Radnal breathed out again, harder. Tarteshans and other folk of Strongbrow race who lived north of the Bottomlands and down in them were stronger than most Highheads, but generally weren’t as agile. So what, either way?

He went back to work: “Now that we’ve learned to mount our donkeys, we’re going to learn to dismount.” The tourists groaned, but Radnal was inexorable. “You still have to carry your supplies from the omnibus and stow them in the saddlebags. I’m your guide, not your servant.” The Tarteshan words carried overtones of I’m your equal, not your slave.

Most of the tourists dismounted, but Evillia stayed up on her donkey. Radnal strode over to her; even his patience was fraying. “This way.” He guided her through the necessary motions.

“Thank you, freeman vez Krobir,” she said in surprisingly fluent Tarteshan. She turned to her friend. “You’re right, Lofosa; he is strong.”

Radnal felt his ears grow hot under their coat of down. A brown-skinned Highhead from south of the Bottomlands rocked his hips back and forth and said, “I’m jealous of you.” Several tourists laughed.

“Let’s get on with it,” Radnal said. “The sooner we get the donkeys loaded, the sooner we can begin and the more we’ll see.” That line never failed; you didn’t become a tourist unless you wanted to see as much as you could. As if on cue, the driver brought the omnibus around to the corral. The baggage doors opened with a hiss of compressed air. The driver started chucking luggage out of the bins.

“You shouldn’t have any problems,” Radnal said. Everyone’s gear had been weighed and measured beforehand, to make sure the donkeys wouldn’t have to bear anything too bulky or heavy. Most people easily shifted their belongings to the saddlebags. The two Highhead girls, though, had a night demon of a time making everything fit. He thought about helping them, but decided not to. If they had to pay a penalty for making the supply donkeys carry some of their stuff, it was their own fault.