"Nothing like a beautiful princess or coffers of fabulous wealth?" Mika said in an offhand manner, watching for the man's response.
"Don't I wish," said the Guildsman with a rueful chuckle. "It would make this job a lot more interesting."
"That is what your messenger told me," said Mika. "The kobolds had ripped him up pretty bad. I can't imagine anyone suffering like he did to reach us to get help unless you carried something of great importance."
"We were friends," said the Guildsman. "And he was a brave man. Would you not do such a thing to save the lives of your friends under such circumstances?"
Mika was silent, wondering what he would do in such a situation and hoping that he would never have to find out.
But in spite of the man's words, Mika was convinced that the Guildsman was not telling the truth. There was more here than met the eye, and it had nothing to do with kobolds.
"Well, it's good to be underway again," sighed the Guildsman, attempting to change the subject. "All thanks to you good fellows! There'll be more than a few coppers in it for you once we get to Eru-Tovar! I'll show you a good time and give you my thanks in full once we arrive in safety. No more kobolds! I've had my fill!"
Mika edged his horse-the stubborn grey stallion that fought his every command-closer to the wagons and slowed him to a walk. The Guildsman rode up next to Mika, and kept up a stream of meaningless chatter that Mika ignored. Seemingly more heavily loaded than the others, the wagon creaked along. Its driver was even less informative than the Guildsman.
The driver stared at Mika with a sullen expression on his large moon-shaped face. His arms and upper body swelled with huge muscles, and the reins were all but lost in his ham-like fists. Mika noticed that, while all the other wagons were pulled by a team of two mules, this wagon was drawn by four. Like the other wagons, it was laced tightly shut fore and aft, revealing no clue of its contents.
"What's in the wagon?" Mika asked the Guildsman one more time, the question unmistakeably sharp and brazen.
"Nothing that's your concern," replied the Guildsman, all banter gone from his tone. "Mind your own business, nomad, and let me mind mine."
Mika touched his hand to his forehead in a derisive gesture and rode away, more certain than ever that his suspicions were correct.
The Guildsman was no ordinary merchant and there must be something special secreted in the wagon. Somehow, he intended to find out what it was.
Chapter 3
The caravan moved slowly across the rocky plains, jolting from one uneven slope to the next. The mules bent to their thankless task, heads down, eyes to the ground, and plodded along stolidly.
The wagons themselves were solidly made of roan-wood, purchased from Wolf Nomads who did a thriving business in the hardwood which was difficult to cut but impervious to rot and weather. They were covered with hoods of tanned cowhide stretched taut over rounded ribs, which kept the rain off the valuable cargo.
The wheels were huge, reaching halfway up the sides of the cowhide covering. They were made of roanwood saplings, bent and shaped while wet. Once dry, the formed saplings were married to hot hammered metal. A good wheel made by a master wheelwright could last a careful man a lifetime.
The mules were huge, brown shaggy things with foul tempers, but they were better suited to the terrain than oxen or horses. In the early days, the wagons had been larger, with four huge wheels, and the teams had consisted of four, six, and even eight mules capable of carrying larger loads and earning the Guild even greater profits. But the challenge of the terrain had quickly put an end to that.
As one left Yecha, the land was smooth and gently rolling. Sweet grass and cultivated fields stretched for many miles to the east. Then the smooth terrain ceased abruptly, giving way to rock and alkaline earth where only greasewood bushes could find sustenance.
The earth grew increasingly barren and rocky as it plunged through the rugged foothills of the Yatil Mountains, with only small pockets of greenery at the edge of the River Fler. And always the wind blew down from the glaciers in the frozen north.
Once across the river, the land opened onto the true stretches of the steppes, seemingly endless expanses of open plain. But the ground was stony and forbidding, and only greasewood and stringweed, a tough fibrous grass, were able to survive and in turn nourish the mules that could eat almost anything.
The large, heavily laden wagons struck rocks often, sometimes tipping over and spewing their cargo across the ground, killing or maiming the draft animals and drivers and often damaging the wheels themselves. The stony ground made passage difficult, causing many horses to stumble, go lame, and become victims of the roving packs of wild wolves that found horses a tastier than usual meal.
Oxen were tougher but required more forage and more water than the steppes provided. They also traveled more slowly, and their ponderous pace pronounced their doom, for traders used up their provisions and died or were slaughtered long before they found more friendly land. And so the merchants and traders had reluctantly traded the larger wagons for the smaller carts that could travel more swiftly and easily over the difficult ground.
The land was the least of the problems actually; there were far greater dangers from other quarters. While the plains were the domain of the Wolf Nomads, they were also home to a large number of wild creatures, from the tiniest of poisonous spiders to fierce packs of wild wolves.
Thieves, murderers, brigands, and all manner of desperate rogues also wandered the steppes- outcasts of Yecha and Eru-Tovar who had been banished from the cities for their crimes, an easier and far more cruel punishment than imprisonment.
Here the hapless criminal was permitted to live. But there was no shelter, no food, and more than a thousand treacherous miles between Yecha and Eru-Tovar. These men were fair prey to the more bloodthirsty of the Wolf and Tiger Nomads who hunted them from horseback like pigs, if the wild animals did not get them first.
Some, of course, did survive by some manner of miracle, and they in turn preyed on the caravans, seeing them as the only means of sustenance in the desolate territory.
The danger from wild animals and desperate men provided both Tiger and Wolf Nomads with steady and profitable work accompanying the caravans across their lands. The nomads found the work much to their liking, for they enjoyed nothing more than hunting wild animals and dangerous criminals for sport and would have done so even without getting paid. As a system, it worked well. There had been few incidents in Mika's lifetime. Until now.
The caravan lurched slowly across the plains, heading for the Wolf Nomad camp where it was agreed that the worst of the wounded would remain until they were well. They would be replaced by Wolf Nomads who, including some of those who had gone on the raid, would accompany the caravan to Eru-Tovar.
The wagons progressed at a snail's pace, the mules' bells tinkling melodically. But one wagon, the secret wagon as Mika had dubbed it, moved more slowly and much more heavily than the others, its wheels chunking from one rock to the next. The four mules that pulled it were the most immense mules Mika-oba had ever seen. But despite their great size, the weight of the wagon's load lathered their backs and lips with thick white foam.
The Guildsman was tending to duties at another part of the caravan. Mika saw his opportunity once again and angled his horse closer to the secret wagon, hoping that the ends of the wagon might now be unlaced. They were not. The driver threw him a scowl, and Mika noticed that he wore two knives at his belt and looked as though he knew how to use them. The man watched him closely as he brought the grey alongside the laboring wagon.