"We bought the supplies," said Amon as they left the jewelry section. "What's next? Pack animals, horses?"
"A sleeping bag," replied Alexandra. "For Camilla."
"Why?" the priestess asked. "It's cold at night in the desert, but I endured the frost for the glory of the Goddess!"
"So she doesn't climb in to warm up," the mercenary said slyly. Amon nodded in agreement.
For a while, they wandered through the market, cutting through the crowd and dodging persistent beggars and fortune tellers who demanded to see palms in order to read lines of fate, only to solemnly announce soon-to-come riches, fame, marriage, or impending death, depending on the nature of the fool caught in their nets.
Finally, Amon, Camilla, and Alexandra found the necessary section and suitable merchandise.
"I like that one," said the priestess, pointing at a delicate sleeping bag with soft wool.
Alexandra felt the inside and was displeased.
"Not suitable," she said decisively. "Give me that one," she ordered the gloomy shopkeeper, nodding toward a heavy but sturdy bag.
"I don't like it," Camilla stated. From the voice coming from behind the fabric, it was clear she was pursing her lips. "It's not pretty."
"Warm, durable, practical. We're taking it, don't argue."
"Beauty isn't important," Amon declared. "Alexandra is right. We're taking it."
"As you wish," the priestess said sadly. "For the Goddess and your mission, I would sleep in this..."
"Excellent," said Amon. "Now, we just need the horses."
They left the shop and, after asking for directions, headed toward the outskirts of the market. There, among enclosures surrounded by strong fences, horses of all breeds and colors were sold. There were few people, but many sellers.
Among the short horses, low-statured owners in shaggy vests worn on bare skin wandered around. Miserable farmers sold old nags with protruding ribs and trembling legs, while haughty merchants with thick fingers adorned with rings sold expensive steeds.
"Trash, trash, trash," Alexandra muttered as they passed. "Amon, I have a question."
"Go ahead."
"How much are we willing to spend? A real warhorse costs a lot."
"As much as necessary," replied the knight. "We need mobility."
The girl furrowed her brows.
"As you say... We'll choose the best ones, take two. Camilla doesn't know how to ride, right?"
"I don't know," the priestess replied, casting curious glances around. "Though I love animals. But people more!"
"I don't know either," Amon said unexpectedly. "But I think you'll teach me."
"How?!" the mercenary stood frozen. "How did you fight?"
"Very simply," Amon replied indifferently. "Mostly at sea, plus amphibious operations. Pack animals weren't needed. I was used to fighting on foot."
His explanation satisfied the mercenary. In the distant land where the knight came from, everything might have been different, unlike the familiar ways she knew. On the other hand, horseback riding was an art, and Alexandra knew it would be a rather difficult task to master quickly. Seeing the doubt on her face, Amon said:
"Don't worry. I'll quickly learn this skill. Speed and quality of acquiring new information was the first thing we were taught."
"We'll see," Alexandra said cheerfully. "I'll be a demanding instructor!"
"I'm not afraid," the knight smiled, and the mercenary rejoiced. In some way, she had the upper hand over Amon, which meant she could impress him, and who knew what else!
After walking a few hundred meters, they stopped in front of a large stone building with a small arena attached.
"This way," Alexandra said, pointing at it. "If there are real horses on this market, we'll find them here."
They entered, following the soft sand toward the enclosures where expensive, well-groomed stallions stood.
"Wow," the mercenary whistled admiringly. "Look at these beauties! And their legs! Elegant, but I swear to you, Amon, they'll easily carry a knight in full armor, and even their own steel protection!"
"They are for sale, not for admiration, foreigner," said a merchant who had approached, wearing a fine robe and a strange, long hat. "Horses from the Caliphate are not for common folk."
"Some common folk are wealthier than some nobles," Amon smirked. "And easily acquired money burns their hands like iron pulled from the furnace."
With these words, the knight took a smaller pouch from his belt and untied it, revealing the noble shine of precious stones to the surprised merchant. Meanwhile, Alexandra circled the horses for sale and pointed at two: a black stallion, as dark as night, with thin but strong legs and a bad temper — for herself — and a more massive but calmer chestnut six-year-old — for the knight.
"This one. And this one. Amon, do you mind?"
"I trust your choice," the knight replied without looking back.
"And rightly so. Your companion knows horses well," the merchant approved. "As for me, I know stones. My father started the trade with them, may his soul be blessed by the Supreme, peace be upon her! Your jewels won't be enough to buy both."
Alexandra's face fell.
"How much are you asking for them?"
"One thousand two hundred, if converted to gold," the merchant said calmly. "And the pouch of stones is worth no more than a thousand."
"How much, how much?!" the girl exclaimed with wide eyes. "No, Amon, did you hear?! One thousand two hundred! In our money..."
"Our?" the knight interrupted her with a smirk. "I think you meant to say — mine?"
"Well, yes," Alexandra hesitated. "But still, such a price!"
"We'll get the gold," Amon reassured her. "We're taking them," he told the merchant. "But!" Amon raised his hand. "My companion is right, the price is indeed high. Along with the horses, I need the riding equipment. Such a purchase deserves a reward!"
"So be it," the merchant replied gravely. "I won't promise particularly beautiful saddles, reins, or stirrups, but I guarantee the quality with my head. Wait outside, honored guests. My assistants will prepare everything."
The knight handed over the pouch of jewels, and then, under the desperate gaze of the mercenary, counted out gold coins. Now, only half of the money he started with hung from his belt.
"Let's go," said Amon. "Let's go!" he repeated more loudly to the priestess, who was wandering through the stable, nervously but affectionately stroking the horses.
"Yes, yes," Camilla said regretfully, reluctantly tearing herself away from the animals.
Outside, Alexandra looked at Amon indignantly and said:
"What a price! And you bought it without bargaining! If I knew, I would have taken horses from that patrol!"
"They wouldn't have given them to you," the priestess said seriously. "They were very angry. Although no!" she added cheerfully. "You convinced the warriors to let me go! Deep down, they were kind!"
Amon looked at Camilla in surprise.
"Convinced? No."
The priestess furrowed her brow and thought for a moment.
"Then you scared them, and they ran off, leaving their weapons," she said after a few seconds. "Amon stepped forward and shouted: 'Get out, sons of jackals, and leave the poor girl alone.' 'Amon is strong,' she said confidentially to Alexandra. "They were scared, and I was saved."
The mercenary hesitated, not knowing what to reply, while Amon frowned.
"Does turning into a monster have side effects?" he asked Alexandra. "Like loss of intellect, for example?"
The girl grimaced in pain and shook her head bitterly.
"She spent her whole life in her father's house," Alexandra said softly, barely audible. "Among tales of good, merciful 'baturas' who drive away enemies with just their appearance, and harems. A little girl... becoming a monster didn't change anything, just made her more lustful and probably even kinder."
"You scared them, didn't you?" the priestess asked plaintively, shifting her gaze from Amon to Alexandra. "You did, right?"
"We're both up to our necks in mud and blood," the mercenary quietly continued, ignoring Camilla. "We've both seen war in its raw form. I was bought as a child from parents who didn't want to feed another mouth. They trained me to the point of pain, to the point of unconsciousness, cruelly, ruthlessly, with real fights. Many couldn't handle it. They were carried out feet first. Of course, no one cares about peasants, they're not heroes, surrounded by attention from an early age."
Alexandra sighed bitterly. The priestess shook her head faster and faster, and in her movements, desperation was clearly evident.
"Don't get her involved in this," Alexandra said quietly and very tiredly. "She believes in people, believes in love, believes that if you just confess your feelings, everything will end with a wedding and a happy ending... Please, don't."
"You scared them, didn't you?!" the priestess cried desperately, tears in her voice. "Tell me you scared them!"
Amon's face suddenly darkened, freezing as if covered by a frosty crust.
"One survives out of a thousand," the knight said heavily.
Alexandra looked into his eyes and saw — he too had gone through something similar, or much, much worse, something so terrifying that her own trials seemed like a happy, carefree childhood.
"Yes," Amon finally said in an icy voice, chilling to the bone. "I scared them. All of them. Every single one."