“Well, then. We must move out immediately.” The caravan master clapped his hands loudly, and the caravan exploded into movement. All up and down the strings, camel-pullers called the news to each other. There was another oasis. We all had a chance to live.
Our camels had more water still inside them than we had in our water skins, so the caravan master declared that everyone who possibly could was to ride. The camel-pullers must still lead their strings, but they would be swapped out as often as possible.
Celine and I now rode at the front of the caravan. I had shown the others the way on my rough map, but they still wanted me to do the actual leading. I calculated the distance and the correct path over and over again in my head. It helped immensely that we were leaving a public oasis. Although Caravan Osmira had rarely stopped at this particular one, it had still been one of the locations drilled into us.
Our camp that night was rough and we stayed for as short a time as possible. Only the need to rest the camels had us stopping at all. We pushed on all through the next day, a headache building behind my eyes from the tension.
“We are getting near,” I eventually told the caravan master. “But I don’t think we can make it this evening. We will have to stop again.”
He nodded his understanding, but I could see the distaste in his eyes. We had run out of water supplies, and it had been a particularly hot day. I suspected he would push us on for as long as he could now, so we would have as little as possible to traverse the next day with dry mouths and weakening bodies.
Finding the route and keeping to it had so fully taken my focus that I failed to notice anything else. Thankfully, however, others weren’t so distracted.
“Dust!” went up the cry, to be taken and repeated by many lips. “Dust! Dust!”
“What do they mean?” asked Celine, sounding more fearful than I had ever heard her. “Do they mean a dust storm is coming?”
I twisted and scanned the horizon in every direction, looking for what had raised the alarm. I spotted it, and my mouth set into a grim line. “Worse. Bandits. I would have thought we were still too far out for them.”
“Form up!” yelled the caravan master in the loudest voice I had yet heard. A flurry of movement surrounded us as the traders launched into well-practiced movement. Full-scale bandit attacks were rare, but everyone was drilled for them. I could only imagine the training had increased since Caravan Osmira.
I slid down from my camel, and for a moment I swayed, dizziness sweeping over me and nearly causing my legs to collapse. With my eyes closed I could imagine it was my old caravan moving in such a way. That it was old, familiar voices calling out the warnings and orders. Was this what it had been like for them before the end? Or had they had no warning, taken completely by surprise?
A steadying hand gripped my waist, and I swallowed, pulling myself together as I looked up into Frederic’s face. He nodded once, calmly, and I nodded back, stepping forward on my own legs.
“This way,” he said, pulling Celine along behind him.
The bandits must be coming fast to raise such a dust cloud around them—they would have to move fast to limit their time in the desert. But even with the speed of their passage, we had fair warning. The signs of their presence could be seen far on a clear, hot day such as this.
The camels were formed into tight circles, many camels deep. The royals, nobles, and few children—such as Ofie’s cousin—were placed in the center of all the rings and told to keep themselves low to the ground. Celine and I lay almost flat, Tillie beside us, her face pale. The traders trained in combat and the guards were dispersed among the rings of camels, the majority of them on the outer ring where the largest of the packs had been placed as an outer barrier before the first of the camels. An overturned wagon would have been a better shield, but this was the best we could do.
Frederic and Cassian both crouched beside us, their drawn swords in their hands.
“Aren’t you going to fight?” asked Celine. “Out there I mean?” She waved toward the outer rings.
“Celine!” gasped Tillie. “They are royalty. They cannot be risked.”
Cassian shook his head. “It’s not ourselves we’re concerned for.” He eyed his sister. “We promised Mother we’d bring you home safely.”
“I promise you,” said Frederic, sounding more grim than I had ever heard him. “We’ll see fighting. We’re your last line of defense.”
I swallowed and wished I had some sort of weapon of my own. Once, many, many years ago, in my first life, I had possessed some little skill with a knife. But none of my lives since then had needed such a skill, and I had long ago lost it. Still, I would have liked a blade in my hand.
I looked over at Celine, and she must have read the look in my eye, because she reached into her boot and drew out a short dagger, handing it to me. I noticed that she had a second one in her own hand. When I raised my eyebrows at her, she merely shrugged and returned her attention to the outer ring of camels.
All of our archers had been placed on the external defenses. As the attacking party neared, they slowed, pulling their horses to ride in a tight ring around us. They hollered and yelled, but the defenders remained calm, shooting into their midst. Several men screamed and went down, trampled by the galloping horses behind them.
“Frederic,” I said above the noise. “They don’t look like bandits. Are those…?”
Frederic and Cassian exchanged a glance. “They’re bandits all right. They must be. But you’re right, they don’t look much like it.”
White-faced we all looked at one another. Our attackers were dressed as Royal Lanoverian Guards. They even carried a royal flag.
We weren’t the only ones to notice. “Royals.” The murmur went around our circles, rippling in and then out again. Frederic risked standing straight, giving others a sight of him.
“Do not be fooled!” he bellowed above the initial sounds of battle. “These are not royal guards. These are bandits dressed in stolen uniforms. And when we have vanquished them, we shall bring them to justice.”
The murmur died down, and Celine tugged him back toward the ground.
“Very heroic,” she said dryly. He ignored her.
“There will be hand-to-hand fighting, for sure,” said Cassian quietly. Frederic nodded, seeming to understand him, and they both moved, still at a crouch, to opposite edges of the circle. Whatever message they were sending rippled out through the ranks of the defenders. I soon saw the actual royal guard attached to the Tour stripping off any identifying marks that weren’t actually part of their protective covering. Enlightenment dawned. When it came to hand-to-hand combat among the camels, we needed to be able to tell friend from foe. Or, more importantly, we needed the traders to be able to tell friend from foe.
No sooner was the job done, than the remaining attackers charged. The archers let off a final volley and then dropped their bows to bring up spears and swords. The clash of the two lines was almost defeating. The camels groaned and bellowed, many attempting to stand and run. Those of us who were not trained to fight had our hands full restraining them.
The screams and cries of the injured sounded above the clash of metal against metal, and I lost track of the progress of the battle as I turned my attention to the animals around me. When a royal guard leaped in front of me, I forgot for a precious half-second that our men had stripped off their uniforms. By the time I thought to bring up my own dagger, an almost useless weapon in the situation anyway, it was far too late. As death fell toward me, another blade appeared, ringing against the first and halting its downward motion. I scrambled backward to get behind Frederic. With a swift parry and thrust he dispatched the man.
“Stay behind me,” he said, his eyes roving between the camels. “And keep Celine with you.”