CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Orzhekov liked to maintain a leisurely pace, preferring to save her riders' strength for battle. Not for her the constant, restless driving pace endured by those riders favored enough-or cursed enough, some men muttered-to ride with Bakhtiian's chosen thousand, or with those commanders eager to emulate Bakhtiian. It was one reason that men sought a place in her jahar. For another, she knew how to think fast and well when trouble rode in, and her jahar had invariably taken low casualties in the past three years. She was famous for being reckless on her own behalf and conservative when it came to the riders under her command. That she was a woman, and Bakhtiian's niece, counted for less than the chance to see the plains and one's wife and children again.
So it caused no comment that Orzhekov's looping sweep of towns along the lands tributary to Bakhtiian took longer than it might have, given a hastier commander. Indeed, it took so long that word reached them when they were still a day's ride from the main camp that Bahktiian had already returned from his mysterious trip to the coast with a host of barbarians in tow.
A number of the men dug out a fire pit near the commander's small traveling tent and loitered there, hoping to glean additional information by proximity. Hobbled horses grazed on the outskirts of the little camp. Orzhekov stood outside her tent, talking with Tess Soerensen and Soerensen's brother, Aleksi, who had joined up with them in late afternoon with the news.
'That one, Aleksi, he rides with Bakhtiian's jahar, doesn't he? But I heard he hasn't even a family name. How'd he get so honored?'
'He's Soerensen's brother, you fool. She adopted him three years past.'
'But he's an orphan, Leonid. I heard his whole tribe was killed, that it was a plague sent by the gods. That only he and a sister lived, and she died soon after. You'd think even a khaja woman would know better than to take in someone as cursed as all that-'
'Hush, you idiot. Have you ever seen him fight? He'd take your ears and your balls off before you even drew your saber.''
In the low round of laughter that followed this sally, Feodor Grekov strolled up to the fire and some of the men moved aside to make room for him.
'Grekov. Haven't you any news for us?'
'Why should I have any more news than you, Yermolov?'
Several of the riders chuckled. Feodor flushed. 'Well,' said Leonid with a grin, 'you've shared her tent more than one night this trip. She must say something.'
Conscious of Orzhekov's proximity, a few men offered suggestions, in low voices, of what their commander might say.
From her tent, Nadine had turned to watch Feodor Grekov settle down by the fire. She raised her voice and called over to her riders. 'If you men haven't anything better to do but sit and gossip around the fire, you can give the horses some extra grain. We've a hard ride in the morning, and an early start.'
The men grumbled, but they all rose.
'Just like a woman,' said Leonid good-naturedly. 'If they think you're giving their lover a hard time, then they work you to death.' But he gave Feodor a friendly slap on the shoulder as he left.
Nadine watched the riders disperse and then turned back to Tess. 'If you'll excuse me, I'd better go prepare our ambassador: We'll reach camp by mid-afternoon, and if he doesn't want to destroy his embassy completely, he has a couple of hard truths to learn about the jaran.'
'Dina, if you don't mind me saying so-'
'I probably will, but you'll say it nevertheless, so go on.'
Tess rubbed her hands together and blew on them, then slid her gloves out from under her belt and pulled them on. 'You're just putting his back up.'
'I invite you to try. You've a worse temper than I do.'
'Do I, indeed?' Tess glanced at Aleksi, who winked at her. She sighed. 'Only where Ilya is concerned, and it hasn't done me a damn bit of good yet. I'll speak with the ambassador.''
Nadine stared past Tess at the elaborate flagged awning that Jiroannes's servants had set up, as they did every evening, precise in their work. The tent entrance always faced southeast, toward the lands of the Great King. From this angle, they saw the back of Jiroannes's head where he sat in his carved and padded chair. One of the Vidiyan guardsman stood next to him, holding a lantern to cast light on the parchment Jiroannes read. 'I wish you luck. May I watch?'
'Aleksi and I will go. You may listen, but stay in the shadows. He doesn't like you, Dina, so I'd rather he not see you.'
Nadine gave a sarcastic snort. 'As you command, Soerensen.' But she did not wait to watch them go, rather walked out toward the horses.
'She's moody,' said Aleksi.
'Dina is always moody. How did Charles seem? You got the letter to him?'
'Yes. He doesn't look like you.'
'No, that's true enough.' She pulled off her gloves and tucked them back into her belt.
'You're nervous, Tess.'
She rubbed her hands together and started to jerk the gloves back out, then stopped herself, looking rueful. 'Damn it. Yes, I am.'
'He didn't seem frightening to me, though he's a great prince.'
'You didn't grow up being the only heir to the prince, Aleksi. I know he's not happy that I stayed here.'
'But, Tess, you're a woman, you're of age. Where you stay is surely your own choice.'
If only it were. Or at least, if only it were so easy. He cocked his head to one side, waiting; Aleksi always knew when to wait and when to speak. He read her better, in many ways, than Ilya did, because Aleksi never layered any emotions on top of hers. But she was in too strange a mood tonight to nurse her anger at Ilya. She sighed finally and said nothing. Instead, she walked out onto the grass in a loop that would bring her by a roundabout way to Jiroannes's cluster of tents.
'Bakhtiian is furious that you left camp,' said Aleksi.
Tess shrugged. 'I'm not afraid of Ilya.'
'But you are afraid of your own brother.' He flicked at his chin with one finger, considering the stars. 'I don't understand the khaja,' he said at last. 'And you even less.'
'What do you mean by that?' It was his turn to shrug, and Tess chuckled. 'Tell me about the battle.'
'Some of the elders of the coast towns hired a mercenary force to waylay us. They did as well as they could, being khaja, but of course it was hopeless for them. Anatoly Sakhalin did a brilliant job of executing the charge and flight. He was wounded, but he says that one of the khaja women-' Aleksi switched for a moment to Rhuian, '-one of the actresses-saved him from being carried away by the angels. He gave her a necklace.'
'Oh, dear. What happened to the mercenaries?'
'Bakhtiian sent the captain to occupy Barala, the principal of the towns that hired him. He's to execute the elders, collect tribute, send half to Bakhtiian and keep half for himself. Bakhtiian is going to send Suvorin's jahar out to patrol that line of coast for the summer and perhaps into the winter as well.'
'Suvorin, eh? Ilya doesn't much like Suvorin, so doubtless that will keep Suvorin busy and out of trouble.' Tess halted.
The square Vidiyan tents rose like blots of darkness some thirty paces before them. A Vidiyan guardsman sat on a rug to the left of the cluster of tents, polishing a silver tray and a set of silver dishes. The scent of aromatic herbs drifted to them on the breeze, swelling with the steam from a kettle perched on a fire of red-hot coals. The woman-the slave-knelt behind her master's chair. Her hands lay perfectly still on her thighs, and her gaze seemed fixed on her hands. She did not move.
What kind of a world have I chosen to live on? Tess thought. Yet it was no different from what Earth had been, with the same cruelties and the same kindnesses and the same hopes. And whatever else the jaran might be, they were her family. She took in a deep breath and let it all out in one huffing blow. 'Now, Aleksi. You are to be silent and still.'
'As still as that one?' He nodded toward the slave.
