Mekhala, and how horses came to the jaran. You see-' He hesitated, finding words in this foreign tongue of Rhuian and placing them together in a form that would make sense to these people. '-when Mekhala beseeched the wind spirit for the horses that would set her people, that would set the jaran, free, he agreed only on the condition that she marry him. But in those days, before the jaran had horses, women chose both lovers and husbands. And so the wind spirit said, 'I will give you horses, but you must give me the choice of your husbands, and a woman may never choose her husband again.' And the women agreed that this was a fair trade for the gift of horses. So that women may still choose their lovers, but no longer their husbands. But this was long ago, in the-' He faltered, running up against concepts he had no words for in Rhuian. 'In the long ago time.'
Marco looked appalled. Diana gaped, looking as if she was still in shock.
'Aleksi,' said Anatoly in khush. 'What are you telling her?'
What a fool. But, of course, Aleksi was not about to say that to Mother Sakhalin's grandson. 'She didn't know what you were doing.' He glanced at the other man, but Anatoly's expression showed only stubborn resolve. 'She thought you were trying to kill her.''
Anatoly flushed, but he said nothing. He glared at Marco.
'But Tess Soerensen has a mark like this on her cheek,' said Diana suddenly in a low voice. 'And so does Bakhtiian. That means she is married to him.' She glanced sidelong at Anatoly Sakhalin and then away. 'So why can't I, if I love him?'
'God help us,' Marco said. It was an oath Aleksi recognized, because Tess used it. 'Diana, you can't begin to go along with this-'
'I can do what I want,' said Diana emphatically. She tossed her hair out of her face and walked over to Anatoly. He started, looking at her, and she tilted his chin down and kissed him on the mouth.
Marco swore.
'What in hell is going on?' The first person to arrive from the direction of the celebration was Dr. Hierakis. 'Diana, come here. Goddess help us, child, what has happened to you?' The doctor lifted a hand to trace the cut on Diana's cheek. A moment later Charles Soerensen appeared, and behind him, Tess and Bakhtiian.
'Oh, God,' said Tess. Then in khush: 'Anatoly, have you gone out of your mind?'
'This is your work, then?' Bakhtiian demanded.
Anatoly held his ground under that devastating stare. 'Yes. I marked her.'
'Gods. You will come with me, young man. We will see what your grandmother has to say about this.'
Anatoly did not move. He was tense, but determined. 'It is a man's choice, in marriage.'
'She is not jaran, Anatoly,' said Tess.
He glanced at her, and she smiled slightly, ironically, since neither was she jaran. Then he returned his gaze to Bakhtiian. 'If she wishes to be rid of the marriage, she can do so, but I am content.'
'Tess,' said Charles in a calm voice, in Rhuian, 'what is going on?'
'He wants to marry me,' said Diana suddenly. 'This is the way they get married.'
'Ah,' said Charles. He studied his sister a moment, and Tess flushed and lifted a hand to brush the scar on her cheek, then lowered it again self-consciously. 'I understand this is sudden, Diana. Such an action is not binding on you.'
'No,' she said stubbornly. 'I want to marry him.'
Marco muttered something.
'Marco, really,' said Dr. Hierakis in Rhuian. 'There's no need for such language.'
Burckhardt's hands were clenched into rigid fists, and he looked so angry that Aleksi wondered how long he could maintain his composure.
'That is your choice, of course,' said Charles to Diana. If he was shocked by her pronouncement, he did not show it. 'But surely, Bakhtiian, the matter can be waived for some days so that the young woman can think it over.''
'I don't need to think it over-'
'Diana,' said Tess in a friendly but firm voice, 'you will, by custom, have nine days to think it over. If you really want to go through with this, then you must go into seclusion for nine days, after which you will be reunited with this man and become husband and wife.'
'Fine.'
'What is she saying?' asked Anatoly in khush, a little desperately.
'You young fool,' said Bakhtiian, also in khush. 'Come along. I don't envy you the tongue-lashing you are about to receive from your grandmother. Perhaps I'll let Niko in on it as well. If your uncle Yaroslav was here…' He trailed off, letting the thought go unfinished. With a gesture, he indicated that Anatoly precede him. 'Your grace,' he said to Soerensen, 'perhaps you would be part of this council as well.'
'Of course. I'll follow in a moment.' He nodded, and Bakhtiian left.
'Diana, Cara, perhaps you'll come with me,' said Tess. She led the two women off on the long walk to the Soerensen enclave.
Aleksi, silent, did not move. By now the others had forgotten him. He had that gift, to stand so still, to draw so little attention to himself, that it was as if he was invisible.
'Marco,' said Soerensen softly.
'Leave me alone.' Marco did not even look at the other man. He was not looking at anything, exactly, but at some sight, some vision, some pain, that only he could see.
Soerensen sighed, but he honored the request, and left quietly.
Aleksi dared not move. He doesn't want me here. And Aleksi felt an odd feeling: He felt ashamed because he had intruded on another man's anguish.
Bells tinkled softly. A golden vision appeared out of the gloom: Sonia, laden with an ornamentation that lent grace to her features and a glow to her expression. A single glance she spared for Aleksi, a brief tilt of her chin in acknowledgment of his presence. Crescent moons spun and danced at her shoulders. She halted beside Marco Burckhardt and settled a hand on his sleeve.
'Come,' she said. That was all. Without a word, he went with her. The bells faded.
But Aleksi still heard the bells. Distant, but growing louder. A shout came from the far ring of tents. Another shout followed, and a lantern, two lanterns, sprang to life. They bobbed and swayed, approaching over the grass. Two horses with two riders, but only the foremost rider rode upright. The second lay over his mount's neck, hugging it from exhaustion. Men on foot trailed after them, a group that swelled in size and volume.
Aleksi ran to meet them.
'Where is Bakhtiian?' shouted the lead rider. 'Gods, man, there's been treachery from those khaja swine.'
The man lying over the second horse looked unconscious. The horse was blown and scarcely in better condition than its rider, though it did not look wounded. A broad strip of bloodied cloth was wrapped around the rider's head, obscuring his face, and more cloth bound his ribs and his left thigh. He slipped. Aleksi grabbed him and steadied him on the horse.
Bakhtiian came running, Sibirin behind him. 'Bring the horse up to the carpet,' someone called, and they arrived there, a ragtag procession, at the same time Bakhtiian did.
Bakhtiian halted for one instant. A look of rage suffused his face. Then he came forward and tenderly swung the wounded man down from the horse, laying him on the pillows. The movement opened the wound in his thigh, but the blood leaking onto the fine embroidery did not seem to bother Bakhtiian.
'Josef! Niko, go get the healer. Dr. Hierakis. Grekov, see to the horse.'
Now that the rider was lying on his back, Aleksi could see that it was indeed Josef Raevsky, Ilya's finest general, a man who could have been dyan of his own tribe but who gave it over into his brother's hands many years ago in order to pledge himself to Bakhtiian and Bakhtiian's cause. The worst blood stained the cloth bound over his eyes.
'Ilya.' Raevsky had some life yet.
'Who did this? The rest of your party?'
'The Habakar king,' Raevsky gasped. 'Treachery. Honored us as envoys and then at the feast, fell on us.' He panted. His face was gray. 'Left me alive, to deliver this.' His hand fluttered feebly. A crumpled scroll was tucked into the sheath of his saber. His saber-was gone.
Bakhtiian removed the scroll and unrolled it. Scanned it. His lips were pressed so tight that they had lost all
