Obmi could not help being startled at the size of this pilgrimage, but concealed his surprise beneath a screen of gruffness. "How many guards will there be all told?" he asked.

"Probably near to a hundred and a half, lord."

"Good!" said the dwarf. "As large as it seems, that is still a paltry number when the size of raiding nomad bands is considered. Even the most loutish of these Baklunish tradesmen must realize that. Our group of a dozen of the toughest horsemen – better, certainly, than twice their number of ordinary guardsmen – will be assured passage, for we have such strength as these louts cannot decline."

"Most aptly put, my lord," Bolt said unctuously. "Even the twenty camels we have will be useful, for these pigs always count on losing some of their number to raiders. But, we should expect that they will surely place us at the tail of the caravan, hoping that any attackers will fall upon us first."

The dwarf scowled. That is unacceptable!"

"Of course, lord, under most circumstances the position would be most perilous. But with our men bearing Muzier banners on their lances, and the wagon drivers we have hired all displaying heavy crossbows as well, most who see this show of strength will decide to strike elsewhere in the train, if at all. Besides, my own spells will blast any who are foolish enough to attack."

This whole country is not fit for a civilized dwarf to be in, let alone have to travel through," Obmi growled. "I want no fighting of any sort. It might delay my progress or make the journey even more unpleasant than it will be. Use more of the funds at our disposal to have your agents bribe the steppe nomads not to raid this caravan."

That is sound thinking, lord," Bolt agreed, even though he doubted that any sum of money would actually prevent the wild tribesmen from taking what they could if the pickings looked easy or rich. "Yet your words make me think of another alternative, noble dwarf. Could you not employ the gold to enable the smaller slavers to hire their own mercenaries? Another hundred warriors would be sufficient to discourage raiders from molesting us."

Obmi thought about that for a minute. "It is pleasing to me, sorcerer, that you are learning from my wisdom," he said then. "You may use the coins as I now tell you. Select the most likely prospects amongst the local slave dealers, and make certain that they use the money to hire guards. We will show our unswerving exactitude in adhering to the rules of the contest, because the guards are not for us, you see… Still, sorcerer, make sure that the ones in our debt know who their benefactor is. A few extra men between us and an attacker might mean the difference between life and death."

The caravan departed from Ghastoor three mornings later. It was even larger than Bolt had originally described, thanks to the late addition of several dozen guards attached to various slave merchants. The whole operation of getting under way was confused and slow, of course, because of the last-minute changes and the overall size of the train. It was not until just before noon that the last of its elements rode out of the city and down the long slopes leading to the Barren Plains. The main body was encamped and finished with the evening meal by the time Obmi and the rest of the tail end arrived at the campsite, just ten miles from their starting point. The next morning's routine went more quickly, for all components of the caravan now knew their places and had a greater sense of urgency. Some news had reached the caravan in its first encampment, and that information caused things to tighten up immediately. Bolt, while walking through the campsite with his ears open, heard the information and rushed to tell the dwarf what he had learned.

"Lord Obmi, may I enter?" he called from outside the dwarfs silken tent.

"Come in, come in! This had better be important, though, to interrupt me thus."

Bolt parted the flap and ducked inside the low pavilion. Obmi had few amenities in his tent, despite a demeanor that implied he was accustomed to such things. The dwarf was hard as iron and tough as boiled leather. The sorcerer bowed and said, "Survivors of a Yollite caravan which preceded us have just come into the camp. They were attacked a week ago by Arroden warriors – a group of more than five hundred, they say."

"Have you learned any other details?"

"I am not certain of the truth of the rest, great dwarf, but from what I understand, the Yoli had spell-workers who inflicted great loss upon the raiders before they died. These survivors claim that they actually defeated the Arroden – although the Yoli fear and hate those camel-riders, so they always report victories and sometimes lie. They do have several heads and trophies, as well as some loot, but such stuff can be snatched even in defeat if a rear guard manages to disengage and flee."

"Incomplete information is useless, sorcerer! Go back and find out more. Whatever you learn, you keep to yourself. Report to me in the morning, after we are underway."

Bolt stood. "I obey, lord. May you rest well." Then, muttering under his breath, the dweomercraefter withdrew and set about his assignment. Although he would prefer to rest, he didn't trust anyone else in their group to gather the facts he knew Obmi would demand. Besides, if he delegated the responsibility to another, the one he selected might – no, would – take advantage of his knowledge to supplant Bolt in some way. So far, the sorcerer had managed to be the chief lieutenant of the group, and he meant to remain in that position. If anything untoward should happen to the dwarf, then Bolt would become champion in his place. The sorcerer smiled at that thought, and went about his work.

Bolt rode at Obmi's side when they broke camp the next morning, but did not volunteer any information. He was determined that the dwarf make the first overture, and after several minutes that was what happened. "Well, what more did you learn?" Obmi growled.

Satisfied to have won the battle of wills, the sorcerer withheld none of what he knew. "The Yollite train was smallish, my lord," he said. "It carried goods and slaves to Karnoosh, the merchants hoping to be amongst the first there and thus gain highest prices for their wares. Knowing that they stood greater risk of attack because of their small number, the merchants were well guarded by warriors and a pair of fairly strong spell-binders – one a dweomercraefter, the other a priest of some sort. There is but a single merchant amongst the returning parly. His goods are lost."

"The Yoli did not defeat the Arroden, then," Obmi said flatly.

"Pardon, my lord, but I suggest that perhaps the survivors speak truth for once – as unlike the Bakluni as that is."

Frowning, the dwarf demanded to know why Bolt thought the way he did.

"Because, great dwarf, the merchant made sense even as he beat himself and tore at his beard over the loss of his goods. To travel ahead, or back, slowly, laden with such stuff, and with only a handful of men, would be to invite every predatory nomad to fall upon oneself. The Yoli, even though they slaughtered great numbers of the attacking Arroden and drove them away, dared not recover their property and try to travel with it. They came back northward with their most precious possessions – their lives."

"Well done, sorcerer!" said Obmi, his spirits abruptly and unusually high. "Your news is splendid and your assessment sound, I think. That is an excellent omen for us. The Arroden will be licking their wounds for a time. Oh, yes, they'll gather their warriors again, and that band will be larger and more bloodthirsty than any seen for a long time by the Sons of Yoli. We will be long past, however, safe in Karnoosh… or beyond. Tribes less fierce than the Arroden – and that is most – will hesitate to come against any caravan of any size for a while, anyway. The story of the Arroden defeat will spread quickly through this wasteland, and will dishearten other raiders. Our trek will be a quiet passage through a peaceful land, I'll wager."