Storm Bride (26 page)

But still. It didn’t mean she was ready to marry him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Saotse, I can’t. Not right now. No, I can’t.”

Saotse was quiet. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

Saotse cleared her throat and said something long and drawn-out to Keshlik, much more than Uya had originally said. He answered in kind, and they conversed for a few minutes. Then Saotse said again to Uya, “He goes to offer peace to your people regardless, as soon as Tuulo is buried. Will you come with him?”

“Why?”

“Because he wants to show you to the representatives of the Yivriindi. Your presence with his child will demonstrate his desire for peace, even if you are not betrothed. And he wants to be near his son.”

Uya sighed. More movement, more discomfort. But perhaps this was almost the end. “Yes, I’ll go.”

Saotse translated. Keshlik nodded and slowly rose to his feet, dropping the proffered spear back to his side with an awkward, self-conscious movement. He bowed to Uya, then repeated something to Saotse.

“Keshlik thanks you,” Saotse said. “We’re leaving in two days.”

The men left. Saotse put her hand into Uya’s.

Uya hugged the boy to her chest and closed her eyes. “Are you upset with me?”

Saotse was quiet for a while. “I understand your reasons,” she said at last. “You should go inside and rest.”

Chapter 32

Keshlik

W
arriors singing songs of victory
met Keshlik’s party when they reached the fringes of the camp in the woods. Late afternoon sunlight spilled like gold between the spruces, and the air was heavy with the scent of spruce and horses. Keshlik’s party rode with cheers and ululations following them through the woods and onto the fields where the battle had taken place, where most of the camp had moved, spreading out over the grass and the streams in careless disregard for defensibility or perimeter. They were clearly not worried about a counterattack.

In the center of the expanded camp, Keshlik saw a tight ring of tents, with the Khaatat sign emblazoned on one of them. Just outside the ring was a careworn encampment of white Yivrian tents, with Yakhat warriors posted in a loose circle around it.

The Yivrian representatives, whomever they were, were in Juyut’s power.

By the time they reached the center where Juyut’s yurts lay, a train of shouting and crowing warriors had formed behind them and crowded in on both sides, forming an aisle. While Keshlik was still thirty yards away, Juyut emerged from his tent. He folded his arms and spread his legs wide, grinning like a coyote, and waited for Keshlik and the chieftains to come.

From the corner of his eye, Keshlik glimpsed the cart carrying Uya and Saotse fall back, and he drew his horse to a halt, stopping the entire procession. Uya was hunched over, as if trying to hide from the ruckus of the warriors, and Saotse had her arm around her. The baby seemed to be crying. He motioned for the warriors to quiet. At first, his movements prompted them only to shout louder, but gradually his scowl and his continued insistence calmed them.

“Is the child okay?” he asked Saotse.

“He stirred,” she said, “but Uya calmed him. Don’t worry.”

Keshlik nodded to Saotse then dismounted. Juyut maintained his pose for just a moment after his feet touched the ground, then he ran forward and crushed Keshlik in his embrace.

“Golgoyat himself fought among us, brother!” He lifted his arms exultantly.

The warriors shook the ground with another shout.

“Quiet!” Keshlik barked, slapping his brother’s arms to the ground. The baby’s tremulous cry made itself heard in the silence.

“The baby,” Juyut said, still grinning. “You brought Tuulo? Is it a son or a daughter?”

“A son. But Tuulo isn’t here.”

Juyut fell back a step. His smile faltered. “Where is she?”

Keshlik looked to the ground. He closed his eyes and put his hand across his brow. “Khou’s bosom.”

Juyut dropped his hand and retreated another pace. They stood an awkward distance apart. Then Juyut wrapped his brother in his arms and kissed him on the cheek. He pressed his cheek against Keshlik’s.

“But the boy?” Juyut said at last. “Your son? He is well?”

“Yes.”

“And have you named him?”

“Yes. His name is Tuulik.”

“Tuulik! After his mother. And who is nursing him?”

“Uya.” Seeing Juyut’s confusion, he added, “The captive woman. The one that I gave to Tuulo as a slave.”

“Ah. Then she’s proved her worth.” Juyut looked back at the cart, where the women waited. With a gasp of recognition, he reached for his knife. “The witch!”

Keshlik put his hand over Juyut’s. “Yes. Her name is Saotse. She, too, is in our power now.”

“But she lives!”

“The Power has left her. She cannot harm us. And she is under my care.”

Juyut narrowed his eyes and squeezed his knife hilt. “Why have you kept her alive?”

“She will help us speak to the Yivrian envoys. She must live. I will explain soon.”

Juyut grimaced, baring his teeth at the woman. “But I have good news. The rest of the Yivrian force, we routed after you left, driving them from the field. We pillaged their encampment and crushed their reserves. Most of them dispersed into woods and villages, but those who pulled together did send us an embassy under a flag of peace. I’ve kept them here as captives under guard, expecting that you’d want to speak to them. We have their precious relic sword, too, which we’re keeping for ransom.”

“Good,” Keshlik said. “I have to speak to them—now, if possible. I have only a little time. Tuulo will be buried the day after tomorrow, and I have to return by then.”

“Of course, of course. Is that why you brought the chiefs of the tribes?” Juyut glanced at the old men standing mixed in with the warriors.

“Yes.” It had only been two days, yet Keshlik felt as though an absence of decades had fallen between them. He had changed. Juyut had not. They had much to speak about
—
and soon—but Keshlik had even more pressing matters to deal with first.

The Yivrian embassy joined Keshlik, Juyut, Bhaalit, and the rest of the Yakhat elders at the fire when evening fell. Juyut had them escorted by a squadron of mounted Yakhat warriors, as the captives that Juyut considered them to be. But Keshlik did not view them that way.

The Yivrian party was a worn-down, dishonored band. Most of them were dressed in white and blue linens that had been fine once, but which had come to bear the stains of rapid flight and blood. They stood in a little cluster in the gap between the chieftains, glancing across the weathered Yakhat faces in incomprehension. The movements of Yakhat warriors made them flinch.

“Is this all of them?” Keshlik asked.

“All of them,” Juyut said. “But only two of them speak Guza, and not very well.”

Keshlik waved that difficulty aside. “We have a translator. Saotse, will you greet them?”

Saotse bowed and presented her hands palm-up to the envoys. She said something in wispy, insubstantial Praseo. Murmurs of surprise sounded from the Yivriindi, and one of them responded in turn. A few rapid exchanges followed. A narrow-faced young man stepped forward and said something with a little more confidence than the rest of the group had shown. Saotse bowed and showed her palms again.

“This is Narista, the son of the
kenda
,” she said to Juyut and Keshlik. “With the death of his father, he expects to soon take up the title of
kenda
himself, but he has to first return to Kendilar to—”

The man cut Saotse off, a storm of angry syllables pouring from his mouth. Saotse nodded rapidly and attempted to calm him enough to translate his words.

“He is disappointed. He says that he rallied the remainder of the Yivrian forces, and he came here under the color of peace so that he could speak to the Yakhat as civilized people, but he is not sure you qualify as civilized.”

Keshlik frowned. “We’re here because we, too, want to speak. Tell him that.”

She did so, and Narista responded with a curt gesture that invited Keshlik to do just that.

Keshlik stepped forward and bowed to the young man. The other did not bow in turn. The insult burned, and Keshlik fought the urge to unsheathe his knife and strike the proud fool down where he stood. But that would be an inauspicious beginning for a truce.

“I’ve come to offer peace,” he said.

“What?” Juyut said from the edge of the circle of elders. Mutters spread out through the gathered warriors.

Keshlik silenced them with a glare. “Listen to our offer.” Saotse nodded at him to continue. “First, we will return the city of Prasa to the Prasei. All those who were cast out of it will be allowed to return. Furthermore, the Yakhat will provide to the city cattle in the number of four thousand cows giving milk and calving, one thousand gelding calves, and one hundred untouched bulls. We will also give horses from our own stocks in the number of eight hundred fertile mares, four hundred gelding colts, and fifty untouched stallions suitable for stud.”

As he spoke, the mutter of the surrounding Yakhat warriors turned from a whisper to a growl. Juyut stared across the fire at Keshlik with fury and incomprehension. The chieftains attempted to calm the warriors around them, though even they looked uncomfortable and sour as Keshlik recited the numbers. They had all agreed on them and recited them the night before, but it was still a bitter root to chew.

Only the envoy seemed pleased as he listened to Saotse’s translation, though confusion clouded his expression. He spoke to Saotse.

Saotse translated. “He says that this must be some kind of trick. What do you want in return?”

“In return, the Yakhat request the following: We ask for freedom to travel with our herds on the plains north of the River Prasa, from the mountains of the White Teeth, to Azatsi’s Fingers and the Gap where the Guza once lived. We ask that we be allowed to trade in the city of Prasa, and that we may replace the Guza at the trading posts of the Gap where formerly the caravans from your cities met. And we ask that the Prasei and the Yivriindi enter with the Yakhat into a covenant of perpetual peace.”

The envoy studied Keshlik intently while Saotse translated. The murmur of the Yakhat warriors around them had subsided, though Keshlik still saw them muttering and staring at him in shock and betrayal.

When Saotse had finished, the envoy responded in cold, bitter tones. She looked pained by the words but softly translated, “If those are your demands, was it necessary for you to sack Prasa, to plunder the farms and villages of the whole region, and to kill the
kenda
in a pitched battle?”

It was not necessary. But Keshlik didn’t know how much he could, or should, explain himself to the boy. “No.”

Judging by the murmuring and scowls on every side, neither the Yakhat nor the Yivriindi were pleased by his response.

With a sour grimace on his face, Narista replied, “Then why, after you’ve destroyed so many of our people, do you come to us suddenly seeking peace? Since we were injured, let us make our own demands.”

“And what are your demands?” Keshlik asked.

Narista responded, and Saotse translated with an expression of surprise. “That you submit yourselves to the suzerainty of the
kenda
and pay perpetual tax in the form of gold or silver coin to the
kenda
, at the rate which he should establish.”

Those terms were impossible. Keshlik had barely wrung the initial concessions from the chiefs, and if the condition of peace were submission to the
kenda
, then there would be no peace. The hard fact of any parlay was that the stronger party made the demands. He would have to be strong.

“You step beyond your place,” he said. “We still hold you under our power. Where is your military might, that you make demands of us? I am making you a peace offering. The only other offer is war.”

Saotse translated, and Narista flinched a little. He answered with less pride, and Saotse repeated, “Then why do you offer us peace now?”

He would have to explain. There was no way around it. And it would be better, for the Yakhat and for the Yivriindi, if everyone knew. “Because I have laid aside my spear forever, and I will hear no more of war.”

And he told the envoy and all the gathered Yakhat what he had found when he returned to see his newborn son, how Golgoyat had answered him in the storm, and how he found the witch wrapped in a white sheet at the place that Golgoyat had shown him. He asked Saotse to repeat what the sea had told her. Then he reminded the warriors that the captive woman had given up her oath in order to save his son, and he repeated his plea for peace.

After he finished, there was a long silence.

The envoy said something quietly. Saotse laughed. “He says, ‘Strange are the ways of the Powers.’ I can only agree with that.”

“Ask him if he believes me.”

She asked. “He does,” she translated. “My presence here, speaking Yakhat, is proof enough for him.”

“Then ask him if he will make the pact of peace with us.”

“He will.”

“Wait,” Juyut shouted from across the circle. “I don’t agree to any such pact.”

Bhaalit said, “You have no standing to speak here, Juyut.”

“I led the Yakhat horde while we routed the enemy. The warriors followed
me
. And do any of them still follow me?”

He pounded the butt of his spear on the ground and jabbed the point into the air. Rumbles of agreement thundered through the warriors. Several of the chiefs looked upset, and some of them began to mutter among themselves.

Juyut folded his arms, his expression pleased. “I say that I have standing here.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Keshlik spat the words like stones. He had known that he would face opposition, but he hadn’t expected to fight his
brother
.

Juyut looked back at him, eyes burning with fury and betrayal. “I’m ashamed of what I’ve heard tonight. You’ve led the Yakhat horde through uncountable battles. I’ve never seen a warrior more courageous and more fierce than you. And yet you’ve been bewitched now by a woman telling lies? Golgoyat has fought among us since you were a child, and he rumbles still in the storm clouds. He has no need to lay aside his spear and marry. And the Yakhat have no need to lay aside their war and make peace with a nation of city-dwellers. You shame us with the stench of defeat when we should be exulting in victory.”

Shouts and ululations of agreement sounded throughout the Yakhat horde. Juyut spoke more strongly, striking his spear repeatedly against the ground. The warriors were with him, Keshlik noted grimly.