She cheered up quite a bit when she saw the three-wagon cavalcade waiting for her. Two were wagons with canvas covers that held a lot of packs and other supplies. But one was an old friend.

This was the caravan that her father and Perry had taken to the Pelagirs, posing as traders. It slept six comfortably. There would be no sleeping on dirt floors with fleas, or under leaky tents. And there were seven people waiting for her, three on the wagons and caravan, all of the riders on sturdy mules (not horses, oh blessed gods!), with a fifth mule saddled and waiting for her. The one sitting on the box of the caravan—was dressed in Herald Whites. But there was no sign of a Companion.

She ignored that for the moment, and went to greet the others.

The oldest-looking man, who seemed to be the one in charge, greeted her first. “Abidela! I am Master Vance. This good fellow is Master Padrick, and this is Master Beyrn. And may I say, we are all great admirers of your new bridge, Master Abidela.”

Master Vance’s hair was pure white, but he was lean and fit-looking, and Master Ketnar must have reckoned he was suited physically for this journey. Master Padrick was as short as she was, stocky, and his brown hair was liberally sprinkled with gray. Master Beyrn was the youngest of the lot, an earnest-looking chestnut-haired young man, probably in his middle twenties. Abi smiled at all of them, and got perfectly friendly responses. She addressed Master Padrick first.

“I know this caravan,” she said, “and you and I need to toss a coin for which of us gets the top cupboard-bed in the front and which gets the bottom. We’re the only two that will fit.”

“I give you first choice,” he said graciously.

“Top, then.” She turned her attention to the fourth rider, a tall, stolid-looking woman with blond hair cut as short as a man. “I’m Abidela,” she said, and waited for this unknown to introduce herself.

The woman smiled slightly. “I’m Jicks. I’m part guide, part bodyguard, and part cook, since I assume none of you know how to cook. The lads on the other wagons are my squad. We’ll make sure nothing gets at you.”

She had an odd accent that Abi couldn’t quite place. “Are you from where we’re going?” she hazarded.

The woman grinned. “Got it in one. Merc company, Hanson’s Harriers. We came guarding the delegation and we three stayed behind when we heard what your King had planned, and as I hoped, he’s not been backward in paying us for work that’s a sight easier than bashing idiots’ brains in. For now, I’ll be taking up the last bunk in your caravan, the boys’ll each sleep in the wagon they’re driving. If you decide you want more privacy, the boys can take the bunks and you and I can sleep in the wagons.”