Chapter Twelve - "Dust and Heat"

The following dawn, the wagons pull out from the yard of the Tavern, the escort captain unhappy about including such an obviously dangerous Warrior in their midst, unsure of how the other guards might react. He is also aware that one of such obvious skills would be more than useful for the coming journey. After all he is paid to ensure the safe delivery of the caravan and its cargo.

For his part, Eder is content to maintain his distance both from the wagons and the others of the troop. Apparently last evening's oaf, had debts to all his comrades, mostly through injudicious gambling and ill- luck at dice, and as is the custom all debts are cancelled upon the death of the debtor. Satisfied with the duty of riding flank or to the rear, and alert for any signs of beasts or bandits, the Warrior draws his cloak against the chill of the early morning, veiling his nose and mouth against the dust rising in small tornadoes from the hooves of the draught beasts as they plod through the dried dirt of the road. He kicks his kailla's flanks and drifts with the young day, his thoughts slowing to keep pace with the wagons an occasional grin creasing his face as a driver cracks a whip at a stubborn animal.

Soon the clouds and mist of the morning are burnt away by the sun rising higher into the sky. The heat increases steadily and soon the Warrior notes that many of the drivers and closer guards are folding their cloaks into their packs or tossing them into the backs of the wagons. In his current position as rearguard his need for relief from the heat is balanced by the need to avoid the choking clouds of dust, which hang in the still, stifling air. Ironically the one thing which would solve his dilemma, a desert cowl and hood from one of the Tahari camps, rests in his pack, but to remove it and wear it would only give rise to further questions and suspicions.

Towards the middle of the day, the Captain calls a rest halt. The lazy indolence brought on by the heat is evident in the guards as they leave the wagons, loosely tether their kailla and sprawl with the drivers in the scant shade offered by the trail-side shrubs and stunted trees, drinking tepid water from leather bags. Eder remains mounted, sipping from a stone bottle, which despite its added weight has the benefit of keeping its contents cool.

"Join us." calls one of the guards, on closer inspection the one who tried to intervene the previous night. "Take a rest when you get the chance, it's going to be a long, hot day in the saddle.

Nodding acknowledgement for the advice, the Warrior hitches his kailla to the rear board of one of the wagons. He pours some water into his palm, he permits the riding beast to lap from his hand, always aware that his mount could snap at his fingers at any time .. he trusts that the desire for water will get the better of the animal's unpleasant disposition. Just to be certain he takes a firm grip of the tender flesh of its ear. The kailla's eyes reflect its hatred of saddle and bit, not to mention rider, nevertheless it extends a mottled pink tongue and takes the water. Walking slowly over the rutted road, Eder reaches the shade and sits, cross-legged, adjusting the harness holding his twin scimitars. He removes his hood and mask and accepts a piece of dried bosk and new baked sa-tarna bread, indicating his thanks with a slight inclination of his head. He does not speak, but notes the unasked questions on the faces of the other guards. The one who invited him to sit opens his mouth to speak but is forestalled by a shout from the Captain

"Mount up! Move you sons of poxed whores. Can't sit here all day."

The caravan begins to roll again.

Two further breaks are taken at intervals of 4 Ahn, to rest and water both beasts and men. Having started out at the sixth Ahn, the wagons will roll until the sixteenth when the Captain finally calls a halt.

"No inns tonight, my lovely boys. You have to rough it at times to appreciate a soft bed and a warm slave." Rapidly and efficiently he allocates duties to each member of the troop, finally he looks to Eder.

"You will take a watch, Warrior ?"

"Of course, I want no different treatment from the others. That is a recipe for disharmony and mistrust.... I will take the middle watch.

The Captain nods, knowing this is the least favoured duty, given the disruption to sleep.

"Aye, and welcome to it. That is my watch... I shall wake you."

"I will be awake." The Warrior replies.

The night passes uneventfully, the snoring of the guards and drivers in their blankets merges with the snuffling of the load beasts and the normal sounds of the Gorean night. The risen moons casting a soft eerie light. At the fifth Ahn the camp begins to stir, cooking fires crackle into life, heating water for blackwine, and shallow metal pans for strips of tarsk and vulo eggs. Rations are divided for the coming day, and at the sixth the caravan slowly grinds into motion... the complaints of the beasts, the crack of driving whips and the creak of harnesses. The sun is barely risen but the clear sky heralds another day of heat and discomfort.

Eder masks his face again as he takes the rear position.