of chain mail and plate, but all the mercenary soldiers were well-armored and well-armed. Over their armor they all wore vests of black leather. Caina recognized several of them from Rasadda.
“The Company of Shopur,” said Caina, “and the Black Wolves.”
“That many horsemen,” said Kylon, “must be expensive.”
“Aye,” said Caina. She had access to quite a lot of money, most of it stolen from the cowled masters of the Brotherhood of Slavers, and even with Nasser’s funds it had taken a good chunk of that money to hire both the Company of Shopur and the Black Wolves. Caina hoped the investment would pay off.
She walked to the head of the horsemen. Nasser waited there in his usual black clothing, Laertes silent and grim at his side. Morgant stood a short distance away, speaking to no one, his eyes roving back and forth. Caina recognized Dio, the captain of the Black Wolves, a villainous-looking Nighmarian man with flat gray eyes, close-cropped black hair, and an oft-broken nose. Next to him waited Shopur, the captain of the Anshani mercenaries, a big man resplendent in fine robes and expensive chain mail. Kazravid stood next to Shopur, his black hair and beard oiled, his robes clean if worn, a short bow in his hands. Kazravid was a womanizing gambler with a tendency to land in debt, but he was one of the best archers Caina had ever seen.
“Let me do the talking,” murmured Caina.
Nerina opened her mouth to say something.
“Don’t point out the weight and height of the mercenaries,” said Caina. “It will not be helpful just now.”
Nerina sighed and closed her mouth.
“Ah,” said Nasser. “Capital. The final members of our little enterprise. Shopur, you will recall Master Ciaran and the Exile from our previous ventures.”
Shopur snorted. “That I do.” He spoke Istarish with a thick Anshani accent. “Profitable venture, but a fiery one.”
“Ciaran,” said Kazravid. “What madness do you have planned for us this time?”
“Just a quick jaunt across the countryside,” said Caina. “Lovely weather for it, isn’t it?”
Kazravid snorted. “A beautiful day to kidnap an emir.”
“It really is,” said Caina.
“I suggest,” said Nasser, “that we move out at once. Cimak will be traveling slowly, but best not to let the grass grow under our feet.”
“That is unlikely,” said Nerina, “given that the horses will consume the grass at a rate of…”
Kazravid sighed, and Morgant scoffed a little, shaking his head.
“Let us depart,” said Nasser.
###
Morgant was in a foul mood.
For one, he did not like horses. He preferred to operate from the shadows, striking from concealment. It was much harder to hide on the back of a horse. Nor was he fond of the open countryside. A man could lose himself on the steppes of Trabazon, that was true, but the steppes offered precious little in way of concealment. Still, while he had been born in the city, raised in the city, and had spent most of his extremely long adult life in the city, he knew how to survive in the wilderness, but he still preferred a city.
But those were annoyances. He had endured far worse than that.
That was not what had put him in a foul mood.
He rode in silence, watching the others. Nasser rode at the head of the column, conferring with Dio, Shopur, and Kazravid on a regular basis. Morgant was amused to see how easily Nasser had taken command of the little army. No doubt Shopur and Dio thought themselves independent men, tough-minded and hard, but Nasser Glasshand had the sort of charisma that made men obey his commands willingly.
Morgant snorted and looked at Nasser’s gloved left hand. Glass hand, indeed. He wondered how Dio and Shopur would react if they knew what was really under that black glove and leather bracer. He wondered if Caina had figured out who Nasser really was yet. She was too clever not to notice the truth, sooner or later.
Especially if their path took them toward the Desert of Candles.
His eyes wondered towards Caina Amalas. She rode competently enough, though he could tell that she preferred her own feet. Sensible, really. At least she rode better than the Kyracian, who had obviously spent more time on the deck of a trireme than upon the back of a horse. And Kylon still rode better than Nerina, who was all but strangling her mount in an effort to keep upright. Shopur and Dio thought that Caina, Kylon, Azaces, and Nerina were part of Nasser’s retinue, though likely the mercenary commanders wondered why Nasser had chosen