The caravan had stopped in the lee of a vast outcropping of rock. It broke the wind a little. There were pine trees at the edge of the campsite, but they were far enough back to provide a sizeable clearing. Ashy depressions in the hard-packed soil showed that the place had been used for a campsite frequently.

The guards had chained the slaves into position around small fires they had started, and were handing out food and in the process of setting up Salmoneus's tent, when the strangers came. There were maybe a dozen or two of them, scruffy-looking men and women, some on foot, some mounted; they came up along the narrow path by which the caravan had entered the clearing. The woman in the lead was blonde, not especially tall—though it was hard to tell, as she was on horseback—and slender. She had a sword and bow at her back.

"Salmoneus, the Slaver Lord?" she called out, drawing her horse to a halt.

The caravan's guards were all getting to their feet, reaching for weapons, and turning toward the newcomers, but Salmoneus stopped them all with a sharp word. He had been overseeing the men setting up his tent, but now he turned away from them and approached the woman on horseback.

"Well, this is an honor," he said, drawing near. He was smiling that warm, cheerful smile, though Gabrielle saw that it never touched his eyes; they remained watchful and wary. "How might a humble merchant such as myself be of assistance to so illustrious a person as Ravenica?"

The woman frowned down at him. "You know me?"

"Know you? Of course!" Salmoneus said, smiling. "Who hasn't heard of Ravenica 'the Raven,' Queen of Bounty Hunters?"

Queen of Bounty Hunters. Gabrielle's heart went cold inside her. Oh no. No, no, no… She had heard stories of Ravenica too, known as the Raven for her cruelty and relentlessness. Quickly she tried to push in more deeply among the rest of the slaves, hoping not to be seen.

"And I take it that you are indeed the Slaver Lord?" Ravenica's voice was harsh, straightforward.

Salmoneus bowed slightly and smiled. The caravan guards in the background remained watchful and at the ready, eying Ravenica's men and women closely. "That's what they call me," he said cheerfully. "Let me assure you, though, while slaving is the largest and most profitable of my business ventures, I trade in other valuables as well. I have many a dainty trinket among my merchandise that might interest a lady of discerning taste such as yourself. Silks and lacquered boxes from Ch'in….lovely jewels from exotic India….perhaps some rare and expensive perfumes from the sands of Arabia?" He looked up at her on horseback. Ravenica's face was grim and unmoving in the firelight. "None of those will suit?" he asked, undaunted. "Well then—" He waved a hand at the slaves chained in huddled masses around the fires. "It is cold up here in the mountain passes….may I interest you in a lusty lad or lissome lass to warm your bed, my Queen?"

"She doesn't need a lad or a lass!" A young man pushed his way roughly forward from among Ravenica's crew, hand on his sword hilt. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short-cropped blond hair and a scar running down his face; he looked young, pugnacious, and very hot-headed. "That position's filled. Isn't that right, Ravenica?" he asked hotly, turning toward her. "So just keep your—"

"Palaemon, settle down," Ravenica interrupted shortly. She did not so much as glance in his direction. He subsided, scowling darkly. Ravenica pulled out a scroll from her belt pouch and unrolled it. "My crew and I are here at the behest of Callisto the Fiery…."

Gabrielle missed the rest of what she said. Her guts crawled. No, she thought again. No, no, please…. She felt as if she were going to be sick, right there. Trembling, she huddled in among the other slaves, turning her face toward the ground, hoping against hope that she would not be seen.

Ravenica was continuing on. She had drawn closer to Salmoneus and lowered her voice; only snippets of the conversation came to Gabrielle's ears. "….picked up some information that the object of the Bright Warrior's search might be in among your slave caravan…..permission to search and question your slaves, if they know anything…." Her voice grew lower, and Gabrielle could no longer hear. She could do nothing but huddle and wait for the doom to fall upon her.

Salmoneus's voice came back. "Anything for my lady Callisto," he answered at once. "No compensation will be necessary; surely Callisto the Fiery must know that everything I have is at her disposal, to do with as she pleases."

"A wise attitude, little man," Ravenica said dryly.

"Not at all. A humble merchant such as myself does not dare incur the wrath of the Bright Warrior. Please, by all means."

"Callisto will certainly hear of your cooperation," Ravenica replied. "Men! Spread out! Start checking the slaves!"

This is it. Gabrielle could sense the doom descending on her, as heavy as the chains she bore. Her only hope was to escape notice. If she could hide far enough back among the other slaves….

She risked a glance over her shoulder. Ravenica's men had spread out and were coming down the lines toward her. Now Ravenica swung down from her horse and stepped forward, facing the caravan, addressing the slaves directly as they huddled in their groups around the fires.

"Listen well, slaves!" Ravenica called out, her words ringing in the cold mountain air. "I am here at the orders of Callisto the Fiery. The Bright Warrior has sent us to search for a girl, a bard, named Gabrielle of Potedaia." The words fell on Gabrielle's ears like hammerblows. "We have information connecting the bard with this caravan. If any of you knows anything about her, speak now; if what you have to say is good enough and matches with what we know, we will reward you with your freedom, a horse, and ten thousand dinars. So how about it, slaves? Which one of you will share what you know about the bard Gabrielle?"

It felt like a dream. All the sound seemed to have rushed out of the world around her. Slowly Gabrielle raised her head and looked across the fire. Her eyes found Caesar, just as he turned to look at her. In that single despairing instant, their eyes met, and Gabrielle saw exactly what he was going to do, and knew that there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

Numbly, as if from a vast distance, she watched Caesar straighten. She had time to observe, dispassionately, that his returned arrogance drew the eye and compelled attention; Ravenica stopped speaking and looked toward him, and her men stopped where they were and looked over at him as well. Caesar met Ravenica's gaze with cool assurance, just as if he weren't a chained slave in rags. He raised one manacled hand to the extent of the chain and gestured in Gabrielle's direction. "The bard Gabrielle?" he asked. "She's right there."

"You bastard!" Gabrielle heard herself scream at him in despairing fury. "You arrogant bastard! After all I've done for you!" That frightening rage surfaced again; she lunged at him, but the chains were too short to let her reach him. Caesar looked at her, smiling coldly; the light from the fire glimmered in his dark eyes. "I set you free—I protected you—I took care of you—I killed for you! I killed for you!" The words were coming from outside her; they seemed to have no connection with her. Her only thought was to get her hands around his throat and choke him to death. She fought against the chains, heedless of the pain in her wrists and neck. "You bastard! You bastard! You—"

Strong hands clamped around her arms, drawing her back, and she was turned to find herself staring into Ravenica's face. Ravenica roughly gripped her chin and tipped her face toward the light, then glanced down at the scroll she held. "This is her," she said, not to Gabrielle, but to one of the guards holding her. "She matches the picture precisely. Fetch the keys, and unlock her."

"And my reward?" Caesar asked coolly.

Ravenica turned to look at him. There was something strange in the stare she gave him; her face was grim and unsmiling in the firelight. She glanced over her shoulder. "Bring the other scroll," she commanded. She took the paper from the hands of one of her men and glanced at it, then looked back at Caesar again.

"What's your name, slave?" she asked him.

"Gaius," Caesar answered her. Ravenica looked down at the scroll again, then back at him. She looked him over thoroughly, completely ignoring his cool gaze.

"Dark hair," she murmured in a low voice, "dark eyes, crippled legs, scarring on throat and wrists…." Something that wasn't a smile tugged at her mouth. She straightened, and turned to her men.

"Good news, everyone—looks like we've got an extra ten thousand dinars of reward money to split. Isn't that right, Gaius—or should I say—Caesar?"

Caesar's face froze; Gabrielle could read him well enough to sense the shock behind that façade, and felt a vicious surge of pleasure that he could be caught too. He looked as if he had been kicked in the gut; he stared at the Raven with his mouth open, completely stunned.

Ravenica had continued speaking; she turned to her men. "Imagine that: two birds with one stone. Callisto will be pleased with us, I think." And she stood there, with that flicker of a smile playing around her otherwise stony face, as her crew moved forward to take possession of Caesar and Gabrielle together.

The two of them were unlocked and led together away from Salmoneus's caravan through the pine trees, back to the bounty hunters' camp. Caesar was forced to walk; his hands were tied in front of him, with a rope leading from his wrists to Ravenica's saddle. Gabrielle, however, got to ride; Ravenica's men also took Argo from Salmoneus's caravan, and Gabrielle was placed on her back, bound to the saddle. She could take no comfort in the rest, nor spare much of a thought as to why they were being treated differently; she was too apprehensive about what was to come.

Back at the campsite, Ravenica's men and women quickly dispersed without orders around the campsite, tending to various chores. Caesar's legs had completely given out on him halfway there; he had fallen in the snow and been unable to rise no matter how they beat him. He had been carried between two of the guards the rest of the way; the guards proceeded to bind him to a tree near the fire, where he sat limply, with his head hanging down.

As they were fastening him into place, Gabrielle was lifted down carefully from Argo's back by another of Ravenica's men. The man took her hand just as if she were a princess, and escorted her to a small tent set up near the center of the campsite. As she entered the dim interior of the tent, Gabrielle saw that it was richly furnished; on the cot, piled high with luxurious furs, there had been laid out for her a heavy silk brocade robe, with earrings and bracelets. The gold and silver embroidery on the robe alone would have been enough to buy Potedaia several times over.

What is this? She reached out and touched the fabric, feeling the silk catch under her rough fingers. What is going on here?

"It's for you. Put it on."

She started at the words and turned, to see Ravenica behind her. The woman's expression was as harsh as it had been at Salmoneus's caravan. Gabrielle stared at her.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Ravenica asked.

"Why…." She turned and stared at the robe; she thought about how she had been permitted to ride Argo while Caesar had been forced to walk. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Ravenica's face did not change. "Callisto gave very specific instructions on how you were to be treated," she said. "In addition to clothing and jewelry, Callisto provided this tent, and a palanquin for you as well. We are a few days away from her stronghold, and she said to make your journey as comfortable as possible."

"What about Caesar?" Gabrielle asked.

"The Bright Warrior gave no such instructions for him. She said to treat him as we would any other prisoner."

Gabrielle supposed the news should have made her feel better. It didn't. If anything it increased her fear. She wasn't sure what Callisto was doing, but she was sure it was nothing good. She touched the robe again, thinking at least it looked warm.

"Are you afraid, Gabrielle?" Ravenica asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle said in a whisper. She turned and searched Ravenica's face, looking desperately for some reassurance. She found none. The bounty hunter's face could have been carved from stone.

"You are wise to fear Callisto." Ravenica stepped back. She looked at Gabrielle. "According to Callisto's orders, you have the run of the encampment. However, I must warn you—don't try to escape us, or to run away. Callisto the Fiery gave strict orders for that too. You would like those orders considerably less."

The hangings at the door of the tent rustled as she pushed them aside; then Ravenica was gone. Alone in the interior of the tent, Gabrielle picked up the heavy robe and slipped it on, over her top and skirt. It was cold, but the robe was warm around her. She fastened it closed, then sat down on the cot in the darkness, chewing her lip and quivering with fear.

Gabrielle saw little of the terrain on the journey to Callisto's encampment. The palanquin Callisto had provided for her was richly carved out of mahogany and teak, hung with silks and brocade; when the curtains were drawn, it was warm and shut out the world outside. The first day or so, its jolting made her queasy; by the second day, she had adapted. She still felt sick, but not from the motion of her litter; this illness was from trepidation about what awaited her at the journey's end. She thought, long and hard, about trying to run away, but couldn't find the courage to do it. She had no idea where they were or what settlements, if any, were nearby, and she suspected that it was very likely she would be caught again shortly. Ravenica's words about the orders Callisto had left in case she tried to flee chilled her to the bone whenever she thought of them. She tried to come up with some plan for escape, but the fear seemed to cloud her mind; she could take no action, but only lie there helplessly, carried along in the heart of Ravenica's party, and wait for whatever would come.

She was so afraid she might even have consulted with Caesar about it—she had no ideas, and the imminent threat to them both pushed aside the anger she felt at him—but she had no opportunity; he was forced to walk on his mangled legs, while she was carried, and in the evenings he was bound to a tree and placed under guard. She knew better than to take any satisfaction from the difference in their treatment; she knew that the privilege accorded to her did not necessarily mean anything good. She watched him from a distance, trying to see any trace in him of the fear that she felt, but could make nothing out; he never met her eyes, or anyone's. She guessed he was in a great deal of pain, and felt a distant flicker of not-quite-sympathy for him. She wondered what he was thinking.

Ravenica rarely spoke to her; only in the mornings before the march and in the evenings afterwards, to see if she needed anything and how she was doing. The Queen of Bounty Hunters was always courteous and respectful, never threatening, but Gabrielle was afraid of her nonetheless; the Raven's expression was grim, and she never, ever smiled. Neither did the men and women in her employ. Gabrielle observed them as they went about their rounds making camp; they spoke little, were terse and economical in their movements, and carried out their chores in largely silent efficiency without being ordered. Gabrielle, watching them, guessed that this crew had been working together for a long time.

The exception to the rule was the man named Palaemon. Among the taciturn, dour crew, the blond man with the scarred face stood out dramatically. It was clear that he was sharing Ravenica's bed; Gabrielle could see that from the way he disappeared into her tent in the evenings and appeared, stretching with lazy, cocky arrogance, in front of the doorway to her tent in the mornings. When the other members of the crew attended to camp chores such as getting firewood in the evenings, Palaemon did no work whatever, contenting himself with standing or leaning against a tree and observing smugly whatever was going on. The other members of the group largely ignored him. When forced to deal with him, they treated him with a frigid distance that he seemed not to notice, or to feel. Palaemon strutted through the camp like a petty godling, lording it over the rest of the crew, apparently feeling that his position as Ravenica's lover set him above the others. Gabrielle wondered how true that was.

As they set up camp one evening, Palaemon descended on the men and women working to set up the tent that Callisto had provided for Gabrielle. All day, he had been harassing the crew with petty, spiteful commands which had no purpose other than to demonstrate his status, and which Ravenica's crew mostly ignored. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "My lady Ravenica wants that set up on the north side of the camp, next to the stream!"

Gabrielle had heard Ravenica give the order herself to put Gabrielle's tent where it was. The woman he was addressing paid him no heed, simply continuing to pound in the tent pegs and attach the lines.

Palaemon moved to take the hammer out of her hands. "Hey, didn't you hear me? Ravenica says—" He reached for the hammer. The woman turned her back to him in such a way that she shouldered him aside. She gave no response to him. Palaemon frowned thunderously.

"Hey! Listen when I'm talking to you!" He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder. He probably meant to do no more than turn her to face him, but Gabrielle saw the telltale tension in her body a split second before it happened; in one moment the woman yanked free of him, and used that momentum to deliver a strong strike to his jaw. She hadn't used the hand that held the hammer, but even so the blow was hard enough to send him staggering back a step. The woman raised the hammer, looking at him with a flat resolution. Palaemon was staring at her, stunned; he was rubbing his jaw.

"You hit me!" he burst out, shocked.

The woman didn't bother to respond; she merely watched him, her face set. Motion around the encampment had stopped, as the other men and women paused in the middle of their chores to turn in his direction.

"You can't do that!" Palaemon said angrily. "You can't—Ravenica—she—" He stopped, suddenly seeming to realize that all attention was focused on him. His face darkened.

"Oh, aren't you gonna get it—" he began. He took a step forward, his hand going to his sword hilt. The woman watched him, her eyes flat. Palaemon hesitated visibly.

Ravenica had been on the fringes of the encampment, talking to the sentries; now she came over. "What's the problem?"

Palaemon turned to her. "Ravenica, she hit me!" he repeated in tones of shocked outrage. "Tell her she can't—"

"Palaemon, be quiet," Ravenica said without so much as a glance in his direction. Her face was set like stone. "Lydia, what's the problem?"

Lydia said something briefly; her voice was too low for Gabrielle to hear. Palaemon's scowl darkened. "Are you going to—"

"I see," Ravenica said, interrupting him. "Lydia, carry on." The woman nodded, and she turned away from the two of them, back to pounding in the peg. Palaemon's face wore an expression of outraged fury.

"Ravenica, you can't seriously be listening to her on this! She hit me!" he protested. "You can't—you—if—"

Ravenica turned to look at him. Palaemon broke off, stuttering, groping for words. Gabrielle saw him look around the encampment. The men and women who had paused in their chores were all watching him with the same flat expression. He looked back at Ravenica, and the cocky assurance seemed to drain out of him.

"Ravenica…" he began, and Gabrielle heard the whining note in his voice.

"Palaemon, go to my tent. Wait there for me."

Palaemon started to protest, but then took another look around the campsite. The crew members were still watching him coldly. Shoulders slumped, he obeyed her; he turned and trudged across the clearing to Ravenica's tent, set up on the edge. There was no doubt in Gabrielle's mind that he found both the order and his obedience every bit as humiliating as Ravenica had no doubt intended, but what else could he do?

Ravenica watched him all the way to her tent, then came toward Gabrielle, where she waited near the fire that had been kindled. "Your tent should be up shortly," she told Gabrielle. "Are you well? Is there anything you need?"

"Why do you keep him around?" Gabrielle asked.

Ravenica glanced toward her tent, in the direction of the absent Palaemon. "He has his uses," she said only. At first Gabrielle thought that it was a double entendre, but there was absolutely no warmth, humor, or emotion of any kind on the Raven's stern face. Gabrielle shivered.

"We should reach Callisto's stronghold tomorrow," she told Gabrielle, looking back at her. The fear that gripped her at those words drove all thoughts of Palaemon right out of Gabrielle's head.

"What—what will happen then?" she whispered, her mouth dry.

"That's up to the Bright Warrior," the Queen of Bounty Hunters said flatly. "My job ends when I have delivered you and Caesar safely into her hands. I don't know what she plans to do with you, nor do I care. But if you believe in the gods…." She paused, examining the young bard.

"What?" Gabrielle asked in a whisper. She swallowed. Her hands were sweating, and she wiped them on the silk of the lovely outer robe she wore.

"I would suggest that you pray."

Ravenica turned and walked off, leaving Gabrielle standing there in the mud of the clearing, cold and afraid.

Tomorrow. Her eyes found Caesar, where he was bound to a tree on the other side of the clearing. He lifted his head, and their gazes met; his dark eyes were glassy with fatigue and pain, and Gabrielle could not read the expression in them. He looked away first. Gabrielle wondered if he knew.

Tomorrow.