The Novels of the Jaran (116 page)

Cara laughed. “Drink as much water as you can, Bakhtiian. I promise you’ll feel better in a day or two.”

He bowed, then winced at the movement. “You are gracious, as well as wise.”

She laughed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Doctor, we’ll be marching at dawn tomorrow.”

“Ah. Thank you for the warning.” She kissed Tess on the cheek and left them.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“T
ESS,” SAID ALEKSI, REINING
his horse aside and waiting with her as the line of wagons trundled past, “are you pregnant?”

Her startled glance betrayed the truth. “How did you know?”

“You stopped eating
glariss
milk and cheese, but nothing else.”

“I can’t stomach it. It’s strange, though. None of the other food bothers me, just that.”

“Does Ilya know?”

“No.”

He nodded, understanding her perfectly. “You must be early still. Does Sonia know?”

“No one knows.”

“Not even the healer?”

“Yes, she knows.”

Aleksi smiled. “You meant, no jaran knows. Does your brother know?”

“Of course he—” She broke off. “How could he know, Aleksi? It’s been over twelve hands of days since I’ve seen him.”

“I thought as much,” said Aleksi with that maddeningly knowing smile that he had.

Tess pulled a face at him and urged her mare forward as the last of the wagons in this segment of the train passed them by. The wagons climbed steadily through the range of hills, heading for the fortress that blocked the pass that led on into the heart of the Habakar kingdom. The main army had passed this way the day before, and Tess could read the signs of their passage still, here in the vanguard of the great train of wagons and horses and herds that made up the jaran camp as it moved. Such signs had not yet been churned away beneath the obliterating tread of uncounted wheels and hooves and feet. Riders from Anatoly Sakhalin’s jahar, augmented by the recruits for Bakhtiian’s jahar of envoys, rode up and down the line at intervals, watching the hills, watching for breakdowns, urging any recalcitrant oxen along with whips. All in all, the mood of the camp was positive. They traveled incessantly in any case, Tess reflected; it was only the change of scenery that made this journey different. That and the families they had left behind on the plains.

At a broad stretch of track, she and Aleksi cantered up alongside the wagons to the head of the train. They passed the Bharentous Repertory Company, and then the wagons of the Veselov tribe.

“What’s Anatoly doing loitering there?” Aleksi asked, pointing toward that young man, who held his horse to a walk abreast of a wagon.

“His wife is driving the wagon,” said Tess. “Leave him be. They have little enough time to spend with each other.”

“I don’t think he was pleased when Bakhtiian assigned him this duty.”

“Perhaps not, since there’s not much obvious glory in it. But if he’s wise, he’ll see the rewards are greater for him in the long run.”

Aleksi shrugged. “Anatoly is ambitious. Perhaps he’ll learn to be patient as well. It was kind of you to insist the Veselov tribe be allowed to travel in the front ranks, Tess. I don’t think Bakhtiian will approve.”

“I did it for the baby’s sake.” So little, struggling Lavrenti would not have to breathe the dust of thousands of wagons. “And for Diana.” So she could ride near Anatoly. Then she forced herself to think of the reason she felt safe, letting the Veselov tribe ride here with her—because Vasil and his jahar rode all the way at the back, with the distant rearguard. Surely that must be far enough away. And in any case, Ilya was with the army, a day ahead of them all. She and Aleksi rode on past the Sakhalin wagons and up to the fore, where Bakhtiian’s own tribe led the way, together with the string of wagons belonging to Dr. Hierakis.

“Ah,” said Aleksi suddenly, “so that is why the doctor never lets you get far from her.”

“Yes. What’s that up there? Yevgeni?” She called ahead to one of the red-shirted riders, the dark-haired man who had once ridden with Vasil and who had been permitted to join Anatoly’s jahar in order to ride with his sister. He rode back to her. “What’s that smoke up ahead? Is it in the hills?”

“Khaja,” said Yevgeni.

“Has anyone been sent to investigate?” Aleksi asked.

“Five riders,” replied the young man.

Aleksi nodded at him. “Ride back and find Anatoly Sakhalin and send him forward. Take a few riders with you, and tell the children to get in the wagons. Send a rider back to the tribe behind us to alert them.”

“Do you think we might be attacked?” Tess asked. She lifted a hand to wave at Ursula el Kawakami, who pulled her horse in beside them, looking impressively warlike in a lamellar cuirass and bronze helmet. She was armed with a bow quiver strung along one thigh, a short sword belted at her waist, and a lance balanced in her right hand with its butt braced in a holder strung to the harness along her saddle.

“I’d advise you have the women ready their bows,” said Ursula in Rhuian. “In this kind of country, we’ll need their range and versatility if there is trouble.”

Aleksi considered Ursula, considered Tess, and then turned to Yevgeni. “Have the women ready their bows,” he said in khush. Yevgeni glanced back at the smoke rising to the northwest and, with a quick nod, he rode off.

But Yevgeni had barely vanished down the line when his sister appeared, galloping in along the curve of the road ahead. Behind her came another rider with an arrow in his thigh and a riderless horse on a lead tied to his harness. The steep hills framed them, two riders, three horses, fleeing some unseen conflagration.

The alert—a high call in khush—went down the line. Tess strapped her helmet on. “Didn’t the army clear the hills?” she demanded, feeling sick with fear—not for herself, but for the children in the wagons. But Aleksi had already ridden forward to order the front rank of riders to spread out. They broke aside to let Valye ride through to Aleksi.

“They’ve fired the road,” she gasped. “Put trees and debris in the way and lit them. They attacked the scouting party, and we’ve already lost—”

“What’s our ground ahead?” Aleksi interrupted. “And you, Orlov—” To the rider wounded in the thigh. “Does it continue this narrow?”

“No, it broadens out, wide enough for a camp,” replied the rider.

“They fired the road just before that,” said Valye. “And there’s a troop of them, on foot, behind it. Archers, too.”

Aleksi nodded. “Orlov, ride down the line with the alert. All women ready to fire. We’ll break through with the jahar and then pull the wagons into a square and force them to come at us.”

Orlov cast him an astonished glance at this casual preparation for bows and arrows in battle, but he pulled his mount quickly around and headed down the line of wagons.

“Tess, beside me. Ursula, on her other side. Valye, in the third rank.” He paced his horse alongside Tess’s in the second rank. “We’ll pick up speed,” he shouted, “and hit them with our full weight.”

Tess glanced back at the wagons, which the troop left behind as they changed pace and broke as one into a canter. “But what about the women?” she cried.

Aleksi shook his head. “They’ll pick us off if we stay trapped by the wagons. We need room to maneuver.”

The high walls echoed the pounding hooves back at them. Tess had a moment to wonder what in hell she was doing here and then they rounded a steep curve and the hot smell of the fire hit her. Smoke poured up into the pale blue bowl of the sky. Aleksi shouted something, but he was so close to her that it only came to her as an undifferentiated sound. Beside her, Ursula whipped her horse into a gallop as well. Ahead, a horse faltered, shying at the smoke, and its rider whipped it forward.

Shouting. An arrow sang by her, so close she felt its breath. Then they were on the fire. Zhashi jumped over a tangled heap of smoking brush.

Smoke and heat scorched Tess, choked her. A horse screamed. Aleksi’s lance shuddered, bending, and then he let it go and was past it. His saber winked in the sudden glare of sunlight, and Tess saw Ursula, her face frozen in a rictus grin, throw her lance like a javelin into the crowd of infantry facing them. The first rank of riders hit the khaja soldiers. Some of the jaran riders fell, some were thrown back, but most plowed on through, cutting to each side.

Tess parried a spear, batting it aside with reflexes she had forgotten she possessed, and cut with a sweeping stroke at the bare head of a man standing below her. He staggered back, but there was another man there, and another, and another. Aleksi reined his mare back and like a demon he cut Tess free.

“Stay with me!” he shouted. She whipped Zhashi forward, slicing, back-cutting, whipping one stocky man on her left—dark eyes, bulbous nose—across the cheek, raising a welt of blood, and then lost her whip and the next moment Zhashi raced unhindered out onto a little plateau of ground. Tess jerked the mare hard around, found Aleksi, and formed up beside him. Most of the first rank was gone. Aleksi waved riders forward to fill the gaps.

“Now!” he cried. “Before they have time to regroup!”

They poured back, hitting the khaja soldiers from behind. Men sprinted for the hills. Arrows sprayed down from the heights. Tess caught a glimpse of Ursula, still with that horrible grin; an arrow, fletches quivering, stuck out from her body armor. Zhashi jumped again, over a body, and came down in the center of a skirmish. Tess fought her way to the aid of two jaran riders—no, three: one was Valye, sobbing, saber held rigid and unmoving in front of her. Then she heard Aleksi calling to fall back. She slapped Valye’s horse on the rump and she and the other two riders retreated in good order. One of them had snagged the reins of the girl’s mount.

They rode out into the little valley.

“You didn’t stick by me!” Aleksi shouted, riding up to her with blood on his face and a wild look in his eyes. He looked a little crazy. “Pull back farther, damn you!” he shouted at her. “Out of arrow range.”

Then he swore again. They were halved in numbers, and isolated now. Arrows fell and skittered toward them along the ground. The infantry regrouped but did not—yet—advance, although by Tess’s quick estimate the khaja outnumbered them two to one.

“Here, girl, stop that crying,” Ursula yelled at Valye, but the girl was almost incoherent with fear, shaking. She had dropped her saber, and it lay in the dirt.

Tess rode over to them. “Ursula, go away. Get that arrow out of your armor. Valye.” She said it firmly, but without anger. “Where is your bow?”

A sob, stifled slightly. “I couldn’t—I just couldn’t—So close…so many…”

“Where is your bow?”

“Here.” A tear-stained face tilted up toward Tess. Gods, she was young.

“Shoot some of the bastards for me. I know you can do it.”

The tears stopped. A sudden light gleamed in Valye’s eyes. She pulled her bow from its quiver and nocked an arrow. And let fly. A khaja soldier stumbled and went down. The men cheered, immensely heartened. A barrage of arrows rained down from the heights, but they fell just out of range. The infantry advanced, step by slow step. Valye shot again, and hit. And again, and hit.

With a great shout, the infantry charged. An instant of indecision on Aleksi’s part: the khaja center was heavy and thick with soldiers, and if the riders went to either flank, they exposed themselves to archery fire from the hills.

Then he grinned. “Retreat! We’ll break back at my command.”

They retreated in good order toward the distant end of the little valley. But there, on the road where it wound around a rise, a second group of infantry appeared. Tess heard the khaja shout in triumph at their victory.

And then shout a warning. “Turn!” cried Aleksi. They turned, to see Anatoly and the rest of the jahar charging through the gap and hitting the infantry from the rear. Behind Anatoly, emerging through the smoke, came the first of the wagons.

They charged through and, meeting Anatoly’s group, routed the infantry between them. As quickly as wagons came forward far enough out into the valley they halted and with astonishing speed and efficiency, women shouting and cursing, a square formed. With a handful of other riders, Tess chased the retreating khaja, cutting them down from behind, those that did not turn to fight. Just in front of her, a khaja soldier fell with an arrow in his neck. A man shrieked out in pain up in the heights above.

“Fall back!” cried Anatoly. The cry went out.

“Tess!” yelled Aleksi. “Fall back with me!”

In that wild instant, Tess realized that her charge had brought her out to the very edge of the battle, that she was surrounded by khaja soldiers with only Aleksi trailing at her side. A clot of khaja turned on her. She reined Zhashi hard around, slicing with her saber. A thump jarred her helmet, and an arrow fell over Zhashi’s withers and tumbled down to the ground. Tess froze, realizing in that second that she had been shot in the head. A man lunged forward, sword raised—and an arrow sprouted from his throat. Like a brilliant, sudden, red germination, another arrow sprouted from the throat of his companion, and the man next to him, and the next one, a lethal flowering. Tess did not wait to see anymore but fled, Aleksi beside her.

There was a gap in the wagons. They rode through it into the eddying calm of the center. Behind, a wagon rolled to close the gap.

“Dismount,” said Aleksi in a low voice. Tess dismounted, because she was suddenly so tired that she could not think. “Were you hit anywhere?” he demanded. She shook her head. Her hands shook. Without that helmet, she would have been pierced through the skull. Bile rose in her throat.

“Aleksi, I’m going to be sick.”

“Here.” He held her by the shoulders while she threw up. A moment later Anatoly appeared, and with him, his grandmother. A moment later Sonia ran up and knelt beside Tess.

“Tess—? Gods!”

“No, I’m all right. Just sick.”

“Ah.” Sonia rose as quickly. “Mother Sakhalin, come. We need all the women old enough to shoot placed along the wagons. We need to prop up shields for cover. Boys to the herds. Some kind of screen—some wagons upended, I think—for the littlest ones.” They hurried off.