“We’re going to be there in a few moments.” “But you think that there’s something I should know?”įidelias gave her a perfectly guileless look. It might invalidate the exercise.”Īmara licked her lips. “In your graduation exercise?” Fidelias asked. It might work.”Īmara shot her teacher a wary glance. She opened her eyes again, staring ahead.įidelias chuckled. A long cape, tattered green without embroidery, had been cast over one shoulder as the sun rose higher. He wore the plain clothes of a peddler: brown leggings, sturdy sandals, with a padded jacket over his shirt, dark green on homespun. He managed the beast with the lead straps alone, though his head barely came to the old bull’s brown-furred thigh. A goad dangled from his hand, but he hadn’t lifted it in the entire trip. “Nervous?” asked the man walking beside the gargant. Amara took a deep breath and blew it out again, closing her eyes for a moment, and blocking out every thought except for the sensations around her: sunlight on her face, swaying of the pungent gargant’s long strides, creaking of the cart’s axles. The slave collar she wore had begun to chafe on her skin, and she made an irritated mental note to wear one for a few days in order to grow used to it, before the next mission.Īssuming she survived this one, of course.Ī tremor of nervous fear ran down her spine, and made her shoulders tighten.
Behind her, the axles of the cart squeaked and groaned beneath their loads.
The morning sun shone down on her, taking the chill out of the misty air and warming the dark wool of her skirts. Amara rode atop the swaying back of the towering old gargant bull, going over the plan in her head.
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