis told me he was going to meet his sister. They even made sure to have their names on the messenger’s roster.”

“You’re assuming he told you the truth,” T’Kari said with another sneer.

Then she went back to her exercises.

With a sigh, Yarro turned to wake his family up. He needed to get everyone started sooner if they were to be denied their protection.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Feena Storvis said as she stood near the caravan station outside Raam.

Next to her, Zabaj gripped her small hand in his large one and said, “So you say.”

“Don’t patronize me, please, Zabaj?” Feena glowered up at her lover. “I can feel that something bad happened to Gan.”

The caravan station was a shed in front of a clearing just outside the city-state’s main border. Caravan masters held offices there, and the large space was handy for loading and unloading carriages. According to the posted bulletin from a messenger, a large caravan with someone named Yarro listed as the master was coming in. Both Feena’s brother Gan and his friend and partner Rol were on the list of travelers. It was the only caravan due in that day, and so the space was clear, with only a few others like Feena and Zabaj, waiting for the caravan to arrive. A few merchants were selling food and drink, and Feena was seriously considering the latter, as the red sun was beating down on them. Sweat started to drip into her eyes despite a linen head wrap around her curly blond locks.

Zabaj looked down at her. “Is this the Way, or sisterly worry?”

“Both.” Feena let out a long breath and used her free hand to adjust her head wrap. “Besides, did you notice? Fehrd wasn’t on the list of travelers.”