The man’s starting to grate on me, and I want my swords back. Briefly I consider trying to disarm him, but I’d like to avoid a scuffle right now.

“Look, trader. If I was trying to spy on you, I would have done a better job of it. And I’ve no mind to make off with your cargo. What would I do? Climb down the hill and fight off all your guards by myself?”

“You may have friends nearby,” says the man.

“Look around,” I say. “Search the area at your pleasure. You’ll find nothing.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Nush,” says the woman. “He looks too dusty for a spy. And we can verify his claims.”

The man hooks the front of my tunic with his spearhead. I fight the urge to grab it. Dusty indeed. Have they taken a good look at themselves lately?

“Very well,” he says. “But you’re coming with us until we’ve had a look around.”

The woman retrieves a rope from her saddlebag and signals for me to put my hands behind my back. I hesitate, weighing my choices. It’s getting close to sundown, and Zivah will probably be sending Preener when she gets the chance—not the best time to be marched off by strangers. But then, it’s not the best time to fight two horsemen within spitting distance of their friends either. Finally, I decide to take my chances. Rovenni are by all accounts honorable people. Or at least, they’re too rich to be tempted by petty crime.

Once I’m bound tight, the woman motions toward the horses. For a moment, my spirits rise at the thought of actually getting to ride one of them. But no. My captors mount, and then they tell me to walk in front.

There’s roughly fifty people of all ages down at their camp. The big man leads the way, and a crowd gathers as we draw near.

“We found this man sitting on a hillside with a bag full of weapons, watching our herd,” Nush says. “Claims not to be a thief, but I think we’d do well to sweep the hills.”

There are murmurs of agreement all around. Five men volunteer to ride out, and then Nush pulls me toward the campfire.

“Sit,” he says. “You’ll be here a while.”

I plop unceremoniously down on the ground, which earns me an amused half smile from the woman.

Nush leaves to ride with the others as the woman, who they call Phaeda, stays to guard me. Gradually the rest of the camp resumes its business. There’s a handful of people grooming the horses, others setting up tents. One person brews stew in a pot big enough for me to sleep in.