his neck. Then he stuck a piece of dried grass in his dirty mouth and began picking his teeth.
“What nonsense!” Vordius shook his head.
“Agreed,” Fenia declared. “The men are sitting on the ground while the sheep are inside.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Vordius said stiffly, trying to avoid the girl’s eyes.
“Slavery is against the law in the Empire,” Sorgius commented.
“Where did you read that, you silly man!” Fenia put a hand over her mouth, but they still heard her giggle.
“I’ll figure out what’s going on here,” Vordius muttered. He began to pick his way around the men seated on the ground. “No guards!” he said, as he watched where he put his feet.
“Why bother with guards?” asked Sorgius, who was skipping along to keep up with him. His seasickness had disappeared as quickly as it had come. “They can’t escape, what with the sea on one side and the wasteland on the other…”
Eventually, they found the guards house. They would have mistaken it for a stable if it hadn’t been for the symbol of the sun over the door.
“Anyone here?” Vordius called out as he bent over to enter the low door. He heard nothing but silence. After a while, their eyes got used to the dark and they saw a body sprawled lifelessly on a desk, covered with a blanket. Shaking his head, Vordius strode over and kicked the desk, which had had its legs shortened.
“Stand at attention and state your name!” he shouted.
Startled, Fenia grabbed Sorgius’ shoulder tightly with her fingernails.
“Ouch!” he whispered without taking his eyes off the show.
The body on the desk began to move slowly, like thick oil in a jug when it is carried, and eventually it sat up.
“Who’s here?” came the question in broken Herandian.
“Imperial inspector tencor Vordius Onato. With my entourage.”
“Oh my!” the body became somewhat animated. “Your papers, please.”
The civil servant opened Vordius’ papers and, without introducing himself, began to run his eyes over the mandate and the travel certificate.
“I wonder if he knows how to read?” Sorgius whispered to Fenia. “He looks to be at least half Sotray.”
“Looks good,” the man stated.
The man had a narrow face, like all Sotrays, but his nose fell short and its color indicated that he was a heavy drinker. Looking over his left shoulder, he said something in his own language. There was no response. Groaning, he stood up and hobbled through a doorway behind the desk and called out again.
This time, something happened. A skinny, dark-haired young man with a thin moustache and angry eyes appeared. The companions couldn’t exactly see his eyes in the half-dark, but they felt the electrical charge that entered the room with him, like a string about to pop.
“Follow him” the first man waved them away and lay back down on the desk.
“But what about…” Vordius tried to object, but he realized that the man had already reached the extent of his communication ability and his official powers. “Fine,” he drawled, and gestured for his friends to follow along with him.
The young man had left the building and was walking away from the sea, toward the wasteland. He paid no attention whatsoever to his Herandian guests.
“Hey! We need horses!” Sorgius cried, to no effect.
“Maybe he doesn’t speak Herandian? Fenia proposed. “We need to get our things. The sailors won’t guard them forever!”
The young Sotray turned suddenly. “Then go get them!” he barked.
“I can’t believe this!” Sorgius stared.
Vordius scowled and put a hand on his sword. “Stop right there!” he called out, quickening his pace.
The Sotray turned again and stared at him. Vordius was flabbergasted. He had never seen an underling behave this way before.
“Where do you get off being rude to us?” he said finally. “I’m an officer in the Imperial Guards.”
The Sotray stared him down and spat at his boots. “So what? You have a woman with you. Why do you want a free angyrs to carry your bags? I’m not a donkey.”
Vordius pulled himself up to his full height and boxed the man on the ear so hard that he flew back several paces.
“You have some nerve!” he growled, breathing heavily and trying not to show it. “No discipline whatsoever!”
The young Sotray had more surprises in store. Jumping up and shaking his head, he gave a guttural yell, grabbed a long dagger from his belt, and leaped at Vordius before the guardsman could draw his sword.
Sorgius let out a despairing wail – he was sure his friend would fall in the next instant with an awful stomach wound, followed rapidly by his own death.
But once again, fate showed them all that it could juggle their lives indefinitely. The Sotray, his hand raised to strike, stumbled – although there was nothing he could have stumbled over – and fell face-first at their feet. Vordius finally drew his sword, but it was unnecessary: a brand-new arrow protruded from between the shoulder blades of the discourteous son of the wilderness.
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