Brazen Girl: Chapter Two
Brazen Girl
Chapter Two: The Desert
Alan halted his horse and examined the shadows on the sand around him.
“Are we stopping?” asked Jas.
“It’s getting hot,” said Alan. “We should be setting camp at around ten.”
“Well, it’s only nine, now,” said Oriah.
“How do you know?” asked Jas.
“You can tell by the length of the shadows,” replied Oriah offhandedly, pointing at one. “Let’s keep going!” And without another word, she spurred her horse and galloped down the low, rolling dune and up the next one.
Jasson could have sworn he heard Alan mutter the word “brat” under his breath before they both followed her lead. He chose to disregard it, and give the troubled knight the benefit of the doubt.
An hour later they were searching for an oasis to spend the hot hours in. Alan did battle against the wind with his flapping burnoose and bunches of flyaway maps, trying to spread the latter out properly so he could read the markings on them and lead the group safely out of the blazing summer sun. Jas watched impassively, Mal with amusement, and Oriah was nowhere to be seen.
Alan bit back blasphemy as he tried to separate one map out of his bundle. Mal lost interest and wandered away. When he came back, he coughed delicately to catch their attention. “Sir Alan?”
“Yes, Malakai?” asked Alan distractedly.
“Oriah is back.”
“Good,” said Alan, firmly tying together all but one of his maps. “Tell her not to wander. I don’t want her getting lost. Her mother would kill me. Mithros, both her mothers would kill me!”
“Brother dear?”
Oriah’s voice was honey-sweet, and Alan looked up at her suspiciously.
“I found an oasis,” she said in that horribly taunting sweet voice.
Alan said nothing.
“Hakim taught me Bazhir traditions for tracking in the desert,” explained the girl, though unprompted. “They tell you how to locate water in the desert, among other things. It’s not far from here. Want to see it?”
He packed up his maps, face blank. “Let’s go,” he said, and to Oriah, “Try not to look so self-satisfied.”
It was no use, of course. The girl’s white burnoose did nothing to hide her gracefully attractive smirk, as a veil might have done. Mal’s presence was also inciting, and the two chatted and giggled in low voices, sitting on the opposite side of the spring as Alan and Jas. Jas was lying on his stomach and dozing in the shade of tall palm trees, and Alan knew he ought to follow his lead.
He unpacked his bedroll from his saddlebags and made it up, then lay down with his hands behind his neck. Over the spring drifted abstract sounds of chatter, and now and then a word that he didn’t even bother to try and catch. Above him was the sharp, clear blue of the desert sky, the one he always remembered. Oriah, the desert girl: how had she come to be? How would she affect his family? Would her existence be enough to crumble his parents’ marriage, which had held up through so much abuse? Maybe it would have been best to leave her in Persopolis.
Maybe he would have been able to do that, if he hadn’t felt he owed something to Oriah. Or maybe it wasn’t him, but the girl was definitely owed something: to know her own family, for one. He might have to curb her desire for adventure, if she insisted she could take care of herself. How could she make such an extravagant statement so flippantly, when she’d never been outside the bounds of her birth city? Yes, she’d had training; so had he, as a page. Still, he could never dream he’d been prepared for the world he saw as a squire, he couldn’t compare all he’d learned --
“Heads up!” someone shouted.
The urgency of the call brought him scrambling to his feet as he saw a half-sleepy Jas jump up nearby. Both knights drew their swords out of force of habit.
Alan searched for the source of the shout and soon spotted the cloud of dust that thundered at them with alarming speed. It was headed at Oriah.
“Over there,” he called to Jas, and ran, sword in hand, only to come to a grinding halt a few feet ahead of the girl.
The cloud of dust quickly dismantled into five armed riders with covered faces. The vanguard dismounted and charged at Alan with a bare blade. Shield-less, the knight was forced to parry with his sword, cringing slightly at the thought of the damage the weapon must be sustaining. He shook the pedantic thought out of his head and concentrated on his attacker’s strikes.
The air filled with puffs of biting desert dust and the clanging of steel. Alan caught his assailant’s rhythm soon enough and out-paced him. He blocked a poorly thought out stabbing movement and slashed back, his sword’s blade cutting through the attacker’s shirt and tainting it with a fine line of blood. He had dismounted quickly, without bothering to secure his mount, and now the horse was fleeing. Now he was retreating with every step, catching Alan’s blows but delivering few of his own. When the knight struck unexpectedly low, the cut lodged in his leg, causing his knees to buckle.
Alan held his blade to the man’s throat, flicking off the burnoose that hid his face. His opponent tamed, he risked a look to either side. Common bandits, he decided. The last one still mounted was fleeing already, while another was hastily climbing on the back of his struggling horse, harried by a figure with brazen hair, waving a sword. Alan’s thoughts turned decidedly reluctant.
He could not leave the man he held by the throat unsupervised, so, pulling him to his feet, he dragged him to the camp’s supplies, where he kept the rope. Once the prisoner was securely bound, Alan left him and rushed back to the scene of the skirmish.
The last horse was galloping away, its hooves raising dust in the distance. Oriah was doing battle with its rider. He watched them for a moment. Her sword-work was skilled and energetic. Incredibly, she more than held her own. The bandit tried trick after trick to force her to drop her blade, but Oriah held fast and threw his own moves back at him. She wielded the weapon with the ease of familiarity and her movements were smooth and practiced. When the bandit finally dropped his sword and turned tail, Oriah started after him.
“Coward!” she screamed with a raw voice. “Get back here and finish what you started!”
Alan ran after her, grabbing at her arm.
“Let go!” she rasped, trying to shake off his grip.
“Stop.”
“No, let me go! I want to go after him!”
“No,” said Alan, strengthening his grip on the squirming girl by taking her other arm.
Oriah dug her feet in the sand, fighting against his hold. Alan just shook his head and started to pull her back to the oasis.
“Let me follow him! Please? I want to finish this! Don’t let him get away!”
“Why?” asked Alan.
“I want to finish this! He’s getting away!” Her voice was gritty with sand, her sweaty face and hair coated in it.
“It would do you no good,” said Alan, turning her around with both hands.
“It’s my first sword-fight!” retorted Oriah. “I want to finish it!”
Holding her firmly by the shoulders, making sure she saw and paid attention, Alan shook his head very slowly.
Oriah’s resistance went limp. “Spoilsport.”
Yet, he was right; he was sure of it. By the time they reached the shaded spring Oriah’s limpness was more exhausted than protesting. When he let go of her she did not make for her horse, as he’d feared, but went down to the water. Malakai was sitting on a rock by the spring, and she went to join him. Satisfied that she wouldn’t do anything foolish and useless, Alan sought Jas.
The prince had secured the three subdued bandits together, in the shade, and was standing by, watching them.
“Have they said anything?” asked Alan, wiping his face with his burnoose.
Jasson shook his head, his eyes intent on the prisoners.
“Have you asked?”
“Not much,” answered Jas. “I thought perhaps you’d have a better idea of where to start.”
Alan pondered this. “It seems a strange coincidence that we should be attacked less than a week after someone tried to pick your pocket in the market,” he said.
“You don’t think it’s random.”
Alan shook his head. “Almost definitely not.” He sighed. “In fact, any number of people could be trying to get at it.”
“Who knows we have it?” asked Jas.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Alan, his mouth taking on a stubborn cast. “We get it back to Corus and that’s all there is to it. These people,” he scuffed a foot at the bandits, “are probably not even aware of the thing they were sent to steal. Plenty of petty tribe-lords take their pick of the loot before their men even look through it.”
“What do we do with them?” wondered Jas. “It would take too long to bring them back to justice in Persopolis, and it would be too risky to bring them along with us.”
“We should leave them here,” said Alan.
“Isn’t that…”
“No,” said Alan, “I’m sure they’d be out of their bonds soon after we left. This is, after all, an oasis. They wouldn’t die. At most they’d have a dismal time getting anywhere without their horses.”
“In the mean time, we should make sure they have water.”
Alan nodded. “And that they don’t slit our throats at night.”
“Oh, joy, sentry duty,” sighed Jas. “And just when I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”
The other dismissed his token complaints without a word and went down to the spring.
Oriah was cleaning her sword while Mal sprawled on a damp rock, watching her through his dark bangs and trailing a long-fingered hand in the water. Alan sat down about a foot from her, tucking his feet under his legs, tailor-style. He proceeded to dampen his burnoose in the spring and wash his face. Every so often, Oriah shot him a sidelong glance. Once the clean sword was sheathed, she turned on him.
“What do you want?” she asked flatly.
“Well, since you did such a nice job on your own sword, I was wondering if maybe you could clean mine, too,” suggested Alan quietly.
She made a face.
“I was also wondering about your friend Malakai.”
That got her attention, Alan noted with satisfaction, as Oriah sat up straight and glared at him.
“What do you have against Mal?” she fumed.
Alan shrugged. “No need to get defensive,” he said. “I just like to know something about the people I travel with, especially since it’s looking like this journey will be more dangerous than I bargained for.” His eyes leveled at hers. “Can he fight?”
“Brawl,” she said, her own eyes aflame. “No fencing, no Gift.”
“Where did he learn?”
“On the street.” She raised her chin and added, “The best place to learn.”
“Yet you studied Shang arts,” parried Alan.
“My girl’s been in a fight or two herself,” Mal said suddenly. “She knows what she’s about.”
Oriah grinned and, taking Alan’s sword from his hand, proceeded to clean it. Alan shifted his seat and turned his attentions to the boy.
“How about you tell me a little something about yourself?” he asked.
Mal flopped over on his back, looking up at the sky. “I told your prince friend most of it,” he said. “My parents came here from Carthak before I was born, and settled first on the southern coast, then in Persopolis. They raised a family they couldn’t provide for. When I grew up I realized I could make money on my own, and I’ve been far better off since.”
“Really?” said Alan with interest, his suspicion rising. “What do you work in?”
“Human commerce,” said Mal, looking at him through narrowing eyes.
“You’re a pimp?” He certainly hadn’t told Jasson that, Alan knew, because Jasson would have told him.
Mal smirked. “No,” he said. “I work strictly for myself.”
“Good to know,” commented Alan dryly.
“You asked,” said Oriah, shrugging with tight lips, and went on wiping Alan’s sword with a steel-cleaning cloth.
“I don’t suppose your parents approve much, do they?” asked Alan.
Oriah dropped her rag. “They don’t know everything there is to know about Mal, but Zahara suspects. She definitely doesn’t have a very high opinion of him.” She glanced at Malakai, almost apologetically.
“Don’t fret, my girl,” he said lightly. “Even my clients don’t think well of me.”
She set aside sword and rag and turned to him. “I do,” she said emphatically.
Alan decided he’d heard enough. Leaving the two to their own business, he picked up his sword and retreated to his bedroll on the opposite shore.
Jas was awake. “I’m volunteering for the first watch,” he answered the other’s unasked question.
“Wake me up for the second,” said Alan and dropped flat on his bedroll, exhausted.
“What were you and your half-sister discussing so heatedly?” asked Jas.
Alan buried his face in his arms. “I wanted to know more about that Malakai.”
“What did you find out?”
“He’s a male prostitute.” Alan tried to keep the bitter mirth out of his tone.
“You sound thrilled,” remarked Jas.
“It’s almost like she’s trying to make me dislike her.”
Jasson looked thoughtful. “Do you?”
Alan glared at the late morning sky, hazy with the growing heat of a desert day. “No,” he admitted, “but she gets on my nerves.”
“You’re rather hard on her,” said Jas. “Remember, she’s only sixteen.”
“Was I like that when I was sixteen?” demanded Alan.
“Not in the least,” answered Jas with a telling smile, “but I was. And so was Aly.”
Alan flipped over to scrutinize his friend. “What are you saying?”
“You were the one who said Oriah reminded you of her,” said Jas and shrugged. “I guess I can see it, somewhat. More of a temper, though, I should think.”
“I only just met her, and she already worries me sick!” complained Alan.
“That just makes you a good brother,” said Jas, leaning back against the trunk of a tree.
Alan sighed, and rolled over again. “Don’t fall asleep on your watch,” he said.
“Don’t worry, you raised me well,” were the last words he heard before he dropped off.
***
Jasson’s watch passed uneventfully, as did Alan’s. When the time came, Alan went to where Oriah and Malakai were sleeping, to wake her for the last watch. For a moment he just stood and looked at her. When she slept, she looked almost frail, her hair tousled, her lips parted and mumbling out of some dream. He wondered at his own folly, as he kneeled down and gently shook her shoulder.
“Are we leaving?” asked the girl, turning in her sleep.
“Third watch,” he said softly.
She murmured something vague and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Alan smiled, leaning back on his heals. “Wake up, sleepy. It’s your watch.”
She glared at him from among the quilts.
Laughing softly, he got up to make for his own covers. “Don’t worry, mighty fencer. We leave in a few hours.”
***
Alan woke to find the camp still standing and the other three packed and well into supper. He briskly rolled his bedding and joined them. The three bandits were still tied up when they rode away.
Out of sight of the oasis, Alan signaled a stop.
“I’m changing our route,” he said. “In light of recent events, I don’t think we can go on traveling as we have up until now. I’d like us to find the road from Persopolis to Port Legann, and follow it. It’ll make the journey longer, but I also think it’ll be safer, especially when traveling at night. Any objections?”
“Do you think there’ll be more attacks?” asked Jas.
“I’m pretty certain there will be,” answered Alan. “Whoever wants it won’t just give up.”
“We could still get attacked on the road,” said Oriah, crossing her arms.
“I’d still rather take the road,” said Alan. “Up until now we were relying on our maps and survival skills because we wanted to take the shortest route possible. Now, though, it may be faster to stick to the better charted areas.”
“But that’s less fun!” she objected, her lips forming something that looked suspiciously like a pout.
“What we’re carrying has to reach Corus safely,” he replied sternly. “Let’s go.” Without another word or glance for her, Alan spurred his horse to a gallop and rode off.
Jasson afforded a glance at Oriah, who glared back at him. He smiled, but shrugged and followed the other knight.
“My silly girl, standing up to her commander,” teased Mal, flicking a finger at her.
Oriah scowled. “Come on, we have to catch up.”
Previous || Next
Chapter Two: The Desert
Alan halted his horse and examined the shadows on the sand around him.
“Are we stopping?” asked Jas.
“It’s getting hot,” said Alan. “We should be setting camp at around ten.”
“Well, it’s only nine, now,” said Oriah.
“How do you know?” asked Jas.
“You can tell by the length of the shadows,” replied Oriah offhandedly, pointing at one. “Let’s keep going!” And without another word, she spurred her horse and galloped down the low, rolling dune and up the next one.
Jasson could have sworn he heard Alan mutter the word “brat” under his breath before they both followed her lead. He chose to disregard it, and give the troubled knight the benefit of the doubt.
An hour later they were searching for an oasis to spend the hot hours in. Alan did battle against the wind with his flapping burnoose and bunches of flyaway maps, trying to spread the latter out properly so he could read the markings on them and lead the group safely out of the blazing summer sun. Jas watched impassively, Mal with amusement, and Oriah was nowhere to be seen.
Alan bit back blasphemy as he tried to separate one map out of his bundle. Mal lost interest and wandered away. When he came back, he coughed delicately to catch their attention. “Sir Alan?”
“Yes, Malakai?” asked Alan distractedly.
“Oriah is back.”
“Good,” said Alan, firmly tying together all but one of his maps. “Tell her not to wander. I don’t want her getting lost. Her mother would kill me. Mithros, both her mothers would kill me!”
“Brother dear?”
Oriah’s voice was honey-sweet, and Alan looked up at her suspiciously.
“I found an oasis,” she said in that horribly taunting sweet voice.
Alan said nothing.
“Hakim taught me Bazhir traditions for tracking in the desert,” explained the girl, though unprompted. “They tell you how to locate water in the desert, among other things. It’s not far from here. Want to see it?”
He packed up his maps, face blank. “Let’s go,” he said, and to Oriah, “Try not to look so self-satisfied.”
It was no use, of course. The girl’s white burnoose did nothing to hide her gracefully attractive smirk, as a veil might have done. Mal’s presence was also inciting, and the two chatted and giggled in low voices, sitting on the opposite side of the spring as Alan and Jas. Jas was lying on his stomach and dozing in the shade of tall palm trees, and Alan knew he ought to follow his lead.
He unpacked his bedroll from his saddlebags and made it up, then lay down with his hands behind his neck. Over the spring drifted abstract sounds of chatter, and now and then a word that he didn’t even bother to try and catch. Above him was the sharp, clear blue of the desert sky, the one he always remembered. Oriah, the desert girl: how had she come to be? How would she affect his family? Would her existence be enough to crumble his parents’ marriage, which had held up through so much abuse? Maybe it would have been best to leave her in Persopolis.
Maybe he would have been able to do that, if he hadn’t felt he owed something to Oriah. Or maybe it wasn’t him, but the girl was definitely owed something: to know her own family, for one. He might have to curb her desire for adventure, if she insisted she could take care of herself. How could she make such an extravagant statement so flippantly, when she’d never been outside the bounds of her birth city? Yes, she’d had training; so had he, as a page. Still, he could never dream he’d been prepared for the world he saw as a squire, he couldn’t compare all he’d learned --
“Heads up!” someone shouted.
The urgency of the call brought him scrambling to his feet as he saw a half-sleepy Jas jump up nearby. Both knights drew their swords out of force of habit.
Alan searched for the source of the shout and soon spotted the cloud of dust that thundered at them with alarming speed. It was headed at Oriah.
“Over there,” he called to Jas, and ran, sword in hand, only to come to a grinding halt a few feet ahead of the girl.
The cloud of dust quickly dismantled into five armed riders with covered faces. The vanguard dismounted and charged at Alan with a bare blade. Shield-less, the knight was forced to parry with his sword, cringing slightly at the thought of the damage the weapon must be sustaining. He shook the pedantic thought out of his head and concentrated on his attacker’s strikes.
The air filled with puffs of biting desert dust and the clanging of steel. Alan caught his assailant’s rhythm soon enough and out-paced him. He blocked a poorly thought out stabbing movement and slashed back, his sword’s blade cutting through the attacker’s shirt and tainting it with a fine line of blood. He had dismounted quickly, without bothering to secure his mount, and now the horse was fleeing. Now he was retreating with every step, catching Alan’s blows but delivering few of his own. When the knight struck unexpectedly low, the cut lodged in his leg, causing his knees to buckle.
Alan held his blade to the man’s throat, flicking off the burnoose that hid his face. His opponent tamed, he risked a look to either side. Common bandits, he decided. The last one still mounted was fleeing already, while another was hastily climbing on the back of his struggling horse, harried by a figure with brazen hair, waving a sword. Alan’s thoughts turned decidedly reluctant.
He could not leave the man he held by the throat unsupervised, so, pulling him to his feet, he dragged him to the camp’s supplies, where he kept the rope. Once the prisoner was securely bound, Alan left him and rushed back to the scene of the skirmish.
The last horse was galloping away, its hooves raising dust in the distance. Oriah was doing battle with its rider. He watched them for a moment. Her sword-work was skilled and energetic. Incredibly, she more than held her own. The bandit tried trick after trick to force her to drop her blade, but Oriah held fast and threw his own moves back at him. She wielded the weapon with the ease of familiarity and her movements were smooth and practiced. When the bandit finally dropped his sword and turned tail, Oriah started after him.
“Coward!” she screamed with a raw voice. “Get back here and finish what you started!”
Alan ran after her, grabbing at her arm.
“Let go!” she rasped, trying to shake off his grip.
“Stop.”
“No, let me go! I want to go after him!”
“No,” said Alan, strengthening his grip on the squirming girl by taking her other arm.
Oriah dug her feet in the sand, fighting against his hold. Alan just shook his head and started to pull her back to the oasis.
“Let me follow him! Please? I want to finish this! Don’t let him get away!”
“Why?” asked Alan.
“I want to finish this! He’s getting away!” Her voice was gritty with sand, her sweaty face and hair coated in it.
“It would do you no good,” said Alan, turning her around with both hands.
“It’s my first sword-fight!” retorted Oriah. “I want to finish it!”
Holding her firmly by the shoulders, making sure she saw and paid attention, Alan shook his head very slowly.
Oriah’s resistance went limp. “Spoilsport.”
Yet, he was right; he was sure of it. By the time they reached the shaded spring Oriah’s limpness was more exhausted than protesting. When he let go of her she did not make for her horse, as he’d feared, but went down to the water. Malakai was sitting on a rock by the spring, and she went to join him. Satisfied that she wouldn’t do anything foolish and useless, Alan sought Jas.
The prince had secured the three subdued bandits together, in the shade, and was standing by, watching them.
“Have they said anything?” asked Alan, wiping his face with his burnoose.
Jasson shook his head, his eyes intent on the prisoners.
“Have you asked?”
“Not much,” answered Jas. “I thought perhaps you’d have a better idea of where to start.”
Alan pondered this. “It seems a strange coincidence that we should be attacked less than a week after someone tried to pick your pocket in the market,” he said.
“You don’t think it’s random.”
Alan shook his head. “Almost definitely not.” He sighed. “In fact, any number of people could be trying to get at it.”
“Who knows we have it?” asked Jas.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Alan, his mouth taking on a stubborn cast. “We get it back to Corus and that’s all there is to it. These people,” he scuffed a foot at the bandits, “are probably not even aware of the thing they were sent to steal. Plenty of petty tribe-lords take their pick of the loot before their men even look through it.”
“What do we do with them?” wondered Jas. “It would take too long to bring them back to justice in Persopolis, and it would be too risky to bring them along with us.”
“We should leave them here,” said Alan.
“Isn’t that…”
“No,” said Alan, “I’m sure they’d be out of their bonds soon after we left. This is, after all, an oasis. They wouldn’t die. At most they’d have a dismal time getting anywhere without their horses.”
“In the mean time, we should make sure they have water.”
Alan nodded. “And that they don’t slit our throats at night.”
“Oh, joy, sentry duty,” sighed Jas. “And just when I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”
The other dismissed his token complaints without a word and went down to the spring.
Oriah was cleaning her sword while Mal sprawled on a damp rock, watching her through his dark bangs and trailing a long-fingered hand in the water. Alan sat down about a foot from her, tucking his feet under his legs, tailor-style. He proceeded to dampen his burnoose in the spring and wash his face. Every so often, Oriah shot him a sidelong glance. Once the clean sword was sheathed, she turned on him.
“What do you want?” she asked flatly.
“Well, since you did such a nice job on your own sword, I was wondering if maybe you could clean mine, too,” suggested Alan quietly.
She made a face.
“I was also wondering about your friend Malakai.”
That got her attention, Alan noted with satisfaction, as Oriah sat up straight and glared at him.
“What do you have against Mal?” she fumed.
Alan shrugged. “No need to get defensive,” he said. “I just like to know something about the people I travel with, especially since it’s looking like this journey will be more dangerous than I bargained for.” His eyes leveled at hers. “Can he fight?”
“Brawl,” she said, her own eyes aflame. “No fencing, no Gift.”
“Where did he learn?”
“On the street.” She raised her chin and added, “The best place to learn.”
“Yet you studied Shang arts,” parried Alan.
“My girl’s been in a fight or two herself,” Mal said suddenly. “She knows what she’s about.”
Oriah grinned and, taking Alan’s sword from his hand, proceeded to clean it. Alan shifted his seat and turned his attentions to the boy.
“How about you tell me a little something about yourself?” he asked.
Mal flopped over on his back, looking up at the sky. “I told your prince friend most of it,” he said. “My parents came here from Carthak before I was born, and settled first on the southern coast, then in Persopolis. They raised a family they couldn’t provide for. When I grew up I realized I could make money on my own, and I’ve been far better off since.”
“Really?” said Alan with interest, his suspicion rising. “What do you work in?”
“Human commerce,” said Mal, looking at him through narrowing eyes.
“You’re a pimp?” He certainly hadn’t told Jasson that, Alan knew, because Jasson would have told him.
Mal smirked. “No,” he said. “I work strictly for myself.”
“Good to know,” commented Alan dryly.
“You asked,” said Oriah, shrugging with tight lips, and went on wiping Alan’s sword with a steel-cleaning cloth.
“I don’t suppose your parents approve much, do they?” asked Alan.
Oriah dropped her rag. “They don’t know everything there is to know about Mal, but Zahara suspects. She definitely doesn’t have a very high opinion of him.” She glanced at Malakai, almost apologetically.
“Don’t fret, my girl,” he said lightly. “Even my clients don’t think well of me.”
She set aside sword and rag and turned to him. “I do,” she said emphatically.
Alan decided he’d heard enough. Leaving the two to their own business, he picked up his sword and retreated to his bedroll on the opposite shore.
Jas was awake. “I’m volunteering for the first watch,” he answered the other’s unasked question.
“Wake me up for the second,” said Alan and dropped flat on his bedroll, exhausted.
“What were you and your half-sister discussing so heatedly?” asked Jas.
Alan buried his face in his arms. “I wanted to know more about that Malakai.”
“What did you find out?”
“He’s a male prostitute.” Alan tried to keep the bitter mirth out of his tone.
“You sound thrilled,” remarked Jas.
“It’s almost like she’s trying to make me dislike her.”
Jasson looked thoughtful. “Do you?”
Alan glared at the late morning sky, hazy with the growing heat of a desert day. “No,” he admitted, “but she gets on my nerves.”
“You’re rather hard on her,” said Jas. “Remember, she’s only sixteen.”
“Was I like that when I was sixteen?” demanded Alan.
“Not in the least,” answered Jas with a telling smile, “but I was. And so was Aly.”
Alan flipped over to scrutinize his friend. “What are you saying?”
“You were the one who said Oriah reminded you of her,” said Jas and shrugged. “I guess I can see it, somewhat. More of a temper, though, I should think.”
“I only just met her, and she already worries me sick!” complained Alan.
“That just makes you a good brother,” said Jas, leaning back against the trunk of a tree.
Alan sighed, and rolled over again. “Don’t fall asleep on your watch,” he said.
“Don’t worry, you raised me well,” were the last words he heard before he dropped off.
***
Jasson’s watch passed uneventfully, as did Alan’s. When the time came, Alan went to where Oriah and Malakai were sleeping, to wake her for the last watch. For a moment he just stood and looked at her. When she slept, she looked almost frail, her hair tousled, her lips parted and mumbling out of some dream. He wondered at his own folly, as he kneeled down and gently shook her shoulder.
“Are we leaving?” asked the girl, turning in her sleep.
“Third watch,” he said softly.
She murmured something vague and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Alan smiled, leaning back on his heals. “Wake up, sleepy. It’s your watch.”
She glared at him from among the quilts.
Laughing softly, he got up to make for his own covers. “Don’t worry, mighty fencer. We leave in a few hours.”
***
Alan woke to find the camp still standing and the other three packed and well into supper. He briskly rolled his bedding and joined them. The three bandits were still tied up when they rode away.
Out of sight of the oasis, Alan signaled a stop.
“I’m changing our route,” he said. “In light of recent events, I don’t think we can go on traveling as we have up until now. I’d like us to find the road from Persopolis to Port Legann, and follow it. It’ll make the journey longer, but I also think it’ll be safer, especially when traveling at night. Any objections?”
“Do you think there’ll be more attacks?” asked Jas.
“I’m pretty certain there will be,” answered Alan. “Whoever wants it won’t just give up.”
“We could still get attacked on the road,” said Oriah, crossing her arms.
“I’d still rather take the road,” said Alan. “Up until now we were relying on our maps and survival skills because we wanted to take the shortest route possible. Now, though, it may be faster to stick to the better charted areas.”
“But that’s less fun!” she objected, her lips forming something that looked suspiciously like a pout.
“What we’re carrying has to reach Corus safely,” he replied sternly. “Let’s go.” Without another word or glance for her, Alan spurred his horse to a gallop and rode off.
Jasson afforded a glance at Oriah, who glared back at him. He smiled, but shrugged and followed the other knight.
“My silly girl, standing up to her commander,” teased Mal, flicking a finger at her.
Oriah scowled. “Come on, we have to catch up.”
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