Free Karavans by Jennifer Roberson Page A

every master here. No one will take us on. But
they
had the courage to say they were full. You made our oxen your pitiful excuse.”
    His voice was very deep. “Oxen are slow.”
    “But steady,” she retorted. “Dependable. More dependable than horses.”
    “And slow,” he repeated.
    She could not help the sharpness in her tone. “What, do you intend to
race
along the roads? Is there a competition for which karavan arrives first?”
    The anger in Jorda’s eyes died out, but she had very clearly annoyed him. Audrun didn’t care. She had an entire family with which to concern herself: her personal karavan.
    “It is the end of the season,” the master told her coolly. “Pace does matter. Earlier in the year, your oxen would have been welcome. But now …” He shook his head. Silver rings in his ears glinted. “It’s the truth, not an excuse.”
    “We are going overmountain,” she said steadily, undeterred. “To Atalanda. The road leading there breaks offfrom your route, yes?” So Davyn had told her when she questioned him more closely; she wouldn’t be made a fool of. “We won’t be with you all the way. Only part of the way. And isn’t it true that when a karavan first sets out that it requires days for all the wagons to sort out their places?
    Some horses are faster, some are slower.”
    “Of course,” the guide broke in cheerfully, displaying unexpected dimples, and earned a glare from the master. “I’ve known it to take the better part of a week.”
    “Rhuan,” the big man growled, “you had best go find Darmuth.
He’s
doing his job.”
    “And the better part of my job doesn’t begin until tomorrow.”
    The hand came up again. “The better part of your
life
may never begin at all!”
    The guide, Audrun saw, was not in the least cowed by the noise. “What about the Sisters?” he asked. “You took
them
on, after swearing you never would.”
    Audrun seized on that. “Sisters?”
    Jorda was staring at his guide as if he had lost his mind. “I can’t do that!”
    “Why not? She says they are desperate—” The guide glanced at Audrun. “Are you desperate?” He nodded as
she
nodded; they were. “Desperate,” he repeated, as if that settled it.
    “My husband has offered to work as well as pay,” she told the master firmly. “We are neither destitute nor helpless; and I have a son as well, old enough and big enough to do his share. My daughter and I can take on mending and cooking, and the younger ones—” Audrun broke off, aware the big man was staring at her in alarm. “What is it?”
    “How many of you
are
there?”
    “Six,” she answered. “My husband, four children, and me.” Then she amended. “Seven, actually. But the littlest one has conveyance already.”
    The karavan-master blinked at her in bafflement.
    It was the guide who understood. “She’s in whelp.” He was grinning. “Jorda, you
can’t
tell a pregnant woman she isn’t welcome.”
    Jorda scowled. Audrun had the impression he wished to say he very well
could
tell her she wasn’t welcome, but for some reason he didn’t. “These Sisters,” she began. “Perhaps we could help them? If they are women without men of their own, my husband could aid them, even my oldest son.”
    The guide was laughing again, teeth showing. Jorda appeared to be on the verge of choking. “I can’t do this,” he muttered. “Rhuan, even
you
would not have me do this!”
    “What is it?” Audrun repeated.
    The guide, for a change, offered no comment. He merely assumed an expression of supreme innocence that Audrun, thanks to having children, recognized as entirely feigned. Cider-colored eyes glinted.
    Jorda rumbled another growl, then turned to her stiffly. “They are indeed women without men of their own,” he said, with precise enunciation, “because they have
everyone else’s
men. They’re Sisters.” He said it more plainly still as she gazed at him blankly. “Sisters
of the Road.
”
    It meant nothing to Audrun.