The Vanished Pearls of Orlov

"If you think it's so wonderful, why don't you marry Rastislav?"

     Fen held his ground while soothing Coppertail, wishing he could dive for cover under a nearby, tipped-over wagon or flutter away home like a pigeon. The arrow shot into the dirt near his feet was still quivering. His mind raced. Whoever was up on top of the crag could have killed him, or Pello, Helion, and their crew easily from such a vantage point. But they hadn't. Whoever was atop the crag hadn't been shooting the travelers, since none of them were shot full of arrows. More worryingly, the man with the bow hadn't shot the bandits.

     Had the shooter atop the crag even heard him over the clamor of screaming kids, panicked horses, barking dogs, and shouting men?

     He swiftly chose the mostly likely point for a shooter to conceal himself, stood in the saddle, and waved his arms for attention, then, using exaggerated movements so they could be read at a distance began speaking with his hands.

     Hold your fire. I'm HighTower. I'm traveling with the Hands of Kenyatta. We've killed these bandits and intend no harm to the travelers. I swear this on my name. Come down so we can talk.

     To his immense relief, he didn't feel another arrow plunge through his chest, puncturing a lung. Whoever was hiding on the crag had listened. That meant he had to be a Steppes Rider since no one outside the Ennaretee used handtalk.

     "Pello, Helion," Fen shouted, exaggerating his diction so his words would carry better through the air. "Any ideas who'd be up there? Krangland maybe or Daur?"

     "Don't know," Pello shouted back, making sure his voice was equally clear. "We're closer to Krangland so it should be them."

     Fen waved his hands again for attention, even as he felt his stomach trying to crawl behind his spine for protection and Coppertail danced in his agitation. He was silhouetted against the ground and an easy target, with nothing to duck behind. And what if Coppertail was injured?

     "Come down so we can talk." He repeated, making sure his gestures were wide and easily understandable from a distance and waited, ignoring the action behind him. It sounded like Pello was calling the dogs back to him, while the vaqueros were regaining control of the bandits' panicked horses, calming them down.

     Minutes passed as the uproar behind him quieted. He could feel the sweat bead on his neck and skitter down his back, making his shoulder blades itch. Then another arrow whistled to the ground near his feet, but this one had been fletched with white feathers and a note was tied to it.

     "I'm picking up the arrow and sharing it with the Hands of Kenyatta," he replied with handtalk.

     He dismounted, reached and plucked the arrow from the ground, noticing automatically how the feathers had been tied to the shaft differently from how it would have been done in HighTower and that the arrowhead was chipped from a stone he didn't recognize. The note, written in shaky letters on stained paper, was short.

                Bad water. Poisoned crew. All sick. Couldn't fight bandits.

                                          Don't drink from well behind crag.

                                                                                 Janson, Hand of Krangland

     "Damnation," Pello said when Fen finished reading the letter aloud in his best parade-ground voice.

     "You see to the travelers." Fen said. "I'll climb the crag and see what's going on."