"We ask the questions here!" the Torian snapped. "Who are you, and what business do you have?"

"I am Tek, a merchant," he replied in a quiet tone, trying to sound humble. But sounding humble was difficult for him. "I come to sell my wheat and carrots to the Selani. But if they're trying to attack, I think I'll just sell them in Sargon."

The man reached up and pulled off Tarrin's visor, staring into his eyes suspiciously. "Strange eyes for an Arakite," he said dangerously.

"My mother was Torian," Tarrin told him, reaching up and pulling off his turban, letting him see his black hair. "It's the only way I favor her."

The man seemed to try to take issue with that, staring intently at Tarrin's dress, his eyes, his face. The man was looking for something to identify Tarrin as Tarrin, he realized. Tarrin felt his heart try to speed up, but he kept himself looking calm and collected. Just like Triana. Give the man the face of stone and let him do the sweating.

"You have bad timing, Tek," the man sneered. "This region is now under the rule of the ki'zadun. Your goods will be confiscated and you'll be put in the trading post with the other guests. Step down and submit to search."

"Key-who?" Tarrin asked. "Is that some kingdom I never heard about?"

"You'll discover who we are soon enough," the Torian barked. "Now get down!"

Tarrin allowed himself to look irritated and outraged as he gingerly got down from the wagon. Muscles locked in the human form for days protested at the activity, making him have to support himself with the wagon after putting his rough-shoed feet on the ground. He stooped considerbly, both because his back hurt and to help hide his height.

"What's the matter with you?"

"I'm not as young as you, son," Tarrin told him bluntly, making it sound convincing, though Tarrin was probably younger than the man before him. "You'll find out what's wrong with me when you get to be my age."

The two men dismounted, and the Torian roughly searched him by patting down his robe. He found only the small dagger Tarrin had put on his belt to complete his disguise, which he immediately removed. He then was pushed back while the two men began going through the wagon. But they found nothing out of the ordinary for a solitary merchant.

"Why are you travelling alone?" the Torian asked harshly as they overturned a basket of carrots into the wagon.

"Ain't nothing out here to attack a man, your honor," Tarrin replied calmly. "No bandit in his right mind sets up this close to Selani land, cause there ain't nowhere to hide. I travel alone when I can cause it cuts down on extra hands I have to pay."

That seemed to quell the man's questions. They finished going through the wagon, finding nothing that identified Tarrin as the man they were looking for, and Tarrin could see it in the Torian's eyes that his disguise had worked. The green eyes had made the man suspicious, but the black hair, the dark skin, the manner in which Tarrin moved and the way he spoke, it convinced the Torian that Tarrin was not the man they were seeking. That made him very much more relieved. All he had to do now was wait for them to put him in the trading post and forget about him.

Tarrin stood to the side patiently and waited for the men to finish, getting out of the wagon. "Get back up and follow me," the Torian ordered. "My silent friend here will follow behind, just in case you get any stupid ideas. But I don't think an old potseller like you is going to be that stupid. I think you know that those two nags could never outrun our warhorses, and resisting us will get you into a Troll's stewpot."

Tarrin said nothing, just giving the man a hard look, then he limped back to the wagon and pulled himself into the seat. He put his turban and visor back on, and took the reins as the two men mounted their horses. He didn't look it, but inside Tarrin was silently rejoicing. The disguise had worked. Now he just had to wait for sunset, and he would slip right through them.

The Torian led him right into the trading post, which consisted of a large circular area surrounded by warehouses and smaller buildings, all of which was surrounded by a very low stone wall. It reminded him of the Green in a strange way, back in Aldreth. The large field around which the village's buildings were arrayed. This place was organized along the same lines. The circular open space was empty, and fresh dust covered the hard packed earth that was blown in on the wind. Everyone who was here was in the buildings, and there was no sign of wagons or other items of trade. A patrol of ten men wearing similar devices as the Torian on their black tunics marched into view, looking to be doing a circuit of the outside wall. He didn't see any other patrol; that one patrol may be guarding the entire post. Then again, with all those Trolls out there, what prisoner in his right mind would try to escape? It would be much safer inside the prison than outside in this situation.

"Get down," the Torian ordered sharply as Tarrin reined in the wagon. He set the brake and crawled down from the wagon seat slowly, rubbing his side gently after a rather bad spasm struck. He spotted several faces staring at him from a window on the second floor of what looked to be an inn as he took off the visor to give his nose a rest, but they quickly disappeared when the Torian dismounted and approached.

"Beggin' your honor's pardon, but when will I be allowed to leave?" Tarrin asked. "I've got business to tend."

"You'll leave when we tell you to leave," the man sneered, pointing to the building where Tarrin saw the faces. "Go find a room over there in that inn, and make sure you stay out of our way. You can go anywhere on the post's grounds you want, but if you're caught inside any warehouse or outside the wall, you'll be a Troll's dinner. Is that clear, old man?"

"Perfectly," Tarrin said with sudden sharpness, a sharpness that made the man look strangely at him.

"Don't give me a reason to not like you, old coot," the Torian sneered even harder.

The man's manner was getting to him. Tarrin came out of his stoop, rising to his full height and staring down at the shorter man with hard, unforgiving eyes. For a fleeting moment, Tarrin assaulted the man with all of his hidden power through his stance and gaze and posture, an aura of unshakable strength that told the man that his continued survival was determined only by Tarrin's will. The man gaped up at Tarrin for a second, then stepped back unconsciously against such a blatant display of strength. But Tarrin realized what he was doing nearly as he found himself doing it, and gently and smoothly returned to his stoop and put on a less intimidating expression.

Silently kicking himself, Tarrin watched the man. Now he had a good reason to think that Tarrin was something other than what he appeared. A solitary merchant would not act in such a manner. Part of him got ready if it came down to a fight, planning his actions. Kill the man, run for the far side of the compound. Hope that he could get to the escarpment before the Trolls could cut him off, and hope that it wasn't a fatal distance down to the desert floor.

The man stared at him for a long moment, but for some reason, he only shook his head as he climbed up into the wagon. Tarrin moved to step away from it, but the man's boot struck him in the chest, sending him staggering back wildly. Tarrin's aching muscles couldn't find a center, and he toppled over onto his backside, sitting down heavily enough to feel his teeth click together. He stayed where he was, watching the Torian take the wagon and its wares down the compound, towards a warehouse that had its doors open. The Dal came up behind and took the reins of the Torian's horse, then followed silently behind the wagon, leaving Tarrin sitting in the middle of the compound.