Road to Ammarca

The sun was high in the sky and beating down relentlessly as the caravan plodded along at its sedate pace. Gaav rode his buckskin stallion near the wagon in which Zaira sat, chatting amiably with her mouthy friend. The two of them had their heads bent together conspiratorially. Zaira looked up and saw him watching her, smiled shyly and waved at him. He grinned at her and kicked his stallion closer to the wagon. She watched him, her full lips curled up into a sly smile as she blinked against the bright sun. "What--"

"What do you want?" Stacia interrupted rudely, flipping him a cocky smile.

"None of your damn business," he shot back, not taking his eyes from Zaira's face.

"Gaavan. Stacia," she admonished gently with a sigh. "Why can't you two get along?"

"With him?" the brown-haired girl demanded, waving her sewing at the tall red-haired man. "Why should I?"

"Yeah," Gaavan growled, leaning forward to catch Zaira's hand and pull her forward. "Why should I?"

"Ack! Gaavan!" Unbalanced, Zaira fell forward over the edge of the wagon. Gaav caught her around her slim waist and hauled her onto his saddle in front of him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm bored, wench," he said, his voice barely a rumble deep in his throat. Grinning crookedly, he pushed a hand through her unruly curls, tugging at her braid. "I was thinking we could go off somewhere and find a nice, quiet spot and--"

"Gaavan," she scolded with a deep flush. "We can't--"

"Of course we can. I think those rocks over there--" he gestured towards the north "--might give us the privacy I need to get you out of these awful things." He tugged at the waistline of her trousers while using his grip on her hair to pull her forward towards him. "Don't you agree?"

"Not no--" she began but her protest was stifled by his rough kiss. She struggled briefly before giving up and leaning into his embrace.

"Mmmm..." he murmured when he released her. He looked down at her through heavily lidded eyes and watched her face. He loved seeing her like this: Her cheeks flushed and her lips reddened, breathless and gasping. He chuckled as he watched her.

That broke her out of her spell. She opened her eyes and blinked several times, still disoriented from the intensity of their kiss. When she saw him grinning at her she pushed away and smacked his chest. "You are horrible!"

"And you like it," he countered, not denying her claim.

"I--" Her response was cut off by a cry from ahead.

"Riders to the south!"

Gaav stiffened and looked up from his byplay with Zaira. She clutched his coat apprehensively as they waited. They didn't have to wait long.

"It's the caravan from Sanket!"

Everyone visibly relaxed to a degree, but a tension still remained. Out here in the wilds caution kept one alive.

Gaav rode close to the wagon and hoisted Zaira back into it. "Get down," he ordered, then checked that leads to Zaira's white mare were secure. The women complied without protest, pulling their shawls up over their heads and crouching down low behind some stacked boxes. "Do you have your dagger?" he asked.

Zaira nodded and touched her sash; he could see the handle protruding from its many folds. "Good. Just keep down until we figure out what's going on. Understand?" He turned his steely glare on Stacia. "Both of you." She scowled at him, but didn't say anything.

Nodding approvingly, Gaav pulled his sword from the scabbard strapped across his back and laid the bare steel across his knees as he rode forward with the other guards to meet the oncoming party. Fulgar, leader of the mercs guarding the caravan, nodded at him as he approached, then signaled for the others to ride out with him. Together, Fulgar, Gaav and five other of the mercs kicked their horses to a canter.

After about a half-mile they met up with a similar party from the approaching caravan. The leader of the other group held up his hand and his companions fell back. Fulgar did the same and the two leaders faced each other.

"I see you made it on time, Danz. What happened? Did old Labar threaten you or something?"

"Shut up, Fulgar," Danz replied, though he was grinning. "I'm never late and you know it."

"Of course you're not. I just imagined you being two days late last time we were supposed to meet, didn't I?" Fulgar, too, was grinning as he held out his right hand. Danz gripped it heartily.

"We were set on by bandits, and you know that," the other merc captain said.

"Yeah, that's what you said." Fulgar sheathed his sword and signaled to the others to do the same. "What's the plan this time?" he asked.

Danz sheathed his own sword. "Got a full wagon going on to Larhnir and then on to Ammarca. Some other goods need to be shifted. Anything going my way?"

Fulgar shook his head. "Not this time. Everything and everyone is going on to Ammarca."

The other merc captain shrugged. "Fine with me."

"I'll need an extra two mercs from your company if we're going to take on an extra wagon," Fulgar said.

Gaav didn't hear Danz' reply as he soon lost interest in the details of the exchange. He took a long, measuring look at the group of mercs behind Danz, weighing them and what their weapon skills might be. As he was about to dismiss the group entirely, his eyes fell upon an unusual individual: On the ground, he would stand taller than most of the other mercs (almost as tall as himself); his skin was as pale as sun-bleached bone; paler even, he decided, though it was hard to tell under the layer of dust that coated him. His black hair, unruly and wild, was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail at his neck. In fact, everything about this character was sloppy and rumpled; from the sleeveless, threadbare, dust-streaked shirt, to the worn leather chaps he wore over his denim trousers. The hilt of a massive sword thrust upwards behind his right shoulder and he wore a chain--which ended in a wicked hook--wrapped around his right arm.

As he watched, the pale merc put a rolled up wad of smokeweed between his teeth and turned. He saw Gaav watching him, and grinned menacingly, baring yellowed teeth; elongated eye-teeth gave him a strangely feral look. Strange black tattoos around his eyes and mouth and blood-red irises increased that feral quality a hundredfold.

"Hey, Red," he said around the thick cigar. "Whutchoo lookin' at?" His voice was a thick drawl, low and threatening.

The red-haired man bristled. "Just your ugly mug." Curling his lip, Gaav turned his stallion and rode back to the main caravan. His horse hadn't gone more than a few steps when he felt the air behind him stir. Without thinking, he threw out his hand and snatched the wickedly pointed hook out of the air with no more effort than if he'd been swatting a fly. He jerked it forward, wrapping the chain attached to the handle around his fist several times, then hauled on it, hard. Reining his horse around, he had the satisfaction of seeing the pale merc fall off his horse and land face first in the dust. With a mighty roar, the merc rolled to his feet and grabbed the chain wrapped around his arm and hauled on it. Gaav, grinning, released the hook and sent the other man spinning into the dust again.

"You're going to be sorry you did that!" the merc growled as he picked himself up.

"I'm not yet," Gaav said with an evil chuckle. "In fact, I'm quite amused."

"Bastich!" The other grabbed up the chain and looped it in his hand and rushed at Gaav. "I'll wipe that smile right off your face and shove it--!"

"Callum!" Danz shouted. The merc captain wheeled his horse and galloped towards the pair. Callum ignored him, and advanced on Gaav while swinging the heavy chain lazily around his head.

"C'mon, fancy boy," Callum sneered as he closed the distance between them. "Get down off your fancy horse and I'll amuse your ass. I'll amuse it right into the dirt!"

"I doubt you could do that, though it would amuse me to see you try." Gaav swung one leg over his horse and dropped to the sand. He rested his sword over one shoulder and swaggered towards the other merc, grinning as malevolently as Callum did. "I haven't had a good workout in a while; this should be good."

"We'll just see 'bout that," Callum began, only to be interrupted by two horses riding between the pair. Fulgar and Danz glared down at the two of them, each with their swords bared.

"Enough," Fulgar said, his voice stern but level. The Captain of the Ammarca-bound caravan wasn't one to shout; his mercenaries knew he meant business. "Gaavan, get back to the caravan or you're out."

"That goes for you, too, Callum," Danz said. "You know the rules: No fighting among the company."

Callum sneered at the two merc captains, but Gaav just shrugged and grinned. "We can settle this later," he said, sticking his left hand in his pocket and settling his sword more comfortably over his shoulder. "If you're man enough, that is," he couldn't help throwing over his shoulder as he strode back to his horse. He grinned to himself as he heard the other growl. With that, he caught the stirrup of his horse, swung himself into the saddle and turned the horse's head towards the caravan.

"What was all that about?" Zaira demanded as he rode up alongside the wagon.

"What was all what about?" he asked.

"You know perfectly well what." She waved her hand towards the knot of mercs still waiting for the other caravan to come into sight. "With that merc."

"Oh. That." Gaav reached behind him and sheathed his huge sword across his back. "Just a dog with a bit of an attitude problem. Nothing much."

"He looks like trouble." She stood to get a better view of the other caravan as it approached.

"No trouble. He might need a little smacking around to teach him some respect, but that's all. Don't worry your pretty head about him."

Zaira glanced sharply at him. "I told you not to do that," she snapped angrily.

He just looked up at her and grinned. "Do what?" he asked.

"Treat me like an idiot." She sat back down with her back turned to him and took up her embroidery.

The large man grinned and leaned forward until his lips were next to her ear. "I wouldn't dare do that," he purred, brushing the outer edge of her ear with his lips. He grinned as he felt a shiver go through her. His grin widened as she turned and shoved him away.

"Stop that," she said in a husky whisper, her cheeks flushed. He chuckled and sat back in his saddle. She snuck a sideways look at him through her shawl and flushed even deeper as he winked insolently at her. She screwed up her face at him and promptly turned away from him, shifting so that she was out of his reach.

Chuckling, Gaav swung down off his horse and looked around. The other caravan was approaching; Fulgar and Danz rode up together and were directing the unloading, shifting and transfer of cargo. The drivers of the Carana-bound caravan pulled their wagons in to complete the wide circle the Ammarca-bound caravan had already begun. Men jumped down from the wagons and quickly pulled the tents from the supply wagon and set about setting up camp for the night. They went up quickly, being rigged to assemble and break easily incase of storms or attacks and within moments a cluster of them sprouted inside the circle of wagons like a ring of mushrooms.

The big man led his stallion to the picket line that was forming and pulled the tack off. Slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder, Gaav gave the beast an affectionate pat on the flank and turned to head back to the tent he shared with his red-haired vixen. As he turned, what he saw made him nearly drop the saddle: A certain pale-skinned, red-eyed merc was lounging nearby, chewing on his cigar and eyeing the two women hungrily. They seemed unaware of his presence as they moved about, getting ready for the evening; the merc tilted his head to get a better angle as Zaira bent over to pick up a carpet roll.

Cold annoyance twisted Gaav's grin into something unpleasant and he started forward, affecting a lazy, careless stride that was neither hurried nor concerned. Callum saw him approaching and his grin was also unpleasant, but he did not move from his spot and turned his attention back to the women immediately. The red-haired man brushed by the other man and dropped his tack next to Zaira's trunk. Deliberately, he leaned down, grabbed the woman's arm, hauled her up and, ignoring her startled exclamation, kissed her soundly on the lips. Hoots and catcalls echoed through the camp as the mercs stopped to watch the possessive display of affection. Straightening, Gaav looked straight at the other man and raised a bushy eyebrow as if to say "Mine."

"What the hell are you doing?" Zaira snapped, jerking her arm out of his grip and drawing his attention away from the other man. Not fast enough, however; she noticed Callum lounging nearby and saw the look on his face.

"Just--"

"You son of a bitch," she said in a low, dangerous voice.

This time both eyebrows shot up. "What the hell--"

"You heard me," she said, stepping backwards away from him. "You are a royal son of a bitch! I know what you just did." She flung a hand out towards the wild-haired merc.

"Zaira," he began, voice low and just as dangerous.

"No, don't you 'Zaira' me. You just established me as your territory. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not your property!" When he reached for her, she danced out of his reach. "Leave me alone!" With that, she stormed into the tent, pulling the flap closed behind her.

As Gaav stood there staring at the tent flap, he heard a low chuckle from behind him. He turned and saw Callum grinning hugely. The man had the audacity to wink at him as he straightened, took his cigar out of his mouth and flicked it into the sand at Gaav's feet. With that, he turned and sauntered off to the other side of the camp.

"Well, you've really screwed up this time," a voice said from the vicinity of his elbow. Gaav whirled and found Stacia standing there glaring at him. "When are you going to learn?"

"Shut up," he snarled, ripped back the tent flap and stomped inside. "Zaira!" he growled.

"Go away!" she snapped back at him. "I can't believe you just did that! Do you know how that makes me feel?" She turned to face him with her eyes snapping angrily at him. "Like a thing! Nothing more than one of your possessions!"

Smothering his first impulse to yell back at her, he straightened and took a deep breath. "Zaira, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

"What do you mean you didn't mean--" she started only to realize what he'd just said and stop short. "You...what?" Blinking with surprise, she straightened and looked up at him.

"I said I was sorry. I..." He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I shouldn't have done that. I didn't want to make you feel like an object; my intention was to stop that bastard from ogling you."

"You..." Her anger washed away completely, and she looked at him intently. He shuffled his feet a bit and avoided her eyes. She smiled slyly and laughed softly. "You were jealous," she said.

"Jealous?" he snapped. He looked up and pinned her with eyes as cold as steel. "I was not!"

"You were," she said, moving closer and deliberately swaying her hips in the way he particularly liked.

He felt his own cheeks flush as she did and looked away. "I just didn't like him looking at you the way he was."

"Really?" she crooned softly, sidling up to him and slipping her hands into his pockets and into his hands.

"Yeah," he conceded sulkily and halfway pulled away.

"No," she said softly and pulled him back. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "For jumping to conclusions and yelling at you." Her cheeks reddened at she looked up at him through her thick lashes, suddenly shy. "It's actually kind of...I don't know. Sweet."

"Sweet?" Indignation made him stand up straight. "I'm not sweet."

"Okay, maybe not sweet, but...something like that," she insisted and stood on her toes and leaned against him. She pulled her hands out of his pockets, pulling his hands out as well and wrapping them around her.

"I'm not," he insisted, but a small smile played around the corners of his mouth. He tightened his arms around her and held her close.

"And what if I said I liked it?"

"I'd..." He trailed off and shrugged, giving up. "I'll...live with it. As long as you don't tell anyone, because if you do, I'll deny it."

"Okay," she agreed. "Now..." She took one hand and slipped it inside his coat. "You were saying something about getting me out of these trousers?"

The smile widened into a lecherous grin. "Yeah, I was, matter of fact."

"Well," she drawled, giving him a come-hither look. "You'll just have to wait."

"..." He stared down at her. "What? Why?"

"Because we've still got a lot to do before we can be alone, that's why." She moved as if to pull away, giving him a cheeky grin, but he pulled her back and held her tightly against him.

"Now who says we can't get you out of those trousers right now?" He hauled her up and pulled her legs around his waist.

"Gaavan, not now," she said sternly, though she pulled herself up (using the lapels of his coat as handholds) and covered his mouth with her own to kiss him soundly.

"Mmm...Again I ask you, why not?" He moved his hands along her back.

"Hey! Are you two going to come out and help with setting up the camp or are you going to stay in there and make out all night?"

Zaira smiled at Gaavan and winked. "That's why," she said.

"I can take care of that," he growled, setting her on her feet and turning to the intruder. "Who invited you?" he demanded.

"No one. I invited myself. And why? Because I'm not cooking dinner all by myself." Stacia stood there, one hand on her hip and her head cocked to the side and looked at him undaunted.

Zaira laughed softly and touched Gaav's arm lightly. "Gaavan, enough. We'll have time later," she said with a wink. She pushed past him, linked her arm with Stacia's and led her out of the tent before Gaav could say anything. She caught the deadly glare that the tall man directed at Stacia's back and gave him a wink and an eyebrow waggle before slipping out of the tent.

Gaav sighed and followed them out of the tent. The woman was right; now wasn't a good time. Though, if he caught her up and dragged her off to those rocks he'd spotted, they could be back before anyone really noticed...His pleasant scheming was interrupted as he spotted the annoying merc from the Sanket caravan. Curling his lip, he put his plans on hold and grabbed up his tack to drag it into the tent and stow it for the night. Afterwards, he came out and sat outside the tent, and watched the other man with one eye, while keeping an eye on Zaira with the other, all the while conspicuously sharpening and polishing his sword.

* * *

Later, when the sun had gone down and the men were finishing the last of the simple stew and hard bread that was their evening meal, Gaav was lounging with the merc company, laughing and joking, but always with a watchful eye on Callum. The other merc sat nearly in shadow, but not separate from the group; Gaav heard the raucous jokes he and a couple of others shared among themselves.

"Hey, Vharen," one of the mercs called. "Get your flute and give us some music," one of the mercs from the Sanket caravan called suddenly.

"Yeah, Vharen," others echoed. "We want some music. You too, Beld. Get your drums and entertain us."

Vharen and Beld grinned and quickly retrieved their instruments, rejoined the circle and began to play. At first they played simple bar songs, which the men all joined in belting out the sometimes raunchy lyrics, only to have Danz and Fulgar yell at them to tone it down, there were women in the camp. That brought a few off-color comments and another round of laughter.

A touch on his shoulder drew Gaav's attention away from the group. He looked up and found Zaira smiling down at him. She'd changed from the trousers she'd worn that day into a loose blouse and a wide, flouncy skirt that flowed around her ankles; a black shawl was wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. He grinned and covered her hand with his. "Isn't it late?" she asked, sitting down next to him and leaning against him.

"Nah. It's early," he said, putting an arm around her and holding her close.

"What about--" What she'd been about to say was lost as Beld, the drummer from the Sanket caravan, shouted.

"Hey! I know you!" He waved his mug at the red-haired couple. Zaira tensed and drew back against Gaav. He gripped her arm tightly as he glared at Beld.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're from Carana, right?" he said, sitting up now. "The girl, at least. I've been there; I've seen her." He looked at Zaira and grinned. "You're the dancer at that tavern on the riverfront. The..." He snapped his fingers as he fought to regain the memory. "The Dancing Ki-riin, right? Ain't I right, Vharen?"

"No--" Zaira began.

"Yeah!" Vharen added as he stared at Zaira. She blushed and pulled her shawl over her head. "That is her! I remember!" Beld and Vharen were leaning forward now, both eagerly looking at Zaira.

"C'mon," Beld said, setting his drum in front of him and rapping out a steady rhythm. "Dance for us."

"I..." Zaira looked up at Gaav, who was watching her closely. "I don't dance. Not any more."

"What? You can't mean that!" Vharen lowered his flute and stared in undisguised disbelief at her. "But, you were the best dancer we've ever seen! I'll never forget that show!"

"Gaavan, you've been holding out on us," another merc, this one who'd traveled with them from Carana. "We've had a dancer here and you haven't said anything?"

"I think this calls for a dance," said another one.

"No, I can't--" Zaira's voice took on a panicked note as she shrank back against Gaav.

"Shut up," he growled. "All of you. If she doesn't want to dance, she doesn't have to."

"But that makes no sense. She was..." Beld gestured widely and looked up at the heavens as he tried to find words. "It was like watching a goddess come to earth."

Raising an eyebrow at Beld's impassioned declaration of Zaira's talents, Gaav looked down at Zaira. Her cheeks were spots of high color, but he could feel the fear ebb. "Zaira?" he said softly. "Why don't you dance for them?"

She snapped around; her eyes pleaded with him. "I couldn't! I swore I'd never dance for men again!" Her voice, however defiant, held a note of sadness.

He was quiet a moment while Beld regaled the others with descriptions of Zaira's dancing. He had to agree with him; Zaira's dancing was something lovely to behold. After a moment, he leaned close and whispered, "Then dance for yourself."

"What?" Her eyes went wide and she stared at him.

"Dance for yourself," he repeated.

"But--"

"Zaira, dancing is in your s..." He hesitated then amended what he had been going to say. "It's in your blood. It's you. You shouldn't deny what you are."

"But it was just something--"

"No," he said firmly, cupping her chin in his huge hand. "It's what you are. You danced to survive, that was all. Don't deny what you are just to deny what you did." His lips curved upwards in a smile. "Besides, I like the way you do that thing with your hips."

She blushed and snapped her mouth shut as he winked at her. "You...All right. I'll dance. But I won't dance for myself."

"Zaira--"

"I'll dance for you." She pulled her chin out of his grip and rose in one fluid motion then leaned forward to whisper. "And you can watch my hips all you want." She stole a quick kiss before he could react then back-pedaled out of his reach. Clapping sharply, she kicked off her sandals, and danced off into the circle.

She was met with hoots of appreciation. Gaavan leaned back on the carpet on which he sat and propped himself on his elbow to watch her. Her feet settled into the rhythm that Beld set with his drum; in fact, she challenged Beld to keep up with her. Vharen took up his flute and wove a haunting melody through the drumbeat; Zaira turned her attention to him, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she pulled her shawl from around her shoulders and tied it low on her hips. The fringe on it moved in time with her movements, accentuating them.

Hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, Zaira moved into her dance. The glow from the fire highlighted her curves and turned her hair into a wild halo. As she moved, she caught up one side of her skirt and tucked it into the waistband and then did the same on the other side so her legs wouldn't get caught up in the yards and yards of fabric. Her blouse was knotted up underneath her breasts and the sleeves pulled down off her shoulders. The men cheered as she kicked up the sand around the fire and moved sinuously around the camp.

Gaav leaned back on the cushion and watched her through slitted eyes. She'd changed quite a bit since the first time he'd met her; her strength was no longer hidden behind a wall of fear and distrust. She still had quite a ways to go, but she was well on the way there. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin as she danced close to him, turned and purposely swayed her hips in that way he so loved. This rendered him incapable of coherent thought, so he turned his attention to her sensuous dance. The firelight turned to liquid gold where it touched her skin, her hair to a cloud of sparks. It was her eyes that held him most, though: Green as a cat's and just as enigmatic and intense.

The dance whirled to a frenzied end amidst a burst of hooting and whistles. Zaira struck a pose and held it a moment, breathing deeply (which did interesting things to her neckline) as she labored for breath. She turned and caught his eyes with her own; those belladonna eyes were sparking with triumph. Taking a deep breath, she dropped her arms with a flourish and flounced back to her seat next to Gaav. He shifted so that he was curled around her and she was leaning back against his chest. As he pushed her wild curls away from her neck, he could feel her heart beating furiously against her ribs. Her pulse fluttered wildly against his lips as he touched them to her bare skin.

"Well?" she asked, arching her neck against his kiss.

"Hmmm..." he breathed, trailing kisses down to her shoulder. "I love watching you dance."

"Really?" she breathed softly, turning to meet his lips with her own.

"You know I do." The words were whispered against her lips before he pressed his own against hers in a kiss. When he pulled back, she was breathless. Carefully tucking her head under his chin, he whispered to her, "How about we go find someplace a little more private?"

She laughed softly, twisting her fingers in his shirt. "I don't know..." she said softly. "I'm really tired."

"Like hell," he said. He put his fingers under her chin and raised her face so he could look into her eyes. As he knew they would be, her eyes were sparkling with mischief. "You're as worked up as I am."

Grinning like an imp, she nodded and tugged at his lapels. "So what are you going to do about it?" she asked teasingly.

He leaned forward and growled softly. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do--No, I'll show you." With that, he caught her up in his arms and rose in one smooth gesture. She squealed and clung to him.

"Oh, would you two go on already? Until you do, I won't be able to get any sleep." Stacia flopped back on the cushions and threw an arm over her eyes. Zaira blushed furiously while Gaav just flashed Stacia a wicked grin as he carried his partner out of the circle of firelight. He passed the tent completely and disappeared into the darkness. "Good riddance to ya!" the dark-haired woman called after them. "Don't wake me up when you finally come to bed!"

Sighing heavily, Stacia climbed to her feet and shook out her skirts. Gathering up the cushions, she smacked them together to remove the sand and headed towards the tent she shared with Gaavan and Zaira. Those two wouldn't be back for a while and it would be best to get settled before they did return. She shook her head and grinned to herself; it was nice seeing Zaira happy after so many years of being frightened of her own shadow. But it was also a bit annoying at times, too, because they tended to be quite noisy and enthusiastic when engaged in lovemaking. Fortunately, she'd pestered Gaavan enough at the beginning that he'd gotten the hint and started taking Zaira out into the desert for some privacy. And it saved her having to listen to them.

As she reached the flap of her tent, the sound of someone kicking their boot against one of the wagons made her turn. Behind her, on the edge of the camp leaning against the wagon in which she and Zaira rode during the day, was the wild-haired merc that had joined the caravan that day. He was looking at her and grinning; the firelight caught in his eyes and made them glow like the end of his twisted plug of smokeweed that he held tightly between his teeth. As she glanced at him, he raised his hand to his forehead and grinned, showing elongated teeth; between those teeth and the glowing eyes, he looked even more feral and dangerous than ever.

Stacia rolled her eyes at him and made a noise of disgust. Without looking back, she entered the tent, dropped the cushions on the rugs (saving a couple for herself) then went behind the partition that marked her section of the tent. She sat and a grey ball of fur immediately climbed into her lap, complaining loudly about how long she'd taken. "Quiet, Remy," she said as she stroked him while settling down for the night. The cat snuggled up against her hip and purred loudly enough to rattle her bones while kneading furiously at the quilted blanket she pulled over herself. Once she'd settled down, Remy crept upwards, curling himself up close in her arms and together they fell asleep.

* * *

Dawn was just beginning to silver the eastern sky when Gaav was awoken by a persistent tickling at his temple. He pulled a hand free of the twisted quilts and Zaira's slim arms and tried to push whatever it was that had woken him away. The offending party simply transferred their attention to his hand. "Hey," he said groggily, and tried to pull his hand away only to feel a set of sharp teeth and claws sink into his skin. "Hey!" he repeated, and made as if to sit up. However, a heavy weight on his hair kept him from going more than halfway. A blood-curdling howl jolted him fully awake as something covered with grey fur clawed and pulled at his hair. "Stacia!" he roared, grabbing a handful of his hair and trying to pull the cat out of it. "Get your mangy feline away from me or so help me--" His threat went unspoken as the cat finally managed to disentangle himself from Gaav's hair and streaked towards the hanging curtain which Stacia had just pulled aside, disappearing under her skirts.

"Don't you dare touch my cat!" she shouted at him.

"Then keep him out of here!" he shouted back, snatching the quilts back around his waist.

"Can't do that," she said flippantly. "It's my tent, too."

"She has a point, Gaavan," Zaira said sleepily from the nest of bedcovers.

Gaav whirled around and glared at her. "Then we'll find somewhere else for her to sleep. I'm tired of waking up with that monster in my hair!"

"It's not my fault he likes your hair," Stacia said, squatting down and pulling the cat in question out of his hiding place. He glared at Gaav, murder in his eyes, as he snuggled into his mistress' arms. "Though why he does is beyond me." And with that, she turned abruptly and pulled the curtain down.

Growling, Gaav turned back to Zaira, who quickly hid her smile under a fold of the quilt. Not fast enough, however. Giving her a disgusted look, he lumbered out of bed and dragged on his trousers. Grabbing up his clothes and sword, he stalked out of the tent nearly ripping the flap off in the process and leaving his treacherous mate and her slightly mocking eyes behind. Outside, the camp had already started stirring and someone had built up the cookfire near the tent and set a samovar to heating water for the morning brew. He dumped his sword on the ground and finished dressing. Leaning over, he took the samovar and one of the cups set nearby and poured the fragrant water into it. As he brought it up to blow on the concoction, he reflected that he could really do with a cup of coffee. Good, strong and black. But coffee was half a world away and all he had was this strange mixture of herbs they drank here. Sighing, he sipped at it anyway.

Slowly the camp came awake around him: Drivers rose and started gathering up their animals, harnessing and feeding them, checking hooves and equipment, and finally checking the wagons. The smell of cooking food drew the rest of the guards and the few merchants who were traveling with them out of their tents, including Zaira and Stacia. Gaav didn't look up as he heard the women approach him from behind and put her arms around his neck.

"Good morning," she said softly in his ear. He grunted in response and sipped his brew. "Oh, you're angry, aren't you?" she said teasingly, apparently not concerned at all.

"And if I was?" he muttered, eyeing Stacia evilly as she squatted by the cooking fire and started making their morning meal. "Would it make any difference?"

"No." Zaira's eyes were dancing mischievously as she came around to sit next to him.

Glaring at her, he muttered into his cup. "Figures."

"Oh, come on, Gaavan," she said, leaning forward and smiling at him. "Is there really anything to get upset about?"

"Yes, there is," he said, pulling away from her.

"You're being silly."

"I am not silly!" he nearly shouted. "That damn cat--"

"Likes you. It's nothing to get so upset about. It was nearly time to get up anyway."

Knowing that if he continued this, he'd just end up looking as silly as she claimed, he gave her a black look but did not comment further. Instead, he drained his cup, set it down, grabbed up his sword and stood abruptly. "I'm going to join the others."

"You haven't eaten yet!" Zaira exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

"I'll get something later."

"Let him go, Zaira," Stacia said over her shoulder. "He's so pissy in the morning."

"Because of your--dammit." With that, he stamped off. Shaking his head, he told himself he shouldn't let it get to him, but he couldn't help it. It was too damn early in the morning. So he headed off to make a circuit of the camp and work the irritation off with a little exercise. What he really wanted was a good fight, something to let off a little steam; things had been a little too quiet lately. They hadn't stopped for longer than a night in one place and that didn't allow for any training which would at least relieve the boredom a little. Give him something to do until he could have Zaira all to himself.

As he stalked around the camp, exchanging bits of conversation with the other men, he eventually found the new merc Callum leaning against a wagon and staring out into the desert. He was idly tossing the hook he seemed to favor as a weapon up and down, catching it lightly so that the chain hardly made a sound. Gaav raised his eyebrows, impressed; that hook was heavier than it looked. An unusual weapon, he thought to himself. He'd never seen anything like it before and wondered how well it actually functioned as a weapon. His attention was diverted as the other man stopped and held the hook in readiness. His posture went rigid as if he'd spotted something in the gray twilight, then with one swift motion, he drew the hook back and sent it flying out into the darkness.

There was a high-pitched squeal and a soft scuffle before the other man started reeling in his catch. Curious, Gaav stepped closer to see what had been impaled on the end of the hook. He looked up in surprise as he recognized one of the huge desert rats that lived among the rocks; they were the size of a small pig, vicious and fast. Callum pulled up the chain and displayed his catch to Gaav with a savage grin. "Breakfast," he said as he brushed past Gaav and headed for a cookfire. Gaav watched him go, suppressed a shudder, and continued on with his rounds of the camp.

* * *

"I wouldn't worry about it." Stacia stirred the porridge that simmered over their little cookfire. "He'll be back when he settles down and everything will be fine. Believe me. He's just a pissy bastard in the morning." She sat back on her heels and rethought her observation. "Well, he's a pissy bastard all the time, but even more so in the morning."

"He is not," Zaira said from the other side of the fire where she was cooking the bread. "He's not like that at all."

"He is. You're just too close to see it." The dark-haired woman looked up and gave Zaira a crooked smile. "Hard to see how pissy someone can be when you're laying under him."

As expected, Zaira blushed and threw her a sharp look. Suddenly realizing that her friend was deliberately goading her for a reaction, she just glared at her friend and flicked a bit of flour at her. "Stop it."

"Stop what? Telling it like it is?" She grinned back insolently.

"Oh, just stop." The red-haired girl twitched a loaf away from the fire and tested it for doneness. "You're so awful."

"Well, so is he, threatening my cat!"

"He wouldn't have done anything to Remy."

"Yeah, right. He was going to kick him! I just know it!"

"He was not. But you have to admit that getting woken up by Remy licking your hair before dawn is cause for being grouchy."

"It is not. He does it to me everyday and I'm not grouchy."

Zaira looked at Stacia. "You are."

"I am not! Not as pissy as that overgrown boyfriend of yours."

"He is not pissy! You just don't understand him, that's all. Gaavan is...well, he can be gruff at times--"

"Like all the time?" Stacia muttered under her breath. Zaira sent her a stern glance but ignored the interruption.

"He can be kind and thoughtful, too."

The other woman rolled her eyes and made gagging sounds. "Please, Zaira. Not before breakfast. My stomach can't handle it. Gaavan is kind and thoughtful to you; to everyone else he's a pissy bastard. And especially to my cat!" She stirred the porridge a bit too forcefully and sent the pot spilling into the fire. "Oh, damn." The spoon followed the pot into the fire.

Zaira looked at her friend a moment then moved around the fire to sit by her friend. "Stacia, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She refused to look at her friend.

"There's something wrong, love. Tell me what it is."

"It's nothing!"

"Stacia."

For a moment, Zaira thought Stacia wasn't going to answer her. However, the other woman sighed and shrugged. "I'm just...I dunno, Zaira. I'm glad you've got Gaavan, but it seems everything is 'Gaavan this,' and 'Gaavan that.'" You don't seem to have much time for me any more."

Zaira blinked. "That's not true...is it?"

"It is. You're always with him, thinking about him and what he wants." She glanced up then away quickly. "Well, maybe not all the time, but a lot of it." When Zaira didn't say anything, Stacia looked up and into her eyes. "Well, maybe not even that much, but still, when you're with me, it's always like you're just waiting for Gaavan to come back, you're wondering what Gaavan is up to, or what he'd like to do. It's...not like it was before."

The red-haired woman lowered her eyes and looked away. "I didn't think it was that bad--"

"It is," Stacia said flatly.

"But, I mean...he's...he's a big part of my life now."

"I understand that, Zaira, but aren't I still a part of your life, too? We were like sisters before he came along, and now..." She shrugged. "Now, it's like I'm just there."

"That's not true!" Zaira exclaimed. "How can you think that? You're still just as important to me!"

"I can't help how I feel, Zaira," Stacia said. Her lips thinned into a line as she suddenly stood up. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to start packing up my things." And before Zaira could say anything else, she'd left the cookfire and went into the tent.

Upset and feeling more than a little guilty, Zaira sat and stared at the fire without really seeing it. Stacia's words kept replaying over and over in her head, along with a host of explanations, rebuttals and excuses. All of which were as hollow as she felt at the moment.

So engrossed in her personal misery, she didn't hear Gaavan approach. It took him kicking something into the fire and causing a shower of sparks to break her out of herself. "Huh?" she said with a start, sitting back and belatedly batting at the sparks. "What are you doing?"

"It was on fire," Gaav said, sitting down next to her.

"What was?"

"I don't know. Whatever was over there." He pointed and Zaira looked.

"Oh, gods!" she shouted, scrambling around the fire. "The bread! I burned it!"

"No bread?" he asked.

Grimly, she shook her head.

"Oh, well. I guess it's porridge this morning."

Zaira looked at the gummy mess on the other side of the fire. "Uh...It got dumped in the fire, too."

Gaavan looked at her from under those bushy brows of his. "No breakfast?"

Sighing heavily, Zaira shook her head. "I'm sorry, Gaavan, but..." Her throat constricted and she suddenly couldn't breathe. She turned away, her eyes burning and tried to hide her distress from him.

"Zaira?" She felt his hand on her arm as he pulled her gently around. "What's wrong?" She tried to pull away but his hold was gentle but relentless. "Has someone hurt you?"

"No, no. It's not that," she said, quickly wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She tried to smile, but knew it was probably as wan as she felt.

"Then what?" He looked at her. "Tell me."

She resisted, but after a moment settled down next to him. "I...I just had a little argument with Stacia."

A moment of silence. Then, "That's all?"

Startled, she looked up at him sharply. "What do you mean that's all?"

He shrugged. "Just that. I don't know why you're getting so upset over it. She'll get over it soon enough."

She stared at him incredulously a moment before jumping up and glaring down at him. "You just don't understand sometimes." And then she stormed off in the direction of the wagon.

Gaavan stared after her, eyebrows raised. "What did I say?"

* * *

"Hey, you're going to hurt yourself trying to lift that all by your little self," a voice said behind her. Zaira looked up and saw the tall, wild-haired merc that had joined the caravan yesterday. She let go of the trunk she was hauling through the sand toward the wagon she and Stacia normally shared during the day. "Let me help you with that," he said, flashing her a toothy grin, and bent to pick up the heavy trunk and swung it effortlessly onto his shoulder, muscles bulging as he did so. He carried it to the wagon, lifted it into the bed and gave it a shove into place.

"Thanks," Zaira said, more than a little intimidated by his size and sheer force of presence. It was like being around Gaavan in a way. Which is to say that this new merc didn't just fill the space he occupied: He dominated it. He was nearly as tall as the red-haired man, and perhaps a few inches wider in the shoulder, and just as heavily muscled.

He gave her another of those lupine smiles and winked at her. "Not a problem. Always a pleasure to be helping the little ladies like yourself." He straightened and put his hands on his hips; it was then that Zaira noticed the huge chain and hook he wore wrapped around his right forearm.

She backed away a little nervously as he continued to grin hungrily at her. Muttering something incoherent, she turned and hurried back towards the tent which Gaavan was helping to take down and roll up to be stowed on the wagon. On the way, she passed Stacia, carrying Remy's wicker cage and a bag, but quickly averted her eyes and pretended not to notice as she passed. Her chest contracted as she did so, but she just didn't know what to say or how to say it. Sighing, she checked the last of the bags to make sure everything was packed then waited for the men to finish furling the tent.

With a pang, Stacia noticed how Zaira avoided her gaze when she passed, and almost called out to her friend, but her stubborn streak stopped her. She was still upset and she was damned if she was going to apologize first. It hadn't been her fault it all started anyway. Though...It wasn't entirely Zaira's fault, either. Mostly it was that big red-headed bastard's fault for being such a...a...bastard.

"Screw him," Stacia muttered, hefting Remy's carrier higher so it wouldn't bang against her leg. Her head was down, so she literally bumped into the figure standing by the wagon and helping to lash down the trunks. She staggered backwards, dropping her bag and making a desperate grab for Remy's carrier so it wouldn't go crashing to the ground. "Hey!" she yelled. "Watch where I'm going!" Her poor cat was howling bloody murder as she tried to right the cage and soothe him at the same time. "It's okay, Remy. You don't have to cry any more..."

"Can I help you with that?" a rough, drawling voice said from somewhere above her head.

"No, it's all right. He'll calm down in a minute," she said without looking up. "Calm down, Remy! For heaven's sake, it's not like I dropped you or anything, you stupid cat."

She was right: After only a few moments, Remy's cries subsided to the mere pitiful mewling he always made when confined to the cage. "There. Okay, in the wagon you go." Stacia stood up and came face-to-face with the one responsible for Remy's outrage. Or rather, face-to-stomach for he towered over her. She took a step back and looked up and kept on looking up. Above the torn green, skin-tight shirt, his pale skin and strange tattooed markings on his face, coupled with the wild shock of black hair, he presented what might have been a fearsome countenance to anyone else. To Stacia, however, he was just a nuisance who'd upset her cat.

"What the hell ya got in there, anyway?" the big man asked, tipping the carrier towards him so he could see inside. "Sounds like some sort of wild animal."

Stacia snatched the basket away, which set Remy to howling again. "You leave my cat alone!" she snapped. "He's been traumatized enough today."

Holding up his hands, the man backed away. "Sorry. Didn't mean to upset you--or your cat." He grinned at her.

"What's so damn funny?" she demanded as she stepped around him and set Remy's basket on the wagon.

"Nothing'," he said, leaning against the wagon and folding his arms over his enormous chest. Something about that casual pose of his, combined with the insolent sneer made her breath catch. Which, in turn, made her face flush angrily.

"Then why don't you go away and bother someone else?" She turned her back on him and caught the rail to pull herself up. Suddenly, two huge hands wrapped themselves around her waist and lifted her effortlessly off the ground, causing her to gasp as her feet dangled in the air for one perilous moment before she was set on her feet in the bed of the wagon.

"There you go," the merc said amiably, steadying her on her feet. Stacia was about to stammer her thanks when his hand slid around and patted her posterior in an overly familiar way.

Her reaction was automatic and violent: Spinning around, her hand flung out and fingers open, she smacked him hard on the cheek. There was enough force behind it that she left behind a red mark against his pale skin. "You bastard!" she screeched, glaring down at him with murder in her eyes.

If she expected him to react with anger, she was disappointed. Instead, he merely grinned a toothy, lecherous grin at her. "You got spirit," he said with a wink and a leer. "I likes that." And with a smart, insolent salute at her, he turned and sauntered away.

The dark-haired woman watched him go, unconsciously rubbing her smarting hand on her hip where he'd patted her. "Jerk," she muttered, but with not as much conviction as she would have liked.

"MROWR!"

Immediately dismissing the merc, Stacia crouched and pulled the basket towards her. "Remy, what's your problem?" she groused as she situated him in the shade of the cover. Carefully unhooking the door, she reached in and petted him a few moments to try and calm him. "It's okay, you silly cat. We'll be on our way soon." Finally getting him settled, she hooked his door closed and set about settling the rest of the trunks and bags.

* * *

The sun was still a couple hours from setting when Fulgar signaled a stop at a tiny oasis for the night. "We'll be going through the canyons tomorrow, and I want to get an early start and get through to the first camp well before nightfall," he explained. It would take them more than a week to ride through the canyons, but because they were good hideouts for bandits, the caravan companies had set up camps which were manned by guards year-round. Each was a small fortress; each was spaced about a day's travel apart, and each would provide protections against marauder attacks.

So the caravan halted for the night, tents were set up and meals started cooking long before darkness was about to fall. This left the merchants and passengers with a little extra time to do some simple chores they had not previously had the time to do, such as wash clothing, or (in the women's case) wash themselves in the tiny pool of clear water nestled at the base of some concealing rocks and a couple of scraggly palm trees. The two female mercs neatly kept the men at bay and provided them with some much needed privacy.

However, that didn't warm the atmosphere between Zaira and Stacia any. Stacia kept to one end of the pool while Zaira kept to the other. Several times Zaira tried to speak to Stacia, but the dark-haired woman pretended not to hear or notice. She bathed quickly, dried and dressed just as quickly and left before Zaira could work up the courage to do more. Dejectedly, Zaira finished her bath, and dressed slowly.

"What's up her butt?" Dana, the taller of the two women said as she unbuckled her sword belt.

"Huh?"

Dana carefully leaned her sword against a rock and then removed her shoulder guards. "The brown-haired girl. Your friend. She was giving you the cold shoulder. You two are usually so friendly, I'd expect you to be helping wash the other's hair. This is the only opportunity you'll have for at least a week." She sat down and removed the greaves strapped to her legs.

"It's...It's nothing. Just an argument." Zaira slowly picked up her wet trousers and blouse and shook them out. They were already starting to dry in the warm, dry air of the desert heat.

"Oh?" Rulic said as she came around to the other side of the pool. She still had her sword strapped around her waist; her hand was resting casually on the hilt. "What about?"

"Nothing, really." Zaira sought for a way to avoid their questions; she felt as ill-at-ease around them as she did around most of the men in the caravan.

"Has to have been something," Dana said, her voice muffled by her tunic as she tried to pull it over her head. "Damn, I'm stuck," she muttered.

"Just like you, Dana," Rulic said as she watched the other guard struggle with the laces of her tunic.

"Here," Zaira said, draping her clothing over her arm. "They're tangled in your hair." She stepped around and carefully helped pull the laces from Dana's long blonde hair.

"Thanks," the merc said as she finished pulling the tunic over her head.

"Welcome," Zaira said. "Thanks for being the lookout for us," she said quickly. "It was nice to be able to have a bath and be clean again."

"Not a problem," Rulic said with a strange grin. "Not when we've got such nice eye candy."

The red-haired girl blinked and looked at Rulic questioningly. Nothing in the merc's face changed, but suddenly Zaira's face flushed as red as her hair and she cleared her throat. "Yes, well...Thanks again. I...I need to get back and start the bread for dinner." Clutching her clothes, she backed away a few more steps before turning and hurrying back to her tent.

"Rulic, you're evil." Dana gave her friend a sharp glare. "Teasing her like that."

Rulic shook back her shoulder-length brown hair and gave Dana a wink. "But it's fun."

* * *

While the women and merchants made themselves busy with mundane tasks, the off-duty mercs found themselves with some free time on their hands. Some of them broke out a set of dice and started a game, while others rounded up for a bit of weapons practice. Gaav moved around the camp, hands thrust deep in his pockets and a scowl plastered firmly across his face. Today had been a shitty day: Zaira had hardly spoken two words to him, and when he suggested they go off to find a private bit of shade, she'd curtly told him she wanted a bath. And that mouthy friend of hers had gone off after her; the two swordswomen who were part of the guard retinue followed her. No way to sneak in and help Zaira wash her back. And he was pretty pissed about it, too. So now he was roaming the outskirts of the camp looking for some way to let off a little of the steam that was building up.

As he rounded a small collection of rocks north of the oasis pool, he found a small group of mercs practicing with wooden clubs. He paused, more because he had nothing else to do than out of any real interest, and watched a moment. Again, out of a lack of anything better to do, he leaned against a tall rock and disinterestedly observed the other mercs. Idly, he observed their form, noting their deficiencies and strengths; after just a few minutes, he felt he could send each and every one of them into the dust in less than a minute.

Sighing, he was about to push away from the rock and continue on his restless wandering. There was no one here worthy of his skills or time. However, just as he was about to leave, another man joined the circle.

"Is this a private party or can anyone join in?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed up one of the wooden practice swords; in his huge hand, it looked like a mere stick. He gave it an experimental swing, then grabbed up another one.

One of the other mercs, a large man called Dog (more for his smell than his intelligence), grinned and moved out in front of the new combatant. "Sure, if ya think ya got what it takes," he said, taking a double grip on his practice sword and lowering into a ready stance.

Callum gave him a dubious look. "Izzat all ya got?" he said to the group at large. "One skinny twerp for me to dance with?

Dog laughed mockingly; he was well over six feet tall and nearly top-heavy with muscle. However, next to the pale-skinned Callum he did look underdeveloped. "You calling me a skinny twerp?" he sneered.

"I am," Cal said, lazily twirling both practice swords in his hands.

"Camera and say that at my face, you pale bastard," Dog growled.

"C'mon," Callum said, putting both swords in one hand and switching his cigar to the other side of his mouth. His grin showed off his elongated teeth. "Ain't there no one else willing to join in the fun?"

"I will," another of the mercs said. He grabbed up one of the wooden swords and faced off against Callum opposite of Dog. "If nothing' else than to shut yer pie hole."

Callum's grin was practically demonic. "This is more like it." He gripped is cigar tightly between his teeth and shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. He held the wooden swords loosely, almost carelessly, Gaav noticed. But he also noticed that the appearance was carefully executed; he could see that Callum's weight was precisely balanced and he was ready to move in any direction to counter an attack.

With a mighty shout, the two mercs rushed the dark-haired Callum. He twisted between them, bringing his swords up to deflect their blows, sending them spinning wide of their mark. Before they could recover, he brought the swords down in a one-two series of blows, landing them squarely on their rears. Both of them stumbled forward from the sheer force behind the blows, but caught themselves. As they turned, Callum was already there, and the wooden swords descended again. Dog was felled by another one-two series, then the other found a foot hooked under his bent leg. He was sent sprawling on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

Turning with incredible speed for someone of his size, Callum was able to intercept Dog's overhand blow on one sword, while bringing the other one in low and whaling him soundly across the midsection. Dog's eyes bulged and he doubled over in pain, arms wrapped around his stomach. Callum raised both swords high overhead and brought them crashing down on the other man's back, splintering both of them. Dog dropped heavily into the sand, arse-upwards and groaning in pain. With a sneer, the tall, pale-skinned merc threw the remains of his swords onto the other man's posterior and looked around.

"Izzat the best ya can do?" He poked Dog in the side with his toe and looked and sounded bored. "Didn't even break a sweat."

"Is that the best you can do?" an equally bored voice said.

Callum looked up and around at the speaker, and a grin spread across his face. "Well, well, well, if it ain't the red-haired fancy boy." He took the cigar out of his mouth and spat into the dust at his feet. "You want to find out what I can do?"

Gaav looked at him a moment before pushing against the rock. He faced down the other man with an insolent grin. "It will be a way to pass--what? A whole five minutes." Unbuttoning his coat, he strode slowly into the circle.

The other man grinned and flicked his cigar into the sand. "You sure you want to get yourself all dirty?"

"You sure you want to get your head knocked in?" Shrugging off his coat, he tossed it to one of the other mercs standing around then started on his shirt.

"You just try it," Callum said, grabbing up another of the wooden practice swords and swinging it around.

"I'm going to do more than try," Gaav said, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it aside; the sun glistened off his sun-bronzed skin, outlining his hard musculature. He held out his hand and the merc that took his coat slapped a practice sword into it.

"Good. I ain't broke a sweat during a fight in ages." He flexed his fingers around the grip of the sword and waited, grinning like a rabid wolf.

Gaav strode to the opposite side of the rough circle, casually flipping the practice sword end over end and catching it. "That's hard to believe judging by the reek."

"Izzat supposed to hurt my feelings?"

"No," the red-haired man said with a grin as he turned to face his opponent. The practice sword hung loosely in his hand by his side; the other rested on his hip as he looked Callum up and down. "That was my sense of smell screaming for mercy."

"Are you two going to fight or are you going to just insult each other to death?" came a shout from the growing ring of spectators.

Lifting his wooden sword, Gaav pointed in the direction of the voice. "I'll deal with you later, Tarken," he growled.

"You'd better deal with me now!" Callum shouted as he rushed at the taller man, sword drawn back. He rushed in low, aiming a heavy blow for Gaav's midsection. With incredible speed, he brought the wooden sword around in a deadly arc--

And went flying backwards as Gaav's sword stopped him cold before he could do more than bring his own weapon level with his shoulders. The power behind the red-haired man's swing sent the shorter man rolling backwards head over heels until he came to a stop against one of the tall standing stones that delineated the sparring area. His chest felt like it was going to explode from the impact and lights danced in front of his eyes because he was having trouble catching his breath. He heard a heavy tread in the sand, and it took him several seconds to get enough oxygen into his lungs so that he could look upwards and focus on the tall, red-haired figure looming over him. It was hard to see the bastard's face, but he could see the sneering grin and the wooden sword propped carelessly over his shoulder.

"Did I say five minutes?" he said. "More like five seconds. And look, I didn't even break a sweat." Laughing malignantly, he turned his back on the downed merc and headed to get his coat. He didn't get more than a few steps before a low growl rose to a feral snarl. Behind him, Callum struck out with a vicious scissors kick and knocked Gaav's feet out from under him. The red-haired man went down hard; Callum jumped up and before Gaav could roll out of the way landed a vicious kick on his side. Rolling with the kick, Gaav managed to avoid most of the damage such a blow could do, but still the wind was knocked out of him.

The former Dark Lord sucked in air against the pain in his side and used the momentum of his roll to bring his feet under him. Just in time to avoid a second kick from the other merc. Grabbing a handful of sand, he threw it at the other man's eyes.

"Frag!" Callum staggered back, blinded momentarily by the dust in his eyes. Gaav straightened, favoring his side, teeth bared in a snarl. Snatching up the wooden sword he'd dropped, he gripped it and rushed at the dark-haired merc.

The sword came down across Callum's shoulders with a thunderous crack as the wood splintered. Callum howled and staggered to his knees, but by now he'd cleared the dust from his eyes. Turning and glaring at Gaav, he bared his long teeth in a wicked snarl and launched himself at the other man. Wrapping his huge arms around Gaav's chest, he twisted, lifted him up and over his back, then slammed him into the dust. The ground reverberated with the crash.

Breathing heavily, Callum stood over Gaav's fallen form with a foot propped on his chest. "Had enough, fancy boy?"

With a sneering grin, Gaav shook his head. "Not at all." As fast as a snake striking, he grabbed Callum's foot, lifted and twisted it in one smooth motion, sending the other man sprawling. Jumping up, he grabbed a handful of the wild black hair and hauled its owner up. "I'm just getting warmed up," he said between clenched teeth before slamming the other man's face into the dust.

With a roar, Callum pushed himself up, reached around and grabbed Gaav's other arm. Ignoring the pain of the other man's hold on him, he drew back his fist and struck. The blow broke Gaav's hold on his hair and sent him staggering back. Callum turned to face him, panting and eyes filled with rage; he grinned as he saw Gaav spit out blood from a cut on his lip. "Are ya now? Don't seem like it to me," he said, wiping dust and sweat out of his mouth.

"Come on, then," Gaav said, beckoning the other man on.

"Oh, you're a glutton for punishment, ain't ya?" Callum said, rushing at the red-haired man.

"No more than you," Gaav muttered as they locked arms. Muscles bulged as they strained for leverage against the other. Like two great titans locked in an eternal struggle, they strove against the other. Callum grabbed his lip between his teeth and bared down until he drew blood; the sticky red fluid mixed with saliva and ran down his chin in a bloody froth. Red eyes bored into blue then sparked evilly as he shifted his weight, bracing it on one leg against his opponent. Without warning, he brought his now free leg up in a swift, vicious kick aimed at the other's genitals.

Anticipating the attack at the last moment, Gaav twisted but only to prevent the full blow from impacting his groin. With a sickening crunch, Callum's knee landed on the outside of his thigh with enough force to bruise to the bone. It crumpled beneath him. Callum, over-balanced now, pitched forward; it took only a slight exertion by Gaav to send him over his back and to land flat on the ground behind him.

Lurching to his feet, Gaav backed away, limping and favoring his injured leg. Callum looked up at him from where he lay on the ground, gasping for breath. "You're pretty good," he muttered between breaths.

Leaning forward and resting his hands on his thighs, Gaav nodded at the other man. "You're not so bad yourself."

Holding up his hand, Callum said, "Truce?"

After a moment's consideration, Gaav nodded and grasped the other man's hand and hauled him to his feet. He caught Callum's fist as it came flying towards him in one hand, and drove his own fist into the other's solar plexus. Callum went down, arms tight around his middle. "How--how did you know?"

Gaav took a step or two backwards. "If I offered you a truce, would you trust me?"

Laughing, Callum shook his head. "Nah. I guess not."

"Then you won't get upset if I do this!" Ignoring his injured leg, Gaav took a step forward and aimed a kick at the other man's jaw. Callum's head snapped back and he went flying backwards and slid to a stop at the base of a large rock and lied still.

"Fuck," Gaav muttered. He hissed in pain as his leg refused to support him; he dropped to one knee in the sand. His mouth was dry and felt disgusting; he spat onto the ground and wasn't surprised to see blood turn the sand dark red. It was then he saw a small, slipper-clad foot and the hem of a blue caftan come into his field of vision. Lifting his head, he came face-to-face with Zaira, who was standing before him and glaring angrily at him. Oh shit, he thought to himself. He grinned wanly at her and said, "Hi."

* * *

Trudging across the camp to the tent she occupied with Zaira and Gaavan, Stacia sighed heavily. She hated arguing with her best and only friend. She felt adrift now, without a safe place to settle. And she could tell that Zaira felt the same, even though she had Gaavan now. She hadn't been able but to help notice that the two of them had been at odds all day. Instead of making her feel better (as she would have expected), it just made her feel worse for causing the friction between them. Settling down heavily on a stone outside the tent, she picked up her comb and set about combing out her wet hair. Perhaps she should try to make some sort of overture towards her friend--

Even as she was thinking this, she noticed there was some sort of excitement going on over on the other side of the camp. Looking up, she rose to her feet and wandered over to the ring of mercs. Standing behind them, she could hear the sounds of some sort of fight going on; the mercs around her were making bets and money was passing hands faster than she'd ever seen it. Using her brush to poke at a few backs, she was able to make it through to the inner circle and see what was going on.

"Oh, shit," she muttered as she watched Gaavan and the new black-haired merc beating on each other. Both of them had blood flowing from numerous cuts and contusions; Gaavan's side was turning a lovely shade of purple even as she watched. Turning, she pushed her way back through the crowd, picked up her skirts and started running back to the tent.

As she neared, she saw Zaira slowly coming towards it from the opposite direction. Forgetting the argument they'd had, and her resentment, she skidded to a stop near her friend. "Zaira!" she shouted. "You've got to come! Quick!" She turned and dragged her friend across the camp.

"Stacia!" Zaira shouted. "What's going on?"

"They're beating each other up," Stacia said.

"Who?"

"Gaavan and that new merc. The tall guy with the pale skin and the weird tattoos."

"What?" Zaira shouted. She caught up the skirts of her caftan and fell into step beside Stacia. When they reached the crowd, Stacia pushed and shoved relentlessly to get through the ringing crowd.

Zaira came up beside her and gasped. "What the hell are they doing?"

"Just a little sparring," replied a merc standing next to them. She looked up and saw that it was Beld.

"It looks like they're beating the shit out of each other," Stacia snapped.

"Well, that's part of what sparring is." He winced and shifted a bit as Callum drove his knee towards Gaavan's privates. "That's gonna leave a mark."

Zaira had gone pale. "He's hurt!" she said weakly, staring at the blood that glistened on his skin.

"But the other guy is hurting, too," Beld said, giving her a wink. She blushed and edged away from him.

"Looks like they're calling a truce--Er, maybe not," Stacia said as Gaavan drove his fist into the other man's midsection then dealt a swift kick to Callum's jaw.

Beld grimaced but his grin was predatory. "I just won myself a pouch full of money," he said, clapping a hand on Zaira's shoulder. "You've got a wicked man there. I've never seen such a good fight before." He moved off to collect his winnings, leaving Zaira and Stacia standing there alone.

Stacia looked at Zaira's face. "I'm going to kill him," her friend said through clenched teeth. Before Stacia could say anything, the red-haired dancer hurried across the sand, hell-bent on murder.

* * *

Zaira glared at Gaavan. "You son of a bitch," she shouted. "What the fuck do you think you were doing?"

He didn't even had the decency to appear chastised or guilty. He just grinned at her and said, "Just having a little sparring match with the shithead over there." He gestured towards Callum; he hadn't moved, but Zaira noticed that his eyes were sparkling evilly.

"Don't give me that. Look at you! You look like you were trying to kill each other!"

"Nah," he said, pushing himself to his feet and trying not to wince as his leg protested. "Just having a little fun, is all."

"This is your idea of fun?" She waved her hands as she gestured at his various wounds. "You're bleeding!"

Gaavan straightened and pushed his hair out of his face. "Nothing serious," he said, still grinning insolently at her. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. It came away smeared with fresh blood. "And besides," he added while he reached for her, "you can nurse be back to health."

"Stop that!" Zaira said, struggling to get away from him. "I'm not doing anything to help you!"

"Aw, why not?" he mumbled, pulling her closer.

She reached down, grabbed her slipper off her foot and started beating at his hands with it. "LET ME GO!"

"Okay, okay!" He let her go and put his hands on his hips. "What's your problem?" he asked, scowling down at her.

Her green eyes flashed like lightning. "You have the audacity to get into a fight then expect me to fawn over you? How dare you?"

"Hey, it wasn't a fight, Zaira. We were just sparring; working out."

She marched up to him and poked his side. He winced and moved away. "That's just sparring? Your whole side is going to turn purple, and you're limping." She tried to keep her voice angry, but couldn't help letting concern modulate her accusation. "You could have really gotten yourself hurt," she said softly.

Gaavan rolled his eyes. "Against him? Zaira, please, have a little more faith in my fighting abilities."

Her eyes hardened and flashed again and she smacked him on a sore spot. "Bastard!"

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Yeah, well, get used to it," she grumbled, grabbing his arm (again aiming for a sore spot) and using him to balance herself while she replaced her slipper. Once she'd done that, she turned and marched away without a second glance.

"Hey!" he called after her. He limped over to where his coat, shirt and sword were piled, grabbed them up and hurried after her. "Zaira, wait!"

Stacia stood by and watched Gaavan hurry after Zaira, each berating the other at the top of their lungs. She sighed and shook her head while smiling wryly to herself. Those two had the oddest relationship she'd ever seen. He might be a bastard to everyone else (including and especially her cat), but at least he cared for Zaira and made sure no harm came to her. And, she had to admit, by extension that included herself (and Remy). After Gaavan and Zaira had made up, she'd talk to Zaira and try and patch up their misunderstanding, as well. Zaira was her best friend; it was ridiculous to let such a minor thing come between them. Well, it wasn't minor, but it wasn't worth the fuss she'd made over it. Okay, it was, but she could be big enough to--

A movement behind her interrupted her train of thought. She turned and stared at the scruffy-looking man who was coming around. He groaned and put a hand to his jaw. He opened his eyes and saw her looking down at him and his face twisted. The tattoos added to the sinister look he directed at her.

"Whutchoo looking at?" he muttered, though his voice was thick and slurred. He pushed himself up and spat out a quantity of blood.

Wrinkling her nose at him and the stench of blood, she shrugged. "A dipshit. I've always wanted to see one up close." Without waiting for a response, she tossed her head and sashayed off across the camp, leaving him to glare after her. After a few strides, she called back over her shoulder, "And stop looking at my ass!"

A lecherous chuckle was her only answer.

* * *

"Honestly, I don't know why I put up with you." Zaira took Gaavan's coat and shirt from him and dumped them on the ground before pushing him onto a low rock. "Sit down and be quiet," she said sternly. "I'll go get some water and bandages." Ducking into the tent, she started digging in her trunk looking for the little box of ointments and salves.

"Damn it," she muttered. "Where did they go?" She pulled out a couple of her caftans in her search. Hearing a step behind her, she didn't look up, but just asked, "Stacia, have you seen my medicine kit?"

"It's right here," her friend said, holding out the polished black box.

"There it is! I thought I put it--" She broke off as she reached for the box, suddenly remembering the argument they'd had.

"You put it in your other trunk." Stacia pushed the box towards her. "Go on. You'd better take care of Gaavan or his whining will keep me awake all night." She grinned crookedly. "Now, if he keeps you awake all night, that's different."

Zaira blushed and took the box, cradling it in her arms. "I...I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I've hurt you. I didn't realize--"

"No," Stacia said quickly. "It wasn't you, Zaira. I was just being too sensitive. After all, Gaavan had just threatened my cat, and that sort of makes me cranky."

The red-haired girl smiled but shook her head. "No you weren't. Being too sensitive, I mean. I have been spending too much time with Gaavan--"

"There's no reason why you shouldn't, love." She stepped forward and put her hand on Zaira's shoulder. "You should spend time with him. It's just...I'd like to feel that when we're doing things together, it's not just to pass the time until he comes back or you can be with him again." When Zaira looked like she was going to apologize again, Stacia grinned and pulled her friend forward into a quick hug then gave her a little shove towards the entrance. "Go on before he starts bellowing for you." Zaira nodded and flashed her a quick grin. Just before she disappeared out the door, Stacia called her back. "Just tell that big lout to leave my cat alone!"

"I will. I promise." Then she ducked out of the tent.

"Or I'll castrate him in his sleep," Stacia muttered to herself with a wicked grin.

"Here we are." Zaira put the box down next to Gaavan. Grabbing up a bowl, she filled it from one of the water casks on a nearby wagon. Setting this down next to the large man, she took a step back and looked at him. Sitting on the rock, their eyes were nearly on the same level; he raised his and looked into hers. There was an amused light deep in their steely depths and his well-shaped lips quirked in a crooked smile. "You look awful," she said, grabbing a length of fine linen out of her medicine chest and ripping a piece off of it.

"Looks worse than it is," he said even though he winced a bit.

"I don't care!" she snapped at him, throwing the cloth down in the sand at her feet. Stepping back from him, she pinned him with her witchfire gaze. "How dare you do that to me?"

Straightening with more than a bit of difficulty, he quirked his bushy eyebrows at her. "Do what to you?"

"Get yourself beaten like this. You could have been seriously hurt." She picked up the cloth and dipped a corner in the water and started daubing at his cut lip.

"Look, Zaira," he growled, "there was never any danger of that. I told you that and I'd appreciate it if you'd remember!"

But she wasn't listening to him; instead she was staring at the cloth she'd just touched to his lip. It came away crimson. As she continued to stare at the bloodied cloth, she felt a peculiar weakness come over her. Her knees turned soft and her legs would no longer hold her. The world went white as she slowly sank into the sand at Gaavan's feet.

Large, gentle hands closed over her arms. "Hey!" a voice said, but it sounded like it was coming to her from the bottom of a drum. Looking up, she saw Gaavan crouched next to her and holding her. "What's wrong? Zaira!" He shook her a little; she put her hand out and touched his chest.

"S-stop," she whispered, her voice sounding distant and hollow in her ears.

He did so, but he didn't release his hold on her. "What happened?" he asked, his gravelly voice rough with concern.

"I...I just felt faint," she said. She looked at her hand where it rested against the lean muscles of his chest; it was trembling. Clutching it, she pulled it close and tried to stop the shaking. "Help me up," she whispered.

Nodding, Gaavan lifted her and helped her to sit on the rock he'd been sitting on while he knelt in front of her. "Are you going to be okay?"

She nodded, and managed a weak smile. It turned stern as her eyes roved over the darkening bruises on his face and rapidly swelling lip. "It's your fault, though," she snapped while she reached out and daubed at his lip.

"Ow," he said, pulling back.

"Serves you right," she said, regaining her composure. She stood up and gestured that he should sit. Taking the bit of rag, she rinsed it out in the water then applied it to Gaavan's wounds. Her hands were still shaking and try as she might, she couldn't rid herself of the nausea in the pit of her stomach.

"OW!" he repeated as she scrubbed at a scrape on his forehead. "I know you're mad at me, but don't you think I'm injured enough?" he grumbled, pulling away.

"No," she said. "Sit still and take this like a man." She threw down the rag, grabbed a jar of ointment out of the box at random and slathered some on his cuts and scrapes. Ignoring his complaints, she repeated the process with the rest of his injuries, then wrapped them in yards and yards of linen. Finished, she tossed everything back into the box, and stomped off, leaving Gaavan to stare at her in pain and bewilderment--and looking like a freshly wrapped mummy.

"I will never understand women," he grumbled. Wincing, he put a hand to his head; the ointment she'd spread so liberally on him burned like crazy. He didn't even look up when he heard someone approaching from behind.

"Dear GODS what happened to you?" the girl said.

"Not now, Stacia," he muttered between gritted teeth. "I'm not really in the mood."

"You look like the walking dead. How the hell--no. Don't tell me." Stacia stepped in front of him and examined him. "That twit has been playing doctor again, hasn't she?"

His eyes snapped up at her. "What do you mean?"

The dark-haired girl pulled the linen off of him and made a face. "What the hell did she put on you?" Dropping the bandages she bent over and started rummaging in the box.

Alarm rapidly mounting, he stood and glared down at her. "What do you mean what did she put on me?"

Straightening, Stacia brandished the jar of ointment that Zaira had put on his wounds. "Is this what she used?" she demanded. When Gaavan nodded, she rolled her eyes and smacked her forehead. "How many TIMES must I tell her? Siddown." She put a hand squarely on his chest and pushed him down. Unable to resist, he sat. She found a bit of clean cloth and started cleaning his wounds of the ointment. "I'm surprised she hasn't poisoned you," she remarked to herself.

Startling at this comment, Gaavan pulled away. "What was that?" he demanded, grabbing her wrist and holding it away from his head.

She grinned down at him. "Don't worry; it won't kill you."

"What. Was. It?" Each word was a deadly threat.

"Oh, stop," she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp and resuming her task. "It's just that Zaira never pays much attention to what she's doing. This," Stacia said, pulling the little jar of ointment out of her pocket and holding it in front of his nose, "is cream for hemorrhoids." Chuckling, she went back to what she'd been doing.

"Oh, gods," Gaavan said under his breath. "Why--?"

"Zaira gets a little strange when she sees blood. Everything goes out of her head." Finished cleaning the cream off his wounds, she found another jar in the medicine box. Uncorking it, she tipped it onto her rag. It stained the white cloth brilliant orange. "This is going to sting," she said.

"Can't hurt any worse--AH!!" He hissed and pulled back.

"Stop. If I don't put this on, these will get infected. And then you'd die and I'd have to listen to Zaira bitch and moan."

"Thanks so much for your tender concern," he growled.

"Any time," she said. "There. I think you'll live. You look like shit, but that can't be helped." She gathered up the medicine box and the soiled cloths. "I'd suggest you go wash. You stink." She started back towards the tent when his voice stopped her.

"Thanks," he said gruffly.

"Don't mention it. I'm only helping because you're good to Zaira. Even if you are mean to my cat."

"About that--"

"Hey, don't mention it." She was about to turn away again when he continued.

"You and Zaira..." He paused as if uncertain what to say. While Stacia normally would have been inclined to let him flounder helplessly for the information he sought, she decided to put him out of his misery. Mostly because she'd been miserable, too.

"It's good," she said. "Zaira and I are like sisters. Sisters fight but they don't hold it against each other for long. Much."

Gaavan winced as he gently probed a bruise on his forehead. "You haven't met my family," he muttered.

"There's more like you?" she asked.

"Yeah, and none as good-natured as I am, either." He stood and stretched, working strained and bruised muscles.

"Really now? I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it." He bent over and picked up his shirt, shaking the sand out of it.

"So what you're saying is that if you try to fix me up with your brother, I'll know it's a death threat, right?"

He paused and gave her a strange look before he grinning crookedly at her. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well, thanks for the warning." Stacia shifted her hold on the box. "Go on, get cleaned up. Zaira will be back soon and you'll want to be at least somewhat presentable." She looked him up and down, then sighed. "As if you could ever be completely presentable."

"I heard that," he flung over his shoulder as he headed towards the waterhole.

"Like I care!" she called back, but she was grinning to herself. She set aside the medicine box and went about making dinner.

* * *

The Wild Lands, they called them. Those who had to pass through them did so only in large, heavily armed groups, or they did so at their own risk.

They began abruptly, rising out of the relatively level plain: A great escarpment, nearly vertical, stretched from the northern coastline and across the continent basically cutting it in two. The weathered rock was twisted by the winds into fantastic shapes: Knife-thin ridges; tall, convoluted columns; arches spanning hundreds of yards; huge boulders balanced delicately upon impossibly thin supports. Water had cut channels through the rock, further adding to the labyrinthine quality of the endless canyons. Those who strayed from the main road were never heard from again. Adding to the windy, twisting, confusing maze of canyons were other dangers to the common traveler: Bandits who preyed upon the trade caravans; strange animals that made their homes in the dark waters found in the box canyons; rockfalls and poisoned lakes.

The trade companies that operated the caravans, however, had taken it upon themselves to establish a safe passage through the Wild Lands to move goods from the port of Ammarca on the east coast to other towns, such as Carana. To that end, they had set up safe houses along the path, basically little more than fortified areas which were staffed with companies of guards. These places were stocked with food and other supplies, and each guarded a clean, safe water supply. The roads between these points had been widened and cleared to allow the passage of wagons, as well as flocks of the great rider-birds bred by the Pari in the Western Desert.

They had been riding through the Wild Lands for three days. Gaav rode towards the rear of the caravan, behind the wagon in which Zaira and her friend rode. As soon as they had entered the canyons, Fulgar had ordered them to their positions and told to remain on alert. The company had been relaxed and easy-going on the plains; here there was none of the usual banter among the guards. Everyone remained focused upon the many dangers that could leap out at them literally from the very walls of rock.

The caravan plodded along the route at a slow but steady pace. Several of the company broke off to guard the entrance to a narrow passage; as he passed it, Gaav could smell the putrid stink of dead water and rotting meat as he passed. Above him, he heard the dry sound of scales sliding over rock. Looking up, he saw a flash of bright color before the creature disappeared into the shadows. Gripping his reins, he urged his horse just a little closer to the wagon.

They rode on, deeper and deeper into the canyons, moving into an area like a small valley. The wind-sculpted columns of rock had fallen into a jumble of fallen boulders the size of houses and resembled so many ragged teeth protruding through the sand. For the first time since they entered the canyons, they could see more than just small sections of the sky.

"Come on, everyone," Fulgar shouted as he rode from the head of the caravan to the back. "We want to get through this section as quickly as possible." His horse danced as he pulled its head around; it slithered in the sand and sent clouds of it flying. "This is a bad area! Don't let down your guard for an instant!" Kicking his mount, he headed back to the head of the caravan.

Gaav moved up alongside the wagon and looked down at Zaira. She was wedged in among some crates looking miserable; Fulgar had insisted that the passengers sit in the bottom of the wagonbeds, not on top of the crates. "How much longer before we stop?" she asked him.

"We've got several hours of daylight left," he said.

"Great..." she groaned, shifting.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm cramped, that's what's the matter! I'd prefer riding--"

"Quiet!" he snapped at her, suddenly alert. Twisting around, he looked back the way they'd come. The broken wall of rock was pockmarked with shadow--an uneasy feeling twisted his stomach. Too many places to hide. Turning back to Zaira, he said in a low growl, "Get down and stay there." He saw her obey only in passing as he turned his horse and rode back towards the wall.

"Hey!" Rulic called. "Where--"

"Get up front," he said, cutting through her protest. "Tell Fulgar we've got company."

Immediately, Rulic drew her sword. "What?"

He sat his horse a moment in silence as he sent his senses outwards to investigate. It took only a second to find it. He snarled and reached over his shoulder to draw his sword in one smooth motion. The sound of it sliding out of the sheath was like the sound of death. Without looking at Rulic, he said one word: "Mazoku."

Rulic didn't say anything more. She whipped her horse around and made like a bat out of hell for the front of the caravan.

Gaav sat his horse, sword held almost casually across the horn of his saddle, and surveyed the rock wall through which they'd just passed. The buckskin stallion danced and pawed nervously at the sandy ground beneath him, shifting and biting at the bit in his mouth. "Quiet, General," he muttered to the horse as it tried to dance around beneath him. Absently, he leaned down and patted the stallion's neck to quiet him. General, however, refused to settle; he continued to paw at the sand and shake his head up and down. "I know, Gen," Gaav said, leaning back in the saddle and continuing his scan of the wall. "I can feel them, too."

At that moment, several other riders came rushing up behind him. "Gaavan?" Fulgar demanded. "Rulic said--"

"Mazoku," another voice growled. Gaav looked to his other side and found Callum astride his rangy black gelding. The pale-skinned merc turned his head and spat into the sand.

Fulgar looked from Callum to Gaav. "How can you tell?"

"I can smell their stink even from here." Gripping the massive hook in his right hand, he swung his leg over the saddle and slipped to the ground.

Gaav gestured toward the wall with his chin. "They're there. Believe me, I know." He watched Callum closely as the other man stalked around for all the world looking as if he were actually scenting the wind.

"Big group of them," Callum said, examining the wall. He lifted a huge arm and pointed. "Forty or fifty. They're up there, just waiting now."

Following his direction, the gathered mercs examined the rock wall. Gaav remained silent as Fulgar scanned the rock. "I don't see them," he said.

"I got special abilities you ain't," Callum nearly growled. "I can see the bastiches and I can smell them. And I don't leave 'til they're dead, every one." His eyes glowed with hatred; several of the mercs near him edged away uneasily.

Gaav nodded as he swung down off his horse. "He's right. We can't let them get out of here. If just one gets away, they'll hound us until they pick us off one by one. And I'm not going to be food for Mazoku." He gathered up General's reins. "Horses are no good against Mazoku; they just get in the way. Have someone take them back to the caravan."

"Huzen," Fulgar called out. One of the mercs rode forward as Fulgar signaled the others to dismount. "Take the horses back to the caravan, then hurry back here." Huzen nodded and gathered up the reins of the horses and led them off.

"Here they come," Callum shouted, gesturing towards the cliffs. At first all they could see was a slow drift of sand down the face of the wall, but soon shapes formed in the cloud of dust: Red glowing eyes and flashing pointed teeth in elongated muzzles. "Wind jackals," the merc said, spitting out his cigar and gripping the hook.

Gaav stepped up beside him and gripped his sword firm. "Relatively low-level Mazoku," he said, watching the pack milling about. They were howling now; their long, lean bodies could be seen in the roiling dust that accompanied their passage.

"But a lot of them," the other merc said. He looked sideways at Gaav and gave him what was half-grin, half-smirk. "Betcha I get more of them than you."

"What are the stakes?" The Dark Lord-turned-traitor didn't take his eyes away from the advancing pack. "Money isn't important to me," he added.

"Ain't to me, neither," Callum said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Bragging rights."

"You're on. Here they come," he said calmly before raising his sword and stepping forward. The pack was upon them.

The noise that accompanied the jackals was deafening: It was like being inside one of the huge dust devils that ravaged the open deserts. The wind howled around them, forcing many of the fighters off their feet as they fought. But not Callum and Gaav. The two of them had found an affinity, a connection that cut through the mutual antagonism they'd felt immediately upon seeing each other: Their hatred of Mazoku. They fought back to back, as if they'd been doing this for years, and methodically cut down the howling jackals. Gaav's sword flashed like lightning as he cut down the beasts; Callum's hook flew out and disemboweled them as they passed. Black Mazoku blood soon soaked the ground at their feet, making their footing treacherous.

"Watch yourself, Red!" Callum shouted as a group of the jackals flew at them; they both ducked to avoid the ripping claws and tearing teeth.

"Watch yourself!" Gaav shot back; his sword snapped up to gut one of the creatures as it flew over him. Black ichor rained down on the two of them as the beast dropped, dead, at their feet. "And don't call me Red!"

The tattooed merc chuckled evilly and tossed his hook at another of them, catching it with the cruel point in what would have been its gut if it had been a mortal beast. It whined angrily, snapping at them with its fearsome jaws. As Gaav stepped up, blood-stained sword ready to deal the killing blow, its eyes met his and they widened with recognition. Blood-flecked foam dripped from its jaws as it worked them and it scrabbled in the slick sand to gain purchase, but a huge black boot came crashing down on its back and there was the sickening crunch. A flash of steel and the thing was nothing more than a shuddering corpse.

"That's eleven, Red," Callum shouted while he jerked his hook free of the Mazoku's corpse, spilling glistening matter everywhere.

"I said don't call me Red, shithead," Gaav growled with a grin. "And my count is fifteen."

"Izzat so?"

"It is." Gaav whirled and took down another jackal that was trying to hamstring Fulgar behind him. "Sixteen."

"Like frag I'm gonna let you win!" Callum snapped off his hook with enough force to impale not only the Mazoku in the air above him, but the one following close on its companion's heels. With no more effort than someone reeling in a fish on a fishing line, he jerked the chain back and had them in a lifeless pile at his feet. "That's two with one shot! Beat that!"

"I don't need to," Gaav answered. "You still need three more kills."

"I know that! I can count!"

"Really? Color me surprised," the red-haired man shot back, thoroughly enjoying baiting the other man.

With a mighty snarl, Callum turned on his heel and snapped the hook back into his hand. Glaring darkly at Gaav, he let go with a powerful snap of his wrist, launching it right at the Dark Lord.

"Fucking bastard!" He tried to duck out of the way only to feel sharp talons sink into his shoulder. He jerked around to the sound of tearing cloth then staggered as the full weight of the jackal hit him, bearing him to the ground. Striking backwards with his elbow, he caught it in the midsection and tumbled it off his back. Lurching away, he saw with amazement that it was dead: Callum's hook had caught it just as it had opened its jaw to savage him and buried itself deep in the thing's throat. It lay twitching in the sand, dull black blood pouring from its gaping maw.

"Two more," Callum said, bracing a foot against the corpse and yanking his hook out. "And we're even."

Breathing heavily, Gaav nodded. "Yeah." Dropping the cocky attitude, he instead turned his attention to dealing with the rest of the Mazoku.

Even as he looked around, he saw there was not much more to do than mop up. All the Mazoku were dead or dying; Callum dispatched the last one with his usual precision.

"Frag," the tattooed merc grumbled. "Fifteen. I guess you won that one fair and square." He wiped his hand on his filthy trousers and held it out to Gaav. "Shake?"

Eying him suspiciously, Gaav curled his lip at the other man. Callum, however, didn't move; he just kept his hand out waiting for him to take it. After a moment, the taller man transferred his sword to his left hand, wiped his own palm on the skirts of his coat, and gripped the other man's hand--if not warmly, then firmly.

"Good fighting," Callum said, squeezing just as firmly.

"Same to you." Gaav simply raised an eyebrow at the pale merc then grinned when the other relented. "And... thanks."

"No problem. One day I'll call in the marker." The grin he gave Gaav was positively evil.

"I'm sure you will," Gaav muttered as Callum turned away and started stomping around sticking his hook into the corpses to make sure they were all dead. Or at least that's what he thought the merc was doing: After he came across one that was still mostly intact, Callum grabbed it by the feet and dragged it a few feet away to a patch of dust that wasn't soaked in blood. He pushed it onto its back, took hold of the thing's underbelly and tore away the hide to reveal the black, homogeneous flesh underneath. Black ichor gushed over his hands as he did so, and even Gaav felt a little sick to his stomach at the memories that brought back. Tossing aside the hide, Callum sunk his fingers into the oozing flesh there and ripped out a hand-sized hunk. This he raised to his mouth and ripped off a huge hunk, chewed and swallowed.

"Good gods!" Vharen exclaimed, standing behind Gaav and staring incredulously at Callum. "What the hell is he doing?" Several others had to turn away; the Dark Lord heard sounds of retching from nearby.

Huzen was the one that spoke: "Callum's a Czarnian; they eat their enemies after a battle."

"Not all of them, I hope..." Vharen looked around at the bodies that some of the mercs were dragging into a pile in preparation for burning. The pile was growing at a frightening rate.

"No."

"But it's enough. Fuck but that's some sick shit." Beld spat on the ground then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Why the hell does he do that?"

"He hates Mazoku," Huzen explained. "The Czarnians are barely civilized as it is; give them a reason to hate you and they'll stop at nothing to wipe you out." He used some sand to clean the blood off his sword as he spoke. "Eating their enemies makes their victory complete." He stood and gave everyone that was listening a weak grin. "At least that's how he explained it."

"It's true," Gaav added; he'd briefly considered recruiting the Czarnians on his quest to overthrow Shabranigdu but had found they tended to despise authority and had abandoned that scheme.

"Gods, I can't watch any more of this." Beld gripped his sword and strode away, looking determinedly the other way. Several of the remaining mercs joined him and left Callum to his grisly repast.

Gaav, however, lingered. Not because he was interested in the Czarnian's ritual, but because he wanted to make sure that none of the Mazoku had escaped. The one had recognized him as what he might have once been; others may have done the same. And there was the question of cleaning up the mess. Mazoku blood attracted other Mazoku. So he helped gather up the fallen Mazoku and dragged them into the growing pile.

When the last of the bodies had been accounted for, Fulgar turned to Rulic. "Torch it," he said, motioning the others to step back. "The rest of you, get back to the caravan and get cleaned up. We've lost a lot of time here and need to make the next camp by nightfall."

The brown-haired Rulic stood in front of the pile and waited until the company had reached the fissure before she turned and concentrated on the pile of bodies in front of her. Unseen by her, Gaav watched from a distance. She raised her hands and he could hear her intoning the words of a spell. By the feel of the astral energies around him, he recognized a Fireball. She let loose the gathered energies at the pile; they immediately started to burn with the spell enhanced fire. Thick, smothering smoke rose from their bodies and filled the air. The sorceress stayed just a moment more to make sure the pile would burn before turning and hurrying to join the rest of the caravan.

Gaav stepped out from behind the rock pillar against which he was leaning and watched Rulic disappear into the canyon beyond. Taking a quick look around, he could see no one; even Callum had finished with his corpse and had dragged it to the pyre and had gone to rejoin the caravan. Safe from prying eyes, Gaav stood before the blazing mound and concentrated. Even fire enhanced with shaman magic would not completely obliterate the traces of the Mazoku here. So, raising his hand, he reached down into himself and pulled forth the old power, letting it rise to the surface. A psychic wind stirred around his feet and made his long hair twist behind him and carried eddies of dust towards the edges of the open area.

Eyes narrowed and sunk into Astral vision, he willed his element to obey him. Fire he had been: Elemental, basic fire. From the very particles of the earth itself, he pulled that fire, ripping apart the essence of the universe itself to bring about destruction. From the basic minerals of the sand beneath the blazing pyre, he drew the energy, breaking them down into smaller and smaller constituents.

The sand began to melt and burn beneath this onslaught; it glowed incandescent and ran like water beneath the bodies. He pulled the skeins of energy into his being, focusing them as more and more of it was released from the earth beneath him. The molten silica bubbled and hissed as the heat increased and formed a depression. Lifting himself above the ground, Gaav hovered on the aetheral currents as he wound the ribbons of fire around himself like a cloak. He pulled more and more, until the energies threatened to burst and run rampant through the universe, but still he held them fast. His blood sang with the sheer joy of power; he had forgotten what it felt like to command the very building blocks of the universe. Teeth bared in a savage grin, he flung back his arms, clenched his fists and threw back his head; above, behind, around him, on the Astral plane, the dragon heads reared back and roared triumphant to the heavens. Three mouths gaped wide and from them poured the distilled power of Chaos. Three streams, nuclear-bright and fission-hot, with which he sterilized the area. The Mazoku bodies atomized instantly; not even ash remained to mark their passing. The walls surrounding the area crackled and melted; boulders melted into the liquid glass. Water, dust, the very air bubbled out of the floor in a flash of plasma.

With a jerk, he cut the power and drew it back into himself. The area was cleansed; immediately he set about drawing the excess heat out of the air. Steam condensed in the suddenly chilled air and poured into the newly formed basin of melted rock. The steam cooled the rock to slick glass, vaporized, condensed over and over until the place echoed with the sound of popping and cracking glass as the walls cooled.

Drunk with what he'd just done, Gaav staggered back and leaned against a column of rock that hadn't melted down fully. He surveyed his handiwork a moment, then threw his head back and laughed outright. His knees were weak with the exhilaration of using his power after all this time; he'd kept himself in check for so long...It felt so damn good to finally just let loose and burn something. There was a savage, malignant quality to his laughter, something that harkened back to his Mazoku roots that wallowed in the wonton destruction that was their true purpose. Except now he had turned it around and used it against them; raining chaos on their heads to defeat them in their feeble attempts to eradicate the humans they so hated and yet needed.

Sobering, he straightened, wiped the black blood off his sword using the scraps of his coat and deftly sheathed it. He took one last look at the slightly steaming basin of water, seeing not the destruction but what he had done and what it meant. He still had power; power enough to rend the universe should he wish. For eighty years he had laid low, preferring anonymity to discovery--but no more. Let this serve as a warning to them: He had stopped hiding; stopped running. He was going to claim what was his, even if the only thing he cared to call his was a peaceful existence with the woman he'd chosen. Let them come; he would destroy every Mazoku between here and Gehn--and more--if need be.

And then the Chaos Dragon King rose and turned his back on the destruction he had wrought and stepped over the clean line that marked the area of sterilization. It was time to leave the past behind and embrace his future. For the first time in nearly a century, he wouldn't have to do it alone.

That thought alone, more than the rush of power or the sense of renewed purpose he felt, warmed his heart beyond words.

* * *

Zaira watched from the wagon as the company of mercs approached, in ones and twos, from the battle. Nobody seemed seriously hurt; there were a few cuts and bruises but nothing serious. In spite of the nature of the enemies they had fought, the atmosphere was light. Several of the mercs were joking and settling up bets. But there was no sign of Gaavan.

Growing ever more worried, she clutched the side of the wagon until the wood bit into her fingers. "Where is he?" she whispered, biting her lip.

A hand on her shoulder startled her. She turned to see Stacia behind her, eyes dark with worry but determined not to show it. "He's okay," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "He's too damn stubborn to let anything happen to himself."

Nodding but saying nothing, Zaira turned to watch the last of the mercs returning. Rulic hurried along and Callum followed close after her. His shirt was stiff with black gore and his red eyes fairly glowed with feral pleasure. But there was no flash of a bright coat or red hair.

"Stacia," she whispered, barely able to breathe.

"Oh, stop jumping to conclusions. I'm sure that someone would have said something if he'd been hurt." Standing up, she waved to the Czarnian. "Hey! You!"

He looked up and headed towards the wagon. "What can I do you for?" he said in his drawling voice as he leered at them.

"Where's Gaavan?" Stacia asked, rolling her eyes at him.

He leaned against the wagon and winked at her. "Now why are you concerning yourself about Red when you've got Cal here to keep you company?"

"Please. I'm not worried about him or you. Zaira is the one about to lose it over him."

Callum reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cigar, which he stuck between his teeth. "Now, I wouldn't worry about him none. He's more than able to hold his own against a few low-level Mazoku."

"But where is he?" Zaira asked, her concern overcoming her timidity.

"Oh, I expect he's just hanging around watching the corpses burn." He pulled a match from his vest pocket and struck it against the side of the wagon. Cupping his hand around the flame, he held the match to the end of his cigar and puffed to get it lighted. "He'll be along soon. Now, how about we get to know each other a little better before he gets here?" He flicked the match into the sand, gave them both a leer and leaned his arms on the edge of the wagon. "The name's Callum but you two pretty ladies can call me Cal."

"Fuck you!" Stacia said, leaning away from him and the foul smelling smoke of his cigar.

"Now, is that any way for a fine-looking lady as yourself to talk?"

"Dammit," Zaira muttered and crawled over the edge of the wagon, feeling for the spokes in the wheels to help her get down. She beat off his hands as he tried to help her, jumping lightly into the sand. She turned and hurried back the way they'd come.

"Hey!" Fulgar shouted at her as he saw her heading back that way. "Get back here, Zaira! We're getting ready to head out!"

"I've got to find Gaavan!" she flung back over her shoulder and dashed around a startled Rulic before the woman could grab her. She picked her way back through the canyon passage and rounded a boulder--only to run smack into someone's arms. "Oof!" she gasped and would have fallen if a pair of strong hands hadn't caught her elbows and held her up.

"Hey, where are you going?" a gruff, familiar voice demanded.

Shaking her head to clear it, Zaira leaned back and found Gaavan towering over her. "You're all right!" she exclaimed and threw her arms around him. His went around her and held her tight.

"Of course I am. What made you think I wasn't?"

"When you didn't come back with the others, I got worried."

His chest rose and fell and she heard a deep rumble as he chuckled. "As you can see, I'm fine. Though if it prompts a reaction like this, maybe I should fall behind more often."

"Don't you dare!" she scolded, pushing away (but not out of his arms) to give him a dark glare.

"Don't worry; I don't plan on it." He leaned down and kissed her. She put her arms on his shoulders to steady herself only to have him pull back with a hiss. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said with a grimace.

"It is so. You're hurt." She took his arm and pulled him around and saw the scratches through the torn fabric of his coat and shirt.

"It's just a scratch," he said, trying to shrug her off. She, however, wouldn't be put off so easily.

"There's three of them and they look pretty deep up at the shoulder. Come on and I'll fix you up."

He could hear the brittleness in her voice and straightened, planting his feet and refusing to move. "All right," he said. "But on one condition: Let Stacia clean them up."

"Why?"

"Just because," he said in a tone that would allow no arguments.

"Fine, fine. Whatever. Just come on," she pleaded, tugging on his arm. She tugged him back to the caravan. Several of the other mercs were having their wounds tended to. Zaira led him to the wagon and made him sit on a rock while she fetched Stacia. "Stacia, would you..." She waved her hand towards Gaavan seated on the rock.

"Sure." She was too quick with her answer; anything to get away from the tattooed merc. He still leaned insolently against the wagon, puffing on his foul-smelling cigar and grinning like a wolf. She left Zaira to fetch the medical kit and descended purposefully on Gaav. "What did you do this time?" she said, tugging at the torn and bloodied coat.

"Not much," he said with an arch grin. "Just a scratch. Zaira just freaked out again."

"Hmm," the dark-haired girl murmured to herself as she peeled back the rags of his shirt. "I'm not so sure about that. These are pretty deep."

"They'll heal," he said, dismissing them. "Just clean them up and put some bandages on them. I'll be fine."

"Fine. If that's what you want--"

"It is," he snapped.

"All right," she snarled at him. "Geez. No need to get pissy just because you're hurting--"

"Here's the kit, Stacia," Zaira said, interrupting her. She took one look at the oozing scratches on Gaav's back, paled and turned away. "Excuse me," she gulped and went to sit down on a rock a little ways away and pointedly did not look while Stacia cleaned and bandaged his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said after she'd finished.

"Let's not make a habit of this, shall we?" she quipped as she picked up the medical kit and went back to the wagon.

"Right," he muttered. Gaavan stood and shrugged off the remains of his shirt and picked up his coat. "Damn," he muttered as he examined the damage.

"It's not ruined, but it's not going to look pretty," Zaira said, coming up beside him.

"Huh?"

"Your coat." She stepped in front of him and pushed his arms up so she could examine the rent in his coat. "You'll have to do without it for a couple days, probably, but it should last at least until we get to Ammarca. Once we settle down, I can find the material to make you another one--"

"It'll be fine," he said, dropping his coat into her arms and turning her around. "We're not staying in Ammarca."

"What? But I thought you said--"

"I know what I said, but things have changed. I want to go across the ocean to Gehn."

She gazed up at him with those large green eyes. "Okay. If that's what you want to do." She smiled hesitantly at him. "It's not as if there's anything to keep us in Ammarca. It was just...not Carana."

His smile was almost tender; he stroked her hair. "That's true."

"Why the sudden change?"

He shrugged. "I just...I want to go back to the closest thing I've ever called home. I've been wandering too long. I'm...tired."

Folding his torn coat over her arm, Zaira cocked her head to one side and gazed at him thoughtfully. "Tired? What do you mean?"

Sighing, he flexed his arm and winced at the sting. "I don't want to have to keep moving from place to place. It's gotten old. I've been all over this world and now I just want to find a place to rest for a while."

"What about your enemies?" she asked gently.

"Don't you worry about that; I'll deal with them."

She considered that a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Gehn it is, then." She bit her lip a moment before asking, "Just exactly where is Gehn?"

Chuckling, Gaavan lowered himself to the rock he'd just been sitting on. Leaning forward, he cleared a spot in the sand; he grabbed a nearby stick to serve as a stylus as he started sketching out the major landmasses of the world. Zaira squatted next to him, watching intently as two great crescents composed of islands and continents appeared in the dust before her.

"Here," he said, stabbing the end of his stick into the dust about a third of the way from the top of the eastern crescent. "This is Gehn."

"And where are we?" she asked.

The stick moved to the northernmost continent on the western crescent. "Here's Ammarca," he said, pointing to a spot on the eastern coast of that continent. He moved it again, indicating a place in the middle of that same continent. "This is about where Carana is; we're roughly halfway between them now."

Zaira stared at the distance. "It's..."

"Half a world away, I know."

"How will we get there? How long will it take?"

"Weeks, months. It depends on whether we can find a captain willing to sail across the ocean here--" He drew a line from Ammarca to Gehn straight across the ocean separating the two concentrations of land "--or if they all insist on sailing along the coast, thus." He drew another series of lines, linking the continents around the inner sea.

The red-haired woman stared at the rough map in front of her then sat back on her heels and looked up at him. "Well, I never imagined I would ever travel that far. I was happy to just get away from Carana." She smiled up at him.

He grinned back. "Good, then it's settled." Leaning back, he rested his hands on his knees and watched Stacia adroitly fend off the attentions of the huge Callum by administering a sharp backhand blow to his cheek. The merc just grinned and leered at her. "She going to be okay with all this?" he asked, using a jerk of his chin in Stacia's direction to indicate who he was talking about.

"Stacia?" Zaira nodded. "We both figured that we might be doing a lot of traveling for a long while, so I'm sure she'll agree."

"Damn," he muttered softly, just loud enough for her to hear.

"Hey! Stop that!" she scolded him.

"What?" he said with a cocky grin as he held out his hand to her.

"You know what." She took his hand and let him pull her up to stand between his legs. She put her arms around his neck (being mindful of his shoulder). "You know Stacia planned to go with us where ever we went--"

"I know, I know. I wasn't serious."

"Good." She leaned against him.

"Hmm..." he began, pulling her close--only to be interrupted by a shout from Fulgar for the caravan to start moving again.

"I guess we'd better go," Zaira said reluctantly, picking up his coat.

"HEY!" Stacia shouted from the wagon. She was waving Gaavan's other shirt. "Get your asses over here before you get left behind!" The driver snapped the reins and the wagon started to creak as it startled slowly on its way.

"Wait!" Zaira clutched his coat and started running towards the wagon. Gaavan quickly hurried up behind her, put his hands around her waist and swung her effortlessly into the wagon bed. Stacia threw his shirt at him; he caught it absently as he held onto Zaira's hand a moment longer. She looked down and smiled at him; his touch on her fingers lingered as he stopped and the wagon slowly separated them.

Gaav stood a moment, just looking after the wagon, Zaira half-standing in the bed, her hand raised as if beckoning to him. Then a bump sat her down unexpectedly; he heard her whoop as her posterior connected with the crate behind her hard.

Grinning, he shrugged on his shirt. Hurrying back to where he'd left his gear, he caught up his sword, slung the harness over his uninjured shoulder and turned to his horse. "Come on, General Painin'as," he said to the stallion as he climbed into the saddle. "Let's hurry and catch up with them." He touched his heels to General's flank and the big stallion threw up his head as if agreeing before stepped out smartly behind the caravan.

To Be Continued...

Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.