recommend it.' He bowed to Kalasariz. 'A remarkable find, my good fellow. My congratulations.'
'Well, I don't like it at all,' Luka grumbled.
The old woman sniffed. 'What's not to like? A bit a gold gets the whole sisterhood in yer camp. Witches all over Esmir'll be on the lookout for this Safar Timura feller. And they'll be at it day and night, I tells yer.
Day and night. Sniffin' ever stranger comes to their village, tossin' bones or lookin' into their crystals for some sign of him.
'Time's are hard for witches just now. What with droughts and plagues makin' money so scarce. Use to get a bit of silver for yer spell makin'. Curin' boils, or castin' the evil eye and such. Now, yer lucky if yer can get a skinny chicken for yer pot. Which is why yer gettin' us so cheap, Me Lords. A whole army of witches for a single purse of gold.'
At first Iraj had been merely amused by Old Sheesan, but the more she talked the more amusement dissolved into intense interest. As he stared at her, Iraj suddenly caught a flash of someone quite different than the toothless hag standing before him. It was as if curtains were momentarily parted to reveal a shimmering creature of incredible beauty. Then the curtains closed and the image was gone.
The old woman cackled knowingly-as if she had just shared a great secret with the king.
Iraj gripped the throne arms, so overcome by emotion that his wolf snout erupted through his face.
'Woman,' he said, 'if you bring me Safar Timura's head I will make you richer than any queen.'
The old woman giggled, sounding remarkably girlish. 'Imagine that,' she said, primping her greasy hair.
'Old Sheesan a queen!'
And Iraj thought, yes, yes I can imagine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The demon glared down at Safar, fangs bared, yellow eyes narrow with suspicion. 'State your business, human!'
Safar staved off nausea as the soldier's foul breath washed over him and forced his most jovial smile.
'Profit and entertainment, sergeant,' Safar said. 'If not the first, why we'll settle for the second. Especially if it comes with ale.'
Beside him, Leiria smacked her lips. 'I hear Nadaan makes the best ale in all Esmir,' she said.
The demon soldier peered at her, noting her dirty mail and even dirtier sword. His eyes swept on, taking in the ox-drawn wagon and the three heavily-laden camels. Besides Safar and Leiria, who were both leading horses, there were four other humans-a driver for the wagon and three men to tend the camels.
There was something decidedly shabby about the group. Their clothes were unkempt, the animals' fur was clotted-even the canvas covering of the wagon was filthy.
The demon snorted in disgust. 'You call this a caravan?'
Safar sighed, leaning against the portable barricade blocking the road. Five soldiers-three of them human and all wearing the uniforms of Protarus' troops-guarded the barricade. About a mile beyond were the Naadan city walls.
'It's a long story sergeant,' he said. 'And not a very pleasant one, either. A year ago I was sitting pretty.
A dozen wagons, a score of camels plus horses and men and…' he glanced at Leiria, lowering his voice,
'…And I had a proper guard, if you know what I mean. Six outriders and a retired captain of the king's own to lead them.'
He let his voice rise again. 'But you don't want to hear my tale of woe, sergeant. Times being what they are, there's hundreds of poor merchants just like me all over Esmir. So broke we clatter like a glazier's cart on a badly cobbled street. All we ask is a chance to get back on top again. Hell's, I'd settle for just staying even!'
The demon shrugged, massive shoulders rising like mailed mountains. 'What do I care, human? You and your entire shabby lot can turn into dust and blow across the desert, for all it means to me.'
He jabbed a taloned-thumb at the gates of Nadaan. From beyond came the caterwaul of bad music and the babble of a great crowd. 'Besides, rules'r rules. If you wanna to sell your trash at the Naadan Fair you gotta have a permit. No riffraff allowed. And that's my job-to keep out the riffraff.'
Once again his eyes swept Safar's ragged outfit, but this time his look was more meaningful. 'Smells like riffraff to me,' he said.
Safar slipped a fat purse from his sleeve. He gave it a good shake so the silver rattled.
The demon's long, scaly ears perked up at the sound.
'Are you sure we can't come to some sort of arrangement, sergeant?' he asked. 'Hmm?'
As they came to the city gates Leiria cantered closer to Safar. 'You're getting to be such a good liar,' she teased. 'Aren't you ashamed of yourself?'
Actually, he was. As far as Leiria and the others knew they were in Naadan on a routine raiding mission.
Which was far from the truth.
'I'm not ashamed one bit,' Safar laughed. 'But I am damned thirsty. In fact, before we get down to the business of robbery why don't we try some of that famous Naadan ale?'
Leiria wrinkled her hose. 'I was just looking for something nice to say,' she laughed. 'Actually, I hear their ale tastes like mare's piss,' she said. 'But he looked like the sort of creature who liked mare's piss, if you know what I mean.'
She made a rueful face. 'Guess I'm getting pretty good at lying myself.'
Safar flinched and looked away so she didn't see the guilt in his eyes.
Inside the gates all was madness. It was the last day of the fair and the streets were packed with revelers.
Traffic was a great drunken weave with no apparent purpose or goal. There were tribes and villagers from all over the vast high desert region. There were painted faces, scarred faces, veiled faces, faces with filed teeth, faces pierced with jewelry, and, yes, even a few faces that would have been ordinary except they stood out among so many exotics.
Until recent years the Naadan Harvest Festival-which the fair celebrated-had been a minor event that drew only nearby farmers and herdsmen. It certainly hadn't been large enough to entice Methydia to stop with her circus when she and Safar had passed this way. The circus had instead gone to Silver Rivers, a much larger and richer town and many miles distant. But a series of disasters had reduced Silver Rivers to a ghost city, where the only inhabitants were bandits. Silver Rivers' misfortune, however, had been Naadan's good luck. Five years of rich harvests-so rare in recent times that it seemed a miracle-had turned the city into a thriving center of life and commerce.
The once sleepy water hole in the middle of the Northern Plains now enticed people from hundreds of miles around-including Safar Timura and his band, who quickly unburdened themselves of their paltry caravan by simply walking away from it. Sharp-eyed thieves led the wagon and animals off before Safar and the others had melted into the crowd. Just as the shrewd demon sergeant had noted the caravan was worthless. The goods were trash. The animals spavined. They were all surplus booty from an encounter that had gone badly for a group of seedy bandits.
'So much for my debut as a merchant prince,' Safar joked, after they'd all found a grog shop and had ordered up mugs of cold wine. 'Shed my whole caravan and didn't earn a clipped copper for my troubles.'
Renor, who had been driving the wagon, snorted. 'Oh, I don't know about that, sir. We couldn't throw the stuff away or bury it because it'd give us away. And the animals were not only useless, but eating us out of hearth and home. Hells, we made a profit just by getting rid of them.'
He took a long happy drink from his mug. 'Least, that's how I see it, Lord Tim-' and one of his companions elbowed him before he could get the whole name out.
Realizing he was in the middle of a packed bar, and someone might overhear him, Renor blushed and ducked
