Jaran

work. Fool and idiot twice over.'

Leotich's frown had turned into a scowl. 'Doroskayev said Bakhtiian had a woman with him. How do we know she isn't some trick of Bakhtiian's, left here to throw us off the scent?'

Vasil flushed with anger. 'You're no better than a khaja pig, Leotich. Bakhtiian would never put a woman in such danger.'

'You'd know, wouldn't you,' snarled Leotich.

Vasil put his hand on his saber. Leotich grinned, almost feral.

'Stop quarreling!' Dmitri's voice cracked over them. Tess huddled backward, cringing away from their angry voices, not entirely pretending fear. 'Doroskayev!' His disgust for his ally was all too evident in his tone. 'Since when do we believe everything Doroskayev says? None of his men saw a woman. Whatever else you may think, Leotich, I've studied Bakhtiian for years. I know him as I know my own brother, as only one enemy can know another. Bakhtiian would never devise such a ploy as this. Gods, Vasil, see if you can make the woman understand we mean her no harm.''

'Why would a woman be out here alone?' Leotich put in, uncowed by Dmitri's speech.

'Vasil?'

Vasil sighed, facing Tess again. 'Temple,' he said slowly, as if he knew that his pronunciation was terrible. 'Men-temple. You-see?'

Tess untwisted one hand from her cloak, realizing that this was at last the real test: knowing nothing about khaja culture, she had to hope they knew even less. 'I go to the temple.' She pulled out her ankh necklace, holding it by the chain and displaying it to them as if it ought to mean something to them. Then, dropping it, she crossed herself, because it was the most pious gesture she could think of. More by accident than design, her cloak slipped again to reveal one pale thigh. With an exclamation, she yanked it tightly around her. The three men looked away.

'She's going to the temple,' said Vasil in a low voice to Dmitri. He looked sidewise toward Tess. 'You go? Temple?'

'Yes Yes '

'Men? Men go?'

'Men go to temple. Men go. To temple. To temple.'

'I take it,' said Dmitri dryly, 'that they were going to the temple.'

'Think straight, Mikhailov,' snarled Leotich, jerking his head to one side. 'It doesn't add up. How did they get ahead of us? How do we know it's the same group? And what about her? Why is she here?'

'You saw her necklace, the sign she made.' Vasil took one step toward Leotich. The top of his saber pushed down the grass beside him. 'She must be a pilgrim.'

'Bakhtiian has pilgrims with him. She could be one of them.'

'Why are you talking for so long?' asked Tess in a high, hurried voice that she did not have to feign. 'Why don't you leave me and go on your way? Is it not penance enough that I must travel this barbaric land alone? Must I be threatened with savages as well?'

'You're frightening her,' said Vasil.

'Frightening her!' Leotich took one aggressive step toward Tess. 'Greater things are at stake here, Veselov. Doroskayev said-'

'I'm beginning to suspect you're a fool, too.' Dmitri reached out and took hold of Leotich's sleeve with enough pressure that the man had no choice but to step back. 'Karol Arkhanov saw those pilgrims. Eleven, he said, tall and very pale, all men. His word is good enough for me.'

'My clothes are there,' Tess broke in, desperate now for them to leave. Vasil, glancing at her, blushed and looked away when her gaze met his. 'And here I am, surrounded by men.' She took out her necklace again. 'I am a pilgrim, a holy woman. What do you mean to do?'

'Come on,' said Vasil. 'We've frightened her enough. Let's go.'

'I don't believe it,' said Leotich. 'I want to see what she's got on underneath that cloak.' He put his hand on his knife and strode forward before the other men could react. Tess jerked back, twisting free of his grasping hand, and an involuntary cry escaped her. She stumbled back and fell to her knees.

Dmitri grabbed Leotich and yanked him up short. Vasil had his knife out, but he sheathed it again. Behind, the men in the jahar murmured, a swell of disbelief that faded as Leotich stood stiff and angry in Dmitri's grasp.

'Gods, man,' said Dmitri. 'You'll get a reputation no man could live down.'

Tess sank down into the most abject huddle she could make, kneeling, and fumbled inside her cloak for the knife, palming it.

'No.' Leotich wrenched free of Dmitri. 'Maybe Doroskayev was mistaken. Maybe Bakhtiian didn't have a woman with his jahar. But let's ask Vasil. After all, he knows better than anyone else whether Bakhtiian would have any use for a woman.''

Vasil backhanded him, hard. Leotich lunged at Vasil, but the younger man caught his blow on an arm and slugged him. Dmitri stepped between them and grappled for their arms. The scuffle neared Tess, and she scuttled backward, hand clutching her knife beneath her cloak.

The movement brought them all up short, as if it had suddenly reminded them of her presence. Dmitri now had both of Leotich's wrists in his hands. 'Sometimes I don't know what I brought you for.' His voice was tight with contempt.

Leotich glared at him, pulling back. 'We could at least split up. One to check out her story, the other to go on.'

Dmitri let him go with a snort of disgust. 'Splitting up is the stupidest thing a jahar can do. We'll catch him. Now get back to your horse.' However nondescript a man he might appear, he had command. Leotich sulked away.

'So.' He let his gaze come to rest on Vasil, and Tess could not interpret the expression with which he viewed the younger man. Vasil met his gaze without shame, but it was obvious that the younger man was still angry. 'So, Vasil,' Dmitri continued, ' 'I believe it was agreed that you might ride with my jahar if you kept your grievances to yourself.'

'It will not happen again.'

'Well, then, can you make her understand that we mean her no harm?'

Vasil glanced at Tess and lowered his eyes, a lock of pale hair falling carelessly across his cheek. Tess wondered, quite at random, what it would be like to push that lock of hair aside, what he, the sum of his particular pleasing parts, would be like as a lover. Lord, she was beginning to think like a jaran woman! He took one tentative step toward her.

'Go away! Go away!' she cried, shrinking back.

Vasil shrugged and looked at Dmitri.

'So be it. At least we can track Bakhtiian now. Come on.' Dmitri turned away and walked back to the jahar. Vasil hesitated. He removed a necklace from around his neck and, crouching, laid it on the ground as slowly as if she were a wild animal.

'For you,' he said in Rhuian. He mounted and they all left, riding back the way they had come, northeast, back toward the temple.

Her heart beat as hard as if she had been running all this time instead of talking. When they disappeared from view, she sank back on her heels. All of her breath gusted out. Her hand still gripped the knife. After a bit, she uncurled her fingers and sheathed it. They would never meet with Doroskayev, and suddenly she felt glad that the Chapalii had killed him. She moved forward and picked up the necklace, draping it across her palm, amberlike stones strung on bronze links. It lay cool and smooth in her hand. Rare. She smiled. A gift from a renegade.

'Although,' she said aloud, 'I suppose that depends on your point of view.'

Then she realized that she was still half-naked, and that Bakhtiian was hidden somewhere behind her. She got up hastily and went back to her clothing. It was dry enough. She felt like an idiot, shielding herself with a tree trunk, wrestling her trousers and tunic on under her cloak, but at last she was dressed and could venture out without embarrassment. The grass by the water hole, where she knelt to drink, was brilliantly green, short and slippery and cool to the touch. Last night, she thought, smiling, it had seemed warm. The shifting leaves made patterns of light on her arms. She washed her face, put on her jewelry, and laced on her boots. She hesitated. What if they returned? She glanced across the copse of trees but she saw no sign of Bakhtiian. Surely he'd chosen to be