cares about law and legal precedence, and I believe he cares enough about what Tess thinks of him that he'll temper brutality with mercy.''
'Like that man he executed for rape? He did it himself, and he didn't look one whit remorseful about the act to me.'
'Who knows? Perhaps killing him on the spot like that was a merciful punishment, compared to what he might have received.'
'Without a trial?' David demanded.
'He had a confession. But I can't help thinking about the actor. Three of them alone in hostile territory.'
'And horse-stealers, too. That must be punishable by death, under nomad law.'
'Do you think their deaths will be easy, or quick?' Charles asked.
'Don't forget, the actor has a weapon with him-one of our weapons. And other equipment. That gives him an advantage.'
' 'And it breaks the interdiction in exactly the way I did not want it broken,' Charles added.
'In fact, it might well be easier if the poor boy did die, and his companions with him.'
'It might well. But then there'd be all that equipment out there to be recovered. Either way…' Charles shrugged.
David felt suddenly heartened. He chuckled. 'You know, Charles, I don't envy you. I'm perfectly happy to be sitting here, and you sitting there.'
Charles's pale blue gaze met David's brown one. His lips quirked up. 'As well you might be. Now, I'm going to get some sleep.'
David realized that that was as close to a confession of the burdens weighing on him as Charles was ever likely to give him, or to give anyone. Perhaps Charles could no longer afford to be vulnerable. Perhaps Charles regretted what he had lost but knew well enough that the loss was permanent, that there was nothing of his old self that could be recovered, even if he wanted to.
'Yes,' said David on a sigh. 'That's a good idea.' He stood up and left Charles to his solitary state. Back in his own tiny room, he managed to nap on the hard bed for the few hours until dawn. He woke when the first light bled through the window, and he rose and dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to the eating hall in order to make it in time for breakfast. Maggie was there, although Charles wasn't. She signaled with one hand-'all okay, going as planned.' That meant that the riders ought to come in mid-morning, escorting their 'party from the coast.' What would the jaran make of this Chapaliian visitation? Mother Avdotya had mentioned the khepelli priests who had visited four summers past. Their stay had been short and uneventful with a single exception: they had left with one fewer member of their party than they had come with. This mystery had never been solved, nor had any remains been found of the missing priest. The jaran knew of blood sacrifices, both human and animal, but as far as David could tell, they did not indulge in them except under the most pressing need. He had asked Nadine about it, but she seemed to think such an act shameful, although he could not tell whether that response came from her jaran upbringing or her Jedan education.
What would they think of a Chapalii coming in with Soerensen's escort? With his blessing? Under his authority? Nadine would be sure to be suspicious, and she would give a full report to her uncle. David did not for one instant doubt her loyalty to Bakhtiian, or doubt that she put her loyalty to him and to her people above all else, however much she did not follow their customs in other ways.
Well, it was hopeless. As Charles had said, the argument could run around in a circle and never get anywhere. He saw Nadine and went to sit beside her. She greeted him with a smile and he set to work on the food while discussing with her his plans for a survey of the north front.
'But tell me, David,' she said after he had told her of his plans, 'I see how you can use this method to measure accurately the dimensions of the shrine. Is there a way to measure greater distances, using the same methods? I can draw out a map with rough accuracy-Josef Raevsky taught me how to do that, and I learned more about maps at the university in Jeds, but still, there must be more accurate methods. Mostly, the jaran measure distances by how long it takes a rider, or a wagon, to get from one place to another. But that's not a good measure. How fast is the rider? Is it a jahar that's foraging as it goes? Is it a wagon train? Is it a messenger, who changes horses frequently and so can ride as far in one day as wagons cover in ten?''
'I'll show you some more about that today,' replied David. 'If you have two angles and one side, you can calculate the rest of the triangle. That's why I use a staff that's a set length; in my case two meters.'
'Yes, I know about triangles. They're one of the gods' mysteries.'
David chuckled. 'Yes, there is a certain magic to them. Now, look.' He took his knife and held it point down, perpendicular to the table. 'If you know the height of your measuring staff-this knife-and you know the angle-'
'But I understand that,' said Nadine impatiently. 'I helped you survey the grounds of the shrine. But what about really long distances? Do you have to measure each stretch of ground you ride over? Add them together, perhaps? How can you reckon distances off to each side, as well? And bring them all together to make an accurate map?'
You put satellites into orbit. You use aerial photography. You use computer-driven navigational instruments and beacons and… 'At sea you use a sextant and the altitudes of celestial bodies,' said David instead. 'On land maybe you don't really need a truly accurate map, because you can use landmarks to guide your travels.'
'Yes, but what if you want one?' Nadine insisted. That was the trouble with her; she wasn't content with what just worked.
'Orzhekov!' One of her riders burst into the room, breathing hard from running. 'Messenger, riding in.'
She jumped to her feet but hard on the man's heels came the messenger himself, wind-blown, pale, looking exhausted. He wore a harness of bells strapped over his shirt. The bells sang as he walked.
'Feodor!' exclaimed Nadine. She froze.
The young man strode across to her. By Nadine's expression, David could guess who it was: the young man named Feodor Grekov, the one Nadine had mentioned with scornful affection. The young man of princely family who wanted to marry her. And David's first thought, unintended and embarrassing, was to wonder if now that Feodor was here, Nadine would throw David out of her bed in favor of her jaran lover.
The bells chimed and brushed into silence as Feodor halted before Nadine. He was good-looking; David could see that even through the young man's fatigue. He looked competent. He looked like exactly the kind of man Nadine had made him out to be: reliable, stolid, and pleasant.
'What news?' she asked, looking worried. 'Have you come from camp?''
'Your uncle,' he said. The words seemed choked out of him, either from suppressed anguish or from exhaustion; perhaps from both. 'He's-' It all came out: Bakhtiian had fallen ill. His spirit had been witched from his body by Habakar priests. No one knew if he was dying, or if he was coming back to them. No one knew.
Nadine stood there dead still. Her mouth was drawn tight, and David could see the pulse beating under her jaw. She looked half in shock. And he couldn't say a thing. He couldn't even reveal that he understood their conversation perfectly, now that he understood khush much better than he dared let on.
'You must return,' Grekov finished. 'You're his closest living relative.'
'I must return,' she echoed, but the voice had no force of emotion. Only her drawn face did. She stared out the huge windows onto the gardens, brilliant with summer flowers. David felt sick with guilt, seeing how she suffered with fear for her uncle. Knowing she didn't have to.
Grekov drew his saber. A murmur ran through the men standing around them. Nadine's eyes went wide. She began to draw her own saber. She looked furious. 'Grekov, this is no time to-'
But Grekov's aspect had changed, and David mentally added 'stubborn' to the young man's list of attributes. 'Mother Sakhalin came to my mother and my aunt and my uncle. They agreed between them that I should set aside my-scruples and mark you. Bakhtiian must have heirs.'
Nadine had her saber half out. She seemed suspended, unable to move one way or the other, unable to act, unable to accede. 'Our cousins have many fine sons.'
'That's true,' said Feodor, 'but it's properly through his sister's line that Bakhtiian should have heirs. You know it's true. You know it's your duty to marry, if your uncle dies. He may be dead already. Who will the tribes follow then? They would follow your child.' He brought his saber to rest on her cheek.
Nadine had gone so pale that David thought she might faint. But, of course, Nadine would never faint. Her saber did not move. Neither did Feodor's. David wanted to tell her, Goddess, how badly he wanted to tell her. But he could not.
