“I think I’m going to hate Zarral,” Falcon said loudly the following day. Zarral weather turned out to be disgustingly unpredictable, and what had been a pleasant day was now dark and cold. A sudden rain had drenched them in the foothills around midday, and still it poured. “I’m coming down with a cold.”

Tarahn sighed deeply.

“Patience,” Daimira murmured, and it seemed to Falcon it was directed at both of them. “We should be in Ali-Zar by nightfall. Until then, keep your eyes open. There are plenty of bandits in this part of the country.”

“I’m a thief. My eyes are always open.” Falcon paused. “I think you’ll be interested to know that there’s a large group of men up ahead. I can hear well, too, you know.”

Tarahn looked quickly at Lake.

“Probably those robbers you were talking about,” he said shortly. “But I think they’re busy. We’ll go have a look. Maybe we can go around them. Daimira, stay here with the packs.”

“No, I don’t want to stay here. I want to see what’s happening.”

“Someone has to watch our things, and you get too emotional in this sort of situation. Stay here.”

They did a lot of crawling around in the dirt again, but Tarahn cheated and climbed trees instead. Falcon was convinced that Mordrans were half machine and half monkey.

The band of “robbers” they saw blocking the narrow trail was quite unusual. Two of them wore fine fur-lined robes while four more wore clothes of dark leather.

“What now?” Falcon muttered testily. “Are they still looking for that Priestess?”

“I don’t think so. Those are Malcor slavers. I don’t know what they’re doing so far into Zarral, but things don’t look too good for those ladies,” Tarahn replied.

The slavers had accosted a group of three young women, two appearing to be servants of the other: a girl who couldn’t have been any older than Falcon and who carried herself with her nose high in the air.

One of the fur-robed men watched them with a predatory grin. It looked particularly sinister on his thin face. “Imagine this! Running into one of Zarral’s pretty, young noblewomen! Out for a ride, my Lady?”

“We were just about to go home, sir,” the girl said loftily. Her clothes were simple and she was very young, but she spoke in the manner and tone of one used to being obeyed. “If you’ll let us pass...”

Tarahn drew in her breath sharply. “That’s no ordinary noblewoman! I’ve seen her before. That’s Xandra, younger sister of the king of Zarral!”

“Ah, but these woods are very dangerous,” the slaver continued to speak. “Perhaps we should keep you with us.”

Princess Xandra eyed him warily. “No, we can take care of ourselves, thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Get your hands off me!” an indignant voice suddenly exclaimed from the edge of the road.

Beside Falcon, Lake let out a particularly vile oath, and she saw why in a second.

The voice belonged to Daimira, and two more men in leather soon dragged her into view.

“There are only six of them,” Tarahn hissed from above.

“Wait,” Lake snapped.

“What’s this?” the leader of the group asked back on the road, frowning at Daimira.

“We found her in the trees. There were five packs with her,” one of her captors explained.

“Let go of me right now!” Daimira demanded in an icy tone that startled everyone. Her pale eyes darkened to storm cloud grey, and the slavers holding her instantly let her go.

The leader laughed nervously. “It’s just another merchant’s whore,” he told his men. “No doubt she stole his money and is running off somewhere.”

“Merchant’s whore?” Lake echoed under his breath.

“Do you want first shot at that one?” Tarahn asked, amused.

“It would be better to give the last,” he said grimly, getting to his feet.

Tarahn sighed. “Oh, well. There are only six of them.”

Falcon gaped at them. “You're certainly not serious!”

Tarahn grinned at her at the same moment that Lake burst out of the roadside bushes. “Lie low, if you don’t want to fight.”

“He’s not even armed!” Falcon shouted, not that either one of them listened.

The leather-clad men were startled when they saw them, but had enough presence of mind to automatically reach for their swords.

“Daimira,” Lake said with a curt nod in her direction. “Come here.”

She started toward him, but the leader grabbed her arm and held her back.

“Is this your woman?” he asked belligerently, after looking Lake up and down. Lake was tall, but he looked terribly young, and the man seemed to dismiss him because of this.

“She isn’t anyone’s woman. Let her go.”

“A boy like you is in no position to make threats.”

“You don’t know what kind of trouble you’re getting into,” Tarahn sneered.

“Trouble? Wealth is more like it. More slaves for the market, eh, men?”

Daimira suddenly and smoothly stepped between them. "I think we just have a misunderstanding here... You see, good sir, we are merely passing through. We're just simple travellers, that's all."

“We can’t let you go, whatever you are.”

"But we have to get to Zarral as soon as possible. You have no idea how far we've travelled!” Daimira protested, her tone and stance suddenly changing.

The man seemed a bit confused. “Why?”

"Well, I just heard about how the King of Zarral is looking for a wife and I absolutely had to come and give it a try," she replied with a look of vapid enthusiasm. She clasped her hands before her and lowered her head. "Even if I am just a minor clan-chief’s daughter."

Falcon tugged on Lake's sleeve. "What's she doing?"

"Ssh!"

"You're still coming with us," the slaver insisted, but his voice was a bit weak. He blinked at Daimira as if struggling to keep her in focus. "The slave markets are full of filth that are barely human. You and your friends would fetch a high price.”

Xandra’s eyes widened indignantly, and she would have stepped forward if not for Lake suddenly appearing at her side and holding on tightly to her elbow.

Falcon saw him bend down and was close enough to hear him murmur, “Not a word, princess. Don’t break the spell now.”

“Yes, I see your point,” Daimira conceded. “We are far superior to the rest of humanity. We won’t try to run off. Why don't you and your men relax a bit? Set up camp here and get some rest? You all look so tired - my goodness, there are enormous circles under your eyes. You poor things look worn to the bone... We can follow you to Malcor tomorrow morning.”

The leader’s eyelids drooped. "I do feel tired...”

Many of his underlings murmured in assent.

"I'll just sit down," he went on wearily, lowering himself to the ground.

"That's right," Daimira said, her voice soothing. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

Tarahn coughed discreetly. "Overdoing it."

"Just making sure," Daimira said calmly.

"You won't go anywhere, right?" the man asked her, blinking drowsily.

"Oh, heavens, no!" Daimira asserted, still with that same empty-headed enthusiasm. "Now that I think about it, there are far too many thieves about. It just wouldn't be safe."

"All right," he murmured.

In about two minutes, the place was filled with the strangely melodious sound of six slavers snoring.

Xandra, Royal Princess of Zarral, the king’s younger sister, stood somewhat uncertainly in the middle of the road, surrounded by six sleeping Malcor slave drivers and four very odd strangers. She could sense her two maids hovering fearfully behind her.

The rain had suddenly stopped.

The young man holding her elbow released her and she took a quick step away.

He gave her an odd, amused look and bent to pick up something from the ground. When he straightened, a large ruby pendant on a gold chain sparkled in his grasp.

Xandra gasped. “That’s mine!”

He blinked at her before wordlessly tossing it in her direction.

She scrambled to catch it, annoyed with his rudeness, and was just about to say something cutting when the fair-haired young woman who had somehow lulled the soldiers to sleep stepped in front of him and gave her a faint smile.

“Your Highness.”

“How do you know who I am?” she asked suspiciously.

“Royalty is not so easily disguised. I’m sorry if I said anything to offend you.”

Xandra, still confused, irritated, and more than a bit frightened, could only say, “My brother’s not looking for a wife!”

The girl laughed softly. “And I’m not looking for a husband.” She looked at the soldiers. “I think they’ll be out for an hour or so but, to be safe, we’d better get some distance between us...Don’t you have an escort? We’ll ride with you to the city.”

Xandra stiffened. “We thank you for your help, but we’re not heading for the palace right now.”

“Oh?”

“We are...out for a ride.”

“And you had to bring a tent with you?” a woman with raggedly cut black hair sniffed incredulously. She had burst onto the road with the rude boy. “And all those packs?”

Xandra looked at her with disdain. “What would a mere peasant know?”

“Well, a peasant would know how to properly pack a canvas tent, for one thing,” a third strange girl muttered from the edge of the road. This one was dressed more roughly than the others and her hair was tied back high on her head with what looked like a length of rope.

“Well, I’m sorry, but my tutors couldn’t fit it in, what with poetry, and history, and philosophy lessons in the way.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have rescued her,” she said loudly.

“I think it would be best if we were to accompany her back to the city,” the boy said suddenly, talking to the fair-haired one.

“I told you, I’m not going back to—”

“Your Highness, please,” her maids whimpered.

“I am not going back!”

“You are the princess of Zarral,” the boy stated matter-of-factly. “Would you risk its security by wandering around the countryside out of sheer childishness? Your Highness?”

She detected an edge in his voice and would have snapped at him had his carefully chosen words not hit home.

“Whatever you decide, we have to get moving,” the black-haired girl said abruptly. “There are bound to be more Malcor slavers wandering around here.”

Xandra sighed, feeling her servants tugging persistently on her sleeves. “All right, all right!” she shouted at last. “We’re going back!”