Chapter Nine
It was about two hours before sunset when they reached Grak’s Pool, a small oasis roughly midway between South Ledopolus and Altaruk. For a “fast” caravan, their progress seemed annoyingly slow to Sorak. If this was how a fast caravan traveled, he could easily do without the experience of a slow one.
Of course, he reminded himself, it was an unusually large caravan. A smaller one would have made much better time. However, they would still have needed to stop several hours before sunset to make camp and unload all the cargo, then feed the kanks and crodlu while the cookfires were lit and the guard outposts were established. And while it wouldn’t have taken a smaller caravan quite so long to get started in the morning, they would still have needed to take down all the tents and roll them up, then load them with the cargo, take a head count of the guards and roustabouts to make sure none had deserted in the night—not that there was anything to be done about it if they had—get the kanks fed once again and line up the formation, then send outriders ahead before moving out behind them. And then, of course, there was the midday break…
They averaged between fifteen and twenty miles a day, depending on the terrain. Good time, all things considered. The caravan route was not a road, of course; it was merely familiar terrain. Yet, in the Athasian desert, the exact features of the terrain were never quite the same from one trip to another. Windstorms and monsoons worked changes on the landscape, and an area that had been easily passable three weeks earlier could be crisscrossed with windblown dunes or washes. Rarely did their course take them in a straight line. Considering his task, the caravan captain was doing an outstanding job. Even Kieran seemed impressed, though his presence was doubtless a strong incentive for achievement.
Grak’s Pool was more than merely an oasis. According to The Wanderer’s Journal, it was a vital stop along the caravan route, the only place between South Ledopolus and Altaruk where they could take on water. But the water wasn’t free.
There was a settlement of sorts at the oasis, a large mud-brick fortress that was home to about fifty mercenaries under the command of an enterprising half-elf named Grak, who had established the remote stronghold and laid claim to the oasis. The number of mercenaries in residence at the fortress varied; they came and went. Grak did not sign them to any contracts. Neither did he pay them. What Grak provided was a haven for fighting men of all types and descriptions, a place where they could find free accommodations, albeit of a rough sort, without any questions asked. And since his stronghold controlled an oasis on a busy caravan route, it attracted mercenaries in search of work, as well as criminals on the run from the authorities in one city or another. Grak cared nothing about who his men were or where they came from. Whether soldier or outlaw—sometimes both—they were welcome to stay as long as they accepted his authority. But anyone who challenged that authority found that the penalties could be draconian in the extreme.
As they passed through the heavy wooden gates in the outer wall, Kieran rode up beside Sorak and Ryana.
“If you have anything of value, such as weapons, coins, or jewels, keep it close to hand,” he cautioned them. “I shouldn’t think we would have anything to fear from Grak’s men, but there are those among them who are light-fingered. And the caravan guard will be too busy keeping an eye on the cargo to spare much attention for the passengers. If anything is stolen from you, complaints here will be of no avail.”
“Thank you, we’ll keep that in mind,” said Sorak.
“There will be some limited accommodations in the fortress for the passengers,” said Kieran. “If you wish to bathe or sleep in a bed rather than your bedroll, it will cost you a copper or two, but I’d advise against it. The attendants will doubtless go through your clothing and possessions while you bathe, unless you keep them within sight, and even that is no guarantee. Some of these people could steal the hair right out of your nose. And the beds are liable to be lice-ridden.”
“How charming,” said Ryana. “What’s the alternative?”
“We will make camp by the pool, within the outer walls, and pitch our tents and light our cook-fires. There is a tavern in the main building of the fortress, and we can pay it a visit if you like, but I would recommend keeping one hand on your purse and another on your weapon. If you like, you may leave your packs within the captain’s tent. He will remain within the camp along with the guards on duty. Your belongings will be safe with him. It would be a great embarrassment to him if I asked him to watch your things and something turned up missing.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” said Sorak with a smile. “But perhaps it would be best if we simply remained within the camp.”
“Suit yourself,” said Kieran, “but you may find it interesting. I intend to go pay my respects to old Grak. I haven’t seen the rogue in years, and he’s an entertaining scoundrel. Few things go on in these parts that he is not aware of. He will be sure to have all the latest news from Altaruk.”
“Well, in that case, you should go,” Ryana said. “I’ll remain in the camp with our things. I would just as soon rest, anyhow.”
After they made camp, Sorak accompanied Kieran to the main building of the fortress. It was situated on a small rise,
