'Reserved, not shy,' corrected David, still gaping. Tess Soerensen glanced their way, and her eyes rounded suddenly, recognizing David. She hesitated, then waved him over.
'Invited to the presence,' said Maggie.
'Damn you, Mags. Come with me. I'm not doing this alone. You, too, Diana.'
'Cold feet?' Maggie asked.
'You cold-hearted bitch. Mags, please.'
Maggie chuckled. 'Well, come on, then, Diana. Our womanly presence will support the poor besotted fool.'
'' 'What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.' '
'Lord,' moaned David. But he straightened his shoulders and set off to cross the gap. Maggie followed, grabbing Diana by the wrist and tugging her along behind. The jaran healers sat quietly, patiently, and watched this little scene with interest. The silver-haired man smiled at Diana as she passed. The next instant, she realized that the young man sitting in the center, just now struggling to get back into his shirt, was Anatoly Sakhalin. As his head emerged through the collar, he glanced up, saw her, and averted his gaze from her as swiftly as if her presence stung him. Maggie dragged her to a stop behind David, and she had to wrench her attention back to the matter at hand.
'David!' Tess Soerensen was saying. 'What are you doing here? Did Charles drag you along?''
It took Diana a moment to figure out what was strange about her speech: the cadences of her Anglais were slightly altered, as if she had not spoken it for some time.
'I had sufficient inducements,' replied David. 'I'm interested in ancient engineering, after all. Tess, you haven't met Maggie O'Neill.'
'Honored,' said Tess Soerensen, shaking Maggie's hand.
'Likewise,' replied Maggie with her usual aplomb. 'I'm Charles's assistant, recorder, and official historian. This is one of the actors, Diana Brooke-Holt.'
Diana smiled at Tess Soerensen. Tess had fine green eyes and a sincere smile, but nothing of her brother's quietly formidable bearing. 'Honored,' Diana said, feeling all at once that she might like this woman and not feeling at all overawed by her. 'I understand you're doing linguistics fieldwork here, M. Soerensen.'
'Tess, please.' Soerensen blinked, looking confused for a moment. She glanced at her brother and immediately an expression of comprehension flashed over her features. 'Of course,' she said, sounding a little simpleminded. 'My linguistics research. Of course. And you're one of the-actors?'
'The Bharentous Repertory Company,' put in Dr. Hierakis. 'Surely you've heard of them, Tess. They've come along to do some fieldwork themselves.'
'Of course I've heard of them. I saw them in Berlin, performing the Mahabharata. I don't recall if you were with them then.' She considered a moment and as if by habit glanced back toward her two jaran companions, still waiting fifty paces out. 'Oh, hell,' she said under her breath.
Charles Soerensen was a quiet man, holding his power in reserve, hoarding it, concealing it from a power greater than his own-the power of the Chapalii Empire. Waiting for a chance to strike again, to free humanity from the yoke of the alien Empire. Even his entrances, such as the one Diana had just witnessed, were subtle, small entrances, perfectly timed but not showy, and never ostentatious.
From the camp, entering stage left, came an altogether different kind of leader. He walked with only two attendants, and yet the two could as well have been one hundred, they endowed him with so much state.
Bakhtiian looked furious. His fury radiated so far that even though Diana could barely distinguish his features, she could read anger in every line of his body.
'Excuse me,' said Tess, turning to leave.
'Where are you going, Tess?' asked her brother quietly.
Tess cast a rueful grin back over her shoulder. 'To head him off at the pass.'
'No,' said Charles.
Tess halted as if she had been pulled short by a rope. She did not move at all for a moment, then she spun back. 'Charles, let me go.' She sounded-angry? scared? shocked? — Diana could not tell.
'We will wait here,' he replied calmly.
Tess dropped her chin and stared at the ground, for all the world like a scolded child.
Bakhtiian paused for long enough beside Aleksi and the female soldier to add them to his train. Their obedience, like Tess's to her brother, was absolute and immediate. Bakhtiian advanced on Soerensen's tent. Diana looked behind, to see the jaran healers and Anatoly Sakhalin watching also.
With curt politeness, Bakhtiian halted five paces outside the awning of the tent and inclined his head toward Charles Soerensen. 'I trust you have set up your camp to your satisfaction,' he said in Rhuian. He did not look at Tess Soerensen. No, it was more than that. He was forcefully not looking at her, as if the action of not looking at her was as deliberate as if he had chosen to look at her.
'Indeed, we have,' replied Charles Soerensen. 'It is a good stretch of ground, and suitable to our purpose here. The actors are especially pleased with the terrain, since it provides them with a natural amphitheater.''
'I hope my people will be able to enjoy their performances soon. We will have a proper celebration to honor your arrival at our camp tomorrow evening. I would be pleased to escort you and any of your party around our camp tomorrow morning, if it pleases you. Now, if you will excuse me, there are military matters which I must discuss with my generals.'
He took one step back, turned, and then turned back. 'Soerensen?' he said, to Tess. It meant: of course you will attend me as well. Now.
Standing with one foot on, one foot off, the carpet, at the edge of the awning, Tess stood equidistant between the two men. Everyone was watching her. They were waiting for her decision.
She lifted her chin finally, clearly aware that she was the focus of all attention. She looked angry and embarrassed and irresolute and even slightly amused. But she did not say anything. The silence stretched out until it became painful.
Soerensen waited. Bakhtiian waited. In fact, Diana realized, they were both waiting for Tess to capitulate to them, knowing that she could not capitulate to both. In a sudden rush of insight, of compassion, Diana realized that Tess could not make that decision. Not now, at any rate. What had led her to wear jaran clothing and ride with jaran soldiers Diana did not know. What led Bakhtiian to order her around as if she were one of his people was also a mystery. Even if Tess wanted to disobey her brother's deceptively mild command, Diana was not sure that she could.
Murmuring rose in the huddle of jaran healers only fifteen paces to their backs. Marco Burckhardt slipped a hand inside his belt, reaching for something. David took an impulsive step forward, blindly trying to protect-Tess? Or Charles? Anatoly Sakhalin appeared to the side, stepping into the group flanking Bakhtiian. Although his arm still rested in a sling, he wore a saber. His good hand brushed its hilt.
Things were going to get ugly very quickly. Battle lines had been drawn, and if someone didn't intervene-well, Diana now knew what the aftermath of a battle looked like. And neither Bakhtiian nor Soerensen looked ready or willing to back down.
So Diana did the first thing that came to mind. She gave a gasp, flung the back of her left hand up to her forehead, and collapsed to the carpet in a faint.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the confusion, Tess escaped. She backed up, spun, and sprinted for her horse, which had been left with reins dangling to wait for her return. Bracing her left foot in the stirrup, she swung on and urged the mare away. She shook with rage and self-disgust.
How dare they reduce her to a pawn? How dare they try to force her to choose between them? And, oh God, she hated herself for letting them. She had just stood there, gaping like an idiot, paralyzed. Charles had not changed, not one bit, and she was still terrified of him. And Ilya! She thought her heart might well burst with anger.
