of blubbery fat beneath its hide. If allowed, the humpbacked beast would wander into the richest forage and graze, but Fidelias handled it with a sure and calm hand, keeping the beast moving along the road, while he marched at the quickstep beside it.
A mile more, by Amara's estimation, and they had come within picket distance of the insurgent Legion's camp. She tried to remind herself of her role- that of a bored slave, sleepy and tired from days of travel-but it was all she could do to keep the mounting tension from rising in her shoulders and back. What if the Legion turned out to be nothing more than rumor, and her intelligence gathering mission, so carefully outlined and planned, turned out to be a costly waste of time? Would the First Lord think less of her? Would the other Cursors? It would be a paltry introduction into the ranks, indeed, if she stepped forth from the Academy and straight into a monumental blunder.
Her anxiety grew, like bands of iron stretching across her shoulders and back, and her head started to pound from the tension and the glare of the sun. Had they made a wrong turn? The old trail they followed seemed too well-worn to be an abandoned lumber track, but she could be wrong. Wouldn't they be seeing the smoke of a Legion's fires? Wouldn't they hear something, by now, if they were as close as she suspected?
Amara was on the verge of leaning down to call to Fidelias, to ask his advice, when a man in dark tunic and leggings and a gleaming breastplate and helmet melted into view beneath the shadows of a tree on the road no more than ten strides in front of them. He appeared without a warning of any
kind, without a flicker of movement-furycrafting involved, then, and a fairly skilled woodworking at that. He was a giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall, and he bore a heavy blade at his side. He lifted one gloved hand and said, his tone bored, distant, "Halt."
Fidelias clucked to the gargant bull, slowing the beast to a stop after several steps. The wagon creaked and groaned, settling onto its wheels beneath the weight of the ore.
"Good morning to you, master," Fidelias called, his voice oozing nervous, obsequious good cheer. The senior Cursor doffed his hat and clutched it in his slightly trembling hands. "And how are you doing on this fine autumn morn?"
"You're on the wrong trail," said the dark giant. His tone was dull, almost sleepy, but he laid a hand on the hilt of his weapon. "This land is not friendly to travelers. Turn around."
"Yes, master, of course we will, master," Fidelias simpered. "I am but a humble peddler, transporting his cargo in the vain hope of finding a ready market. I have no desire for trouble, good master, only for the chance to attempt to recoup my losses on this most excellent but lamentably ill-timed bounty of-" Fidelias rolled his eyes skyward and dragged one foot through the dust of the trail. "Iron." He shot the giant a sly smile. "But, as you wish, good master. I'll be on my way."
The dark man stepped forward and said, "Hold, merchant."
Fidelias glanced back at him. "Master?" he asked. "Can I perhaps interest you in a purchase?"
The dark man shrugged. He stopped a few feet from Fidelias and asked, "How much ore?"
"Nearly a ton, good master. As you can see, my poor gargant is all but done in."
The man grunted, eyeing the beast, and swept his gaze up it, to Amara. "Who is this?"
"My slave, good master," Fidelias said. His voice took on a cringing, wheedling tone. "She's for sale, if you like the look of her, master. A hard worker, skilled at weaving and cooking-and more than capable of giving a man an unforgettable night's pleasure. At two lions, she's surely a bargain."
The man snorted. "Your hard worker rides while you walk, merchant. It would have been smarter for you to travel alone." He sniffed. "And she's as skinny as a boy. Take your beast and follow me."
"You wish to buy, master?"
The soldier gave him a look and said, "I didn't ask you, merchant. Follow me."
Fidelias stared at the soldier and then swallowed, an almost audible gulp. "Aye, aye, master. We'll be only a pace or three behind you. Come on old boy." He picked up the gargant's lead straps in shaking fingers and stirred the great beast into motion again.