She nodded, and reached for her stew. She was absolutely exhausted, and the stew had never tasted so good before. "I have no idea what their capacity for strong drink is, but as the leader said, that was no wine I gave them. It was at least as strong as the best Mazonite brandy, possibly stronger. I wanted to be certain that they slept through our departure."
Ware took his own bowl and smiled ironically. "I nearly gagged on the first swallow," he said. "It is well that my self-control is as good as it is. And it is good that you thought to make that potion as strong as you did; the Pacha drink a strange concoction of fermented cactus that can easily double as varnish-remover. I have only drunk it once, and I can testify that it is a terrible and powerful drink. I do not think that mere wine would have sufficed for your plan."
"I have one guard just on the barbarians all night," she told them both, blinking sore and weary eyes. "The rest will be watching to make certain that their brothers and sisters do not move upon us in the night." She yawned hugely. "That is all that I could think to do. Oh, and I have done my best to make those conjurations as strong as I can. I do not know how long they will last, beyond tomorrow night. If luck is with us, our friends may not awaken until two mornings from now!"
Ware chuckled, and Faro beamed at her with brotherly approval. "Very well, little mistress," the slave said, warmly. "Let us then take care of the rest of the night, while you take your well-earned slumber."
"Thank you," she told them both, with a weary smile for each. "I hoped I could count on you."
And with that, she swallowed the last of her meal, and retired to her pallet just beyond the billowing curtain that separated the dome into front and rear halves. And she was so very tired that she did not even remember lying down upon it-nor did she even think to regret she had left herself too tired to conjure a hot bath.
The Pacha were still snoring in the morning, and not even the braying of the mules was enough to awaken them. Xylina worried about them, after a moment; if they did, indeed, sleep away the whole day and night, they would be lying unprotected out in the desert heat and sun, and it was possible that they could come to harm.
Finally she made up her mind. Her conjurations lasted at least one full day and night; by tomorrow morning, they would surely be awake. She conjured water and fodder for their ponies, then surrounded warriors and ponies with a stockade of conjured thorny branches. Last of all, she conjured the materials to erect one of the dome tents over the warriors. If their own people came looking for them, they would see that the Pacha were protected within shelter and a stockade. If anything else was attracted, the stockade should protect them long enough for the noise to wake them. She was sorry to have left the ponies with only conjured food and drink, but she did not see that she could leave them any of her own.
The tent she made the same red-orange of the earth, so that it did not stand out so much from its surroundings. And when she looked back at it, she saw with gratification that the only thing she truly noticed was the pony herd.
"Those are nasty beasts the Pacha ride," Faro commented, as she turned to face the road ahead. "They bit any of our men who came too close. I'd say those barbarians are as safe in that stockade as they would be in their own camp."
"I hope so," she replied. "Because I have the feeling that we would be in as much trouble from allowing them to come to harm as from harming them ourselves."
"True," Ware agreed. "When they wake they will appreciate the fact that we stole none of their equipment and raped none of their women. We have given them an excellent carousal without harming them, though it will be obvious that we could have killed them had we chosen to. They will realize that we made fools of them, but in a benign manner. That makes a difference."
She sent two of the men out to hunt parallel to the road, hoping to stretch their supplies a bit. She cautioned them about trophy-hunting, and after their close view of the Pacha last night, it seemed to her that they took her warning to heart.
They camped that night with no incident, and without sighting more than a few birds in the air and the occasional jackalope. Those loping, long-eared beasts were about the size of their dogs, and were good eating; both hunters managed to bag a pair apiece to add to the stew. Fresh meat made it far more flavorful and nutritious. Xylina was fairly certain that even this desert country had plants that were edible-after all, hadn't Ware told her of the Pacha's cactus-drink?-but without knowing what they were, she was loathe to experiment.
That night passed without incident, and with no sign of anything but the howling of wild dogs off in the distance. When Xylina made her last circuit of the camp, she saw only the posted guards and one of the female servants going into the soldier's quarters. Those women tended to sleep by day, evidently being kept busy at night. Once she had awakened from sleep, hearing something by her tent entrance, only to realize that Pattée was quietly visiting Faro. Xylina was almost envious. It was a signal of her gradual accommodation to the realities of this type of mission.
In the morning, they packed up quickly; the air had gotten progressively hotter as they had traveled the prior day. They wanted to get out of this area as quickly as they could, traveling as much in the cooler hours of the morning as possible. She had already told the men she planned to stop at midday for a prolonged rest, and since the moon was full, she planned to travel past sunset.
But as they halted for their midday rest and meal, a line of dust heading in their direction signaled that they would not be alone for long.
By the time she had conjured shelters from the sun, it was possible to make out a troop of riders under that dust. It did not take a great deal of imagination to deduce who and what the riders were.
This time the Pacha wore red and yellow breechcloths, their ponies sported red and yellow blankets, and the painted markings were crude bear-tracks, parallel lines, and a glyph that looked like a child's depiction of a flying bird.
The warriors rode up casually, with huge grins upon their faces, and with none of the wariness that had marked the first group. Their number was almost double that of the first warrior-band. The leader hailed the camp immediately, and Faro translated, grinning more and more widely with each word.
"These are the Bear Tribe of the Pacha," he said. "Their cousins, the Thunder Tribe, are the ones we left sleeping. Evidently word of our hospitality has traveled faster than we did-these warriors are here to 'celebrate our brotherhood, just as you feasted our kin.' And from what he says, the rest of the tribes all along the track are expecting the same."
"No-" she said, trying not to moan. "Oh, no-"
"I am afraid so, Xylina," Ware replied, with a hint of mockery. "You are going to be exercising your conjuration powers to the fullest, I fear. These tribes take hospitality very seriously."
"He also says that in gratitude for the feasting, all the 'civilized tribes'-whatever that means-will make certain that we are not molested by anything other than thunderstorms." Faro cocked his head to one side. "All things considered, it sounds like a bargain to me. You simply conjure enough meat to stuff these barbarians full, enough wine to drown them, and we pass through their land with no enemies but sun and rain."
"You aren't the one doing the conjuration," she replied, but secretly she was pleased. Faro was right; it was a bargain. Tribute was better than combat.
Now she needed only to worry about what lay beyond the next border-and whether she could continue to conjure sufficient wine for an ever-increasing number of thirsty Pacha. If practice really could expand her magic ability, she would soon be formidable indeed.