Karavans by Jennifer Roberson Page B

short-cropped hair nearly as fair as his own, and brass glinting at her ears. Flanking her were two men. They wore blue mantles slung over left shoulders, fastened with silver brooches, but the woman did not. Couriers, the men. He had seen their like before, on the road to this place.
    “All I want—” the drunk began, weaving, but the two men at the woman’s back smoothly slid in beside him, one on each side.
    “—is to find a bed and sleep,” one of them finished. “Right, Alorn? Our friend Hassic has had a bit too much, but he’ll feel better in the morning.” He slung a companionable but restraining arm around Hassic’s shoulder even as the other man did the same from the other side. Gillansaw a look pass between the couriers and the blond woman. “Go ahead, Beth. We’ll see to him.”
    She nodded briefly, then turned her attention to Gillan and Ellica as the drunk was led away. “All right,” she said crisply, “he won’t be whispering anything into anyone’s ear tonight. Though likely that’s all he could have managed.” Her smile at Ellica was wry. “Not to suggest even that would have been enjoyable.” Her assessing gaze lingered on Ellica a moment, then reverted to Gillan. “What are you doing here? It truly isn’t the best place for people like you to be.”
    “People like us?” Gillan echoed, stung. Heat warmed his face. “Why? Who do you think we are?”
    “Karavaners,” the woman replied matter-of-factly, “and I’m not being rude; and yes, I can see it in your face. If you and your—sister?—want a drink, there are plenty of ale tents for you. But this particular area is where most of the—” Gillian got the impression she changed her intended words in midstride, “—‘friendlier’ kind of women look for men, so it really isn’t surprising Hassic thought she was for sale.”
    He couldn’t help himself. The words just came out of his mouth. “Is that why you’re here? Is that why you were with those two couriers?”
    She blinked, then hooted a sharp laugh. “Well,
that
is amusing! My mam always said I’d be taken for a whore, if I didn’t change my ways.” Her smile was unoffended. “No. I’ve been many things in my life, but I’ve never sold my favors to anyone, man or woman.” The glints he had noticed were brass hoops in her ears, and she was dressed like a man in a loose, long-sleeved woven tunic, leather bracers wrapping her forearms, wide leather belt with a pouch and scroll-case attached, and trousers baggy at the thighs but leather-wrapped from knee to ankle, hiding most of the boot beneath. A necklet of charms circled her throat. “So, do you want something to drink? I can take you to Mikal’s. No one will bother you there. He runs a clean tent.”
    “No.” Gillan shook his head, embarrassed he had insultedher—even if she didn’t appear to be insulted. “No, we have to go back. We’re leaving in the morning.”
    “Who’s your karavan-master?”
    Gillan called up the memory. “Mam said Jorda.”
    “Ah.” She nodded once; ear-hoops swung. “Jorda’s good. Not one of the best known, mind—the wealthy folk go with others—but he’s dependable, knows the roads, and has two of the best guides in the business, even if they are unpredictable. They’ll get you where you’re going.” She lifted pale brows. “Where are you bound?”
    “Atalanda province,” Ellica said quietly, speaking for the first time since they had been accosted. Her voice was thickened from crying, but no more tears coursed her face.
    The woman’s surprise was unfeigned. “This late? You’ll run into the rains.”
    “There’s a shorter route,” Gillan declared. “Da told us it will get us there sooner.”
    She shook her head. “I’m a courier; I know the roads. There’s only one route that’s shorter, but this time of year no one much uses it. Not with the rains coming. No one wants to be stuck in the mud so close to Alisanos. You’d be asking for