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Old Guard / Other Stories / The Vesari / Cale's Caravan
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Emotions Legend
[quote][b]Remus (Jan 29, 2005 05:29 p.m.):[/b] [b][i]last updated at Jan 16, 2005 10:59 p.m. (1 times)[/i][/b] It was the twelfth day of the journey, Cale was riding rear guard with the moon high overhead. There was bunching ahead, and he pulled his beast up alongside the next man and told him to stay aware. Cale rode up the line, and soon caught sight of a group of dark shapes in the distance closing on them. "Bandits, sir," said the man sent on foot to fetch him when they met near the caravan's passengers. Cale nodded and ordered the man to return to his mount. The shapes were more distinct when Cale reached the head of the caravan -- horses, not camels. "I count twenty-one," Riham said to Cale as he brought his beast to a stop. "They'll be Haqara," Cale replied. "Leftovers yet to be swallowed by the Freyet. We'll let them see we don't have anything worth their time and part amicably. Go down the line and make sure everyone understands." Riham nodded and turned his mount to head toward the caravan's tail. The Haqara were taking their time, making sure they were seen. They obviously weren't equipped for a serious fight. Cale swung down from his saddle and unpacked his crossbow. It was an aging piece of machinery in need of refurbishing, but the deserts had become civilized enough over the past decade now that imperialist ideals were seeping into the sands that Cale had only occasionally had use of it. It was worthless for distance, but for distance Cale had his bow. The crossbow was a negotiation piece. Cale cocked it with a grunt and slotted a bolt. The bandits stopped a short distance away and fanned out to make their numbers obvious -- a stupid tactic considering that number was inferior, suggesting a stupid leader. But stupid leaders could be as dangerous as any, and perhaps more so, because they could not be trusted to know a fight they could not win. These Haqara were gambling that a merchant caravan would rather pay a toll than have to fight at all, and they were right. Cale did not want a battle, regardless of whether he thought he would win. So when the leader rode out from his men, Cale walked toward him on foot to meet him half way. "Honored greetings, Cousin Clansman," said the man on horseback in Vesari. "I am Haqara Makt, son of Jomu." "Honored greetings, Cousin Haqara. I am Alaran Cale, son of Yan. It was my great honor to meet Jomu many years ago, near the plateau three days' journey north of this place. He was a wise and fair man." "Cousin Alaran's kind words are accepted and appreciated. They will be remembered when judgement is made upon this trespass. On what business does this procession violate the territory of the great Clan Haqara?" In truth the Haqara's claim to this land was tenuous at best. Their ancestral home was the steppes to the north, but the expansion of Clan Freyet since their adoption of an organized system of tolling had driven Makt's people out. But to point this out would be a breach of protocol. "It was not this caravan's intention to profane the territory of Clan Haqara. We are merely merchants porting imperialist goods to Lahkis, where there is a market for such unclean things. If Cousin Haqara will forgive this caravan's trespass and allow safe passage through his homeland we would gladly share of our goods whatever might be of interest to him." Makt nodded generously. "Cousin Alaran's show of good faith will be considered. My men will inspect these goods and determine if any of this imperialist filth can be made to serve our needs. If so we will extend to this caravan the hospitality of our land." The bandit leader returned to his men, and Cale walked back to the caravan, keeping the crossbow pointed at the ground as he had throughout the conversation. He turned back toward the bandits and waited.[/quote]
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