FASHION STATEMENT, Page two...
Copyright Mary Mannon Reeves.
"I can't believe they bought it, " Ramiz muttered. "Ramiz Beastspeaker. You couldn't come up with anything better than that?"
"It worked. Besides, this caravan's headed for the plains. They're more worried about the big cats than bandits. All you have to do is growl back at the kitties when they show up, and scare them away. The last caravan through even had a tame cat of their own to do the job."
They rode together at the head of the caravan, just behind a fat merchant on an over-bred palfry and the wagon master on his mule. The little bay palfry danced and curvetted, nearly unseating his rider more than once. The mule flopped her ears and yawned.
"Look," Ramiz hissed. "It's us."
Darinay hid a smile. The feisty little bay was the same deep red-brown as her skin, and with her temperament as well. The dun mule, tall and laconic, matched more than Ramiz's mousy hair. No doubt it had some of her stubborness as well. She bit back a curse as the palfry kicked out, nearly catching her own mount in the jaw.
"You there! Beast speaker!" The wagon master barked at Ramiz. "Tell that beast to settle down or we'll never make the oasis by nightfall."
The swordmates exchanged glances. Ramiz drew herself up in what she hoped was a regal and offended posture.
"And if I use all my powers to quell the steed, what will you use when the great cats come pouring out of the night, death stalkers, livestock killers, marauders that they are? You don't use a wagon to carry a single coin, old man. I don't use my power to help a bad rider."
She wheeled her horse around and rode away, her wounded dignity a mantle across her noble shoulders.
"Sorry about that. You know how touchy these mages are," Darinay mumbled a quick apology, then quickly followed her partner.
"Death stalkers? Livestock killers? Have you been bedding bad bards again, or are you just totally insane?"
Darinay whooped with laughter as soon as they were safely away. " And where did that incredibly bad Jo'amar accent come from?"
"It's your own fault, you know," Ramiz brushed laugh-tears from her eyes. "You told them I could talk to the animals, not that I talked like the animals. Imagine the look that poor bay would have given me if I'd ridden up and sniffed its nose and whickered? Oh, D'nay, we are never going to make it to D'suthart without getting caught, are we?"
There were two other S and S pairs on the caravan. Darinay didn't know what the covered vans were loaded with, but it must have been costly to bear the price of the guards. The first pair, Monorrit and Fess, were fairly antisocial, but Ramiz put it down to the fact that they, too, were unfashionable. Male sword and sorcerer pairs were simply not as prestigious as female. The second pair, Torbi and Alloki, were friendly, if not a little jumpy. Alloki, the swordswoman, constantly fingered the grip of her sword as if expecting bandits to materialize in front of them at any moment. Her partner was calmer, but private with her mage talk, much to Ramiz's relief. The last thing she needed was a "fellow" practitioner wanting to compare notes.
A week into the journey and little had happened. Ramiz began to relax into her role. She was only called upon once to use her powers, just that morning, when the van master's mule refused to take the north branch of their trail. She wondered if it was reacting to the lone plainscat that had been shadowing their caravan since dawn, but the big cat was behind them. The mule should have been eager to get away, not balking with its jug head lowered and its long ears flattened back. Quiet bluffing and a quick eye bought her way out of that one. As she snorted and honked at the bemused mule, she scanned the ground. The van master watched in humbled amazement
"The mule tells me that a wyvern has crossed this path and has taken up in bluff overlooking the trail," she said in solemn, hollow tones as she carefully dragged her robe across the wyvern's track marks in the dust. "It will not travel until the beast is dead.
"And Wagonmaster..." Ramiz stopped him before he left to summon another mage. "The mule also tells me that your quartermaster has been substituting inferior grains in the oat mixture."
"Nice touch, that," Darinay grinned. They were setting up a temporary camp until Monorrit and Torbi could kill the wyvern. "How did you know he was shorting the grains?"
Ramiz snorted. "Have you ever known a quartermaster that didn't? Consider it a moment of divine inspiration."
"Divine or equine?"
Before she could answer, flames erupted from the trail ahead. Mage-blue and rather permanent. The wyvern was dead.
"That was quick," Darinay grumbled. "I was looking forward to a rest."
"Too quick. Something's wrong."
As if to punctuate her sudden unease, a plainscat's roar rumbled through the tall grasses, from nearly two leagues away. Darinay shot her partner a worried glance, but Ramiz merely shook her head.
"I've been hearing it for a couple of hours now. It's a loner. I can see a pride taking on a caravan, but not a rogue. Not unless it was rabid, starving, protecting cubs, or in rut."
"That's a lot of unlesses. Here comes Torbi and Alloki. They'll know if something's wrong."
The true mage and her partner were arguing fiercely as they half-jogged down the caravan's length.
"It was dead already," Alloki insisted. "Sometime recently. Torbi blasted it to ashes just to cut down on the stench. She thinks it died of old age. I think somebody killed it to stop us here. Everybody knows a mule's smart enough to know a wyvern's in the area, and everyone knows the vanmaster rides a mule. We're being set up."