Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey) (7 page)

“Why are you beating my daughter, Chief’s Wife?” she demanded.

“Daughter?” sputtered Leja. “Her whore of a mother is long dead, as she will be soon, for trying to steal my birds!”

“Those birds are mine,” said Kalie. “As is this one I’ve just retrieved.” She glanced at the pile of geese, jealously guarded by the other wives and their slaves. “But if all that is not enough for you, then take this!” She offered the goose in her hand. “If stealing from hungry slaves makes you feel more like a woman, by all means, do so!”

There was a deadly silence. Even the fires seemed to stop crackling.

Leja’s red face went white. “You will die for those words, slave! But first, amuse me by telling us all why you would send this girl to steal from me in plain sight—then call me a thief!”

Kalie realized that Leja hadn’t been trying to take what wasn’t hers; she had simply been too busy with her nets to see that a new hunter with a new method had been at work. Leja had assumed, as she had for years, that all birds killed at this lake were hers. Of course, explaining the situation didn’t make Kalie and Varena any less likely to die.

“I killed three geese with this.” Kalie proffered the throwing stick.

Most of the chiefs’ wives laughed derisively. Those who had seen Kalie’s demonstration of skill did not laugh, but neither did they speak up in her defense. “Check the marks on my three,” she pressed forward. “Here, you can see where the stick struck this one on the wing; this one here in the belly. Then, too you can see how it was actually striking the ground that killed them. Yours have none of this kind of damage; they died only when you broke their necks…”

“She’s right,” said one of the other wives, examining the geese. “It’s amazing! Can you show me how to hunt like…?” Then she glanced up at Leja and went silent.

“Of course she’s right!” said an old woman. Kalie didn’t know her, but guessed she was one of the oldest women alive in this place. “Everyone here saw her using that stick to knock birds from the sky. Everyone except you greedy bitches who every year flaunt your power to have what others cannot.”

Emboldened by Kalie’s unknown champion, some of the other women began to press forward timidly, asking if they could learn to use such sticks.

“I don’t believe it!” shouted Leja. “It’s nothing but a sheep’s rib! How could anyone…?”

“Like this!” Kalie flung the stick skyward, hoping her audience would get the idea, since there was no target to aim at.

Or so she thought.

The stick left the torchlight, flew through the night sky in a graceful arc—struck a tiny moving form—and fell down nearly at Kalie’s feet.

Just beyond it was a small brown duck.

Kalie thought she heard girlish laughter: bold and gentle and fearless. Not the sort of laughter that was ever heard around here. I won’t deny it’s You, she prayed to her Goddess. Especially if You help me get out of this alive!

One of the women ran and got the bird. Kalie set a restraining hand on Varena’s shoulders, in case the girl was going to fight for it, but Varena was grinning through her battered face. The woman brought the duck to Kalie with a deference usually reserved for first wives.

Leja sputtered. “If something so simple could make hunting so easy, we would have known about it!”

More than one woman bit her lips to avoid laughing out loud. Kalie grinned. “Which is why my people eat well, while so many of yours remain hungry.”

Then, they saw the men returning from the practice field and everyone scurried to prepare the evening meal.

Kalie carefully wrapped the geese and duck in grass and hung them from one of the tent poles. Despite the heat of the day, nights on the steppes were still cool enough to keep meat fresh. Tomorrow Kalie would learn if the birds truly belonged to her. Tonight, she was as close to free as she had ever been since coming to this land.
    

For tonight was the Summer Festival, where even slaves were—to a limited degree—free to eat and drink and sing and dance, while wives proudly served their husbands. Kalie found Altia’s pride in such servitude funny, in a sad way. There was the fierce wife that ruled the tent with a stone first, kneeling before her husband, holding a plate of food within his easy reach while he laughed and joked with his fellow warriors, and ignored her.

If this was how a wife enjoyed a feast, Kalie was glad to be a slave.

It was Cassia who would be staying inside to tend the fire tonight. She had insisted on making a brief appearance when the holy men of the tribe had performed their mercifully short ritual, declaring summer and, more importantly, the feast, begun. Then she returned to the tent, promising Kalie she would rest.

Kalie had tried to treat Varena’s bruises, but the girl had impatiently reminded her that a warrior’s daughter didn’t need to be coddled just because a woman slapped her face a few times. She drank some of the willow bark tea Kalie gave her, but it seemed excitement over the feast she would be participating in was all the analgesic Varena needed.

Kalie stayed to make sure Cassia was safely tucked back into bed, with a nourishing broth and some choice bits of meat, before going back outside to attend the feast herself.

This one far surpassed the winter feast. Here was a beautiful summer night, with meat rich from spring grazing, and even some of the fruits and vegetables she had for so long craved.

As Kalie wandered through the crowds, tasting food from this or that spit or basket, she looked for some of the women who had shown an interest in her hunting success. Varena had disappeared with a group of girls like herself: daughters of warriors and slave women. Kalie wished her well.

Before Kalie could find any of the women she sought, two of them approached her. They were both younger than she by at least ten summers: both wives, but not yet mothers, although she suspected one of them was pregnant.

“Can we see that strange…killing stick?” asked one, who said her name was Tiza. Her companion was Kiska.

Kalie took the weapon from the thong where it hung at her waist, next her water bag. “Perhaps while the men are away, we can arrange a demonstration; maybe even a group hunt.”

The women exchanged a startled look, as though such a thought had never occurred to them.

“Is it true that Riyik asked you to marry him?” asked Kiska. “And that you turned him down?”

Kalie knew she shouldn’t be surprised that word had spread. Still, she wanted tonight to be about things the horsewomen could do for themselves, and each other—not another round of gossip. “Yes, it’s true,” she said finally.

“How could any woman turn down a man like that?” demanded Tiza. “Especially a slave!”

Rather than answering, Kalie peered closer at the woman, and realized where she had seen her before. “Are you from the same clan as my kinswomen, Alessa?”

“Alessa? Oh, yes, she was Tarnaak’s woman for a time.” Tiza lowered her voice. “The fool lost her in a game of knucklebones with that envoy from the Wolf Tribe! Our chief was furious, for she was clever with potions and charms. There was scarcely a one in the camp who she hadn’t helped.”

“She was the greater fool!” snapped Kiska, a hand on her belly. “Our chief might have made her his own concubine, if she hadn’t given away all her magic for free! He never saw any reason to buy her until it was too late. Now she won’t be here to help with my baby, and everyone knows she’s more skilled than that fool Navia!”

Kalie thought about pointing out that if Alessa had behaved like a woman of Aahk, she probably wouldn’t bother helping Kiska in the first place, but decided to drop it. The important thing was that Alessa might still be alive.

She wandered around awhile longer, finally slipping into the fringes of the crowd that ringed the king’s tent.

There were games and contests taking place in the open area in front of the tent. They mostly involved mock fights—and some that looked pretty real. The king himself was making one of his rare appearances. Reclining on a bed of pillows, swaddled in blankets despite the mild weather, there was no question he was dying. His eyes were sunk in his gray face and his body shook like a bundle of sticks beneath the richly embroidered linen robes and gaudy gold ornaments.

Kalie could hardly believe this was the same man who had given her to Maalke less than a year ago. Strange, she thought. He’s really not that old, even by beastmen standards. Here, when men died young, it was usually in battle. She thought about which illnesses could strike a healthy man so quickly.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Kalie strained to get a closer look, and now her healer’s eye began to take in what she was seeing. While she desperately wished for Alessa, or better yet, Maris, to confirm it, Kalie suspected Ahnaak was being poisoned.

Many thoughts occurred to Kalie as she stared. Could she learn to make some poison of her own? How many could she kill at one time? Could she somehow expose the would-be killer and save the king, thus gaining access to the inner circles of power? Kalie took another look at the king. It was most likely too late for that.

That left learning all she could of the power who would soon replace Ahnaak, and from what she could see, that wasn’t Kariik. Kalie smiled. It seemed all paths led back to the man who had begun it all.

At length, the king’s retainers insisted he go inside to rest. His senior wife, somehow dignified, rather than pathetic in her servitude, followed behind as his men carried him inside the tent. There would be no feasting or dancing or visiting with friends for her tonight. And when he died, there would be no more life for her either. And, most likely, she would think it a great honor to follow him to the next life. Perhaps that was better for her, than if she had screamed and fought and clung to life, as Kalie would have. But she still found tears welling up when she thought about it.

Women roamed freer than usual tonight, many of them allowing a veil to slip or a robe to swing open as they walked past a certain man, or danced in groups with other women. Kalie had little trouble placing herself near a group of warriors who were more interested in discussion than debauchery. And sure enough, Haraak was there, at the center of it all.

It had been more than half a year’s turning since Kalie had last seen him. She was surprised at the rage and ashamed of the fear that swept through her like a wildfire at that first glance. He was the same: the scarred and tattooed face, the wild red hair, now caught up in elaborate braids and studded with gold, the sheer menacing size. Kalie told herself to keep still and listen, and one day he would be crawling at her feet, spitting blood. She tried to smile at the thought, but could only shrink down into her robe and hide behind her veil, afraid he would recognize her.

She saw that Yessenia, the king’s woman who had boasted about being given to Haraak, was there as well. She was trying to draw Haraak’s attention as surely as Kalie was trying to avoid it. So far, Kalie’s attempts to ingratiate herself with the simpering fool had gone nowhere. She was beginning to think the woman was too stupid to know anything of value. Still, everything Kalie could learn about Haraak’s habits, likes or dislikes was valuable. And more importantly, with Yessenia, she didn’t have to get close to him herself.

The warriors were discussing chiefs and war leaders from various neighboring tribes, weighing the merits and liabilities of bargains and treaties with each one. Kalie tried to remember names, and as much about each one as possible.

“A treaty with the Wolf Tribe might work,” the scarred old man beside Haraak was saying. “At least until it’s time to divide up the spoils. If these lands to the west are as rich as you claim.”

Kalie inched closer, barely breathing.

“You have no idea,” said a familiar voice slurred with much drink. Gault, Kalie remembered, brushing aside the memories his voice brought back. “It’s not a place a man could believe existed, until he saw it.”

There was muttered discussion. Kalie strained to hear it, keeping her head down.

“Alliances never last for long,” another man said. “And usually aren’t worth the blood you have to spill when they end. But you want more than that!” He pointed an accusing finger at Haraak. “You want a federation! You think you can bring all the western tribes together—“

“It will be necessary,” said the man on Haraak’s other side. “If we’re to be masters of the lands of the west—“

“The Sons of Aahk live in the grasslands!” shouted the man across from him. “Leave our home, and we’ll lose the favor of the gods.”

“If we haven’t already lost their favor,” muttered an old man, staring morosely into the fire. Others glared at him, and made protective signs against evil.

Haraak, Kalie noticed, had said nothing the entire time she had been listening. Now he cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent.

“We need this alliance because our future lies in the west.” Haraak’s gruff voice was quiet, yet it carried easily to the far edge of the crowd.

“We’re already in the west,” muttered a petulant voice. It’s owner was richly dressed, but more boy than man. Yutiik, the king’s nephew. “We’re about as far west as the grasslands go!”

“And that,” said Haraak, with an ingratiating smile at the young prince, “is exactly my point. Our enemies are many; yet the grasslands grow smaller and poorer each year. As bad as recent winters have been for us, they have been worse to the east. So men push west out of desperation.”

“And always we have defeated them!” shouted Yutiik. “As we always will!” There was thunderous agreement from the assembled warriors.

“But only a little further west,” said Haraak, “there is a land like no other. Hills where water gushes down all year, without drying! Rich pastures for our animals, fields of grain, forests of fruit trees.” They were spellbound. For all that they had heard it before, the warriors listened like children at a favorite bedtime story.

“And don’t forget the game that waits to be hunted,” said Gault with a leer.

Haraak grinned. “Yes, the best part. The land is empty of men. Real men, anyway. But filled with women who think the gods gave them the land to rule!” The men exploded with laughter. “Women longing for the touch of real men. Women waiting for us to be their masters!”

“Then why tell anyone else of this marvel?” cried a young man. “If these men are as weak as you say? If they really are ruled by women—“

“We can take them all ourselves!” shouted another. “Why share the spoils with anyone?”

“Or worry about a knife in the back when settling our shaft into a nice juicy cunt?”

“They are weak, but they are many,” said Haraak. “They are more numerous than rabbits in a warren. Their smallest settlements are larger than the clan of the king himself. The place where I…stayed…had more people than our entire tribe.” The men stared at each other in disbelief. “Even rabbits could prove dangerous in such numbers.”

The prince snorted. “I might risk an army of rabbits, if it meant keeping such a prize for myself.”

“And that would be enough,” said Haraak, “If all we wanted was to grab treasure and slaves, and return home. But we could have more! With an alliance of the mightiest tribes of the steppes, we could take that land—and hold it!”

Kalie stopped breathing.

“Give up the land of our gods and our ancestors? Forever?”

Haraak shook his head violently. “Bring our gods to the west! Burn those obscene walls, smoke out their warrens, tear down those boxes they live in until only good pastureland remains, and our tents cover the land! Sacrifice nine of every ten people to the spirits of our ancestors—and I think they will like their new home.”

The other men were beginning to understand. “Leave only the comeliest women for our beds, and the skilled men to work our gold and silver!” cried one.

“And when the land is ours,” said Haraak patiently. “And we prosper there, what happens here, in the east, when the winters get worse, and the summers parch the water from the land?”

They understood, and so did Kalie. Only great numbers could hold the stolen land from the next wave of thieves.

“The king will not support such a venture,” said a grizzled veteran, probably older than the king himself.

And that, Kalie saw, was why the king must die. Had his two oldest sons been of a similar mind? Or were they simply too strong to become Haraak’s puppets?

Finally remembering to breathe again, Kalie slipped away from the meeting.

She had known this would happen; it was why she had returned to this cursed place as a slave. But now that it was here, all laid out before her, Kalie suddenly wasn’t sure what to do.

When? She had to find out when the invasion was to occur.

Kalie was glad that Haraak was her chief enemy here. She already hated him with a passion that felt old and familiar. But she would have to learn who the leaders of the other tribes were. The beastmen had said it themselves: alliances were not something they were good at. She would see to it this one did not last.