'I beg your pardon?' asked Arina, but Vasil merely shook his head.
A clot of about twenty riders broke away from the vanguard of the army and speared across the open ground, toward the waiting group. The army itself continued on south, like some inexorable predator bent on its prey. Before he could even make out features, Vasil knew which one was Bakhtiian. He realized that he was clenching and unclenching one of his hands convulsively, and he forced himself to stop and glanced quickly around to see if anyone had noticed. But they were all watching Bakhtiian amidst the other riders as the horses climbed up the slope.
Vasil recognized the proud black stallion that Ilya rode. And Bakhtiian himself: but how could he have changed? He had never changed, except to grow older. The arrogant, dreaming adolescent boy whom Vasil had fallen in love with, those many many years ago, was still there, and time had only honed his arrogance and made reality of his dreams, and sharpened his radiant power.
Then Bakhtiian saw him. Their eyes met, and Vasil smiled.
And Bakhtiian, all unprepared, went rigid with fury. Gods, he had fire to him. It was like a raging heat that attracted cold things to it, and the fire burned as fiercely as ever, for all that Vasil could see. He could not stop himself smiling from pure joy.
Greetings, smiles, ten different little exchanges begun and not quite brought to fruition, withered and died in the blazing heat of Bakhtiian's anger.
Ilya turned to glare at Arina Veselov. 'Where did he come from?' he demanded, his voice rasping and hoarse. ' 'Who granted him peace to ride among you?''
'I did,' said Arina with astounding calm. 'You forget, Bakhtiian, that I am the etsana of his tribe, and it is my right to give him leave to enter it.''
He stiffened at the cool assurance of her tone. 'And if I say that I want him gone?''
'How you direct your army is none of my concern.' She lifted her chin slightly. That so slight a woman, and one still so young, could withstand the force of Bakhtiian's censure was impressive but not surprising. 'How I oversee my tribe is none of yours.'
Like a fire banked with ashes, his anger subsided from its flaring heat and settled into something less blazing but no less dangerous. 'I beg your pardon, Mother Veselov,' he replied, formal. Someone coughed. A general sigh passed around the assembly as its members seemed to realize that they might relax without seeing bloodshed. Vasil knew he was still smiling, but he simply could not help himself. He had forgotten the sheer, breathless elation that the sight of Ilyakoria Bakhtiian had always filled him with.
Then, ignoring the unsettled problem lingering in their midst, the riders greeted each other. Arina dismounted and went to hug a brown-haired woman-yes, it was indeed Bakhtiian's khaja wife. She, too, was one of the rare people Vasil would never forget: he was not sure whether he hated or loved her more for what she was to Ilya. Tess. She walked across to Kirill and smiled up at Zvertkov.
'She loves him,' said Vasil under his breath, and he glanced over to see what Bakhtiian made of this greeting. But Ilya was sitting stock still, moving only with a twitch of his hands here, and here, to keep his restive stallion from walking forward. He was staring at the sky. Otherwise, the movement as the two parties greeted each other excluded him, although he was its center.
'Vasil,' said Anton mildly, 'Tess Soerensen loves many men, and women as well. She has a generous heart. If you try to stir up trouble there, I think you'll find trouble, but only for yourself.'
'I'm only surprised that anyone, loving Bakhtiian, could find room in his heart to love another.''
'Ah,' said Anton. 'As well you might be. If you will excuse me.' He reined his horse away to go greet Niko Sibirin.
Vasil cursed under his breath, aware that he had just given himself away. Beside him, Tess Soerensen reached her arms up to take little Mira Veselov down from the saddle, and she turned to look up at Vasil. Behind her, Bakhtiian had shifted his attention to his wife, and his expression, fixed on her with the child in her arms, was painfully naked: no man ought to reveal himself so, not in public, at least.
'Well, Vasil,' said Tess. 'How like you to come along when you're least expected.'
'And least wanted?'
Tess smiled, not entirely kindly. 'How is your wife?'
Vasil flushed. 'Karolla is well. As are the children. Arina was very kind to them.'
'Yes, Arina has indeed been kind to them. But I must say I've always thought Karolla deserving of kindness.'
'I have always been kind to her,' retorted Vasil, stung by this accusation.
'I am sure you have been. But I can't imagine it was kind to desert her for so long.'
'I didn't-' He stopped himself, and then laughed at her expression. 'You're cruel as well as clever, Tess. How I've missed you.'
Tess's entire face lit up with amusement, and she laughed. 'Have you, indeed?'
'Tess!' Bakhtiian had reined his stallion two lengths closer to them, and his expression lowered to fury once again. 'The child.' Jealous! Ilya was jealous of him for gaining Tess's attention.
Tess swallowed the last of her laughter and carried the child over to her husband. Surprisingly, Mira was not afraid of this grim-faced man in the least. The little girl reached right up to him. Ilya plucked her out of Tess's arms and settled her in the saddle before him, and shot a glance toward Vasil that was filled with such venom that Vasil was immensely heartened.
'Zvertkov.' The tone was stiff, but Kirill rode over to Bakhtiian quite cheerfully. 'Have you any riders ready for the army?''
'Yes. A whole troop that I recommend you fit entire into one of the commands. They've worked quite well together-boys who came to me three years past, who've grown up here, and two girls.'
'Two?'
'One fights well enough.' Kirill winked down at Tess. 'As well as Tess, I must say.'
Vasil saw how Ilya frowned at this comment, how a certain indefinable tension settled around his shoulders, yet Zvertkov seemed immune to it. 'And the other?'
'Well, not every man has the gift for fighting, so why should every woman? She'll not get herself into trouble, and she wants nothing else but to ride. Has nothing else. She was with Mikhailov.' Kirill glanced back at Vasil and then away. 'Also, Veselov brought men with him.'
Bakhtiian's gaze jerked to Vasil and then wrenched away. 'How many?' He halted, seemed to inhale resolve like air, and turned to hail Arina. 'I will end this now,' he said. 'Mother Veselov. And you. Why have you come back, Vasil?''
As if it were warmth, Vasil basked in the intensity of Ilya's regard, let it flow over him and envelop him. 'My father is dead. I am dyan by right.'
''I do not approve it.''
'Whether you approve it or not,' said Vasil lightly, 'it is not your decision to make.'
'Is it not? Anton, come here. Arina, are you determined to allow this man back into your tribe?'
Arina bowed her head. 'Even though you disapprove, Bakhtiian, I will allow him back. For his wife's sake. She has suffered enough.'
'Even if I ask you to forbid him?'
Her voice was even, and calm. 'Even so.'
'Very well. I cannot interfere in your decisions. But he will not be a dyan in my army, whether your tribe elects him or not.'
'I refuse the command,' said Anton. 'I bow to the greater wisdom of the gods.'
'And in many tribes it would be wrong. But not here. You are my choice, Anton.'
Anton, too, bowed his head before Bakhtiian's wrath, but his voice remained mild. 'Nevertheless, I refuse.'
'As do I,' said Arina.
Well, there was no argument against that. Ilya sighed and settled back, and Mira reached up to rub her fingers along his trim beard. His expression altered instantly and he smiled at the little girl. 'So be it. Kirill, I leave it to you to split up the men he brought with him into other jahars. No two together.'
'No!' Vasil started forward and then reined his horse back sharply, coming close to trampling his own cousins. He was furious. 'They are my men. They have been loyal to me for three years now.''
Bakhtiian smiled coldly. 'Exactly. Now they will learn to be loyal to me. As is the rest of this army, Veselov, a
