"When there is a spring caravan," said another.

"Yes, well, what can you expect of merchants?"

"High prices." A general laugh followed this. Paks sweltered in her chainmail, and looked east, toward the distant line of ocean. On some of the higher ground, when the heat haze didn't blur it, she could see sand and water form long, intricate curves. It looked cool out there. Finally she asked someone why they didn't travel closer to the ocean.

"Where are you from?"

"The north," she said. "Northwest of Vérella."

"Oh. That's inland, isn't it? You don't know much about the sea. Well, if we went closer to the sea, we'd get down in the worst country you can imagine. Sand—have you ever tried walking through sand?"

"I walked on a little bit of beach, between Immerdzan and—"

"No, not a beach. Dry sand—loose sand. It's—oh, blast. It's—it's worse than a dry plowed field." That Paks could understand, and she nodded. He went on. "So think about these wagons—the wheels sink in, and the mules labor. We labor. And then it's swamp. Sticky, wet, salt marsh. And more sand. And it's not cool—it's beastly hot, and the water is salt, and everything stinks. Ycch."

"And don't forget the pirates," put in another of the guards.

"I was coming to that. Pirates—they call it the robber's coast, you know."

"But how do pirates live there?"

"Some people like eating crabs and clams and things. There's plenty of that shellfish. There are fresh-water springs here and there, so they say. A few miserable shacky villages. And the pirates have ships, and can sail away."

Despite the ominous name of robber's coast, and the caravan master's precautions—or because of them—no bandits showed their faces, and the caravan crawled steadily northward without trouble. Paks practiced the crossbow, and impressed the other guards with her fencing. She, in turn, spent plenty of time spitting out dirt after trying unarmed combat with the others. They had tricks she had never seen in the Company.

Finally she saw a smudge on the horizon ahead, where the Dwarfmounts crossed the line of the Copper Hills. As they came closer, she could see that the mountains ran east of the present coast line, and saw the angle of shore change from sand and mud to rock again.

"That's the Eastbight," said a merchant, when he saw her looking. "If you sail, you have to get well out for the best currents.

"And where you don't ever want to go," added one of the guards, "is over there—" He pointed to a wide bay that lay in the angle. "That's Slaver's Bay. If there's a robber on the coast, there's ten in Slaver's Bay. It'd take a Company the size of your Duke's to keep you safe in that place."

"I've traded there," objected another merchant. The guard looked at him.

"Well," he said finally, "They must not have liked your face—or your fortune."