Keith Decandido - Under the Crimson Sun

With a shrug, Zabaj said, “Maybe Fehrd got fed up with those two idiots and left ’em.”

Feena gently smacked the mul on his huge arm. “Stop that-my brother’s not an idiot, and Rol’s smarter than both of them.”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Zabaj muttered.

That got Zabaj another smack, which prompted him to smile down at her with his sharpened teeth. He’d had them filed down to points during his time in the arena in Tyr, before Komir and Karalith managed to free him as part of a game they were running on the arena trainer.

Since then, he’d worked for the Serthlara Emporium as their strongman. He enjoyed using his half-breed might for more practical purposes.

When Feena had first met Zabaj, she’d assumed him to be just another arena thug with what little brains he had having been punched to mulch. His taciturn manner did nothing to change that feeling-but she also was able to sense something more to him.

Eventually, she was able to see the thoughtfulness behind his blunt, laconic manner.

It was all just impressions. Feena’s mind-magic was unfocused and not always reliable, but she generally trusted her instincts. She often wondered how her life would have been different if she had been able to properly study the Way, but such options were not available to one of her station.

However, she could trust what she felt more often than not-including Zabaj’s personality. Plus, she liked the way he smelled. He had a pleasant musk about him-one that caused many people to walk in the other direction, but which she found oddly enticing. And it intensified when he got sweaty.

Zabaj scratched his wide forehead with his free hand. His head was bald everywhere except right on the crown-there, he had grown his dark hair out and tied it into a topknot.

Then he squinted and pointed toward the wastes with his free hand. “I think that might be them.” Tiny dots on the horizon seemed to be coalescing into actual carriages and mounts as they grew larger.

Feena bit her lower lip. That close, she should have been able to feel Gan’s presence. But she felt nothing of him at all.

About twenty minutes later, a huge caravan of sand-caked canvas carriages that were carried by just-as-sand-caked crodlus ambled into the receiving area. Staff immediately started splashing the crodlus with buckets of water, and the people on the carriages were greeted by those who were waiting for them.

Feena didn’t see Gan or Rol-or, for that matter, Fehrd. More to the point, though, she still didn’t sense Gan.

Zabaj looked down at her with his big green eyes. “Maybe he’s sleeping or something. Or unconscious. He might’ve been hurt.”

“I hope so,” was all Feena would say, and even that was agonizing. The only way for Gan to be so close and Feena not sense him would be if he was so badly hurt as to be near death.

Either option didn’t bear thinking about.

After nearly half an hour of not seeing any of them, Zabaj let out a snort. “Let’s talk to somebody.”

Noticing a man with his hair in dark ringlets who was talking to the area supervisor, Feena said, “That’s probably the caravan master.”

The pair of them walked over, still hand in hand, and waited a respectful distance from the conversation until it ended. Once the supervisor broke off to take care of some other business, Feena approached the man in the ringlets.

“Excuse me, are you Yarro? The caravan master?”

The man frowned. “Well, I am the master of this caravan, but I don’t believe the title-” He shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, I am Yarro. May I help you?”

“My name is Feena Storvis-I was supposed to meet some people traveling with you-my brother, Gan Storvis, as well as Rol Mandred and Fehrd Anspah.”

Yarro’s eyes went wide. “Was that the other one’s name? Huh.” Again, he shook his head. “My apologies-they did travel with us on the Great Road up until the Dragon’s Bowl, then they continued on with the slavers to Urik.”

Zabaj barked a noise that made Yarro jump. Then he added: “Slavers? No.”

“Yes,” Yarro said, rather nervously.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Feena said with a glare at Zabaj. “Please, tell me what happened.”

Yarro quickly-and with several furtive glances at Zabaj-told Feena about the caravan being menaced, the three men who saved them, one of whom died, the other two agreeing to protect the caravan the rest of the way to Raam.

“They said they were going to Raam?” Feena asked.

Yarro nodded. “In fact, your brother mentioned you specifically-not by name, but that he and Mandred were meeting with his sister. I guess the other one was too. They didn’t really talk about him much.”

That was typical of Gan and Rol-and of Fehrd, for that matter. If they were working a job, they said almost nothing personal. Feena was surprised that Gan even mentioned her at all, under those circumstances.

She also was stunned that Fehrd got himself killed by some Black Sands bandit. Yarro went on at great length about how fearsome the raiders were, but Gan, Rol, and Fehrd should have been able to take care of them in their sleep.

Then Yarro said, “And then they went off with the slavers.”

Zabaj’s grip on Feena’s hand tightened at that last word. “That’s not possible.”

Yarro swallowed audibly. “I’m telling you, that’s what happened.”

“No.” Zabaj was suddenly looming over Yarro.

Quickly, Feena said, “I’m sure that Rol and Gan did leave with the slavers-what isn’t possible is that they ‘went off’ with them. At least, willingly.”

“I–I can’t speak to that,” Yarro stammered. “I was asleep when it happened. I just know what I was told by one of the other people in the caravan.”

“Who?” Zabaj managed to cram considerable menace into that single syllable.

Frantically looking around the receiving area, Yarro’s eyes eventually settled on a woman wearing a brocade jacket. “Her-T’Kari. She told me that the two of them went off with the slavers.”

Zabaj immediately made a beeline for the woman, practically dragging Feena along. Turning back to Yarro as she half-walked, half-ran to keep up with the mul, Feena said a quick thank you to the caravan master.

Whatever response he might have made was lost to Zabaj’s determination to get to T’Kari.

“Slow down,” Feena cried.

At that, Zabaj did reduce his pace to one more suited to Feena’s shorter legs.

“Thank you,” she said. “Look, I know how you feel about slavers, but-”

“No,” Zabaj said very quietly, “you don’t.”

She moved in front of him, forcing him to stop walking, and reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “Yes,” she whispered, “I do.”

They said nothing for a moment. Feena stared into Zabaj’s green eyes, and saw the sadness there, as well as the anger over what he went through in the arena.

Then Feena added, “And you and I both know that my brother would rather die than willingly go with slavers, and Rol wouldn’t be caught dead in the arena of his own free will. They had to have been kidnapped.”

“I know that your brother and Mandred are decent fighters. You really think they got kidnapped?”

“They’d lost Fehrd and fought an anakore. Gan was hurt, they were both tired-sure, it’s possible.”

Zabaj turned back to look at Yarro, who was consulting with a woman and several younger people-probably his family. “Assuming he told the truth.”

“He did.”

Zabaj turned back to Feena with a dubious expression.

She sighed loudly, her tiny nostrils flaring. “Look, I can’t always spot a lie, but someone like that? He was tired, had dozens of things on his mind-he didn’t have the wherewithal to lie. What he told is us what he believes happened.”