Tanith Lee - Claidi Journals 01 by Law of the Wolf Tower

fault.)
    A girl came in with the beer anyway, without being asked. He was so lovely to her, I was jealous and left the wagon. (He seemed to have forgotten he’d wanted to question me about not knowing the name of my mother.)
    Apparently I’m bad-tempered and jealous. A pretty awful person. I never knew this before. But then, I was never in love before. Am I? In love? I don’t know what I am. Or who.
    Argul, the leader, had gone into a tent and was soon joined by his second-in-command, who is Blurn.
    I saw the bandit who’d whooped and caught the knife in his teeth. He’s called Mehmed. Every time he sees me , he laughs .
    I’m not sure I’m so pleased to be here, really.
    Finally I went to the wagon that another woman said I could sleep in, and when I woke up, we were traveling. The wagon was still empty apart from me. I’d thought I’d have to share it.
    I put my head out, and we were coming down from the hills into yet another dusty desert. It looked so dreary. I tried to write a bit of this but gave up because of the bumpy ride.
    After that, I admired the paintings on the high leather roof and thought how Blurn had told me the wagons are old but in good repair since they’re always cared for. He said each family had one and passed it on.
    The horses and dogs are mostly the same, these descendants of others from centuries ago. Blurn said that the word Hulta , which is a camp , also means Family to the bandits. To be part of the bandit camp is to be part of the bandit family. But its a family always on the move.

    ==========
I feel insulted, as if I’ve been made a fool of, but I’m not sure why. I found out, you see, the wagon I’ve been traveling in is Argul’s own.
    There were, of course, chests in it and pieces of wagon furniture, rugs and stools and jars. There were even some books I found— yes , I was nosing about, but not much. I recognized the language in only two of them. I’d also noticed knives and scabbards and shirts and boots and things lying around in corners.
    This morning, so as to make conversation with the bandit woman who came by with some food, I asked,
    “Where are the others who live in this wagon?” And she said, “It’s Argul’s wagon.” She did add that he rides a horse by day and prefers the tent at night, and only uses the wagon now and then, but I felt immensely uncomfortable, as if he’d played a joke on me. Also in some way labeled me as a possession. I can’t think why he would want me. Does he imagine I’m valuable? That must be it.
    Nemian has said something. I’m . a princess from a House. So its threatening as well.
    Naturally I got out instantly.
    Nemian was elegantly riding a horse by now, talking to the bandits as if they’re old friends. He does seem to love being with new people. Is this a nice quality or rather shallow of him? And does it mean he has totally lost interest in me because I’m not new anymore? Doubtless.
    Then Blurn appeared and said that there was a mule for me to ride.
    Only after I’d managed to get onto the mule—nearly fell off both sides twice—did I think to demand, “Is this mule Argul’s ?”
    “Nope,” said Blurn, “my aunt’s.”
    “Then doesn’t your aunt—”
    “She’s got plenty more,” said Blurn, as if we were discussing pairs of slippers.
    The mule is a pain.
    It has an adorable face and wonderful eyelashes, but it kicks out at things and wriggles . Nemian says a mule doesn’t wriggle. It does, it does. I’ve tried to feed it and groom it to show it I’m worthwhile and it ought to like me. But it takes no notice, just tries to kick me as I turn my back, and then wriggles as I try to swing gracefully into its saddle.
    Needless to say, passing bandits, men and women both, find this exquisite fun.
    “There goes Claidibaa again,” they say as I plummet off in the dust. And that’s another thing. They keep calling me by a Sheeper version of my name. After what the Sheepers did, I find that extra