The Novels of the Jaran (153 page)

Tess grinned. “As I hear it, he sleeps more now than he ever used to.”

“That’s true enough,” agreed Konstans. “It’s a good thing he married, for the rest of us, at least.” He smiled at her, remembered that she was Bakhtiian’s wife and not his old comrade-in-arms, and looked away.

“Oh, don’t be shy with me, Konstans. We’ve known each other too long. Is there any word about the embassy from Parkilnous yet? Hello, Aleksi. Can you ride down to the ambassadors’ camp and see if they’ve arrived?” Aleksi nodded and left. Tess went over to greet Sonia and to send Kolia with hot tea to wake Ilya.

Karkand lay beyond, its vast sprawl of suburbs fortified by walls and its inner city grown up in rings around a hill that rose out of the flat land. On a second hill, a twin to the first, lay the acres of white and gleaming stone, festooned with pennants and banners, of the royal palace. Here on the flat, they saw the city mostly as two distant heights thrusting into the sky, the gray citadel crowning the first hill and a shining pair of towers crowning the second. The citizens of Karkand had not elected to defend the outer city, but Ilya had decreed that the fields and orchards and suburbs remain untouched except to feed the camp, and what farmers had not fled within the inner walls or away into the countryside were ordered to work their lands on pain of death. Sonia offered Tess some fresh melon, and Tess ate the sweet fruit gratefully.

“I rode through the outskirts of the city yesterday,” said Sonia. “It’s very handsome, and it’s certainly bigger than any city I’ve ever seen. Why, there must be as many people living there as there are riders in Ilya’s army. No, there must be far more.”

Josef Raevsky came around the side of the tent, his left hand touching Vania’s shoulder so that the boy could lead him in under the awning. Ivan led him to a pillow next to Tess and Katerina brought him a tray laden with meat and melon and sweet cakes.

“Do you think the embassy from Parkilnous has arrived yet?” Tess asked him.

Josef shook his head. “We’ve met only the merchant, who says one was sent. They won’t understand yet what a threat we are to them. Like all the khaja, they believe that mountains and rivers can protect them.”

“And desert. There’s a desert called the Al Dinn Kun, the Wailing Death, to the south. That’s the one Tasha is riding through.”

“No one will expect him on the other side. Well,” Josef ate a bit of cake and considered, “I don’t think the khaja princes are trustworthy in any case. If they’ll cast off their loyalty to their own king, then who says they won’t do the same to Bakhtiian?”

“Are you suggesting that there’s no use in us receiving an embassy from Parkilnous, if one comes?”

“No, simply that I trust the word of a merchant better. Their first wish is for safe roads, so that they can continue to trade. They will serve us out of expediency, but serve us nevertheless.”

“Here is Ilya,” said Tess, but Josef only smiled. He already knew. Ilya ducked under the awning.

Ilya greeted Sonia, greeted Tess, greeted Josef and the children. He ate sparingly and paced off with Konstans and Vladimir and Mitya in attendance to oversee the first line of earthworks being built along the river. Cara stopped by to assure herself that Tess was well, and then she left. A while later Mitya returned.

“Aunt Tess,” he said, “Bakhtiian is riding out, and he wishes to know if you’d like to ride with him.”

Tess laughed. “No, certainly I’d prefer to sit in camp all day. I’m sure the countryside is very pretty.” Eventually, they left Katerina in charge of camp, and Sonia rode out with Tess and Mitya and Aleksi. When they met up with Ilya’s party, they found Arina Veselov in attendance with her husband, as well.

Kirill chuckled when he greeted Tess. “That’s very handy, how you’ve slung your saber over your back. Don’t you trust us?”

“Kirill, I learned long ago never to ride out without being armed. Let me see your hand.”

With a grin, he lifted his left arm up as high as his shoulder and then lowered it again. He opened the hand, stretching it wide. Sweat broke on his brow, and he let the hand relax back into a loose curl. “It aches,” he said. “It aches constantly. I never thought that pain could feel so sweet.”

Tess glanced toward Arina, to share Kirill’s triumph with her, but Arina had clenched her hands tightly on her reins and her mouth drew into a thin line.

“Do you think I’ll be able to ride in the army again?” Kirill asked, and Tess saw Arina whiten about the mouth.

“You
are
riding with the army, Kirill. I notice that Ilya keeps you as one of his closest advisers.”

“Many of whom are too old to ride to battle. I’m still young, Tess. I could have led the army down through the Al Dinn Kun with Tasha.”

He could have, had he possessed two good arms. “You must be patient, Kirill, and remember, there are other ways to serve Bakhtiian besides fighting. Look at what Dr. Hierakis has done.”

He studied his hand. It had color, and he could open and close it at will now. “It’s true that she by herself serves Bakhtiian as well as any general. But she’s a healer, Tess. That’s how she serves the gods. All I’ve ever been was a rider.”

“And a teacher.” He shrugged, acknowledging the title but not embracing it, not now, when he could dream again of riding with the army. It was strange to see him shrug with both shoulders after growing used to the way he had moved before, one side lifeless and stiff. She sighed and did not know what else to say. Arina cast her a grateful glance and moved forward along the line to ride beside Sonia. The two women talked easily together. Tess trailed behind, falling back with Aleksi.

The party broke away from the fringe of camp and rode beside acres of lush fields. It was warm, and the air smelled fragrant and rich. Peace lay on the scene. A score of farmers toiled out in a field, harvesting. They started up, staring at the hundred riders picking their way along the edge of the field, and froze. After a bit one, then a second, then four more, then the rest, bent back to their task.

Farther out, the city growing pale against the sky behind them, another group of laborers sowed seeds, some kind of winter grain, Tess supposed. Ilya lifted a hand and the entire party came to a halt while he watched the farmers. His face was still. The sunlight cast its bright glow on his face, illuminating him. Tess wondered what he was thinking as he watched the khaja farmers scattering their seed.

But stillness never lasted long, with him. All at once riders appeared, coming toward them at a breakneck pace. Immediately every rider drew his saber, and the guards shifted to form a ring around Bakhtiian. Aleksi drove Tess into the center and stationed himself beside her. Arina and Sonia drew their bows and nocked arrows to the strings. Behind them, Mitya calmed his restive mare.

“It’s Veselov,” said Kirill. But no man sheathed his saber. Neither did Tess.

The laborers had rushed together into a clump in the center of their field, but the troop of horsemen rode past without noticing them and drew up before Bakhtiian. Vasil rode forward. The guards parted to let him through. His hair was windblown and his face flushed with sun and air.

“There’s been a sortie,” he called, pulling his mount around next to Ilya. “At least two thousand men. Heading southeast.”

“This way?”

“Possibly. We can’t tell if it’s an attack or if they’re trying to escape south. They carry the colors of the governor of the city, blue and white.”

“If they’re simply trying to escape, then why not ride out at night?” asked Ilya. “Well, we’ll go back to camp.” He addressed Vasil calmly, as if the blond man was just any of his commanders: loyal, trusted, true.

Vasil obeyed—how should he not?—but Tess thought he looked a little puzzled, as if expecting Ilya to be angry that
he
had come with this message. They started back at a fast clip.

A cloud of dust alerted them to the battle headed their way. Ilya reined his horse back beside Tess, so that she rode with him on her left and Aleksi on her right. Arina and Sonia rode behind them, and at their back, Kirill and Mitya. Ahead, she saw the blur of arrows. A troop of jaran archers rode parallel to the khaja fighters, firing into their ranks, but like an arrow sped forward from a strong bow, the blue and white governor’s banner flew high and the army of men it heralded pressed south with determination.

Ilya swore under his breath. A rider broke away from the jaran unit harrying the khaja left flank and raced over to Bakhtiian’s party. It was Anton Veselov.

“We left the one gate unguarded, as you ordered, Bakhtiian,” he shouted as he pulled up beside them, flashing a glance back at his sister Arina and then returning his attention to Bakhtiian. “Sakhalin faced sorties before, by that gate, and a troop of one thousand horsemen escaped out of it one night, but this—! We never expected an attack like this.”

“Do you think they knew I rode out today?”

“How could they have known?” asked Anton.

How, indeed? What drove the governor to take flight in the afternoon? As the khaja troop closed, Tess could see that they were all heavily armored, presumably the pick of the garrison. Ilya spurred his horse to a gallop and the entire party raced to one side, to avoid the fray.

Somehow, a column of heavy horse coiled free of the khaja ranks and smashed into them. As if she stood at the eye of the storm, Tess watched the chaos from her still eddy in the very center. There rode Vladimir, parrying, cutting. A khaja horseman fell, dragging down a jaran rider with him. Vasil pressed forward into a gap with his riders ranged alongside him. Then, like a whip’s snap, the trailing end of the column hit the center. At once, Tess knocked a thrown spear aside with her saber and saw it spin harmlessly to the ground. Three armored riders bore down on her and Ilya, and she set herself in the saddle, bracing for the impact; Ilya swore. All at once Aleksi drove through the riders; he forced one off his horse and grappled with the second from the saddle and then knifed him through the faceplate, and then Vladimir appeared and stuck the third through from behind before he could cut down Aleksi. Grim-faced and silent again, Ilya stuck next to Tess, shielding her, though twice at least the tide of the battle tried to tear him off to the left, and once he took a cut meant for her.

Then, as abruptly as it had struck them, the column was shorn off by the combined weight of the Veselov jahar and a reinforcement of men from the Raevsky command. The governor’s flag receded southward, fighting its way away from the city.

Ilya wore a mask of fury. His hands shook. He looked at Tess. She nodded curtly, so he would know she was unhurt. Blood seeped from his left arm, but she could tell by the way he moved the arm that it wasn’t a serious wound. She turned to look behind her. Sonia swore and ripped a swath of fabric from her fine tunic to bind Arina’s ribs while Mitya held Arina upright on her horse. Kirill, white with anguish, could only watch. His lips moved, but whether he cursed the khaja or his own helplessness, Tess could not be sure.

Aleksi pulled in beside her. “Thank you,” Tess said to him. “That was very impressive.” She felt like a fool, saying it, but her heart was pumping and her breath was ragged and she had to say something, no matter how foolish.

Vasil cantered up, flushed, looking terrified. “You’re wounded!” he exclaimed, gaping at Ilya.

“Collect your men, Veselov, and go after them!” ordered Ilya. “Bring me their heads. If one man from that troop of riders escapes, I’ll demote every commander of these units back into the ranks. How dare they threaten my wife!” He was pale with rage.

Without another word, Vasil rode away.

There were wounded in plenty. Tess took Vladi up behind her; others walked. Arina fainted halfway back to camp, and they had to stop. Ilya took her himself, on his horse; she was so slight a thing that she was no burden to him. Kirill looked not just afraid for her life but ashamed of having to watch while another man cared for his wife.

Cara came out to meet them, having already heard of the engagement. She took Arina immediately. Niko tended to Ilya’s arm. Tess sat in the shade of Cara’s tent and sipped at juice brought to her by Galina and watched Kirill pace.

It took two days before Vasil came in at last, bearing the governor’s head on his spear. The rest of the heads the jahar riders carried in, in baskets and bags. The jaran riders had taken heavy casualties, women and men both, and in the end it was the archers under Vera Veselov’s command who had brought down the final two hundred fleeing soldiers. The collected commanders swore that not one khaja from the governor’s party had escaped, and they begged for Bakhtiian’s pardon that the entire episode had happened at all.

Working with captured engineers, Ursula had already made up a catapult as a model to demonstrate siege techniques to the commanders. Bakhtiian gave her all the heads to fling back into Karkand. Ursula was enchanted. For only the second time in her pregnancy, Tess threw up. But she could see by the set expression on Ilya’s face that this was one of those times when it was useless to argue with him.

CHAPTER NINE

N
ADINE LOVED THE BREAKNEAK
pace of a courier’s life. Through Habakar lands she raced, stopping at the staging posts set up along the northeast road that led back to the plains. Some nights she rode straight through, dozing in the saddle, her way lit by men bearing lanterns on either side. Some nights she slept in the comfort of a tent and went on at dawn. She loved the music of the bells that accompanied her at every instant, whether riding or walking, that chimed her awake in the morning and serenaded her to sleep at night with each slight movement of her shoulders or her chest.

In eight days, she crossed out of Habakar lands and onto the farthest southern edge of the plains. Five days later, she rode into a tribe at midday to receive the information that the Prince of Jeds and his party had passed by the morning before, headed south. Out here, on the grass, the wind raked over the tents and already the people wore heavy outer tunics against the chill. Women and children greeted her cheerfully; there were a few young men, so few that the old men seemed numerous in proportion. But Nadine enjoyed just walking through camp. She felt at home, at her ease, here in a tribe going about its life out on the plains. The etsana hurried up, advised of her arrival, and led her to the great tent at the center of camp. The elderly woman sat her down and fed her and offered her milk while the etsana’s own grandson saddled a new horse for her.