Kindra was about to leave the tent, to return to the fireside and have her own meal, when she heard a small, strange sound: the whistle of a rain-bird; such a bird as never cried here, in the Dry Towns. Quickly she turned, nervously alert, seeing the small, slight form that wriggled under the back flap of the tent. It was very dark, but she knew who it must be. She said in a whisper, “Nira?”
“Unless you think some rain-bird has gone mad and flown here to die,” said Nira, rising to her feet.
Kindra said, “Here, get out of those clothes; another woman around our fire will never be noticed, but in men’s clothes you would collect another crowd here. We had quite enough of that while we were off-loading.”
“I heard,” Nira said wryly, slipping out of her boots, unbuckling the short sword she wore-contrary to Domain law-and concealing it in the clutter of the tent. Kindra flung the younger woman a shirt and loose Amazon trousers, saw that she was very faintly silhouetted by firelight, and turned the tiny lamp lower still until they were in darkness. Nira was folding up her disguise; as she stepped into her clothes, Kindra came and asked in a whisper, “Was there any trouble? What news, child?”
“No trouble; I passed for any trader’s lad from the mountains, any apprentice; they thought me a beardless boy with his voice still unbroken. For news I have only gossip of the marketplace, and some from the servants at Jalak’s door. The Voice of Jalak, who keeps his Great House when the Lord is away, has received a message that Jalak, and his wives and concubines and all his household, will return before noon tomorrow; and one of the slave-girls told me that they would have returned tonight, except that his Lady is heavy with child, and could not ride so far this day. Jalak has sent word for the midwives to be in readiness at any time after his return, and his servants are making bets about whether this will be the son he wants … it seems he has begotten nothing but girls, whether by wife, concubine or slave-girl, and that he has promised that the first of his women to bear him a son shall have rubies from Ardcarran and pearls brought from the sea-towns at Temora. Some old midwife says that she can tell by the way Lady Melora carries her child, low and broad, that it is a son; and Jalak will do nothing to endanger her while he has this hope….”
Kindra’s face twisted in distaste. She said: “So Jalak is camped in the desert? How far away?”
Nira shrugged. “No more than a few miles, I gathered. Maybe we should have arranged to attack his tents. …”
Kindra shook her head. “Madness. Have you forgotten? The Dry-Towners are paranoid; they live by feud and combat. On the road, take my word, Jalak will be guarded so that three cadres of City Guardsmen could not come at him. In his own house he may be a little more relaxed. In any case, we cannot stand against open attack. A quick strike, a guard or two killed, and ride like hell; that’s the only kind of chance we have.”
“True.” Nira had dressed in her own clothes again; they were about to leave the tent when Nira laid her hand on Kindra’s arm, detaining her. “Why must we have the Lady Rohana with us? She rides but poorly; she will be no use at all in a fight-she hardly knows which end to take hold of a knife-and if she is recognized we are all dead women. Why did you not demand that she wait for us at Carthon? Or is she like those men who hire a watchdog and do their own barking?”
“I thought so myself at first,” Kindra said, “but the Lady Melora must be warned, and ready to leave with us at a moment’s notice; the slightest delay could ruin us all. The Lady Rohana can reach her mind, without warning Jalak, or rousing his suspicions as even the most cautious message could do.” Kindra grinned wryly in the darkness of the tent. “Besides, which of you wants the task of caring for a pregnant woman on the journey back? None of us have much taste for it-nor any skill should she need nursing. Or do you want to try?”