His Conquering Sword (7 page)

“They don’t know. That’s as far as they trade. At Parkilnous, other merchants take the goods and travel on with them, and trade goods from the south in return.”

“So.” Bakhtiian removed his hand from the map.

The discussion erupted again. Send the entire army to Karkand. No, that’s stupid; the broader the net, the more game could be drawn in. Send ten thousand men to each city, then. That’s doubly idiotic; if you only knew a tenth again as much as Yaroslav Sakhalin about strategy; many small forces are weak against a single large army, and it isn’t impossible that the Habakar king might be drawing together an army for a final strike. The Habakar king is running like any damned coward into the west, with Anatoly Sakhalin at his heels—no longer a threat. How can the honored dyan possibly know that? Why, because only a beaten coward would abandon his own tent and family, of course. How else explain that he had deserted his own royal city? All this talk of fighting is all very well, but what about the camp? What are the water sources between here and the southern cities? How much forage? How bad are the winters here, and farther south? When do the caravans stop running? Can a large detachment winter off forage from the countryside, in the south? Will there be food enough for the wagon train? And so on.

Nadine had made many cunning little marks on her maps, each indicating information about water sources and forage and towns—insofar as the caravan masters and merchants knew or were willing to part with such information, insofar as any of it could be trusted. Of course, it was all hearsay. Still, Aleksi did not doubt that in the short time Nadine had been back with them, she and Tess between them had tripled jaran intelligence of the lay of the land. Aleksi wondered about Tess’s sources of information, too, because now and again, during the interminable translation sessions between Tess and the interpreters and the Habakar merchants, Tess would make a sudden correction to something Nadine mapped in. Had Tess had access to maps in Jeds that were more accurate than the merchants’ recollections? But why would they have such maps in Jeds? Jedan merchants never came here, as far as Aleksi knew.

Or perhaps, perhaps if that had not been Bakhtiian’s actual spirit that Aleksi had seen hovering in the air, the night Bakhtiian had been witched away to the gods’ lands—or to the heavens from which Dr. Hierakis claimed she and Tess had come—if it really had been an image of his spirit, of his body, then perhaps Tess knew how to make an image of the land that was equally accurate. Everyone knew that the land remained constant, that seen once, and remembered, you could ride that way again twelve years later and find your way. That was how the jaran navigated the endless plains. That, and by the stars and the winds. Along the Golden Road that ran east to the riches of Empire of Yarial there was said to be a country where the land did shift, where no traveler might walk without becoming lost, where mountains moved at night and rivers changed their course between the seasons. But Aleksi knew that such a place could only exist because every khaja in it, child, woman, and man, was a sorcerer born and bred, or else because the gods had put a curse on it.

The afternoon wore on. Fifty disagreements dwindled to ten, and ten to two. “But if we are agreed,” said Venedikt Grekov, dyan of the Grekov tribe, “that Bakhtiian must direct the siege of Karkand personally, because of the insult given him by the king, then wouldn’t it be wisest to send Sakhalin south to Salkh? If that city is so valuable?”

Heads nodded all around. Fifteen days ago, Venedikt Grekov would never had been so bold as to speak with this much authority this late in the council. Now, however, his nephew was going to be the father of Bakhtiian’s heirs. The Grekov tribe, important as one of the Ten Elder Tribes, had just taken a sudden and impressive leap in status—though with Mother Sakhalin’s blessing, of course. Nadine had a frown on her face. She did not look up at the speaker, which was impolite. Everyone knew she wasn’t happy about the marriage.

“Surely,” added Kirill Zvertkov, “we should secure the two cities west of Karkand, so no Habakar army can march from their protection on Karkand.”

“Will it take so long for Karkand to surrender to us?” asked another dyan.

Mother Sakhalin cleared her throat. All fell silent. “My nephew assures me,” she said, “that the stone tents of Karkand are built in such a fashion that simple force, even using the archers, cannot overcome the walls.”

“Had we been forced to storm the walls of Qurat,” said Kirill, “we would have suffered severe losses. Sakhalin said that Karkand is better placed.”

“Then, as Zvertkov says,” replied Grekov, “we had better ride a ring around Karkand and cut it off from the rest of the country. Then the khaja can starve or surrender.”

Everyone nodded.

“If we take prisoners,” said Vershinin, “then when we do attack, we can drive them before us as we did at Tashmar—you weren’t there, Bakhtiian—up to the walls as the first wave.”

“There are other ways,” said Nadine suddenly, “to break a siege. The Prince of Jeds has an engineer with him who knows many tricks. I expect the prince’s woman soldier Ursula el Kawakami does as well.”

“What kind of tricks?” asked Bakhtiian.

“Well, if we can make the walls collapse, then they can’t protect the khaja army, can they?”

“I will think on this,” said Ilya. “Meanwhile,” he glanced up to survey the council, “as you say, Sakhalin ought to ride south to Salkh, once I arrive at Karkand, and Grekov, Vershinin, you will double your jahars in numbers and ride on west, to the cities beyond Karkand. Nadine.” He tapped a finger on her maps, but northward, now, at the edge where the Farisa city lay, the one the Habakar general had himself burned, at the northeastern boundary of Habakar lands where they bordered the plains. “You will return to Morava, to escort the Prince of Jeds back to me.”

“Uncle!” Ah, but she looked angry.

“That would be best,” said Mother Sakhalin smoothly, “since her husband is there.” Everyone knew what she meant: that it was long past time for Nadine to start having babies.

Nadine rarely sat still. She did so now, but it was a stillness brought on by fury, not by peace. “Uncle, what if the prince has already left Morava?”

“You rode the same route, there and back, both you and Feodor Grekov. You will go.” He set his hands, palms down and open, on his knees, and surveyed the council. “So will it be.”

Rather than reply, Nadine made a great business of rolling up her maps. She was angry, but what could she do? Bakhtiian had spoken. She rose, excused herself, and left. Bakhtiian rose to follow her. The council, dismissed, broke up into a dozen disparate groups to gossip and stretch their legs. Kirill came by to speak for a few moments in a low voice to Tess; then he strode away into the lowering twilight.

Tess leaned back. “Aleksi, Cara wanted to see you.”

“To see me?”

“About—don’t you remember?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “As you watched her do with me. She wants to look into your body with her machines. To—to map it.”

Aleksi remembered. He wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or nervous, but Tess wished him to do this, so he would. “I’ll go,” he said, not one to hesitate once he had made a decision. He kissed her on the cheek, bade farewell to Josef Raevsky, and went on his way. Passing between his tent and Tess’s on his way to the hospital encampment, he heard Bakhtiian and Nadine arguing in Rhuian just out of sight behind Tess’s great tent. He paused to listen.

“What right has she to interfere?” Nadine demanded, sounding quite intemperate. “I know she convinced Feodor to mark me. He would never have done it otherwise. He would never have had the nerve.”

“Yes, and faced with the prospect of being married to you in this temper, Dina, can you blame him? In any case, you know very well what right she has to interfere. She is Mother of all the tribes.”

“Yes, but we’ve been to Jeds. We’re not bound by useless jaran customs. You and I should know better—”

“Listen to me, young woman. I know better, and I know that for all that I learned in Jeds, for all the knowledge that lies in these khaja universities, we jaran are stronger because of what we are and because of how we live. The khaja can’t stand against us. They will never be able to. So the gods have gifted us. Would you like to have married in Jeds, instead?”

A fulminating silence. “You know very well how they treat women in khaja lands.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t want to marry at all. I want to ride.”

“Then ride. You are already married, Dina. The nine days have passed.”

“I wasn’t in seclusion.”

“That’s true. If you wish to go through the ceremony—”

“I don’t!”

“Then accept what you must. And you must have children. You know it as well as I do.” There was another silence, but this one had more of a despairing edge to it. “Dina, I have already been advised to remove you from command of your jahar.”

“Who—!”

“None of your business. Listen to me, damn you. You’re worse than I was at your age.” That brought a reluctant chuckle from her. “I won’t do it. You’re a good commander, and even if you weren’t my niece, you would deserve such a command. You will remain a dyan. But there will be times when you can’t ride.”

“When I’m pregnant.”

“Yes. Don’t you see, Dina? The gods never give out unmixed blessings. They gifted women with the knowledge that is also a mystery, that of bringing children into the world, but knowledge is also a burden.”

“A heavy one, in this case.”

“If you only had a sister to bear children while you rode, then that would be well. But you have none.”

“I want to explore, like the prince’s man, Marco Burckhardt, does.” Said stubbornly.

Bakhtiian sighed. “You have no choice, my niece. You will have children. I order you to. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“During such time as you can’t leave camp, you will work with Tess. Her work is every bit as important as Yaroslav Sakhalin’s.” His voice dropped into a coaxing tone. “Those maps you made together are very fine.”

“Thank you.” Was there a slightly warmer edge to her voice? Was she melting. “Praise from Bakhtiian is as a blessing from the gods themselves—”

“Stop that! Don’t mock me!”

“Uncle … I didn’t mean … I only meant …” She faltered. Aleksi was amazed to hear her sound chastened.

“Never show such disrespect for the gods. You should know better, you who only by the gods’ grace are alive today, when everyone else in our family died.”

“My father didn’t die. You didn’t die.”

“Go,” said Bakhtiian.

Aleksi heard Nadine take in a breath to say something. Instead, she said nothing, and a moment later he saw her emerge from behind the tent and stride away out into camp, which he thought showed great wisdom on her part.

“Aleksi,” said Bakhtiian, sounding no less curt. Aleksi started, and then walked around the corner to face Bakhtiian. Ilya turned from looking out after his niece to glare at Aleksi, and Aleksi wondered abruptly how many times he had been saved from a lecture—or worse—from Bakhtiian because of Tess’s implicit protection. “I don’t like it,” Ilya said, and Aleksi knew that he meant Aleksi’s habit of listening in. “Do it to others if you will. Don’t do it to me.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Aleksi. “An incurable habit from my youth. It saved my life more than once.”

“No doubt,” replied Bakhtiian. Aleksi could not tell whether he meant the comment to express sympathy or censure. “Nevertheless, not to me.”

“I understand and obey, Bakhtiian.” He bowed, as they did in Jeds; Tess had taught him how to do it.

“Go,” said Bakhtiian, but the word wasn’t as terse as it had been when he had ordered Nadine to leave. He might even have been amused.

Aleksi escaped and, whistling under his breath, he considered the world while he made his way to the doctor’s tent. He decided that the world was a strange place, stranger than any one person ever might suspect, knowing only what she knew from the narrow path she rode through it. Aleksi felt sometimes that he himself rode more than one path, that there were two, or three or four of him, each scouting a different path, each in constant communication, as though belled messengers raced between the routes carrying intelligence from one to the next. And once you saw the world from three, or five, different roads, the view was never the same. The map changed and altered, and its details became more accurate. The landmarks receded or grew, depending on the angle from which you observed them, and at once, there might be an escarpment from which the astonished traveler would rendezvous with her selves and could suddenly comprehend the land as it truly was.

“Ah, Aleksi.” Dr. Hierakis emerged from her tent, wiping her hands on a rag. “Come in. Come in.” He followed her back inside. She had sewn tiny bells all along the entrance flap, and they tinkled as the flap fell down behind them. Aleksi understood the bells, now; just as the messengers wore bells to alert the next garrison or tribe to their coming, the doctor positioned bells around her tent so that no person might enter unannounced and surprise her at her machines. A lantern sat placed in the center of a table, but Aleksi knew this trick. Tentatively, he put out a hand toward it, touched it, and his finger passed right through it. It was only an image of a lantern, not a lantern at all, although it looked so true that he would never have known if Tess had not told him.

“Sit down.” The doctor indicated first a chair and then a pillow, so that he might choose whatever was most comfortable. “Will you have some
tea?”

Aleksi didn’t like
tea,
but he was far too polite to refuse any drink offered him in a woman’s tent. He sank down onto the pillow and received the hot tea from Dr. Hierakis. He sipped at the spicy drink cautiously and regarded the doctor from under lowered lids. She reached under the table with one hand and did something there with her fingers. The lantern grew a little brighter; otherwise he saw no change.

“Recording,”
she said into the air. Then to him: “Do you have a second name, Aleksi?”

“Soerensen,” he said promptly.