Chapter 8: Jealousy

Jorrus swung a roundhouse right, as hard as he could. Neal saw it coming, but couldn't duck away quite fast enough and it caught him high on the forehead. He went sprawling backward, away from the fire. Jorrus flung himself on top of Neal, but by then Jewel was too busy to watch. She rolled to one side, springing erect as Dreen came at her. He caught at her arm, only to find himself flat on his face, one arm useless and all of his attention centered on a knee that felt like it was on fire.

Arrach was having better luck with Amy, but it didn't last. He blocked a knee that would have at least put him out of the fight, but her elbow caught him in the eye. She twisted free, and his lunge toward her was stopped by the slash of a dagger across his ribs. Jorrus was boring in on Neal, slugging away at his body. Neal's longer reach told, however. A short right caught Jorrus coming in, stopping him in his tracks for an instant. Before he could pull the dagger he was reaching for, Jewel's staff caught him alongside of his head. He stood, arms lax at his sides for an instant, then went down on his face in the dirt.

"Hey! What'd you have to do that for?"

"Sorry to spoil your fun, macho man," she answered, grinning at his protest, "but he was reaching for his knife."

Neal picked Jorrus up by the collar of his tunic. Dragging him over to the fire, he poured a bucket of water over the unconscious trader's head.

"Wha... What'd ya hit me with?" His little eyes darted about the clearing. Dreen was hugging his knee with his good arm, his face gray with pain beneath the dirt. Arrach sat with his back to a tree, his wrists tied behind its trunk and his outstretched ankles lashed together with his own trousers. He didn't seem too badly hurt, though he was leaking blood through a gash in his tunic. Neal stood over Jorrus, his face more darkly angry than Jewel had ever thought possible.

"Jorrus the trader? Jorrus the thief, more likely. How'd a nothing like you get ahold of a pack train? Murder the trader who brought it over the mountains?" He jerked his chin toward Jewel and Amy. "Check their packs. See what you can find."

"Hey, you can't..." Jorrus started to scramble erect, but Neal kicked his feet out from under him. Another rap on the skull, this time from Neal's staff put him down on his face in the dirt again, although he was still mostly conscious.

"Just trade goods here," Jewel reported.

"Here's something interesting." Amy looked up from the trader's own pack. "Men's rings, and clothes that he'd never fit into. Looks like you're right."

Neal lashed Jorrus's wrists together before the smaller man had time to gather his wits.

"Now, how'd you get this pack train?"

"I told you, I'm a trader. Ohh, my head. Maybe I did try to rough you up, but I ain't never killed nobody!"

"Okay, Jewel. Drag Dreen over here. He looks like he could be persuaded to talk."

"Dreen, you keep your..." Jorrus fell silent as Amy's knife prodded his ribs, and Dreen was too occupied with the pain in his knee to heed his venomous glare.

"Ow! Easy on that knee," he pleaded hoarsely as Jewel dragged him toward the fire by the collar of his tunic. "Yeah, we took this stuff off'n a real trader."

"What happened to him?"

"Nothing. He went back home. He was sick. Ow! My knee! All right, I'll tell ya! So, he croaked. We didn't go for to kill him. He caught us getting into his trade goods. Arrach just cracked him over the head with his staff, but he didn't wake up. We was just gonna steal some of his stuff. Jorrus was his helper. We'd knowed him before, so we figgered that made the three of us traders. It was all Jorrus's idea!"

"Three murderers, and they would have killed us, too." Neal scowled down at them. "Back home, they'd hire a smart lawyer and get off with a slap on the wrist, if they ever did finally come to trial."

"The usual thing around here is to cut them a few times and throw them in the lake," Amy suggested. "If they make it back to shore ahead of the kingsharks, they get to go free. Not that many of them make it."

Jewel shuddered. The kingshark was the Inner Sea's only large predator, something like a cross between a shark and a manta ray, but with a long neck. Nothing else larger than a small salmon could survive in the same waters with them. While most of them were no longer than her arm, some of them were large enough so that several of them together could upset a small boat.

"We're not far from the shoreline," Neal mused. "But I just don't want to take the time to bother with them."

Jewel's stomach lurched. A fight was one thing, but this... "Neal, you... you aren't going to..."

"Kill them? What else can we do?" He scowled, his hand reaching for his belt knife.

"Hey! You can't..." Jorrus protested weakly, his face an unhealthy greenish gray. Dreen stopped groaning, but Arrach only stared, slackjawed.

"Why not? You would have killed us."

"Naw, we was just gonna take what we wanted of your stuff, then we'd of turned ya loose."

"And how about us," Amy asked. "Were you going to turn us loose, too?"

"Sure! Sure, we was." He looked away, not able to meet her eyes. "Anyhow, we wouldn't of hurt you none."

"Sure, you were, I don't think." Neal pulled out his knife, and Jorrus screamed thinly. "No, I'm not going to kill you, but if I ever see you again I certainly will. Now, get out of here, before I change my mind!"

He cut the thongs that bound them, first making sure that they had no daggers hidden under their clothes. Jorrus and Arrach helped the crippled Dreen from the clearing, not even looking back in their haste to leave.

"Do you think they'll keep going?" Jewel gripped her staff tightly, watching them disappear into the trees.

"I think so," Amy answered. "No supplies, no weapons and one of them crippled? They won't be any more trouble to us, or to anyone else for a while."

Jewel prodded the grunting, snorting pack beast with her staff, hurling Khamusani curses impartially at it, her scratchy tunic and trousers, and the complete lack of civilized amenities like scented soap, silky underwear and hot water.

"You've got the disposition of a camel, the appetite of a billy goat and the brains of a turtle, and you stink like a combination of all three," she told it.

The pack beast ignored her, as always, lurching awkwardly along on six stumpy hoofed legs. The widemouthed head, wearing its perpetual expression of amiable stupidity, weaved about on a long, thin neck, snatching bites of leaves and grass as it lurched along the trail at a stiff walking pace. The pack train was back down to only six beasts, the rest having been disposed of at a small village they had passed a few days back, but finally they were nearing their goal.

They had made a practice of switching positions every few hours as they walked along. Right now Amy was out in front, Neal walked beside the pack animals, and Jewel brought up the rear. Amy watched the trail ahead, alert for any unforseen happening, but Jewel wondered if Neal wasn't paying more attention to the blond girl than he was to the woods to either side of them. The next time they stopped to rest, just before noon, Neal would take the lead while Amy dropped back to the rear. Their strungout array was the safest way to travel, she thought morosely, but it left too much time for Neal's eyes to rest on Amy and not enough time for the three of them to really get acquainted with one another. When they camped for the night it always seemed to be Neal who volunteered answers to Amy's questions, and more and more Jewel was beginning to feel just a little bit left out. Oh well, another couple of days should bring them to their destination...

"Halt, who approaches?" The sentry's challenge was somewhat perfunctory, since they had been in sight of the encampment for what had seemed like the better part of an hour as they approached across a broad swath of cleared ground. The sun was high in the sky, and very little activity was to be seen within the crude fortification.

"The trader, Nurm, with salt and trade goods." Neal replied. He urged the lead pack beast forward, the rest following along docilely. "Who is in command here?"

"This is the army of the glorious General Essgant. Corporal of the guard, post number three!" His call echoed down the line of sentries. In moments, a squad of soldiers arrived to escort them to an open area in the center of the encampment. As far as Jewel could see, little had been changed from the layout of the camp that she and Neal had seen from the portal that first day, but up close she was suddenly aware of the stench of too many men, herded too close together. Oh, the stench wasn't as bad as it had been in Chammar, the camp hadn't been here long enough for that, but it was bad enough to set her back on her heels for a moment or two. What kind of professional soldiers were these? Hadn't any of them ever heard of latrine trenches?

"General Essgant, sir," she heard the squad leader reporting, somewhere amidst the cluster of tents. "One who calls himself the trader Nurm has arrived with his caravan."

As General Essgant emerged from his tent, Jewel was once more struck by the difference in these people's heights from what she was used to. The general was short, even for one of the Khamusani. He was stumpy and broad shouldered, with graying brown hair that was thinning on top and a curly brown beard, and both she and Amy overtopped him by more than a head. His brown eyes were bright and alert, despite a faint haze of alcoholic fumes that surrounded him like an invisible aura.

"Nurm the trader? Never heard the name before, at least not attached to a man so tall. Where are you from, and why have you come to this land? These are troubled times for such peaceable pursuits as trading and farming."

"I did not know of this land's troubles when I set out, your Excellence. I am from far away, from an island at the edge of the Great Sea. I go wherever there is a profit to be made, whether of goods or of knowledge. It seems to me that an army such as yours would have needs not readily filled in such a sparsely settled land as this. I have salt in fair plenty, a quantity of trade goods, and even a small amount of iron to be made into tools of peace or war. In exchange I will accept precious metals, rare gems and jewelry, or knowledge. As I have said to you, this land is new to me."

"We can do business if your prices aren't too high," Essgant admitted, trying not to sound too eager. "This place has little in the way of riches, material or otherwise. But come into my tent. Civilized men shouldn't stand in the sun to bargain like a pack of barbarians. Fulk! Bring a chair for my guest."

He ushered them into his tent, where a grizzled orderly swiftly set up a table and a pair of folding chairs. Settling into his own chair, General Essgant called for a bottle and two mugs, ignoring Neal's two assistants.

"Sit down, sit down! Have a drink first, to ease your throat for talking." He poured the mugs full to the brim, and Neal tasted the blue liquid cautiously. From the odor Jewel thought that it might be one of the region's usual berry wines, thin and sour but with a fairly high alcoholic content. "Now, to business. You say that you have salt? Sea salt?"

"A fair amount, and since this is something of an exploring trip I'm willing to let it go fairly cheap. Three weights of salt for only one of gold, or thirty of silver. I'll also make you a fair price for any gems you and your men might have."

"Three for one, eh?" The general considered the price. "Not too bad, but not all that cheap, either. Even this far north."

"Ah, but it's not your common, crude sea salt, full of sand and seaweed. Jewel, bring a block of salt to show General Essgant." He tossed the command over his shoulder to where she and Amy stood waiting, adding in English, "Bring a bottle of Bourbon, too."

"Seems pure enough," Essgant admitted, dipping up a flake of the brownish salt with the tip of his finger and tasting it with obvious relish. "What's in the funnylooking bottle?"

"A drink from my country." He poured a little of it into Essgant's empty mug. "Sip it cautiously, it has a mighty kick."

"Whooee!" Essgant took a healthy swallow, then gasped as the straight whiskey seared even his bottlescarred throat. "That bites like a mad pack beast, all right! Throw in a couple of bottles of that, and you've got yourself a deal. How much salt do you have?"

"Two fullyladen pack beasts, but I'd just as soon not trade all of it off at once. I haven't seen very much of this country yet, and I'd planned to set up a regular trade route through here. With a strong leader like you in charge, things should stay settled down to where a man could build up a regular business."

General Essgant beamed at Neal's flattery, pouring himself another generous drink from the bottle. "This can be a fine, prosperous land if it's given half a chance," he agreed. "Just like it was before the troubles. You mentioned knowledge. What sort of knowledge are you interested in?"

"Maps of the country, knowledge of local customs and laws, news from the cities. Anything that might be useful to a trader who is far from his own home. I was told of a man in these parts who was known for his wisdom, but when I reached his village he had been killed in a raid."

"Is that so? What was his name?"

"Hannanush the Wise. At one time, he was even advisor to the King. I did take his daughter, Amaluetha, into my service."

"Hannanush?" Essgant frowned. "His death was a shame, indeed. I sent a troop to offer him my protection, but they arrived there too late. A band of renegades from my own army had hit them, and there was nobody left alive but a few old people. It was far too late for my men to try to catch up with them by that time. So this is his daughter, eh? A bit too tall for my taste, but she looks about the right height for you."

The whiskey was hitting him hard, accustomed as he was to the sour local wines with their comparatively low alcohol content, but he still managed to walk a straight line to the door of the tent.

"Major! Set up a tent for the trader, here, and spread the word. He's got salt to trade for."

The general's own store of treasure made a fairsized dent in their stock. After that, Amy and Jewel worked side by side, weighing out parcels of the brownish crystals in exchange for hoarded coins and trinkets, hardwon prizes of long ago campaigns. While they worked, they listened for any crumbs of gossip that might hint what had become of Tony Parrish, and at last their patience was rewarded.