"Trouble with excellent timing."
Sun kept staring at the empty ridge where the figure in red had vanished.
"You say that about everyone."
"Not true," said Varen. "Some people are trouble with poor timing."
"That's comforting."
They descended from Black Wolf Pass into lower country where the mountains softened into long green slopes and scattered cedar groves. By afternoon the road widened enough for wagons, and ruts from heavy wheels cut deep lines through the earth.
Civilization, apparently, announced itself by damaging dirt.
Sun walked with the blue beast core in one hand, turning it through the light. Cold energy leaked faintly through his skin.
"Still not telling me how to use this?"
"Soon."
"You keep saying soon the way liars say trust me."
Varen adjusted his cloak.
"And you complain the way healthy lungs should."
Before Sun could answer, bells rang ahead on the road.
Not alarms.
Harness bells.
Then came voices, wheels, curses, laughter, and the smell of spice thick enough to punch through mountain air.
A caravan rounded the bend.
Six broad wagons covered in painted canvas.
Two smaller escort carts.
Guards on horseback.
Pack mules.
Servants walking beside wheels.
Bright pennants fluttered from the lead wagon—gold thread sewn into the shape of a coiled serpent around a coin.
Sun stared openly.
"There are more people here than my village had useful thoughts."
The lead rider, a broad woman with scarred cheeks and chainmail sleeves, raised a hand.
"Halt!"
The caravan slowed.
Crossbows angled casually from wagon benches.
Merchants smiled in the dangerous way merchants often do.
Varen stepped forward.
"Travelers seeking road company to Blackstone City."
The scarred rider looked them over.
One cloaked stranger.
One dusty youth with a wrapped sword and blood on his collar.
"Charming pair," she said.
From inside the lead wagon came a woman's voice.
"Let me see."
The curtain parted.
Sun forgot his next insult.
A woman leaned out, perhaps twenty-five, dressed in dark green silk practical enough for travel and expensive enough to insult practicality. Bronze skin, sharp eyes, hair braided with tiny silver coins that chimed when she moved.
She assessed Sun in one sweep.
Then Varen.
Then the sword.
Then back to Sun.
"This one looks hungry," she said.
Sun recovered first.
"I am."
She smiled slightly.
"Honest too. Dangerous combination."
She opened the wagon door and stepped down lightly.
Even the guards straightened.
Power of rank, or beauty, or both.
The woman offered no bow.
"I am Lady Samira Dax, master of this caravan, owner of three warehouses, two legal monopolies, and one ex-husband buried somewhere unmarked."
Sun blinked.
"That introduction improved steadily."
She turned to him.
"And you are?"
"Sun."
"Just Sun?"
"At present."
She glanced at Varen.
"Your son?"
Varen looked offended.
"Do I seem punished?"
Sun grinned despite himself.
"No relation."
Samira circled him once like a buyer inspecting a horse.
"You carry yourself like someone recently beaten by life but unwilling to stay down."
"That's either insightful or rude."
"Yes."
She stopped before him.
"Can you fight?"
Sun considered the dead men behind him in recent memory.
"Enough to inconvenience people."
"Can you follow orders?"
"No."
"Can you be bribed with food?"
"Strongly."
She laughed.
The sound changed the mood of the whole road.
Even guards smiled.
"Good. Walk with us. Bandits have grown bold near Blackstone. I need entertainment."
Varen inclined his head. "Reasonable terms."
Sun frowned. "You accepted quickly."
"I enjoy free transport."
They joined the caravan.
Sun was given bread, dried figs, and a place beside the third wagon.
He nearly wept at the bread.
Samira noticed.
"Mountain village?"
"Yes."
"First caravan meal?"
"Yes."
"Try not to marry the loaf."
"No promises."
By sunset he had learned the caravan's shape.
Samira Dax owned it.
The scarred rider was Captain Brin, who trusted nobody.
The cooks hated everyone equally.
Two guards were lovers pretending secrecy so badly it became communal sport.
One scholar-accountant named Pell counted everything except social cues.
And riding near the rear under embroidered shade sat a young man in blue robes with lacquered boots untouched by dust.
Smooth face.
Soft hands.
Gold ring shaped like House Teryn's stag.
Sun's mood improved immediately.
He whispered to Varen, "Arrogant noble?"
"Likely."
"Wonderful."
The young man noticed Sun looking.
He frowned as if eye contact were theft.
Then snapped his fingers.
"You there. Boy."
Sun looked around theatrically.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Bring water."
Sun walked over slowly.
The noble leaned back on cushions.
"I am Lucan Teryn, cousin to House Teryn's western branch."
Sun nodded.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Nearby guards coughed to hide laughter.
Lucan's eyes narrowed.
"You will address me as Young Master."
Sun considered.
"No."
Silence.
Lucan sat upright.
"Do you know who I am?"
"No one impressive has asked that today."
Brin turned her horse away to hide a grin.
Lucan pointed at the water cask.
"Fetch it."
Sun leaned on the wagon rail.
"You have arms."
"They are not for labor."
"Then they're decorative."
Several merchants openly laughed now.
Lucan flushed crimson.
"You insolent peasant!"
Sun brightened.
"There it is. I was worried we'd skip the obvious line."
Lucan lunged to stand dramatically, caught his robe hem on a hook, and fell backward into a basket of onions.
The road erupted.
Guards howled.
Drivers slapped reins in delight.
Even Pell the accountant snorted numbers through his nose.
Lucan rose stinking of onion rage.
"You're finished!"
Sun bowed slightly.
"Please schedule it after dinner."
That night the caravan camped in a ring beside a stream.
Wagons circled inward.
Fires lit.
Guards rotated watch.
Lucan sulked inside his personal tent.
Samira sat on an overturned crate drinking wine from a metal cup.
She gestured Sun over.
"You have a talent."
"For combat?"
"For humiliating rich men efficiently."
"I cultivate many arts."
She poured him watered wine.
He took it carefully.
"Why travel yourself?" he asked. "Wouldn't owners stay comfortable elsewhere?"
Samira watched sparks rise.
"Because wealth unattended breeds thieves, fools, and relatives."
"Fair."
"And because roads tell truths cities hide."
That answer surprised him.
She studied his face in firelight.
"You've lost someone recently."
Sun went still.
"You ask everyone that?"
"No. Only people who look like they stopped speaking to ghosts this morning."
He looked down into the cup.
"Maybe."
She did not press.
Interesting woman, he thought.
Dangerous woman too.
Varen approached carrying the blue beast core.
"Training time."
Sun groaned.
Samira arched a brow.
"He always appears when comfort begins?"
"Yes."
"Cruel."
Varen handed Sun the core.
"Come to the stream."
Samira watched them go, eyes thoughtful.
From the shadows beyond the fire circle, unseen by all but one guard dog, a slim figure in red crouched atop a wagon and smiled.
At her belt hung three stolen coin purses.
One of them was Sun's.
To be continued...