The Novels of the Jaran

by Kate Elliott

  “But how did it get so small?” Yevgeni demanded. “How did you capture it and bring it here?”

  “It’s just an image, Yevgeni, not the shrine itself. Look, do you know what a map is? Let me see. Maybe I can reconstruct where we left the army, and where we are now. It’s been thirty-five days since we left camp and if we’ve ridden northeast… Goddess. I should have paid more attention in cartography tutorial.”

  “But no one is more powerful than Grandmother Night,” said Yevgeni suddenly. “Even seeing these things and what you did to those khaja bandits, still… She attends us at our birth and grants us a measure of days in which to live. She is the One with whom we may bargain for gifts, if we’re willing to risk the bargaining, if we’re desperate enough. She is death, Hyacinth. No person can escape death.”

  “How old do you think the Prince of Jeds is?”

  Yevgeni shrugged. “Of an age with Bakhtiian, I suppose.”

  “He isn’t. He’s older than Mother Sakhalin.”

  “He can’t be.”

  “He is. Why would I lie to you? Dr. Hierakis is older than he is. Owen is in his seventies, too, and Ginny is at least as old as that. Yet they are still young. My great-grandmother Nguyen is one hundred and sixteen years old, and I can expect to live at least as long as she has and stay young until I’m ninety or so. Grandmother night doesn’t scare us. You’ve got to believe me, Yevgeni. You’ve got to want to believe me, you’ve got to want to live. If we can make it to the shrine, if we can find the duke—”

  Yevgeni reached up abruptly and touched Hyacinth’s cheek. “That’s when I fell in love with you,” he said in a low voice. “When I saw that song, the song you did about Mekhala. Valye said you were really the khaja prince and that it was a wind demon truly drawn down to walk among us, but I knew you were just a person singing two different songs. You were so beautiful.”

  Hyacinth shut his eyes. How Owen would have loved this scene: Yevgeni’s voice blended grief and wonder and a shy yearning so perfectly, and the way he held his body reflected his longing and his sorrow and his actual physical pain. But this was real. Hyacinth knelt and put his arms around the other man. Yevgeni gasped, from the pain of the embrace, but he did not draw away.

  “Oh, damn,” murmured Hyacinth, “it must hurt.”

  “No, no,” said Yevgeni into his hair, “never mind it. I gave it for her, who followed me to her death.”

  “We won’t die. That way you can remember her. That way part of her will always live, with you.”

  Yevgeni sighed against him but said nothing. There was nothing he needed to say, not at that moment. Hyacinth stroked his hair and held him carefully, tenderly.

  After a little while, Hyacinth warmed up the meat in the oven and Yevgeni ate a sliver of it, though it was the flesh of the gods’ sacred messengers. Not much, but by that small gesture, Hyacinth knew that Yevgeni had cast his lot with his khaja lover and abandoned his own people once and for all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE MIDDLE OF the night, Tess woke to the sound of footsteps in the outer chamber. She heaved herself up and slipped on a silk robe, tying it closed just under her breasts and above her pregnant belly. She pushed the curtain aside and walked into her husband.

  He had been pacing. She could tell by the way his shoulders were drawn forward and one hand clenched up by his beard. He opened the hand and splayed it over one side of her belly. “The child is growing,” he said. “And all of a sudden, it seems. I think you’re twice the size you were at Hamrat, and it’s only been sixteen days since we left there.”

  “Oh, gods, and it’s all pressing on my bladder.”

  “Do you want me to walk with you?”

  “No.” She slipped on a pair of sandals, threw a cloak over her silk robe, and walked out to the freshly-dug pits sited at the edge of the Orzhekov encampment. At night, it was quiet and peaceful here, but she knew that about a kilometer away lay the royal city of Karkand, settled in for a long siege. She greeted guards, and they greeted her in return. They were used to her nightly peregrinations. The guards looked a little chilled, but she was never cold now, even in the middle of the night.

  When she got back to the tent, Ilya was pacing again. “Here,” she said, “stop that. It’s moving again. Sit down.” She settled down cross-legged beside him and opened her robe. He rested both of his hands on her belly. “What’s bothering you?”

  He did not reply. He concentrated on her, on her belly, on his hands.

  “There, did you feel that?” she asked. He shook his head. “It’s mostly like a fluttering, now, like butterflies. When I get bigger, you’ll feel it.”

  He sighed and withdrew his hands, and stood, and walked to the entrance of the tent and then back to her. “How does Ursula know so much?” he demanded. “Although she is always respectful, she speaks with the authority of Sakhalin himself. We rode a circuit of the city today and she pointed out where siege engines might be used to the greatest effect, and how the river might be dammed so that it could flood the walls and the citadel. She speaks as if she has seen and done all these things before, as if she has already ridden with an army like ours.”

  “She’s read many books.” Tess rose and poured two cups of water, and offered one to him. He ignored her. He went to the table and unrolled two pieces of parchment on the tabletop. One was Nadine’s map of Habakar lands and beyond. The other was a rough map of Karkand and the surrounding countryside.

  Karkand, like Jeds, was a walled city, but here the resemblance ended. Hovels and houses and palaces, poor and rich alike, lay crammed within the protecting walls of Jeds, and only the prince’s palace and the university lay outside within their own ring of walls. Huts and shanties had sprouted up immediately outside the walls and along the road that led to the palace, but only the poorest people who could find no foothold inside the city lived out there.

  In Karkand, the rich lived outside the inner city. They lived in a vast sprawl of villas along avenues spread out on the fertile plain that surrounded the two hills on which lay the citadel and the king’s palace and the innermost city, which was itself as large as Jeds. The outer city was also protected by a wall, not as formidable as the walls ringing the twin hills but impressive for its sheer vast circumference. It took half a day to ride around the suburbs of Karkand.

  “Sakhalin has ridden south,” said Ilya, staring at the maps. “Reports have come in that the king’s nephew has raised an army there. He is said to be courageous and an able leader.”

  “What news from Anatoly Sakhalin?”

  “None. Grekov and Vershinin have reached the two cities west of here, by forced march—”

  “Gods, that was fast.”

  “—and a courier just came in to say that one of the cities, Gangana, has already surrendered. Should I take the main army south?”

  “What do your commanders advise? Has Sakhalin asked for your help?”

  “Sakhalin has not asked. Yet. The council is divided. If it’s true, and the main threat lies in the south… The nephew could easily drive north and east and cut off our supply route back to the plains. We’re losing forage here. And yet, and yet, Karkand is the king’s city, and it is the king I must be seen to punish.”

  “Unless it is the nephew who has the people’s hearts, and not the king.”

  Ilya turned and folded his arms over his chest, examining her with a frown on his face. “That’s just what Ursula said. I thought—for an instant I thought it was as if she knew what was going to happen next. As if she’d heard this tale before.” He shook the thought away with an impatient shrug of his shoulders. “No. I must stay here until the city is taken. I intend to sit in the king’s throne, so that the Habakar people will know who rules here now.”

  He bent back over the table, poring over the two maps. Tess watched him. She could see that he was too agitated to sleep. His lips moved, sounding out names, but he did not speak aloud. With a finger, he traced lines of advance: Grekov’s command driving we
st; Sakhalin riding south, and the army led by Tadheus Yensky swinging in a wide loop south and east. His hand found the cup she had set beside him. He raised it to his lips and took a deep draught, then made a face, as if he had been expecting something else, not plain water.

  “Ilya, come lie down with me.”

  He shrugged, as if to say: not now, I’m too busy.

  Tess loved to just watch him. She thought he looked, if anything, a little younger these days. He glowed with health, or perhaps it was only the restless energy radiating off him. She had finally come to an understanding of how different he and Vasil were. They were both self-absorbed, but Vasil was absorbed in knowing how he appeared to others while Ilya was absorbed in the vision that led him. Vasil always knew where he stood in relation to others. Ilya simply was, and he drew his thousand thousand followers along with him as does any juggernaut. And she, one of them. She smiled wryly and settled her hands on the curve of her abdomen.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but have you lain with any other women since we got married?”

  His fingers halted midway down the map. His chin lifted. She could tell by the angle of his shoulders and the way his mouth twitched once, and then was still, that he was embarrassed. “It’s none of your business.”

  Tess laughed and pushed up to stand. She went over and slid an arm around him. “You haven’t, have you?”

  “I’ve been busy. Very busy. And preoccupied.”

  “Yes, my love. Come lie down with me.” He followed her in to their bed meekly enough. He might even have slept, but she woke later to find him gone.

  In the morning, she woke to find him sleeping in his clothes next to her. She rose quietly and dressed and went outside. Konstans greeted her with a yawn.

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “Gods. In the middle of the night, Bakhtiian made us ride out along the northwest prospect, to look over the walls, not that we could see them, but he was more interested in the orchards, anyway. Doesn’t he ever sleep?”

  Tess grinned. “As I hear it, he sleeps more now than he ever used to.”

  “That’s true enough,” agreed Konstans. “It’s a good thing he married, for the rest of us, at least.” He smiled at her, remembered that she was Bakhtiian’s wife and not his old comrade-in-arms, and looked away.

  “Oh, don’t be shy with me, Konstans. We’ve known each other too long. Is there any word about the embassy from Parkilnous yet? Hello, Aleksi. Can you ride down to the ambassadors’ camp and see if they’ve arrived?” Aleksi nodded and left. Tess went over to greet Sonia and to send Kolia with hot tea to wake Ilya.

  Karkand lay beyond, its vast sprawl of suburbs fortified by walls and its inner city grown up in rings around a hill that rose out of the flat land. On a second hill, a twin to the first, lay the acres of white and gleaming stone, festooned with pennants and banners, of the royal palace. Here on the flat, they saw the city mostly as two distant heights thrusting into the sky, the gray citadel crowning the first hill and a shining pair of towers crowning the second. The citizens of Karkand had not elected to defend the outer city, but Ilya had decreed that the fields and orchards and suburbs remain untouched except to feed the camp, and what farmers had not fled within the inner walls or away into the countryside were ordered to work their lands on pain of death. Sonia offered Tess some fresh melon, and Tess ate the sweet fruit gratefully.

  “I rode through the outskirts of the city yesterday,” said Sonia. “It’s very handsome, and it’s certainly bigger than any city I’ve ever seen. Why, there must be as many people living there as there are riders in Ilya’s army. No, there must be far more.”

  Josef Raevsky came around the side of the tent, his left hand touching Vania’s shoulder so that the boy could lead him in under the awning. Ivan led him to a pillow next to Tess and Katerina brought him a tray laden with meat and melon and sweet cakes.

  “Do you think the embassy from Parkilnous has arrived yet?” Tess asked him.

  Josef shook his head. “We’ve met only the merchant, who says one was sent. They won’t understand yet what a threat we are to them. Like all the khaja, they believe that mountains and rivers can protect them.”

  “And desert. There’s a desert called the Al Dinn Kun, the Wailing Death, to the south. That’s the one Tasha is riding through.”

  “No one will expect him on the other side. Well,” Josef ate a bit of cake and considered, “I don’t think the khaja princes are trustworthy in any case. If they’ll cast off their loyalty to their own king, then who says they won’t do the same to Bakhtiian?”

  “Are you suggesting that there’s no use in us receiving an embassy from Parkilnous, if one comes?”

  “No, simply that I trust the word of a merchant better. Their first wish is for safe roads, so that they can continue to trade. They will serve us out of expediency, but serve us nevertheless.”

  “Here is Ilya,” said Tess, but Josef only smiled. He already knew. Ilya ducked under the awning.

  Ilya greeted Sonia, greeted Tess, greeted Josef and the children. He ate sparingly and paced off with Konstans and Vladimir and Mitya in attendance to oversee the first line of earthworks being built along the river. Cara stopped by to assure herself that Tess was well, and then she left. A while later Mitya returned.

  “Aunt Tess,” he said, “Bakhtiian is riding out, and he wishes to know if you’d like to ride with him.”

  Tess laughed. “No, certainly I’d prefer to sit in camp all day. I’m sure the countryside is very pretty.” Eventually, they left Katerina in charge of camp, and Sonia rode out with Tess and Mitya and Aleksi. When they met up with Ilya’s party, they found Arina Veselov in attendance with her husband, as well.

  Kirill chuckled when he greeted Tess. “That’s very handy, how you’ve slung your saber over your back. Don’t you trust us?”

  “Kirill, I learned long ago never to ride out without being armed. Let me see your hand.”

  With a grin, he lifted his left arm up as high as his shoulder and then lowered it again. He opened the hand, stretching it wide. Sweat broke on his brow, and he let the hand relax back into a loose curl. “It aches,” he said. “It aches constantly. I never thought that pain could feel so sweet.”

  Tess glanced toward Arina, to share Kirill’s triumph with her, but Arina had clenched her hands tightly on her reins and her mouth drew into a thin line.

  “Do you think I’ll be able to ride in the army again?” Kirill asked, and Tess saw Arina whiten about the mouth.

  “You are riding with the army, Kirill. I notice that Ilya keeps you as one of his closest advisers.”

  “Many of whom are too old to ride to battle. I’m still young, Tess. I could have led the army down through the Al Dinn Kun with Tasha.”

  He could have, had he possessed two good arms. “You must be patient, Kirill, and remember, there are other ways to serve Bakhtiian besides fighting. Look at what Dr. Hierakis has done.”

  He studied his hand. It had color, and he could open and close it at will now. “It’s true that she by herself serves Bakhtiian as well as any general. But she’s a healer, Tess. That’s how she serves the gods. All I’ve ever been was a rider.”

  “And a teacher.” He shrugged, acknowledging the title but not embracing it, not now, when he could dream again of riding with the army. It was strange to see him shrug with both shoulders after growing used to the way he had moved before, one side lifeless and stiff. She sighed and did not know what else to say. Arina cast her a grateful glance and moved forward along the line to ride beside Sonia. The two women talked easily together. Tess trailed behind, falling back with Aleksi.

  The party broke away from the fringe of camp and rode beside acres of lush fields. It was warm, and the air smelled fragrant and rich. Peace lay on the scene. A score of farmers toiled out in a field, harvesting. They started up, staring at the hundred riders picking their way along the edge of the field, and froze. After a bit one, then a second, then four more, then
the rest, bent back to their task.

  Farther out, the city growing pale against the sky behind them, another group of laborers sowed seeds, some kind of winter grain, Tess supposed. Ilya lifted a hand and the entire party came to a halt while he watched the farmers. His face was still. The sunlight cast its bright glow on his face, illuminating him. Tess wondered what he was thinking as he watched the khaja farmers scattering their seed.

  But stillness never lasted long, with him. All at once riders appeared, coming toward them at a breakneck pace. Immediately every rider drew his saber, and the guards shifted to form a ring around Bakhtiian. Aleksi drove Tess into the center and stationed himself beside her. Arina and Sonia drew their bows and nocked arrows to the strings. Behind them, Mitya calmed his restive mare.

  “It’s Veselov,” said Kirill. But no man sheathed his saber. Neither did Tess.

  The laborers had rushed together into a clump in the center of their field, but the troop of horsemen rode past without noticing them and drew up before Bakhtiian. Vasil rode forward. The guards parted to let him through. His hair was windblown and his face flushed with sun and air.

  “There’s been a sortie,” he called, pulling his mount around next to Ilya. “At least two thousand men. Heading southeast.”

  “This way?”

  “Possibly. We can’t tell if it’s an attack or if they’re trying to escape south. They carry the colors of the governor of the city, blue and white.”

  “If they’re simply trying to escape, then why not ride out at night?” asked Ilya. “Well, we’ll go back to camp.” He addressed Vasil calmly, as if the blond man was just any of his commanders: loyal, trusted, true.

  Vasil obeyed—how should he not?—but Tess thought he looked a little puzzled, as if expecting Ilya to be angry that he had come with this message. They started back at a fast clip.

  A cloud of dust alerted them to the battle headed their way. Ilya reined his horse back beside Tess, so that she rode with him on her left and Aleksi on her right. Arina and Sonia rode behind them, and at their back, Kirill and Mitya. Ahead, she saw the blur of arrows. A troop of jaran archers rode parallel to the khaja fighters, firing into their ranks, but like an arrow sped forward from a strong bow, the blue and white governor’s banner flew high and the army of men it heralded pressed south with determination.