Finally he had been able to leave, taking a steamer along the Black Sea to Trebizond. From there he had set off overland, then been immobilized by blizzards for almost three weeks high in the Turkish mountains at Erzurum. The only bright spot was that a party of Uzbek merchants was among the other stranded travelers. Ross had used the delay to polish his knowledge of Uzbeki, for that was the principal language of Bokhara. Since his Persian was already fluent, Ross was now linguistically as well prepared as possible.
After the snow melted enough to resume traveling, it had taken another three weeks to reach Teheran, where he stayed at the British embassy and discussed the situation with Sir John McNeill, the ambassador. McNeill had heard enough rumors to be convinced that Ian Cameron was dead, but he also recounted a story about a high Bokharan official who had supposedly been executed, only to reappear after five years in the amir's prison. The only conclusion Ross could draw was that he would never learn the truth without going to Bokhara himself.
After collecting more letters from the shah and his prime minister, Ross had hired two Persians, Murad and Allahdad, to act as guides and servants. The nearly six hundred miles between Teheran and Meshed had been covered without major incident. As a ferengi Ross always attracted considerable attention, but he was used to that.
The word "ferengi" dated back to the Crusades. Originally just the Arabic pronunciation of Frank, in time the term had come to mean all Europeans. Over the years Ross had been called "ferengi" with every nuance from curiosity to insult.
Now only five hundred miles remained until he reached his destination. The rest of the journey should take about a month, but it was the most dangerous part of the route, for they must cross the Kara Kum, the Black Sands, a desert with far too little water and far too many marauding Turkoman nomads.
As Ross kept a wary eye on the tawny, broken hills around them, Allahdad slowed his mount so they were riding side by side. "We should have waited in Meshed for another caravan, Khilburn," he said with the guttural pronunciation of Ross's title that was usual in this part of the world.
"It is not safe for three men to ride alone. The Allamans, the Turkoman bandits, shall capture us." He spat on the ground. "They are mansellers, a disgrace to the faith. They shall sell Murad and I as slaves in Bokhara. You they will likely kill for you are a ferengi."
Ross suppressed a sigh. They'd had this conversation a dozen times since leaving Meshed. "We shall overtake the caravan at Sarakhs, if not before then," he said firmly. "If raiders pursue us, we shall outrun them. Did I not buy us the finest horses in Teheran?"
Allahdad examined the three mounts, plus the pack horse Ross was leading. "They are fine beasts," he admitted with a gusty sigh. "But the Turkomans are born to the saddle. Unlike honest folk, they live only to plunder. We shall never escape them."
As usual, Ross ended the discussion by saying, "They may not come. If they do, we shall fly. And if it is written that we shall be taken as slaves, so be it."
"So be it," Allahdad echoed mournfully.
* * *
The chief of the fortress of Serevan was pacing the walls, watching the plains below with keen eyes, when the young shepherd arrived with news that he thought might be of interest.
After bowing deeply, the youth said, "Gul-i Sarahi, this morning I saw three travelers going east on the Bir Bala road. They are alone, not part of a caravan."
"They are fools to travel this land with so little strength," was the dispassionate answer. "And doubly fools to do it so close to the frontier."
"You speak truly, Gul-i Sarahi," the shepherd agreed. "But there is a ferengi, a European, with them. Doubtless it is his foolishness that leads them."
"Do you know exactly where they are?"
"By now they must be nearing the small salt lake," the shepherd said. "This morning I heard from a friend of my cousin that his uncle saw a band of Turkomans yesterday."
The chief frowned and dismissed the shepherd with the silver coin the youth had been hoping for. For several minutes Gul-i Sarahi regarded the horizon thoughtfully.
So there was a ferengi, and a stupid one, on the Bir Bala road. Something must be done about that.
* * *
As the terrain became rougher, Ross increased his alertness, for it would be easy for raiders to approach dangerously close. If, indeed, there were Turkomans in the vicinity. Given the poverty of this frontier country, it hardly seemed worth a bandit's time.
He glanced at the barren hills, thinking that there should be more signs of human habitation, then studied the track, which did not look as if it was used often. "Murad, how far is it to the next village?"