Dear Baba and Maia,
I think more and more of Finlei and Sendo these days now that I am traveling the Road. Last night, I slept under the stars for the first time sincethey wentafter the war. I woke once or twice in the middle of the night, sure Finlei had wrapped a blanket over my shoulders and Sendo was there at my side to comfort me with a story—the way he used to when I had a bad dream. But there was just sand, and the ghostly silence of this empty land.
I lifted my brush, not wanting to continue the letter on such a melancholy note. On the bottom of the page, I drew a picture of my horse and the sand dunes and lizards. Best not to mention Edan, who’d vanished into his tent just after dinner and still hadn’t awoken.
We won’t have water for days in the desert. Imagine! Me in the desert, after growing up by Port Kamalan’s sea. I miss you so much, Baba. And Maia—thirty-eight steps.
I folded my letter in half. Blowing sand settled into the crease as I tucked the letter into my satchel. I’d been in the desert long enough to know it was useless trying to sweep it clean.
I crawled out of my tent then and laid my head back against the sand, watching the stars fade. Remembering that Finlei and Sendo were dead made me homesick for Port Kamalan, and here, wandering in the vast world, I somehow felt closer to Baba and Keton than I ever had in the palace. Strangely, even though I was bound to return to finish Lady Sarnai’s dresses, I’d never felt so free.
Two months of this lay ahead. I started counting the days, unsure of what was to come.
• • •
The Samarand Passage rested on the fringe of the Halakmarat Desert, marked by two jutting rocks. It appeared to be nothing but a large expanse of sand, naked trees, and dying grass—but within was a small trading town. There we exchanged our horses for camels. I wasn’t sad to see Pumpkin go—four days in his company had left my thighs and knees blue with bruises. Now itreallyhurt to walk.
Seeing the Halakmarat Desert on the horizon—howlargethe sun was here—made my stomach flutter with excitement. This was the farthest west in A’landi I had ever been! Already I’d seen more of the world than I’d ever dreamed I would.
“Come,” Edan said, “we have a few stops to make.”
Edan pulled up his hood, and I did the same. The winds here were strong, carrying sand from the desert, and the arid air chafed my skin.
The marketplace was on one long block with an inn at the end. I peered into a stall that sold sticky rice wrapped in palm leaves, and jugs of date milk for travelers preparing to go into the desert. The price of water made my eyebrows jump. Edan didn’t stop to buy any, and I wondered what we would do for water. Then again, I’d never seen the Lord Enchanter stop to fill his canteen, and yet somehow it was always full.
“Where are we going?”
“To get supplies.”
I frowned and looked back. “But the marketplace is that way.”
Edan ignored me, making for the drinking house.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “This is one of the more respectable establishments. No fighting’s allowed, and everyone’s required to keep his shirt on.”
I smiled nervously as a group of drunken men jostled past. “That makes me feel so much better.”
I’d never seen such a motley crowd of men. Merchants, gamblers, soldiers, and even a monk or two. About a third were A’landan, a good number were Agorian, and a few, I noticed with a gulp, looked like Balardans—barbarians who’d been fighting A’landi for years. They had helped the shansen in his campaign against Emperor Khanujin.
Edan pointed at a man drinking alone in the corner. “Best leather merchant in town. Go talk to him. You need to make a pair of shoes.” He touched my shoulder and leaned closer. “A bargaining tip—don’t smile so much. You do it when you’re nervous, but these merchants will just think you’re a dolt.”
I frowned at him. “Where are you going?”
“Silk merchants,” Edan said, heading toward a group of men playing cards.
I grunted—I’d far rather haggle with the silk sellers.
“Chess?” the leather merchant asked when I stopped at his table. He was already preparing the pieces for his next game.
I scratched at a mosquito bite on my arm and ignored the offer to play. Chess had always been Finlei’s game, not mine—but I wasn’t terrible. In fact, in all of Port Kamalan, Finlei was the only one who could beat me.
I put on my fiercest haggling expression. “I was told you have leather to sell.”
“This is a drinking house, boy,” replied the merchant. He had a face like his goods—tough, with many creases. “If you’re not here to play, I’m not in the mood for business.”
I took the stool across from him. It was like old times. Usually merchants who ended up in Port Kamalan were too tired to be difficult, but I’d dealt with the worst of them. “How about a game, then? If I win, you’ll give me a swath of your best leather. Free of charge.”
“There must be sand in your eyes.” The merchant laughed and took another swig of his wine. He reminded me of Longhai, but I could see that behind his friendly drawl he was out to cheat me. “I never mix business with pleasure.”
