"We were just talking of you, my lady," said Bakhtiian in Rhuian. His face glowed in the firelight, as if the heavens, even in the dark of night, could not bear to leave him unilluminated. "I am grateful, to you and to the others, for your work here today. I think I would have lost many more riders without your help.''

Diana blushed and looked at her hands, which rested on her knees. She could feel Anatoly Sakhalin's gaze on her like a weight, pressing against her. Bakhtiian said something, short but not unkind, to the young man, and she looked up to see Anatoly avert his gaze from her.

"It's Dr. Hierakis you should thank," said Diana finally, finding her voice again.

"She is a great healer. There is much she can teach those of my people who are also healers. This young man, for instance, will keep the use of his arm, and since he is one of my promising young commanders, I am pleased."

The young man had his left arm in a sling, bound against his chest, but the fingers of his left hand played with a necklace of golden beads draped around his neck, rolling the beads around and around against his palm. Now he spoke, quiet words to Bakhtiian. Bakhtiian raised his eyebrows, looking half amused and half quizzical, and turned back to Diana.

"Anatoly asks that I tell you that he is the eldest grandchild of Elizaveta Sakhalin, who is the-" He hesitated. "-I'm not sure how this would translate. She is the etsana, the woman who speaks for her tribe, of the eldest tribe of the jaran, the Sakhalin. He rides with my jahar until he gains enough experience to be awarded a jahar of his own. Which will be soon. Anatoly acquitted himself well today, leading the left flank in on the charge that broke their ranks."

"What is a jahar?" At the sound of her voice using a familiar word, Anatoly brightened.

"A group of riders. Not my entire army, you understand, but a smaller group within it."

"I understand. But I never heard what happened at the battle." She hesitated. Was it even proper to ask such a thing? Bakhtiian seemed so mild, crouched here next to her. She knew the pose must be deceptive.

He smiled. "It seems that all khaja women are fascinated with war.''

"If I shouldn't ask-" She broke off. G.o.ddess, what if she had violated some kind of taboo?

"It is not my part," said Bakhtiian cryptically, "to dictate to a woman what she should and should not do. As it happened, they were all on foot, a mercenary group hired by the port towns along the coast, with too few archers to do any proper damage." Diana could not repress a shudder, thinking of the wounded men she had seen. "They had spears, too, and their captain seems intelligent enough. He seems inclined to shift his loyalty. ''

"To shift his loyalty? To you?" "As I said, he seems intelligent enough." "But could you trust such a man? And his troops?" "A commander uses the tools he is given. It is up to him to use them where they will be strongest. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other riders to visit." Bakhtiian spoke a few more words to Anatoly Sakhalin and then, nodding once at Diana, rose and left them. Anatoly lifted his head to watch Bakhtiian go. His expression betrayed the fierceness of his loyalty. Then he dropped his gaze to Diana, and then away, to stare at the fire.

Diana sighed. Suddenly, she realized how achingly tired she was. The barest gleam of light tinged the horizon. Soon it would be dawn.

Anatoly said something in khush to her, softly. There was no one else at this fire.

Beyond, other fires sparked and burned, but she felt wrapped in a coc.o.o.n here, she felt, strangely enough, safe. She felt so completely unthreatened, sitting beside a man she barely knew, a barbarian, above all else, who had yesterday fought in a battle that would have sickened her to see, that she could not be sure if it was exhaustion that gave her a false sense of security or if indeed he posed no threat to her. The idea seemed ludicrous. He sat there, saber lying on the ground beside him, fingers playing with his necklace.

Out in the darkness, two people strolled by, talking in Anglais. A woman's voice: "It was textbook, I tell you. The left flank charged in and just within bowshot turned tail and retreated in the most ragtag flight you've ever seen, and, of course, the d.a.m.ned fools took after them, thinking they'd scared them off. I saw someone-I believe it was the captain of the mercenary troop-trying to pull them back into line, but they charged after the left flank and then, of course, got slammed by a second charge from the jaran center. Beautifully done, and whoever commanded the jaran left flank had his timing and distance down to the penny. 'When opponents open a doorway, swiftly penetrate it.' That's Sun Tzu. And they use the spears effectively enough as impact when they hit the line, but I can't fathom why none of these riders use bow and arrow."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Ursula." That was Maggie, sounding tired and hoa.r.s.e. "We saw the uglier end of it here."

"Aha, do I detect the superior voice of civilization lurking in your tone?"

They faded off into the camp. A man moaned, and a woman spoke gentle words.

Farther away, someone chopped wood. The rhythmic hacking soothed Diana's nerves.

It was such an ordinary sound.

"Diana.'' She glanced up, startled, to see Anatoly looking at her. On his lips, her name sounded exotic and yet tentative. Somehow he had slipped the golden bead necklace off from around his neck and now he held it out in his right hand, offering it to her. He said words to her in khush, grimaced as if frustrated by their inability to understand each other, and then spoke again. A handful of syllables said quietly the first time, then repeated with vehemence.

The words were meaningless to her, but said with an intensity that people reserve for a heartfelt "Thank you," or "You're beautiful." Or, "I love you." The words Marco had mocked her with, that she wished she had not heard. And here sat this one, and she wished so desperately that she could understand him.

She burst into tears. Finally, after all the long hours wearing away at the wall she had constructed in order to go on this h.e.l.lish day, it took only this to shatter her. She choked down her sobs and looked up at him. With the tips of his fingers, he brushed the tears off of her cheeks and touched his wet fingers to his lips, savoring their precious substance. No man had ever made as simple a gesture as this for her; layers of polished words, of fresh, expensive flowers, or sophisticated holowraps weeping of desire unfulfilled and hearts pining away; but never anything this artless and this sincere.

He said something more to her and then, to her horror, struggled up to his feet.

"Anatoly! No, you shouldn't get up." She jumped to her feet.

He wasn't listening to her. He dipped his head, to get the necklace back on.

She stopped him. "No." She took it from him and settled the gold beads around her own neck. His face lit in an astonished smile, and he recalled himself and looked away.

He waved toward the tents, pillowed his head on his hand, mimicking sleep.

Motioned that way, but did not touch her. He began to walk, so she had to follow. He limped badly, but he refused help. He led her to Dr. Hierakis's tent, and here he paused beyond the awning, in the half-gloom heralding dawn. Under the awning, Charles Soerensen sat with Dr. Hierakis and David and Marco, conferring by lantern light. Marco glanced up. His gaze froze on Diana for an instant, moving to her chest, where the necklace dangled, gleaming. Darted to Anatoly Sakhalin, and then he looked away, lips tight, his expression shuttered.

Anatoly spoke to her in a low voice and motioned toward the tent and made the pillowing gesture again. Diana nodded and, as if that satisfied him, he caught her gaze for a piercing instant, and then turned and limped away.

Diana took in a deep breath and walked under the awning. "Doctor, is there somewhere I can sleep?" she asked.

Dr. Hierakis did not even look up. "Yes, dear. In my tent. Maggie and Jo are already in there. Just be careful of the equipment."

Diana did not look at Marco, kept her gaze away from him as she slipped past the little group and pushed the tent flap aside to go in.

"Diana? Here's a stretch of ground, and a thermal blanket."

"Maggie. G.o.ddess, I'm tired. What are you doing?"

"Just trying out this new program." Maggie lay on her side. A thin slate gleamed on the tent floor, its screen lit with letters and numbers. "It's a fairly primitive translation program from an abstract of the khush language sent to us by His Nib's sister."

"Oh." Diana lay down. She stared at the dark canvas ceiling above. Perhaps she was simply too tired to sleep. "Maggie. What does elinu mean?"

"Hmm." The sound of light tapping. " 'Angel.' 'Spirit.' Wait, there's a longer description here. 'The Sun's daughters are elinu and they come down from the heavens to men and women who have died in battle or in childbirth-' That's egalitarian of them, I should say. '-to raise them up to Heaven.' There's a cross reference to-" Maggie went on.

Diana shut her eyes. "Arkady Suvorin," she whispered, so that she would not forget his name. But somehow, she doubted she ever could. Yet it was not his face she saw, drifting down into sleep, nor even Marco's, but Anatoly Sakhalin's, staring at her while he lay on the surgery table, holding on to her as if she alone secured him to the earth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Orzhekov liked to maintain a leisurely pace, preferring to save her riders' strength for battle. Not for her the constant, restless driving pace endured by those riders favored enough-or cursed enough, some men muttered-to ride with Bakhtiian's chosen thousand, or with those commanders eager to emulate Bakhtiian. It was one reason that men sought a place in her jahar. For another, she knew how to think fast and well when trouble rode in, and her jahar had invariably taken low casualties in the past three years. She was famous for being reckless on her own behalf and conservative when it came to the riders under her command. That she was a woman, and Bakhtiian's niece, counted for less than the chance to see the plains and one's wife and children again.So it caused no comment that Orzhekov's looping sweep of towns along the lands tributary to Bakhtiian took longer than it might have, given a hastier commander.

Indeed, it took so long that word reached them when they were still a day's ride from the main camp that Bahktiian had already returned from his mysterious trip to the coast with a host of barbarians in tow.

A number of the men dug out a fire pit near the commander's small traveling tent and loitered there, hoping to glean additional information by proximity. Hobbled horses grazed on the outskirts of the little camp. Orzhekov stood outside her tent, talking with Tess Soerensen and Soerensen's brother, Aleksi, who had joined up with them in late afternoon with the news.

"That one, Aleksi, he rides with Bakhtiian's jahar, doesn't he? But I heard he hasn't even a family name. How'd he get so honored?"

"He's Soerensen's brother, you fool. She adopted him three years past."

"But he's an orphan, Leonid. I heard his whole tribe was killed, that it was a plague sent by the G.o.ds. That only he and a sister lived, and she died soon after.

You'd think even a khaja woman would know better than to take in someone as cursed as all that-"

"Hush, you idiot. Have you ever seen him fight? He'd take your ears and your b.a.l.l.s off before you even drew your saber.''

In the low round of laughter that followed this sally, Feodor Grekov strolled up to the fire and some of the men moved aside to make room for him.

"Grekov. Haven't you any news for us?"

"Why should I have any more news than you, Yermolov?"

Several of the riders chuckled. Feodor flushed. "Well," said Leonid with a grin, "you've shared her tent more than one night this trip. She must say something."

Conscious of Orzhekov's proximity, a few men offered suggestions, in low voices, of what their commander might say.

From her tent, Nadine had turned to watch Feodor Grekov settle down by the fire. She raised her voice and called over to her riders. "If you men haven't anything better to do but sit and gossip around the fire, you can give the horses some extra grain. We've a hard ride in the morning, and an early start."

The men grumbled, but they all rose.

"Just like a woman," said Leonid good-naturedly. "If they think you're giving their lover a hard time, then they work you to death." But he gave Feodor a friendly slap on the shoulder as he left.

Nadine watched the riders disperse and then turned back to Tess. "If you'll excuse me, I'd better go prepare our amba.s.sador: We'll reach camp by mid-afternoon, and if he doesn't want to destroy his emba.s.sy completely, he has a couple of hard truths to learn about the jaran.""Dina, if you don't mind me saying so-"

"I probably will, but you'll say it nevertheless, so go on."

Tess rubbed her hands together and blew on them, then slid her gloves out from under her belt and pulled them on. "You're just putting his back up."

"I invite you to try. You've a worse temper than I do."

"Do I, indeed?" Tess glanced at Aleksi, who winked at her. She sighed. "Only where Ilya is concerned, and it hasn't done me a d.a.m.n bit of good yet. I'll speak with the amba.s.sador.''

Nadine stared past Tess at the elaborate flagged awning that Jiroannes's servants had set up, as they did every evening, precise in their work. The tent entrance always faced southeast, toward the lands of the Great King. From this angle, they saw the back of Jiroannes's head where he sat in his carved and padded chair. One of the Vidiyan guardsman stood next to him, holding a lantern to cast light on the parchment Jiroannes read. "I wish you luck. May I watch?"

"Aleksi and I will go. You may listen, but stay in the shadows. He doesn't like you, Dina, so I'd rather he not see you."

Nadine gave a sarcastic snort. "As you command, Soerensen." But she did not wait to watch them go, rather walked out toward the horses.

"She's moody," said Aleksi.

"Dina is always moody. How did Charles seem? You got the letter to him?"

"Yes. He doesn't look like you."

"No, that's true enough." She pulled off her gloves and tucked them back into her belt.

"You're nervous, Tess."

She rubbed her hands together and started to jerk the gloves back out, then stopped herself, looking rueful. "d.a.m.n it. Yes, I am."

"He didn't seem frightening to me, though he's a great prince."

"You didn't grow up being the only heir to the prince, Aleksi. I know he's not happy that I stayed here."

"But, Tess, you're a woman, you're of age. Where you stay is surely your own choice."

If only it were. Or at least, if only it were so easy. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side, waiting; Aleksi always knew when to wait and when to speak. He read her better, in many ways, than Ilya did, because Aleksi never layered any emotions on top of hers.

But she was in too strange a mood tonight to nurse her anger at Ilya. She sighed finally and said nothing. Instead, she walked out onto the gra.s.s in a loop that would bring her by a roundabout way to Jiroannes's cl.u.s.ter of tents."Bakhtiian is furious that you left camp," said Aleksi.

Tess shrugged. "I'm not afraid of Ilya."

"But you are afraid of your own brother." He flicked at his chin with one finger, considering the stars. "I don't understand the khaja," he said at last. "And you even less."

"What do you mean by that?" It was his turn to shrug, and Tess chuckled. "Tell me about the battle."

"Some of the elders of the coast towns hired a mercenary force to waylay us.

They did as well as they could, being khaja, but of course it was hopeless for them.

Anatoly Sakhalin did a brilliant job of executing the charge and flight. He was wounded, but he says that one of the khaja women-" Aleksi switched for a moment to Rhuian, "-one of the actresses-saved him from being carried away by the angels.

He gave her a necklace."

"Oh, dear. What happened to the mercenaries?"

"Bakhtiian sent the captain to occupy Barala, the princ.i.p.al of the towns that hired him. He's to execute the elders, collect tribute, send half to Bakhtiian and keep half for himself. Bakhtiian is going to send Suvorin's jahar out to patrol that line of coast for the summer and perhaps into the winter as well."

"Suvorin, eh? Ilya doesn't much like Suvorin, so doubtless that will keep Suvorin busy and out of trouble." Tess halted.

The square Vidiyan tents rose like blots of darkness some thirty paces before them. A Vidiyan guardsman sat on a rug to the left of the cl.u.s.ter of tents, polishing a silver tray and a set of silver dishes. The scent of aromatic herbs drifted to them on the breeze, swelling with the steam from a kettle perched on a fire of red-hot coals.

The woman-the slave-knelt behind her master's chair. Her hands lay perfectly still on her thighs, and her gaze seemed fixed on her hands. She did not move.

What kind of a world have I chosen to live on? Tess thought. Yet it was no different from what Earth had been, with the same cruelties and the same kindnesses and the same hopes. And whatever else the jaran might be, they were her family. She took in a deep breath and let it all out in one huffing blow. "Now, Aleksi. You are to be silent and still."

"As still as that one?" He nodded toward the slave.

"Lord. I wonder what she thinks of, sitting there. Silent in any case. I'm going to be respectful, which is what this boy needs, I think. In order to be able to allow himself to hear what I'm saying."

"You're never respectful to Bakhtiian."

"G.o.ds, if I was as respectful to Ilya as the rest of you are, he'd become insufferable. Shall we?" She walked forward around the outskirts of the camp and halted at the farthest fringe of awning. Aleksi followed two paces behind her.

Tess stood there, patient, until Syrannus rose and approached her. If Jiroannes was aware that she was there, he showed no sign of it. He kept reading.

"I thank you for recognizing me," said Tess to Syrannus, in Rhuian. "I ask for permission for myself and my companion to enter, and to speak with His Eminence."

The final words, Jiroannes's t.i.tle, she spoke in Vidyan, and that did make Jiroannes glance up in surprise. He lowered his gaze as swiftly, still pretending to ignore her, but the line of his mouth tightened.