Free Crimson Spear (Blood and Sand Book 1) by Jon Kiln Page B

Sin Eater, that is for sure.”
    Vekal shrugged, not wanting to think about whether the reason for that might be the creature lodged inside of him.
    “Anything I can do?” he said instead, looking at the general chaos of the camp as it grew smaller by confusing increments and many arguments.
    “Stay out of the way. See that the beasts don’t wander off. Don’t fall behind,” the guard rattled off quickly, with all of the efficiency of one who had been doing this trip for a long time. She handed him her goad as well as a pack of water, and turned back to see to her duties, leaving Vekal to wobble and shake on unsteady feet.
    The camel-like pack beasts were smaller than horses, but not by much, with long necks and snout-like faces, and soft, golden skin. They regarded him with dark, rolling eyes, tasting the air and nibbling the millet feed bags that they had been given. They grunted and made soft purring noises at him, seeming not particularly interested either in running away or in interacting with any but their own kind. Vekal was pleased that at least this was a task that he might be able to handle.
    Have I healed quickly? he thought, feeling his back twinge with pain. Having never seen the wound himself, it was impossible for him to say whether or not he should be dead, and it still hurt.
    Ikrit? Is this your doing? He spoke to the spirit inside of him, only to hear stubborn silence. Perhaps the thing has gone… He dared to hope. Perhaps my long sleep allowed it to leave my body, or being near death, it was dragged down to its resting place in hell…
    Feeling considerably brighter, Vekal smiled at the nearest of the pack-beasts, which promptly defecated on the ground.
    ***
    Their march across the desert was slow going, with the gypsy caravan moving far slower than he would have liked. But Vekal found that even if he had wanted to travel faster, he feared he might not be able to.
    The gypsies were, for the most part, happy traveling companions—with each other. The women and the younger folk might sing songs as they sat aboard the carts or walked, all the while their hands worked industriously on sewing and spinning threads or other simple tasks. Vekal could pick up a few words of their language from his studies at the tower, and he heard them several times referring to the ‘Dark One’ who had joined their caravan, and the ‘shadows’ that it must surely bring to their trip.
    To his slight surprise, Suriyen left her newest charge alone, although he caught her looking back at him from her place up front with a worried look. He thought that perhaps this was her way of letting her employers know that Vekal could be trusted to be alone, and that he was no ‘dark one’ or man-shaped curse.
    The guard roamed far and wide around the caravan, using her long legs and a new walking staff to probe the sands ahead to clear them of scorpions, snakes, and hidden sinkholes. She worked hard, Vekal saw, scouring the horizon with her eye-glass for any signs of danger.
    It wasn’t until late afternoon when Suriyen called for the caravans to halt, at which time the gypsies pulled the carts to form a rough triangle, and stretched canvas over the top to form some shade from the burning sun. Vekal waited with the pack beasts until Suriyen signaled him to come over, depositing a bag of grain and a water barrel by the side of one of the carts.
    “Don’t worry, they won’t stray far from food and water out here.” She indicated that he should join the rest under the tarp.
    Vekal looked at her worriedly when he saw the dark glances that the rest of the gypsies gave him.
    “I’m the scout and guard of this caravan, and it is my job to see that you all get to Fuldoon alive. And I can’t do that if you die from heat stroke, can I?” Suriyen growled, shoving him, not so gently, under the awning.
    The nearest gypsy woman hissed and spat onto the sand as she moved away from him. Vekal needed no translation for what that gesture