They traveled steadily west under the cool evening sky. The heat of the Araybian sun was such that no one traveled by day if they could manage it. As the days passed and Lashiek sank behind them Emmaline gradually felt the tension lift from her. If Emir Omar’s heirs were looking for her, she had clearly slipped the city before they were able to organise a search. Perhaps a caravan had simply been too unorthodox a choice to bear watching, or perhaps the heirs were more interested in fighting over their father's inheritance than in tracking down the slave girl who had slain him.

She attracted more than her fair shair of looks from the caravans various denizens. Her pale skin and eyes would have been obvious even if her blond hair did not give her away as a foreigner. At least Amal’s assertion that she was his wife kept anyone from getting too curious. The thief had the look of a bad man to cross, especially if you planned on sleeping at any point. She kept her books and equipment in her pack, though she was eager read them, she didn’t want to raise any more suspicion than she had too. Wizards were more tolerated in Araby than was the case in the Empire but it wasn't a cultural difference she was keen to explore.

Amal had been vague about his sudden decision to leave Lashiek but his frequent glances over his shoulder told her that he was even more concerned about pursuit than she was. Whatever had happened in the bath house had clearly left him spooked, but she hadn’t chosen to press him on the topic. They had talked surprisingly little, pretending to be husband and wife meant that they both, in theory already knew each other and both of their minds were occupied with the possibility of pursuit. 

“It is a still night,” Emmaline observed, pulling her shawl closely about her as they made their way through a shallow defile. The landscape around them grew craggy as they moved westward, while they were not far from the coast the inland mountains ran down to the sea and to a treacherous series of reefs and shoals beyond. The camels seemed more restive than usual as they picked their way across the broken ground. A sudden scream split the night and a caravan guard toppled to the ground clawing at an arrow in his belly. Another thwacked into the wooden bench on which Emmaline was sitting. A half dozen more arced through the air, one striking a camel which screamed and bolted. The caravan drivers tried to stir their beasts to a sprint but already horseman could be seen riding across the skyline at the far end of the defile.

“AaiiiiIe!” came a great shout and a dozen shabbily dressed bandits leaped from the low scrub and rushed forward,the archers too, having lossed their missiles, burst into view as they rushed down the shallow walls of the defile. Steel rang against steel and sparks flew where scimitars clashed as the caravan guards tried to give battle. Emmaline looked around wildly only to spot more bandits coming down from behind them. One of the bandits leaped onto the wagon. Emmaline managed to shrieked and dodged as his scimitar bit into the timber she had just vacated. She punched at his head but he caught her wrist and grinned at her with hideous blackened teeth as he drew back his blade. The panicked Imperial shrieked a word in the arcane tongue and the bandit shrieked and dropped his sword, his hand was blackened and smoking and his filthy sleeve was on fire. Emmaline snatched up the sword that her spell had momentarily imbued with the heat of its forging, now cool to her hand, and hacked inexpertly at the screaming bandit. The heavy blade bit into the flesh between neck and collarbone with a sound like a cleaver severing a joint of beef. Bright arterial blood sparkled in the moonlight as the bandit tumbled out of the wagon. The blade hung and the unexpected jolt yanked Emmaline off balance. She made a desperate grab for the edge of the wagon but toppled out after the bandit landing on her rear with a thump in the rocky sand.