Chapter eleven
Prince Mefto the Kazzur“By Horato the Potent!” exclaimed Pompino. “I am drier than a corpse’s shinbone.”
I said nothing but sucked on my pebble.
The caravan wended along, a brightly colored succession of carriages and wagons, with clumps of people, apim and diff, trudging along in the dust, and the outriders flanking us, their weapons ready. Ineldar the Kaktu had been wroth with his caravan guards, although, in all honesty, they had fought well and driven the drikingers off. But we all guessed we had not seen the last of those skulking rasts. Before we reached the water-hole they would attack again — with a new leader in command, no doubt.
When a straggling line of black dots showed in the southern sky I felt the muscles beside my eyes tighten. At bellowed commands the c
