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running an appreciative finger up the length of Dit’s feebly stirring cock.
    “So how soon before you’re ready to go again?”
    Tarn had been asleep for over a thousand years, and he had slept alone. Standing the rest of the way up, he pumped his cock lazily, stroking a new coating of oil over it and seeing Dit’s eyes widen as he realized that Tarn was hard again.
    “Now?” Tarn asked.
    Dit hitched his legs apart with a happy groan. “As long as you do the hard work. I— oh, yes !”
    Suddenly balls-deep in him once more, Tarn grinned and reached out to tweak one of his nipples. Dit was still slick, open from the teasing of Tarn’s tongue, and it had been so easy to just slide back in.
    “Scream for me again,” he commanded, flexing his hips, and Dit, easy, obliging Dit, did exactly as he was told, time and time again.

Chapter 6: Scheming
     
     
    A S THE caravan set out the next morning, Tarn couldn’t help noticing that Dit was sitting a little uncomfortably in his saddle. He spent the first few miles out of town feeling rather smug, even as he chatted to his assigned traders. They all seemed pleasant enough. Tira and Rita were identical twins, trading for dyes and mineral powders. Their brother, they explained, designed makeup that he sold to theaters and dancers across the green valleys. Barrett was an older man, grizzled and soft-spoken. He was a spice merchant, but his true passion was for traveling. He was writing a book, he admitted bashfully. The third wagon belonged to Jirell and her brother Hireth, instrument designers. Hireth’s lover, Lyson, traveled with them, playing soft music on the lyre as they left the dust and racket of the town behind them.
    They had all traveled together in one of Sethan’s caravans before and were obviously pleased to have each other’s company. They made an effort to include Tarn in their conversation, which he appreciated, but he was still lost in the rush of names and gossip they exchanged.
    Ia came riding back to meet him midmorning. “Sethan wants to speak with this one, if you can spare him.”
    “We’re fine, Ia. How are you doing?” Jirell’s smile was warm. “I thought you were settled in the life of luxury?”
    Ia spat. “Too much of a good thing.”
    Tarn eased his horse back. “Point me in the right direction, Ia. No need to ride with me.”
    “Wagon with the red trim at the front.” She turned to grin at him. “I won’t ask how you’re settling in, strongman. We’ve all heard how you swing your sword by now.”
    Jirell clapped her hands together. “Fresh gossip? Spill, Ia.”
    Tarn escaped before they could have any more fun at his expense. It was nice to move a little faster, cantering up the slow line of wagons. The horse he was riding was a good creature, no longer young, but responsive and sweet spirited. She was out of Sethan’s stables and meant he was paid less than he would have been with his own mount, but he reckoned he had a good bargain nonetheless.
    It was pretty countryside, with low green hills, lines of dark trees and the occasional vineyard where bare-chested men worked hard between the rows of young vines. The light was warm and golden, spring light in a warm country. The first flowers would only just be in bud back in Amel, where his old hoard lay in eternal sleep.
    Ellia and Jancis both waved as he passed, and Dit blew him a kiss and winked, which made him laugh and sit a little taller in his saddle. He would not think of the dead, not when spring was in the air.
    When he reached the front wagon, it was not Sethan who was driving. Tarn hung back, unsure if he had found the right place.
    The man on the driver’s seat looked like any country farmer. He was leaning back with his hands easy on the rein, chewing on a strand of grass. He was squarely built, not fat, but solid with muscle, and his graying hair curled loosely under a soft, shapeless hat. He looked at ease with the world.
    Then he glanced across at Tarn, and