Warrior

by Zoë Archer

  “Not if the price is your life,” Gabriel growled. “I’ll enter.”

  “You can’t shoot a bow and arrow, and I can,” she fired back.

  “You can’t wrestle a fully grown man and win,” he countered. “And sure as the devil, I won’t let you get hurt, which you would.”

  They both glared at each other, with Bold looking on quizzically, until Batu cleared his throat. “If I may suggest, should Bold allow it, perhaps you could enter as a team,” he offered in English. When Gabriel and Thalia began to sputter their protests, Batu continued, “Alas, I am only a fair archer and even my younger brothers can beat me at wrestling, thus I should not enter. Either one of you might win the horse race, but only Thalia guai can win the archery, and only the captain can win the wrestling. So you must enter together. The captain will ride in the race and wrestle, while Thalia guai will shoot in the archery competition.”

  Everyone was quiet as they mulled over this proposition. “Will that satisfy you?” Thalia finally asked Gabriel hotly.

  “I’d rather you were ten bloody miles away from the damn tournament,” Gabriel grumbled. Anything to avoid the possibility that she might get hurt. Someone could fire wildly, or, hell, a nearby horse could get spooked by the hubbub and trample her. Who knew what might happen in the midst of a Mongol athletic contest?

  “That isn’t an option.”

  “Then yes, it’ll do.”

  In rapid Mongolian, which Batu did not translate, Thalia made her case to the chieftain. Bold continued to look skeptical about the whole idea, perhaps even more so than when he thought Thalia would enter the competition alone. Gabriel could try to take the ruby from the man guarding the jewel, but it would be far better to get it without resorting to violence. He knew that the best way to get the ruby was to win it, and it steamed his pudding knowing that not only couldn’t he do it on his own, but that Thalia would have to be put in danger. He wished Batu could guarantee a win in archery, but the absolute certainty in Thalia’s eyes that she not only could win but would win convinced Gabriel that she was their best hope.

  “Wait,” Gabriel said, breaking into Thalia’s appeal, “tell him this: it might seem strange to you. Go on, translate,” he urged, and Thalia reluctantly translated as he spoke. “A man and a woman competing together? Why shouldn’t I enter on my own? It’s because…,” he struggled to find the words, not used to or comfortable with talking eloquently. Finally, he said, looking at the chieftain, “She and I are like flint and gunpowder. Each are strong, but together, they’re explosive.”

  Bold only frowned. So Gabriel kept talking. “We’re the bow and the string. Useless alone, but strong together. Or…uh…we’re the knife and the blade.” He stopped as the chieftain began to laugh as he nodded his head. Bold spoke first to Gabriel, then to Thalia, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

  “It appears that you and I are competing in the nadaam as a team,” Thalia said, turning to Gabriel.

  “What did I say that convinced him?”

  At this, Thalia’s own mouth quirked in a little, rueful smile. “None of it. But he found the idea of a man and woman working together so amusing, that he’s letting us enter. He thinks that the tribe could use a good laugh.”

  Gabriel couldn’t help but chuckle, too. “My brief career as a diplomat—over before it started.”

  “That’s all right, Captain,” she said warmly while giving his hand a squeeze. “I prefer you as a man of deeds.”

  He grinned, thinking of the tournament. His blood hummed with excitement, relishing the prospect of real stand-up fighting. No hidden ambushes from underhanded enemies. No magic. Just straight man-against-man competition.

  But not only man-against-man. There was a woman involved, too. Thalia. She’d never been in battle, but she was a warrior, just the same. The perfect woman to have at his side in the competition. Soon, they would fight together. And nothing felt more right.

  Chapter 10

  Another Form of Magic

  The timing could not have been more auspicious. Bold informed them that the nadaam tournament would be held the following day, and in the meantime, there would be a celebration that night, with Thalia, Gabriel, and Batu as guests of the tribe.

  Batu was given a bed in a kinsman’s ger, since it was discovered that, in one of those coincidences that happened with a strange frequency in such a vast country as Mongolia, he was related by marriage to the chieftain’s second cousin. Even beyond a Mongol’s usual endless hospitality, this further endeared Batu to the hearts of the tribe. He was plied with food and drink immediately, pounded with a hundred questions about his family as well as about the English man and woman who accompanied him. Thalia and Gabriel received the honor of sleeping in the chieftain’s ger. But sleep was a long time away. In the meanwhile, there was the feast.

  Thalia and Gabriel walked out of Bold’s ger, and the ail was bustling with activity as tents went up all around them.

  “Seems like every man within miles wants to try for the ruby,” Gabriel remarked.

  Thalia watched as several people walked by, leading camels laden with all the necessary equipment to erect gers. “It’s an honor that many seek. Bold said that people from ails nearby would be arriving all evening.”

  Gabriel rubbed his hands together. “Should be a good show.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at him. “It appears you’re looking forward to it, Captain.”

  He grinned back. “Ma’am, I am, indeed. Nothing like a little old-fashioned competition to get the blood hopping. But,” he added, turning serious, “I don’t like that you have to get involved. Not looking forward to that.”

  His protectiveness both annoyed and secretly delighted her. Before she had time to fashion a reply, Oyuun appeared. “We could use another woman’s hands in the preparation of the feast,” the chieftain’s wife said.

  Thalia glanced at Gabriel and translated. Batu was off somewhere, sharing gossip, and, with her off to attend to the feast arrangements, Gabriel would be alone amongst people with whom he shared no common language.

  “Go on,” he urged her, gently nudging her with his shoulder. “They need you, and it looks like these fellows”—he nodded toward a group of men assembling a very large ger—“could use some help, too.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  A delicious, rather cocky smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “Warms my heart when you worry about me.”

  She longed to throw something heavy at his head, but he was gone before she could grab the nearest cauldron.

  “Come, sister,” Oyuun said. “I know that the others want to meet you. Every woman is delighted to meet the English Mongol lady who will compete against men.”

  Thalia let Oyuun lead her away toward a sizable group of chattering women, all eager to press her with questions, but not before casting a look over her shoulder to see how Gabriel fared with the men.

  He was already in their midst, as comfortable as if he’d been born on the steppes. The men had already laid down the floor and furniture, and, communicating through gestures, were showing Gabriel how to put up the trellis walls. The whole process could usually be done in less than an hour, but this ger was exceptionally big.

  “For the feast later,” Oyuun explained.

  Nodding with understanding, Thalia followed the chieftain’s wife to the gathering of women, who were busy preparing the mountains of food and drink that would be consumed that night. Cooking wasn’t one of Thalia’s favorite pursuits, and her father had never expected her to fill the traditional female role, but she knew enough about cookery to keep from embarrassing herself. Exchanging greetings with the tribeswomen, Thalia began filling sheep carcasses with hot rocks which would cook the mutton—a favorite festival dish.

  “Do you really believe you can beat a man in the nadaam, sister?” asked one of the women.

  “I should think that any one of us could shoot a bow as well as, if not better than, our husbands,” Thalia answered.

/>   “Is he your husband?” a younger girl asked, looking over Thalia’s shoulder.

  Even though Thalia knew who the girl was talking about, she felt compelled to look behind her. Gabriel and several other men hefted the roof posts for the festival ger. A grin spread across her face as she watched him. Though he spoke no Mongol, he responded readily to the others’ signals, and was absorbed in both the work and the camaraderie. It did not hurt that he was able-bodied, strong, and clever, quickly understanding what needed to be done and accomplishing his tasks with almost no trouble. Once or twice, the nuance of fitting one of the roof poles provided a momentary obstacle, but those difficulties were overcome nearly before they had begun. Despite the language barrier, he laughed with the Mongols and made them laugh in turn. A few of the men slapped his shoulders, the universal sign of male approval.

  “He is a kinsman,” Thalia said, turning back to the group. As tolerant as Mongols were, even they would look askance at an unmarried man and woman traveling together.

  “So, he is available?” an older woman asked. “I have daughters.”

  “And my husband is old,” another tribeswoman added with a wicked grin. Her comment set off a chorus of feminine giggles, like doves rising into the air.

  She didn’t know how to answer that. Thalia scanned the faces of the women, and only few of them were paying attention to their cooking tasks. Instead, most of them were staring past her. Unable to help herself, Thalia looked back again, and lost her ability to think rationally.

  Along with some other hale young men, Gabriel unrolled the large swaths of wool felt that made up the ger’s walls. Somewhere along the way, he had shed his coat and vest, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. The sight of his tanned forearms and neck, combined with the athletic grace of his body underneath the cotton shirt, transfixed Thalia. He moved with pure masculine beauty, an economy and purpose of action. It was impossible to keep her eyes from him as he threw the felt covering over the top of the ger’s wooden skeleton, his muscles hard and sure beneath the woven lawn of his shirt. Her gaze trailed lower. Without his coat to cover him, she could see the tight firmness of his buttocks, the toned thickness of his thighs, everything moving, working perfectly together. She recalled vividly the feel of his skin, how hard and alive he’d been beneath her hands.

  But more than the aesthetic glory of Gabriel, his energy and enthusiasm entranced Thalia. He threw himself into the task, observing with a keen and intelligent eye, carefully following the instructions he was given while also taking chances. If he made a mistake, he corrected it and moved on. There was a real pleasure living in him. Pleasure in trying something new. Pleasure in letting his body and mind align. Here was someone who would never hold himself back, and his joy in life became the joy of those around him, including Thalia.

  Catching her watching him, Gabriel gave her a cheerful wave before getting back to work.

  “‘Kinsman,’ hm?” Oyuun asked pointedly.

  Thalia made herself return to her own tasks, but her hands felt clumsy. “A distant kinsman,” she said.

  The chieftain’s wife smiled, knowing, but did not go further. Instead, as everyone cooked, she readily absorbed Thalia into the world of her tribe, filling her in on the latest scandals, who pined for love for whom, which man wasn’t speaking to his brother-in-law because of the loss of several goats. By the time most of the food had been prepared, Thalia felt as though she had known this tribe all her life. Thalia became so engrossed in conversation with the women, she hardly noticed when Oyuun disappeared.

  It was only when Oyuun returned and stood next to Thalia that she’d become aware of her absence. “Come with me,” the Mongol woman said.

  Thalia followed Oyuun back to the chieftain’s tent, where she found a steaming tub of water waiting. Knowing that water was scarce, Thalia looked at Oyuun with wide eyes. “I couldn’t…” she started to protest, but the woman would not have any part of it.

  “You may be an English Mongol,” she said, “but you are still English. And from what my husband tells me, the English love their baths. Come,” she insisted, putting her hands on Thalia’s shoulders and gently pushing her toward the tub, “you have been traveling hard for many days, and we shall have you clean for the feast and your ‘kinsman.’”

  A few half-hearted protests later, and Thalia had stripped out of her dusty clothes and sunk into the bath with a pagan moan. Oyuun left the ger, giving Thalia some much-needed privacy. It felt sinfully wonderful to wash the grime from her skin, using a bar of sandalwood soap that probably came from Russian traders. Thalia dunked her head under the water and washed her hair as well, which had made considerable progress toward resembling a diseased marmot. She dunked her head again, rinsing the soap from her hair. When she came up, water streamed into her eyes, and she felt around for the towel that Oyuun had left nearby.

  The towel was placed in Thalia’s searching hand. “Thank you, Oyuun,” Thalia said as she wiped at her face.

  “You’re…welcome.”

  The sound of English in a familiar deep voice had Thalia’s eyes flying open. Gabriel stood beside the tub, staring at her with amber fire. For a moment, all Thalia could do was stare back at him, seeing a slight glaze of perspiration gleaming on his skin, his discarded jacket and vest hanging from his hand. Even though he was at rest, his breathing was shallow, strained, as his gaze moved down to the bath water.

  Belatedly, Thalia realized that the cloudy water did almost nothing to hide her naked body from him. She could even ask him to take off his clothes and join her in the small tub. His skin…wet…But this was Oyuun and Bold’s ger, and she couldn’t, not when anyone could wander in at any moment. Understanding it would be best not to start something she would not be able to finish, she crossed her legs and held one arm tight over her breasts, shielding herself.

  This seemed to break him out of a spell, and he turned his back to her. He seemed to understand as much as she that this was not the time or place to play with their attraction. “Bold said I might…ah…clean up before the celebration,” he said, hoarse. “I didn’t know…he didn’t tell me you…” He headed toward the door.

  “No, please,” Thalia said quickly. He stopped in his tracks but did not turn around. Tension emanated from the wide breadth of his shoulders, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “The water is still warm. We can share. I mean,” she added hastily as he gave a start, “I’m just finished. If you don’t mind somewhat used bath water.”

  “No, I don’t mind.” His voice was strained, a rough rasp. “I’m very…dirty.”

  “I won’t be a moment.” Thalia stood, sloshing water, and hastily wrapped herself in the towel with shaking hands. It wasn’t the first time she’d been almost completely naked near Gabriel, but she was by no means accustomed to the experience. If anything, her attraction to him had grown even more potent in the ensuing days, and she was bodily fighting with herself to keep from walking over to him and pressing her nude body against the broad muscles of his back. Frantically, she looked for her discarded clothing, but could not find it. Oyuun must have taken the clothes to be cleaned. For the first time, Thalia cursed Mongol hospitality.

  Knowing that she could not very well walk outside in nothing but a towel, Thalia pulled a del and trousers from the clothes chest, then threw them on. It wasn’t a particularly good fit, since Thalia was considerably taller than Oyuun, but for now it would do.

  “All done,” Thalia said, trying to make herself sound bright and unaffected. “You can turn around now.”

  Gabriel did so, slowly. He looked everywhere but at her. With his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, she could see the tight column of his neck, the movement there as he swallowed. Then he did glance over at her, and inhaled sharply as his eyes narrowed. He looked positively dangerous. His jaw hardened, and he thrust the bundle of his jacket and vest in front of him. Thalia wondered what the matter could be, since she was dressed, but looked down and saw that, in he
r haste, she had not dried herself completely, and the clothing clung to her body in a way that revealed every curve, more suggestive than complete nakedness. Oh, hell.

  “Thalia,” Gabriel growled.

  “Yes?” she squeaked.

  “Get out.”

  Grabbing her boots, Thalia ran from the ger, even though every part of her demanded she stay.

  Life on the steppes was never easy—dry, short summers; long, harrowing winters with their threat of zud, the killing frost—so every celebration was enjoyed to its fullest. For this tribe, the feast before the ruby’s nadaam was also the farewell to warmth. Autumn would turn quickly to winter, the green pastures disappear under cold white blankets for months while the blue sky froze overhead and the sun shone with icy crystalline light.

  There was enough heat inside the celebratory ger to fuel the nomads for another winter. The special large tent Gabriel had helped set up just for the feast, despite its size, was crammed full of celebrating herdsmen and women. The air was thick with laughter and music, the smoke of pipes, scents of roasted mutton, and the wafting aromas of the continual supply of potent arkhi to drink, which turned cheeks red and shy men into heroes. Several hundred people had stuffed themselves inside the huge tent. It was raucous, noisy, and crowded, the furthest thing from a genteel cotillion or sedate afternoon tea.

  Home, Thalia thought to herself as she stepped inside the tent. This was her home. She could not imagine herself anywhere else. As she moved through the throng, weaving deftly between warm bodies, exchanging cheerful greetings, she felt an overwhelming sense of love and tenderness toward the nomads, people who accepted her far more readily than her own supposed countrymen. She had to help protect the Mongols, protect this world, this place, especially from the Heirs. They would turn Mongolia into another corner of England—pie shops on every corner, English-language newspapers reporting on the latest British triumph, frock coats and bustles instead of dels—and destroy everything unique and wonderful about it in the process.