He shut his eyes. They had three days to go before the village, so Tofi thought, and the concern they had lest they miss their trail, at least, was done. They would not die of the storm, and it had taken them seven days since to be sure of it.

The sick man, Proffa the tailor, died on the next day, and they laid him out on the sand where he had fallen from his beast. He had been dead before he hit the ground, so Marak judged, two days short of Pori village, where they all might rest.

The Lakht had no mercy on the weak. That was always the truth. The vermin of the air were already circling, waiting for them to leave the body. After they left, the larger vermin would come, and when they gave up, the insects would move in, and the creepers that preyed on those.

Still they laid out Proffa and gave him that small respect. It was a hot day, and most stood in the shadow of their beasts. But some made it a chance to walk about and stretch their legs, and others to take a rationed drink. The prostitute, Malin, moistened her scarf from her waterskin and wiped the dust from her face and neck.

Two days to the village, and some thought their arrival was that sure… or perhaps, contrary to his orders, she thought her water supply was that sure.

Tofi walked to his side, grimacing in the sun reflecting off the alkali of a crusted pan. “We should camp farther on,” Tofi said, although it was about the time they should have stopped. It begged trouble to stay near the dead, however, and the distance they ought to keep meant another hour or two of riding. It was in the high heat of the day, but Marak himself raised no objection.

“We should do that,” he agreed, and passed the order. “We’ll move on. Two hours.”

There were complaints, a general murmur from the inexperienced, loudest from Malin.

He mounted up; Hati did; and likewise Norit. He saw Malin demanding the ex-soldiers lift her up to her saddle.

In her he saw a woman grown reckless and demanding of her two chief debtors.

He saw a sign of death in her extravagance, too, but did not know whether it was Malin’s.

Chapter Eight

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In the beginning of days the Ila gave the tribes the secrets of water, where it might lie and how they might render bitter water into sweet. Likewise she appointed them their districts and their wells, which they maintain as their own, provided only that caravans may pass through their territories without hindrance and provided that only villages may levy a water-charge.

—The Book of Priests