hard lines of grass beneath her. 'Once the bans are set, you can't break certain rules for nine days, and if you do, the marriage isn't binding.'
'And you may never see that person again,' added Niko. 'We don't enter into marriage lightly in the jaran. But Juli was too proud to be known as a girl who had broken the bans.'
'So that is how you won her.'
'Oh, no, child. That is how I married her. Winning her was an altogether different thing, and that took several years.'
'Bakhtiian!' A rider called from the edge of the firelight.
Bakhtiian stood. 'Excuse me.' He vanished into the night.
'Won her love, you mean?' Tess asked. 'That took several years?'
'Winning the love of a stubborn, proud woman, or man, can be as hard as winning fame or living superbly, and it is far more rewarding.'
Tess looked away from him into the fire, but the fire only showed her Jacques's arrogant, handsome face as he told her that their engagement was ended. 'Is it? Then you're only living your life for someone else.'
'So young to be so bitter. My child, one can have both '
'Is that possible?'
'Most things are possible, if one decides they are.'
She rose. 'I think I'll go to bed.' Yuri was gone, so she strolled over to her tent, but the thought of crawling inside that closed space bothered her. She stared up. There were no clouds, and the moon had set. Stars burned above. Where Charles and her duty lived. The camp was silent. No light at all shone from the Chapalii tents. Somewhere an animal called and was answered. Tess stood still, breathing. The air smelled of grass and soil, and a breeze stirred her hair. Hills, low and dim, rose on all sides.
She walked past the trees and up the near slope, disturbing a few insects. At the crest, she pressed down the knee-high grass and sat, staring up at the brilliant, familiar patterns above. She traced constellations, cluttered with fainter stars never seen from Earth's bright skies, and then picked out the constellations Yuri had taught her: the Wagon's Axle, the Horseman, the Tent.
A slight noise interrupted the murmur of night sounds. Tess looked around. Nothing. Several insects chirruped, braving the silence. A sound, and the insects stopped again. She moved away from camp, crawling on her hands and knees back over the crest toward a cluster of rocks below. The sharp ends of grass poked into her palms and knees. Another noise. Breaking for the rocks, she ran right into him.
He grabbed her and pulled her down behind the rocks, one hand over her mouth, the other pinning her arms to her stomach. 'Damn it. What are you doing out here?'
All her breath came out in a quick sigh. It was Bakhtiian.
'Well?' His hand fell from her mouth.
'Looking at the stars. 'The night for contemplation.' '
He said nothing, finally releasing her and rising to his knees. 'Stay here. Don't move or speak until I tell you. Do you understand?'
'Yes. What's wrong?'
He was already gone.
After a time, she began to think she was alone on the slope, but she did not move. How little she knew of these wild, alien plains. How blithely she assumed that she was safe here, fearing the Chapalii more than the barbarian lands themselves. She cupped her hands over her mouth and nose to muffle the sound of her breathing, feeling scared and foolish all at once: Like the maenads I've drunk the wine, and now I have to accept the madness.
Chill settled into her flesh. Her sheathed saber pressed awkwardly against her thigh. A cold wind blew down from the higher lands, the ayakhov, the wind of the deep night. She shuddered, froze.
Someone approached.
A shadow appeared, pausing by the rocks. It must be Bakhtiian. She hardly dared look up, as if the white of her eyes would give her away. The shadow moved. It was not Bakhtiian. It was too graceless, too thick. Tall but not lean, and all the tall riders in Bakhtiian's jahar were, like Bakhtiian, slender. He had said his enemies were following them. What an idiot she had been, not to appreciate what that meant.
She held her breath, her nose pressed against the cloth of her glove. Feet scraped on the pebbled dirt between the rocks, hesitant steps, careful of the ground. A boot struck her leg. Her heart pounded wildly, but she did not move.
'What?' This in khush.
She barely had time to draw her knife and begin to roll before his full weight pinned her to the ground. The knife spun away, lost. He pressed a hand down hard over her mouth. The point of his saber pricked her calf. With his free hand he briefly explored her chest. She swore and tried to kick him.
'By the gods,' he whispered. 'Has Bakhtiian come to this? A woman!'
Tess's fingers, reaching, brushed the hilt of her knife. He relaxed, staring down at her in the dim light. She took a deep breath, held it.
Exhaled. She heaved her left hip up, and at the same moment bit his arm. He started back. Her fingers closed on her knife, and as he shoved her back down, she thrust. The blade bit into his shoulder. With a curse, he wrenched the knife from her hand, twisting her wrist until she gasped at the pain.
He called her a name, but she did not understand the word, only the intent. His weight on her stomach seemed enormous. She could barely see his face, could not make out his features except for some obstruction, a darkness at one eye. 'But don't worry about your good name,' he said contemptuously. 'Having had Bakhtiian will just make you twice as popular.'
He jumped up and ran off, holding his shoulder, making no attempt to conceal himself. Tess was halfway to her feet, hand on her saber, before she remembered Bakhtiian's warning. She swore and dropped back down to the ground. Lord, did she really think she could use a saber against one of these men? She shook with adrenaline.
After a time the trembling stopped. She was unharmed. She lifted her head to look around. A shape fled against the landscape, catching her eye. Two hunched figures ran up the far slope to disappear over the crest. Three forms detached themselves from the hill, just below the far crest, and ran down. From a trench in the dip, five figures rose to intercept them. A flash of metal, so brief that she was not sure she had seen it, and the sight of struggling, the more eerie for its quiet: a pained grunt, the thud of a weight hitting the ground, the thin, distinct tone of sabers touching now and now and-a pause-now.
Eight forms moved, but three were constrained and one limped. Silence descended for a time, overruled once by the sound of running feet and again by an assembly of sabers talking all at once, out of her sight, seeming sentient in the way their conversation varied, first fast, then slow, then a flurry and, last, a silence when the conversation ended. A quick staccato of words penetrated the stillness, then suddenly cut off.
Nothing stirred. Her back prickled as if several thousand insects crawled up and down it. She forced herself to breath slowly, in and out, in and out. Don't think about it. Don't be scared. There was only the hushed wind and the mute stars and the coarse dust harsh against her skin.
She felt him there before she saw him, flat on his stomach where he slid in beside her. She gasped. Her hands clutched pebbles.
'Oh, God.' She shut her eyes and opened her hands. 'You scared me.'
'By the gods. You stabbed him. You can sit up if you want to. We captured them all.'
'What did they want?'
'To kill me, of course.' Bakhtiian's voice was calm.
She remembered, suddenly, violently, the man in his own tribe whom he had executed. 'Are you going to kill them?' she asked, in a whisper, and she felt sick with apprehensive horror as she said it.
'Not this time. They'll serve my cause better alive. For now. We'll tie them up and leave them here.' He was still lying on his stomach. 'Except Doroskayev.' He chuckled. 'He's the one you stabbed.'
'That's a funny name. 'Scar-sight'?'
'He got a bad wound some years ago to his right eye. Never forgave me for it.' Bakhtiian laughed. 'A pretty piece of work with your knife. Yuri got it back for you.'
'I'm not hurt,' said Tess stiffly.
'Of course not. No jaran man would harm a woman. What a thought. I know they do in Jeds.'
