There are five rogues surrounding them. Five sets of eyes locked onto the tiny gazebo. How diligent of them, to keep up such a steady vigil. And shadow-cloaked, too. Even the circling ravens ignore them. Ana waves to each hireling as she meets their eyes.
Behind her, Shokrakar deals with an incensed nobleman. He’s growing impatient with her questions, thinks she would ever take on a band of raiders without getting an honourable promise of coin first. Taarbas taps Ana’s shoulder, and Ana looks over to watch Taarlok as his hands flash, his back to the nobleman.
They’re nearly done. He’s a fool, but a rich fool, and impatient.
Ana nods and pushes off the pillar to circle their meeting place. There’s a lemon tree, old and gnarled and she hoists herself up, wiggles her bum until she’s wedged comfortably in the fork of the branches. The bark is rough through her shirt as she stretches out. Each deep breath fills her lungs and nose with sharp, bright yellow. She grabs a lemon and presses her thumbnail into the dimpled surface, tearing the skin off and licking her fingers after each section she eats.
Shokrakar treats them well, but even the best coin only goes so far when you’re buying from open markets. Average people get average foodstuffs, and Valo-Kas gets to pick over what remains. Ana tosses the rinds to the grass. It would be a shame to let such fine-tasting fruit go to waste in such a backwoods orchard. Ana picks a half dozen more lemons. They fit nicely in her coat pockets.
“Anaanra!” Ana jumps down and goes to meet Shokrakar. She’s shaking hands with the nobleman, her grin toothy and her shoulders loose. Taarlok is busy rolling up a gilt-edged document, and sees neither the nobleman’s bow nor his proffered hand. Ana returns his bow instead, her head dipping low until her hair falls over her face. She raises his sneer with a snarl.
“Imekari.” Shokrakar murmurs with a smile. She farewells the nobleman and the three of them take their leave.
“When do we start?” Guarding caravan trains was easy work. Guarding caravan trains was soft work. They had been guarding caravan trains for two months.
“Three days from now. We have a week to clear them out, and the local bann will pay us what we’re owed.” Ana slings her arm around Shokrakar’s shoulders, pilfered fruit in hand.
“A gift for a gift, Sho, I brought you a lemon.”
“Give that here. You brought yourself a lemon.”
“True,” Ana shrugs, “but my lemon’s in this pocket. That one’s all yours. And this one’s Taarlok’s. That’s Saari’s. Ashaad’s and Katoh’s are there.”
Ana turns her head to watch the rogues as they emerge from the orchard. They’re all still watching her. She grins. Sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles. A raven swoops from the trees behind one rogue, tumbles to the ground, and comes up as Saari. She jogs over to them. Her shoulder-bump with Ana is as unrestrained as her grin. The guard makes outraged faces at them.
Shokrakar raises a hand in apology. Saari raises a finger in complete lack of apology. Ana eyes the other guards and ushers her friends out to the main road while they still have a contract. Three days!
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