The woman pulled up beside her, the girl on her other side, and Mal nodded to them both as they rode through the main gates of Guildsport and out toward the desert. They were somewhere in the middle of the caravan, but there was enough distance between the riders to allow for private conversation, and when the city was far behind them Mal turned to Devona and grinned in relief.

It was a bit nicer, too, Mal had to admit to herself. She'd been reluctant to take them on, and furious about the ordeal of joining the caravan, but traveling alone tended to get a little tedious. Reno had been her companion for a great number of years, but he wasn't much of a conversationalist, and it was nice to talk, even if only to a stranger.

After a time of silence Raspeth fell back behind them. Devona didn't think she could slow down her camel on command without bringing it to a full stop. The beast smelled unpleasant to her, and the air was chill and dry. She began to take very small sips of water a long time apart from the bottle at her side, and held the liquid in her mouth as long as she could. Riham had insisted that they don extra wraps over their own protective clothing, and Devona had acceded, though she'd thought it just made an unbearable day hotter. Now, as the heat left the sands and the night drew on, she was grateful for the extra layers, and huddled down into them as much as she could.

When they came to their first stop she didn't dismount. She noticed several of the other riders also chose to remain in the saddle. Raspeth got off and Devona watched her as she knelt down and ran her fingers on the ground and then stood up to pat her camel. Across the way, one of the caravan hands was watching the girl, and Devona narrowed her eyes in the depths of her wrapping and managed to get her camel to kneel. Then she was off the beast's back and standing calmly between Raspeth and the man - the boy, she corrected herself. He seemed familiar, and though he quickly turned away she recognized him. One of the pair of boys from the Red Shell. The moon was high enough now that she was able to pick out his companion before they had to mount up again, and she resolved to keep a closer watch on them.

The sun was just setting, and she watched it glitter on the sand and then stopped to feel the ground. It was still warm, but even through the wrap she could feel the first cool whispers of night air. The dirt was gritty between her fingers, and she dusted them off on the edge of her pants leg and then stood up. She took a deep breath of dry, dusty air and caught a hint of smoke and looked for its source.

The camp was mostly still, but the caravan leader was awake and building a fire, and after a moment's thought Raspeth turned and walked slowly toward him.

Raspeth rather liked the gruff caravan leader, though they hadn't had any conversations yet and she could tell he didn't feel comfortable around her. He was good at his job and seemed to be a good man, and all the other men liked and respected him. She didn't really know him at all, she admitted to herself, but she was sure that if they'd known each other a long time they would have been friends, and that was some comfort.

As reassuring as that was, however, she was still a little shy when he looked up and went straight back to work. She waited another second and then decided that any further delay would just make him even more uncomfortable.

The bushes were scrubby and prickly, and after a minute or two of wrestling with the splintery dry branches she had managed to break off she took off her wrap and laid it down on the ground and then piled the branches on top of it. The ground between the bushes and the place where the caravan master was building the fire was flat enough for her to drag it over without too much trouble.

She was feeling pretty intelligent for figuring out how to transport the wood, and when she got the wood back to the firepit she risked a small smile when he looked up.

"Anything else?"

He nodded blearily and rolled back over, and Mal crawled out of the tent. The girl Raspeth was just approaching, and even favored her with a smile, so Mal grinned back and nodded.

"Want some?" Malorik asked. Raspeth looked at the brownish mass with interest and nodded, and Malorik poured the small amount left into a little bowl and handed it over. Raspeth thanked her and took it and was about to taste it when Malorik stopped her by tossing what appeared to be a very small amount of fine-ground yellow sand in the middle of it. Raspeth looked at her doubtfully and then sampled it. It was bland but satisfying and crunchy, and the sand added a pleasing honeyed taste to it.

The man Reno came and joined them. He nodded to Raspeth and she nodded back, and together the three of them took their breakfast. When they were done, Malorik used another small amount of water to catch the last of the grain from the inside of the clay jar and pour it into a drinking flask to be consumed during the day's journey. Nothing was wasted.

"Would you like some?" she asked, and Mal nodded. She took enough for her and Reno to share, then held out her hand to Reno, who dug into his pocket before giving her something. It looked like a stick, only softer, and Mal twisted off a plug of the stuff and offered it and the rest of the meat back to Raspeth. "Thanks. And here. Chew on this while you ride, and it'll keep you from getting as thirsty."

"I told you not to talk to the others if it could be avoided," she said in a low, tight voice. "We remain in a precarious position. You know this. Don't risk compromising it for the sake of foolish talk." Raspeth looked down, and Devona sighed and patted her shoulder before turning slightly to tighten a strap under her mount's belly. "I know this is hard for you, Raspeth," she said more kindly. "Once we're in Lahkis things will be easier. Talk to the people if you want, but speak only in Brindian." Raspeth nodded. Devona had taught her several languages, Brindian among them. If she spoke it with an accent, it would likely be Devona's, and that was obscure enough not to matter.

They kept away from the others during that night's ride, preferring to ride apart and chatter quietly between themselves. Reno was talkative for a change, and Mal appreciated his effort to entertain her. It made things a little less tedious, and it didn't seem like much time before day came and they stopped to make camp.

Raspeth woke when they did, and helped her make breakfast again, and it became a routine between them. Mal showed her what they'd brought and how to prepare it all, offering hints and encouragement, and even Reno got into the spirit of things once or twice and talked to the girl. Devona never joined them, so it became their own private meal in the early evening, and they began to look forward to it.

"I count twenty-one," Riham said to Cale as he brought his beast to a stop.

"They'll be Haqara," Cale replied. "Leftovers yet to be swallowed by the Freyet. We'll let them see we don't have anything worth their time and part amicably. Go down the line and make sure everyone understands."

Riham nodded and turned his mount to head toward the caravan's tail. The Haqara were taking their time, making sure they were seen. They obviously weren't equipped for a serious fight. Cale swung down from his saddle and unpacked his crossbow. It was an aging piece of machinery in need of refurbishing, but the deserts had become civilized enough over the past decade now that imperialist ideals were seeping into the sands that Cale had only occasionally had use of it. It was worthless for distance, but for distance Cale had his bow. The crossbow was a negotiation piece. Cale cocked it with a grunt and slotted a bolt.

The bandits stopped a short distance away and fanned out to make their numbers obvious -- a stupid tactic considering that number was inferior, suggesting a stupid leader. But stupid leaders could be as dangerous as any, and perhaps more so, because they could not be trusted to know a fight they could not win. These Haqara were gambling that a merchant caravan would rather pay a toll than have to fight at all, and they were right. Cale did not want a battle, regardless of whether he thought he would win. So when the leader rode out from his men, Cale walked toward him on foot to meet him half way.

"Honored greetings, Cousin Clansman," said the man on horseback in Vesari. "I am Haqara Makt, son of Jomu."

"Honored greetings, Cousin Haqara. I am Alaran Cale, son of Yan. It was my great honor to meet Jomu many years ago, near the plateau three days' journey north of this place. He was a wise and fair man."

"Cousin Alaran's kind words are accepted and appreciated. They will be remembered when judgement is made upon this trespass. On what business does this procession violate the territory of the great Clan Haqara?"

In truth the Haqara's claim to this land was tenuous at best. Their ancestral home was the steppes to the north, but the expansion of Clan Freyet since their adoption of an organized system of tolling had driven Makt's people out. But to point this out would be a breach of protocol. "It was not this caravan's intention to profane the territory of Clan Haqara. We are merely merchants porting imperialist goods to Lahkis, where there is a market for such unclean things. If Cousin Haqara will forgive this caravan's trespass and allow safe passage through his homeland we would gladly share of our goods whatever might be of interest to him."

Makt nodded generously. "Cousin Alaran's show of good faith will be considered. My men will inspect these goods and determine if any of this imperialist filth can be made to serve our needs. If so we will extend to this caravan the hospitality of our land."

Moonlight shone down on the caravan, reflecting off the sand and making it easy to see figures and hard to see faces. She watched the caravan leader ride past them and felt more at ease. He didn't appear ruffled or concerned, and Raspeth trusted his judgement. She was grateful for the voluminous, ill-fitting outer garments and grateful for Devona's presence, though she wasn't sure what the woman could do to protect her. She wished she could see Malorik, but she and Reno were behind them and she didn't dare turn around.

She heard more hoofbeats then, lots of them, and then riders on horseback were passing them on both sides at a slow gallop. There was rustling behind them and in front of them as the men began to search the bags, and she fought against cringing away when one of them looked in the pack her camel carried. It was just a cursory glance, and the rider quickly moved on. She heard Cale's voice approaching from the front of the caravan and began to breathe again. She didn't understand enough Vesari to pick out all that he was saying, but he didn't sound upset or worried. There was a feel of routine about it, and when the last of the riders had moved past them she began to feel cautious optimism.

Cale didn't know what Red Dagger was, but he did not believe the situation would be improved by asking Mekt to recount its sins against Haqara. "This man is a member of my crew," Cale said in measured tones, "and harm to him is harm to me. Surely the hospitality of Cousin Haqara must extend equally to my entire caravan."

"No Red Dagger animal will pass through this land, nor leave it!" shouted Mekt.

"I am certain that he is eager to apologize for his transgressions and ask for the forgiveness of the great Clan Haqara."

"I'll not say sorry to them!" the ranger shot back.

Cale glared at the man and opened his mouth to say that yes, he would apologize, and then he would go with them to stand trial for his crimes. Cale was not about to let one man's past jeopardize the lives of his entire crew. But before he could speak a word, the bandit leader howled, "Then you will die!"

The ranger took Mekt at his word, and acted preemptively. He grabbed a dagger from the belt of the bandit who had originally spotted him, and jabbed it forcefully into the side of Mekt's neck. After that, there was no course of action put to follow through. Cale hefted the crossbow and but a bolt through the chest of the keen-eyed bandit. "Caravan," Cale shouted as loud as he could, "attack!"

She turned just as everyone else did. One of the bandits was cursing at the ranger in their crew, and the ranger was arguing back with his sword drawn. Mal knew enough Vesari to understand that there were some very bad words being said, all of them directed at the ranger. Cale appeared, and then the bandit leader, and though she couldn't really make out the exact wording, the intent was crystal clear.

He said it a moment later. "Caravan! Attack!"

Reno was armed and off his horse before Mal had finished drawing her swords, and she cursed and jumped down to land beside him. One of the men rushed at them with a spear, and she deflected his blow away just as Reno stabbed him from the side. She finished him with a thrust to the chest as more bandits came their way, and then the fighting began in earnest.

It wasn't a long battle. Mal and Reno managed to take down three men between them, staying close to one another and at the center of the group. The only other people near them were Devona and Raspeth, and they circled around them and their own horses, careful to guard what they could. Further toward the end of the caravan, the last of the bandits were retreating from Cale and the others. When she was certain they were no longer under attack, Mal leaned against Reno, and whistled breathlessly. "One piece?"

The bandits were nowhere in evidence now, but the caravan was no longer the orderly line it had been. The camels were stil in place but almost all of them were riderless, and she looked frantically around for those she knew. She moved her arm to strike the camel to make him kneel and Devona intercepted her arm.

"You will stay here," she said softly. "There is nothing you can do for them."

Now Cale moved down the row with a different purpose. One hand was clenched tight; the other held a sword taken from the body of a bandit during the fight. He found the ranger whose actions, whose presence had caused this mess. Cale walked up to the ranger, and as the man turned to face him, Cale swung the blade. He was not particularly experienced with a sword, and so he did not take the man's head off his shoulders cleanly. The slight upward angle of his arc caused the blade to catch underneath the jawbone after severing the spine. Cale let go of the hilt and let the man fall with the sword still jutting from his neck. As the blood soaked into the sand at his feet, Cale looked at his men, who had gathered as if drawn to the execution by gravity. He had their attention. He made use of it.

"If any man here has reason to believe that he has enemies that await him on the Desert Road, let him take one of the horses left behind by those proud Haqara and leave now. The next time a man endangers this caravan I will disembowel him myself before his enemies' eyes. Get back on your camels."

Cale's speech was harsh but it made sense to Raspeth, and despite his choice of words she knew better than to think they applied only to the men. She watched the caravan leader walk back toward the front of the line and wondered if he would kill her if he decided she was a danger to the group. She and Devona were too far away from anyone who might wish them specific ill to find them here, but there were other reasons she could think of that might cause him disquiet. She wondered if he felt guilty for killing the ranger. He walked past her and she could see his face. He looked angry, not guilty. Why would he look angry after he killed someone and not before?

He's angry because he feels he had to and he didn't like it, she thought. That made sense too, and it made her feel sorry for him.

When the sun began to rise on the horizon and it came time to stop for the day, Mal finally murmured something to Reno, and he helped her down from her horse. They had a moment then to whisper between themselves, reassuring one another that there were no injuries, that they were alright, before Devona and Raspeth approached and they had to make camp.

They returned to silence, all of them, as Reno set up their tent and Mal began to prepare the nightly meal. The other two left to get their own food from the caravan, and Reno smiled at her.

"No, I am alright," she said, with a quick nod toward the tent. "Neither Reno nor I were wounded. We were lucky for that."

"Ah... it is not necessary, really," she objected, but opened the box at Devona's encouragement. There was a necklace inside, a small pendant on a silver chain. Mal lifted it with a finger and examined it, then blinked up at Devona again when she realized that the stone in the pendant was atacre.

Reno joined her a moment later and, predictably, noticed immediately. He raised an eyebrow at her, and Mal reluctantly lowered her collar again so he can see. "Reward for killing bandits," she said, a bit defensively. "Dinnit think you'd be jealous of jewelry." He flicked her ear in reproach, and she sighed. "Sorry. Here, eat." She handed him his bowl with an apologetic smile, and he glanced over at the group eating on the other side of camp before returning it.

"Not jealous, Mal."

Mal sighed again. "I know, Reno."

"Not angry, either."

Winnat's grin was entirely different - it was a jolly grin for someone so young, but there was a sort of energy behind it as well. He moved towards the girl openly and gracefully, his layered clothing and large pack not seeming to encumber him at all.

"Evening, there."

She looked up to see who was speaking to whom so close to her, and was surprised to see one of the caravan hands standing more or less directly in front of her and smiling, one of the men she'd seen from the tavern. It was a nice smile, and she smiled back without really thinking about it and then looked around and saw that Devona was not at her side. That made her feel vulnerable, and her smile faded a little as she saw his companion. That one was also looking at her and moving away so that she could not face them both at once, and she cradled the bowls closer and tried to focus on the nice one and pretend the other one wasn't there.

Perhaps it was nothing. Men wished to be men, even when they were boys, and Malorik with her man and Devona with her age were less attractive targets. Perhaps. If it happened again, she would speak to the caravan leader. When she had boasted that there was nothing he needed to defend them from she had not expected to need protection from his own men. If he could not be counted to keep order, then it would be Malorik's blades, but Raspeth would make it across the Vesari unharmed.

"Nasty pair of eyes on that one." Agar muttered as they joined the queue for food. He had not missed the daggers she had thrown him in her glance. A challenge, perhaps, he mused.

Of all of those she traveled with, Raspeth felt that only Cale and perhaps Malorik understood how she felt. She'd hardly spoken to the caravan leader, but she had seen his face after he'd killed the other man and after this man had died. He looked how she felt, frustrated with his helplessness. Malorik did not mourn, exactly, but she seemed aware of Raspeth's misery and if she didn't fully grasp the nature of it, Malorik did attempt to be friendly, but Raspeth no longer wanted to be friendly. The next time it might be Malorik, and Raspeth didn't want the woman mistakenly thinking Raspeth would do whatever she could to save her.

She did not sleep well when they finally camped, and she was up well before the others. The slender spike of sunlight on the floor in their tent told her it was still early afternoon, and she dressed quietly and then stepped out of the tent. Most of the rest of the camp was still sleeping, but Cale was up, of course. She wondered if he had slept, or if he slept at all. She had never seen him at rest.

He seemed aware of her approach now, though he didn't look toward her. He was moving equipment from several of the mounts, organizing it and then loading it again in a different order. She stopped within a few feet of him, close enough so that she knew he would hear her but far enough that he wouldn't feel crowded.

The wind howled in response, and Mal scowled and settled herself more securely against the tent. The storm had not come as a complete surprise; they'd had enough time to move the necessary supplies, prepare the horses, and set up the tent, such as it was. It was a bit cramped, but it kept them safe, and it could always be worse.

"Yes, to Lahkis, then further to the mountains. It's a much faster journey without a caravan, though we spent a share of it bunkered from the winds. Very stormy season, it was. Remember that, Reno?" He didn't say anything, and Mal's grin turned a little malicious. "Then in the mountains, we hit a thunderstorm. Ever been in one of those, Raspeth? Thunder and lightning and rain and wind?"

Reno's voice was level and inflectionless. "Mal is afraid of camels."

She gave him a look, but returned her attention to Raspeth with another smile. "I was not much for rules," she said airily, but there was an effort to it, and when Reno made a sound of disapproval her mouth turned down at the corners. "Neither were you, cousin," she shot back, and then fell silent.

It was a point of contention between them and had been for years, something that they had not yet agreed to disagree upon, and both glowered at one another for a long moment. Then Mal became uncomfortable with having argued in front of others, and lost the scowl.

"<Apologies, Reno.>"

"<Taken, Mal.>"