Part 21 (1/2)
”She is not jaran, Anatoly,” said Tess.
He glanced at her, and she smiled slightly, ironically, since neither was she jaran.
Then he returned his gaze to Bakhtiian. ”If she wishes to be rid of the marriage, she can do so, but I am content.”
”Tess,” said Charles in a calm voice, in Rhuian, ”what is going on?”
”He wants to marry me,” said Diana suddenly. ”This is the way they get married.”
”Ah,” said Charles. He studied his sister a moment, and Tess flushed and lifted a hand to brush the scar on her cheek, then lowered it again self-consciously. ”I understand this is sudden, Diana. Such an action is not binding on you.”
”No,” she said stubbornly. ”I want to marry him.”
Marco muttered something.
”Marco, really,” said Dr. Hierakis in Rhuian. ”There's no need for such language.”
Burckhardt's hands were clenched into rigid fists, and he looked so angry that Aleksi wondered how long he could maintain his composure.
”That is your choice, of course,” said Charles to Diana. If he was shocked by her p.r.o.nouncement, he did not show it. ”But surely, Bakhtiian, the matter can be waived for some days so that the young woman can think it over.''
”I don't need to think it over-”
”Diana,” said Tess in a friendly but firm voice, ”you will, by custom, have nine days to think it over. If you really want to go through with this, then you must go into seclusion for nine days, after which you will be reunited with this man and become husband and wife.”
”Fine.”
”What is she saying?” asked Anatoly in khush, a little desperately.
”You young fool,” said Bakhtiian, also in khush. ”Come along. I don't envy you the tongue-las.h.i.+ng you are about to receive from your grandmother. Perhaps I'll let Niko in on it as well. If your uncle Yaroslav was here. ...” He trailed off, letting the thought go unfinished. With a gesture, he indicated that Anatoly precede him. ”Your grace,” he said to Soerensen, ”perhaps you would be part of this council as well.”
”Of course. I'll follow in a moment.” He nodded, and Bakhtiian left.”Diana, Cara, perhaps you'll come with me,” said Tess. She led the two women off on the long walk to the Soerensen enclave.
Aleksi, silent, did not move. By now the others had forgotten him. He had that gift, to stand so still, to draw so little attention to himself, that it was as if he was invisible.
”Marco,” said Soerensen softly.
”Leave me alone.” Marco did not even look at the other man. He was not looking at anything, exactly, but at some sight, some vision, some pain, that only he could see.
Soerensen sighed, but he honored the request, and left quietly.
Aleksi dared not move. He doesn't want me here. And Aleksi felt an odd feeling: He felt ashamed because he had intruded on another man's anguish.
Bells tinkled softly. A golden vision appeared out of the gloom: Sonia, laden with an ornamentation that lent grace to her features and a glow to her expression. A single glance she spared for Aleksi, a brief tilt of her chin in acknowledgment of his presence. Crescent moons spun and danced at her shoulders. She halted beside Marco Burckhardt and settled a hand on his sleeve.
”Come,” she said. That was all. Without a word, he went with her. The bells faded.
But Aleksi still heard the bells. Distant, but growing louder. A shout came from the far ring of tents. Another shout followed, and a lantern, two lanterns, sprang to life. They bobbed and swayed, approaching over the gra.s.s. Two horses with two riders, but only the foremost rider rode upright. The second lay over his mount's neck, hugging it from exhaustion. Men on foot trailed after them, a group that swelled in size and volume.
Aleksi ran to meet them.
”Where is Bakhtiian?” shouted the lead rider. ”G.o.ds, man, there's been treachery from those khaja swine.”
The man lying over the second horse looked unconscious. The horse was blown and scarcely in better condition than its rider, though it did not look wounded. A broad strip of bloodied cloth was wrapped around the rider's head, obscuring his face, and more cloth bound his ribs and his left thigh. He slipped. Aleksi grabbed him and steadied him on the horse.
Bakhtiian came running, Sibirin behind him. ”Bring the horse up to the carpet,”
someone called, and they arrived there, a ragtag procession, at the same time Bakhtiian did.
Bakhtiian halted for one instant. A look of rage suffused his face. Then he came forward and tenderly swung the wounded man down from the horse, laying him on the pillows. The movement opened the wound in his thigh, but the blood leaking onto the fine embroidery did not seem to bother Bakhtiian.
”Josef! Niko, go get the healer. Dr. Hierakis. Grekov, see to the horse.”Now that the rider was lying on his back, Aleksi could see that it was indeed Josef Raevsky, Ilya's finest general, a man who could have been dyan of his own tribe but who gave it over into his brother's hands many years ago in order to pledge himself to Bakhtiian and Bakhtiian's cause. The worst blood stained the cloth bound over his eyes.
”Ilya.” Raevsky had some life yet.
”Who did this? The rest of your party?”
”The Habakar king,” Raevsky gasped. ”Treachery. Honored us as envoys and then at the feast, fell on us.” He panted. His face was gray. ”Left me alive, to deliver this.” His hand fluttered feebly. A crumpled scroll was tucked into the sheath of his saber. His saber-was gone.
Bakhtiian removed the scroll and unrolled it. Scanned it. His lips were pressed so tight that they had lost all color. His eyes burned. ” 'So that you will understand that you must fear me, and set no foot on my ground, I have shown you my power. But because I am merciful as well as strong, I have left one alive to tell the tale.' ”
Sibirin came up with Dr. Hierakis in tow, and Bakhtiian s.h.i.+fted aside to make room for her. She knelt beside Raevsky and stripped the cloth bandages away. Her face was intent, impa.s.sive.
”It looks like they burned the eyes out.” She ran a finger down the bridge of Raevsky's nose. ”How far did he come?”
Bakhtiian shrugged. ”It's about ten days' ride to the border. Much much farther to the royal city.''
”Incredible,” she said curtly. ”Make me a litter to bear him to my tent. If you wish him to live, do it quickly.” She rose. ”I will be waiting there.” And left, striding out into the darkness.
”Do as she says,” said Bakhtiian. He stayed kneeling beside Raevsky until men came with a litter and bore him away. Then he rose. Glanced around, at the men waiting on his word. ”You,” he said to the rider who had come in with Raevsky.
”What is your name?”
”Svyatoslav Zhulin, with Veselov's jahar.”
”You will return south, then, with this message. I want Veselov and Yaroslav Sakhalin to drive into Habakar territory. Then the king will begin to understand that he must fear us.” He glanced down at the pillow that rested against his boots, at the bright stain drying between the two birds of prey. ”Then he will understand our power. Aleksi.” His voice had the temper of the finest steel, decisive, cold, and sharp.
”You will bring the Habakar philosopher to me. Now.”
”Are you going to kill him?” someone asked, angry, wanting revenge.
”Of course not! We respect philosophers and envoys here. But I will inform him myself of this treachery. In the end, he may prove a valuable ally. Aleksi?”
Aleksi nodded and retreated, heading for the foreign envoys' enclave. Behind, he could hear Bakhtiian's crisp voice issuing more orders. The spring's campaign was beginning.