Part 22 (1/2)
”Is this the general?” Vasil asked when Viaka came up beside him on her pony.
She shrugged. ”How should I know? All these Habakar b.a.s.t.a.r.ds look the same to me. His armor is rich enough.”
”Then you shall have it, my dear. Piotr, strip him.”
The man protested, at first. Piotr grabbed his left hand and cut off his little finger, and after that, the man submitted in silence. Until Yevgeni returned with seventy riders, a few of whom were wounded, and two captives. The first of the captives was a stalwart man in a fine brocaded surcoat who endured many bleeding wounds stoically. The second was an adolescent boy without a trace of beard on his face, tall but clearly young and terrified. He, too, wore a gold surcoat and gilded armor. When the Habakar general saw him, the old man broke out in a storm of weeping and struggled away from his captors to embrace the boy.
”They force children to ride into battle, too,” said Yevgeni, pulling his mount up beside Vasil. ”It's barbaric. But the boy seemed important, so we let him live.”
”The other man?”
”He fought courageously to defend the child.”
”Bind his wounds, then, after you've stripped him of his armor. Leave the boy in his, though, or they'll never believe we found such a child fighting.”
The old man, stripped down to his linen tunic and hose, broke away from the boy and threw himself at Vasil's feet, babbling in his khaja tongue. Vasil sighed and looked around for Viaka, but she was kneeling, running her hands over the golden surcoat and the fine armor with a gleam of l.u.s.t in her eyes. She glanced up, and when she saw that Vasil was watching her, her face flushed with pleasure and she rose and came over to him, glancing back frequently as if to make sure her new armor was not being stolen by one of her villagers. She halted beside Vasil and listened to the old man, then spat on him.
”He says he will gladly give you anything you please, as long as you spare the boy,” she said to Vasil. ”He says his name is Yalik anSiyal, and he is a great n.o.bleman and the leader of this army. The boy is his son.”
Vasil smiled. Not gloated, not quite, but he felt entirely pleased with himself.
”We'll ride, then. I have what I need.''
”I'm coming with you.” Viaka's gaze up, at him seated splendidly on his mount, was wors.h.i.+pful as well as possessive.
Vasil chuckled. ”My dear, you are wealthy now. You don't need me.”
”My father will only take these things from me once you are gone and give them to my brothers. I would gladly become your wife. My father would not protest.”
Yevgeni laughed under his breath. ”He'd be glad enough to be rid of her,” he said softly.
”I am married,” said Vasil quietly.
She gestured impatiently. ”I do not ask to be your chief wife. But surely you have a place for a secondary wife.”
”Savages,” muttered Yevgeni.
”Yevgeni, get the men ready. We must go.” Vasil put out a hand and took Viaka's, holding it a moment. ”My dear, however much I might wish it, it is impossible.” Then he released her hand and reined his horse away. Piotr bundled the general onto his horse and tied him there, stringing the boy's mount on behind. Viaka simply stood, staring at them. One of the villagers, an old man who had protested the most at the girl's usurpation of authority, grinned vindictively as the riders mounted and rode away.
Vasil did not even glance back, although Yevgeni did. ”You cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” he said to Vasil. He laughed. ”G.o.ds, these khaja can't even keep their own tents in order.
How can they expect to resist Bakhtiian's army?”
”We are not part of Bakhtiian's army yet.”
”I still don't understand,” said Yevgeni, ”how you can expect Bakhtiian to take us in, now that we're arenabekh, and then agree to let you become dyan of the Veselov tribe, after we rode with the last dyan who tried to kill him.”
”There is a great deal you don't understand, Yevgeni. There is a great deal no one understands. But I am determined to have my way, this time.” He glanced back as Piotr cantered up from the rear. ”What is it?”
”The girl. She's following us.”
”Let her follow. I'm no longer concerned with her.”
Yevgeni snorted. ”Meaning you don't need her anymore.”
Vasil did not answer. He picked up their pace, and they made good time down to the valley, riding past the ransacked city by late afternoon. A contingent of armored riders, hailing them, met them by an outstretched arm of ruined wall.
”Halt! I hadn't heard of arenabekh in these parts. Where's your leader?” This from their captain, a beautiful young man whose handsome face was marred by scars along the jaw and across the ridge of his nose. ”Vasil! G.o.ds, I thought you were dead!
Everyone thought so.”
Vasil smiled. ”But I am not dead, Petya, as you see.”
”But these are arenabekh, Vasil!”
”It's true that I've proven myself as a dyan by leading these men. Now I've returned. How is my sister? Have you any children yet?”
Petya flushed. ”You must know that Vera is disgraced. It isn't-it isn't anything to speak of here.””Then forgive me for speaking of it. Have you any news of my wife?”
”Karolla is well. Your cousin Arina took her in.”
A gleam lit Vasil's fine blue eyes. ”And my children? They are well also?”
The tight line of Petya's mouth relaxed slightly. ”They are well. They are sweet children. Everybody loves them.”
”Of course. You're outfitted differently-all that armor. You look like khaja soldiers.”
”Things have had to change.” Petya regarded the older man warily. ”Why are you here, Vasil?”
”Even arenabekh may return to the tribes, if their etsana agrees to it. I heard that my father died. I have come to claim the position that is rightfully mine. Can you take me to Anton? He is here, is he not? I saw the Veselov standard.”
”He is here.” Petya hesitated. Then, as if he could find no excuse to refuse, he motioned to the riders under his command and they turned and escorted Vasil and his men back along the valley. Corpses speckled the gra.s.s and the fields, fleeing soldiers who had been cut down and left to die. An overturned cart blocked the road, but the riders simply rode around it, not bothering to move it. Vegetables spilled out from its bed, bruised or flattened by the impact. In a far field, a crowd had been herded together under the watchful eyes of a group of riders.
”You have prisoners,” Petya studied the two men and the boy in the middle of Vasil's jahar. ”We were just heading up into the hills to see if we could catch the general of this army. He fled the battle.”
”I have him. That one, there, and his son.”
”Ah. Sakhalin will be pleased.”
”Yaroslav Sakhalin leads the army? Bakhtiian isn't here?”
Petya's brows drew down in confusion. Then he laughed. ”You didn't think this was the entire army, did you? We're only the vanguard. Bakhtiian is coming soon with the main army. We are as plentiful as the birds, and as strong as the winter wind.”
”Then it is true,” said Vasil thoughtfully. ”Bakhtiian will conquer all the khaja lands.”
”Did you ever doubt it?” Petya blinked up at Vasil, looking naive and perplexed and utterly a.s.sured all at once. ”Did you ever doubt that he could do it?”