As the expedition traveled across the breadth of Mazonia, Xylina became aware that these two men sought Faro out at every opportunity for long, serious discussions. Finally her curiosity got the better of her, and she asked him why they kept dragging Faro off to consult with him. Neither of these men was a sub-leader, and there should be no reason why they would want to speak so closely with him so very often.
He gave her one of those darkly inscrutable looks from beneath lowered eyebrows. "I'm not certain that you wish to know, little mistress," he said.
She frowned a little. "Whatever is going on among the guards, I think I should know about it," she insisted. "Especially if there is any likelihood that it could signal troubles among the men."
Faro had sighed. "They wanted my advice," he said, with great reluctance.
"Advice about what?" she persisted.
"Ah-" To her immense surprise, he flushed, profoundly embarrassed. She had seldom seen him so discomfited before. "Ah-you are a very brave, very highly regarded Mazonite, little mistress," he said, looking steadfastly at his feet. "They, ah-they wanted my advice on how I, ah-attracted you. Since they feel the Queen's tastes are likely to be similar, you see."
"Attracted me?" she had replied. "But-" Then some of the sly comments she had heard from the Queen's Guard, directed toward her, but about Faro and the other men of the expedition, suddenly came flooding back. And at that moment, although she had not realized what those remarks had meant at the time, she suddenly understood them.
"Oh," she said faintly. Now she put all the pieces together, and she felt just as embarrassed as Faro. It was assumed, of course, that she and Faro were enjoying the same relationship that Elibet and Marcus had; that Xylina would eventually declare him to be her husband, or at least, the head of her harem.She could no more have thought of Faro in that way than she could have thought of her mule- but they didn't know that, and certainly the men of the expedition and those few Mazonites who were her friends, like Lycia, must have assumed the liaison. She wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or if it mattered at all. In fact, she slept completely alone, as she always had, with Faro lying across the threshold. But the fact that he always slept in her tent must have strengthened the assumption.
"Was there anything else?" she asked, since something in Faro's expression told her she had not yet heard all of it.
He coughed, and his flush deepened. "Ah-yes," he had admitted. "They-ah-wanted to know if they could-ah-catch your eye. They told me it would not matter since they were not yet harem slaves, and that if the Queen was willing to release them after this, you might-ah-choose them for your own harem-ah- based on the-ah-sample."
Now it was her turn to stare at her feet. That was a natural question of course; even if she and Faro had been together, he would have no right to deny her if she chose to take one or more men to her bed. It was, in fact, often the case; few Mazonites could afford a harem, and an expedition like this one would offer a chance at variety they might not otherwise enjoy. On a mission like this one, undoubtedly, the leader could take any man she chose to "play" with, and there could be no assumption of commitment. It was the sort of thing that happened, she supposed, without regard to whether the men liked it. That, or so Lycia had hinted to her, was one of the perquisites of such a mission. She hadn't understood the hints at the time, about the "appetite of a younger woman," and the "greater variety available." She had honestly thought Lycia was referring to food.
"And what did you tell them?" she asked Faro, unsure whether she really wanted to hear the answer.
But he smiled, as she looked up again to face his eyes. "I told them that you are a very serious and disciplined leader, and that you will allow nothing to interfere with the discipline of the troupe."
That was a good answer, for indeed, if she chose to amuse herself with any of the men, regardless whether she actually played favorites after that, it would be assumed that she was doing so. That would be very bad for discipline, and she was glad that Faro had thought of the response, for she truly was not interested in any of the men in that way.
"Thank you," was all she said.
Faro smiled. "You have been similarly supportive of my situation," he reminded her.
That was early in the expedition, while they were within a week of the capital. After marching for more than a moon, they came to the border of Mazonia. The terrain turned from lush fields and farms, to huge tracts of grazing-land supporting vast herds of sheep, goats, and cattle, and then to land supporting hardly more than the occasional jackalope. Near her home, the landscape was of rolling, wooded hills and well-watered valleys; it had gradually gotten drier, the landscape flatter, and the population sparser. They had not seen another person for the past two days.
They had been subsisting on their own provisions and whatever they could glean from the countryside for several days, for the landscape was barren of farms or settlements here, bare even of the great cattle and sheep ranches that took up as much land as a dozen of the farms Xylina was used to.
The land was flat for the most part, but rutted with shallow canyons and dotted with occasional tall, barren ridges, orange-red hills whose sides had been eroded even as the sides of those canyons had been, etched with deep grooves by wind or water. A scrubby grass and a tough, aromatic shrub were all that grew here, except where there was water. There, trees and other vegetation flourished, proving that the land was not barren if it had water. But there was very little water here, and Xylina decreed that they must fill their waterskins and barrels at every occasion, saving that real water for drinking, and using conjured water for bathing and washing. She considered herself fortunate that the summer had been cool so far; this land would have been unbearable in the scorching heat of a high summer. As it was, she conjured additional water at every halt, letting the men use it to wash the dust from their faces, and to cool their overheated bodies. The dry air evaporated it so quickly that within moments of sluicing it over their heads, their hair and tunics were already dry. They also used it to rinse away the taste of the flat, stale, real water they drank from their waterskins, pouring it into their mouths after they had drunk their fill. She could have conjured other things-wine, for instance-but she thought it might be prudent not to give them anything intoxicating. In heat like this, they were very likely to get drunk or sick much more quickly. In any event, they seemed grateful enough for just the sweet water.
She called a halt at just about midday, and let the men rest while she peered at the map and tried to reckon their location. Ware walked his horse up alongside her mule as she was staring at the horizon, and pointed a helpful finger.
"There," he said. "You see that flat-topped hill? On the map, it is called The Anvil,' and it sits exactly astride the border here."
"I don't see anything that looks like a boundary," she said doubtfully, straining her eyes toward the horizon. She had expected fences, or a wall, and border guards. There was nothing but cloudless blue sky and red earth.
Ware shrugged gracefully. "Nor will you," he replied. "There is only a low fence of sticks and rocks to mark it. As you can see, there is nothing hereabouts to guard-so the border is only a convenience, recognized by both sides as the place that marks the region where men are subservient, and where they are not. And, not coincidentally, the place where Mazonite conjuration ceases to be the only magic humans possess. Across that border, other rules prevail. Your magic will still be as strong, but there will be other kinds that are just as strong."