After a couple more miles, set off the roadside in an open field, he saw what could be nothing than what he sought. There was a cluster of large tents and wagons. Padders lay tethered off to one side. At this distance, he could barely make out the detail, but the flashes of color spoke Men Darnak in a clear and unmistakable voice. More than once he had been in a camp such as that. He squinted, trying to make more detail. There should have been more tents than there were, more animals. Either the Principal was traveling with a vastly reduced retinue, for which he could hazard no reason, or this was a lesser encampment, and the main body was stationed somewhere else. He pulled the beast to a halt and sat where he was, observing. There seemed to be nothing unusual about the camp activities. Men went about their business, moving between the tents, or wagons, shifting things from one place to another. Sandon turned to scan the surrounding countryside, but there were no other signs of life. Nor was there anywhere to find cover. He chewed at one side of his moustache, considering. He couldn't really ride straight into the camp, so that still left him with a problem. He couldn't even tie up the padder if he was to wait around and observe, looking for his opportunity. Why, he hadn't even worked through a plausible story as to why he might want to join up with the party in the first place.
Sandon sat there watching for over an hour, the padder becoming restless and complaining more and more with every passing minute. Once or twice, he had to jerk sharply on the reins to stop it wandering off looking for somewhere to graze, not that it would find anything in the immediate area. The seasonal vegetation provided nothing fit for a padder to eat, and that suddenly gave him an idea. Thankful for the light raincoat Milana had given him, he dismounted, dug around in the bundle strapped to the padder's rear and wrestled it free, then spread it out on the soggy ground. Still holding the padder's reins in one hand, he sat, cross-legged, waiting for darkness to fall. The animal grumbled and complained, and once or twice, he had to tug firmly on the reins again to still it, but eventually it subsided and its head dropped as it dozed, standing in place.
Darkness fell earlier now that Storm Season was truly with them -- not that the daylight was more than gloom, day after day. Its oppression sat heavily in the back of his mind, like the discomfort, the drizzle and the constant orange-gray smudged coloration that lay over everything like a pall. He squatted watching the camp, noting the way the men's movements were sluggish, lacking enthusiasm. Finally, one by one, lanterns sprang into life, and before long, the large central oil fire was set up in the middle of the tents. Men started gathering around it, huddling in groups. Others withdrew to tents, the shapes suffused with yellow glows lit from within. Pity the poor individuals set to duty outside, with nothing more than the comfort of the large central heater and their own company to keep them warm.
After he judged enough time had passed, Sandon stood, and gathering the waterproof coat into a bundle, shoved it back into the pack. He groaned as he moved; sitting on the cold damp ground for so long had left him stiff and sore. At least it was only a short ride to the camp now, and he'd only have a limited time sitting astride the damned animal's bony back. With a grimace, he mounted, and running his story over in his head, headed the animal toward the camp with a sharp kick of his heels.
Slowing the animal to a walk, he passed the first of the tents, looking around. He had been right, there were fewer here than he would have expected. A couple of the men -- how many were there, five? -- looked up as he neared, showing first a touch of confusion, then open hostility.
"What do you want here, Atavist?" challenged one, not even bothering to get up.
"I am seeking some food for the animal, perhaps some warmth for the night."
Another man laughed. Sandon recognized neither of them, not that he necessarily should. Generally, Men Darnak's traveling parties were taken from the administrative ranks, or some of his personal household. That was good too. Right now, he was immensely conscious that he might be recognized at any moment. He swallowed back his natural response to the laughter, and thought about his next words carefully.
"By the Prophet, I am asking for your help." He said it as clearly as he could.
Another man sitting across the other side from the first two glanced up and quickly looked away again.
"Please," continued Sandon. "I can pay."
