Page 23 of Silk & Sand
“Why the hell don’t you just go back to the University and tell them the trail went cold? Your arcanist is long gone. You’re risking your life for nothing.”
“I won’t go crawling home, lying to save myself.”
Raider huffed and stirred the pot again. “I take it back: you are a fool.”
“It’s a matter of principle. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Your principles must be strong indeed if you’re willing to endure weeks of my—” Raider’s eyes dropped pointedly to Seth’s groin, where his arousal was, apparently, obvious. “—unwelcome company.”
Raider had spoken with a distinct note of sarcasm, baiting Seth again, trying to either pressure him into an admission—or a fight. Seth wasn’t even sure which the man would prefer, but he wasn’t going to get either of them.
“All that matters is that I get across the Kesh.”
Seth heard the flatness of his own tone. It was never good when that happened. It meant that if he snapped, it was going to be bad. He needed this settled so he could get away, walk this off, be alone.
He explained, holding himself level by force of will, “I know Julian came to Shalaa, and I know he headed out into the Kesh from here.”
“He likely headed to Aqarat,” Raider said, proving that he was capable of focusing on business after all.
“That’s my thought as well. I will pay you five hundred denari to get me to Aqarat. We leave the day after tomorrow.”
“I just got home. I’m tired.”
“You weren’t tired this afternoon.”
A smile flickered across Raider’s face. Seth, like an idiot, had opened a path for Raider to take the conversation off track, but the man, for once, didn’t make use of that opening. He simply countered, “Eight hundred.”
“Six.”
“I’ll tell you what. When we get to Aqarat, I’ll let you decide what my help has been worth.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I often am. As you may have noticed.”
Something about the man had shifted again. This was a new mood, one Seth didn’t know, but he wasn’t in the right headspace to analyze it at the moment.
“So you’re agreeing?” Seth pressed. “To guide me across the Kesh to Aqarat?”
“If I can’t talk you out of it.” Raider raised an eyebrow, seeming yet to hope.
“You can’t.”
Raider sipped his raaki. “Then, Curator, it seems we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
CHAPTER 8
SITTING ON A JUTE rug in the shade of Gangi’s tiny mudbrick house, Raider blew out a stream of smoke and passed the dokka pipe back to its owner. Gangi had cut the dokka with something bitter, a common practice in poor households, but the dokka still sent a soothing current through Raider’s bloodstream.
Gangi set the pipe to his lips, puffing expertly. Eyes squinting in his thin, weathered face, the old camel breeder gazed across his dusty yard, where chickens scratched for whatever the hell there was to eat there. Raider’s chestnut mare, Umae, dozed under the shade of Gangi’s fig tree, hip cocked, one foot resting.
“Someone’s coming,” Gangi said.
Raider was already aware of that, and he didn’t need the telescopic function of his arcane eye to identify the figure approaching along the road from town. Not with that aggressive stride. Not with those distinctive black clothes on that powerful body.
Even so, his eye zoomed in automatically, giving Raider a close-up view of Seth’s face. He blinked it away.
It certainly hadn’t taken the Curator long to find him. Not that it was a surprise. Shalaa was full of loose lips, and Seth was tenacious. He was also, as Raider’s telescopic view had shown him, pissed off.