Piers Anthony - Steppe

"You couldn't handle it," Qasar said. "I'll take your horse and go."

"You'd have no chance either," Alp said. "I'll have to do it myself." He was not the best bowshot, but he was certainly the most cunning fighter of the family group, so this was reasonable. Without those horses they would be confined to the planet, prey to Targ's men.

He left them at the depot, a precarious location but necessary for now. The chase was difficult, for the raiders were better fueled and provisioned than he. He was barely able to keep track of their traces. After fifteen Minutes he was afraid his horse would fail, forcing him to give up. Then he spied a strange ship.

It was chancy but necessary. He hailed it on his screen. "I am Temujin, chief of the Kiyat. I seek no quarrel with you."

"I am Borchu of the Arulat," the other replied immediately. His face on the screen seemed about Alp's own Game-age. "What do you wish?"

Alp recognized the name: this was the son of another clan chief. This lad could help him—if he chose. "I need a fresh steed, quickly. I have little but promises to offer in return."

Borchu considered. "I have heard the word of Yesugei was good. Not so, that of his enemies."

So the Arulat would help! "Word-breaking is hideous in a ruler," Alp said sincerely. "Eight horses of mine have been stolen. Help me, and half are yours."

"Good enough! I will ride with you."

Borchu gave him a remount, and the two of them set out in fresh pursuit of the bandits. In another fifteen Minutes they caught up.

The Tays had landed on another depot planet, satisfied that they had easily outrun the pursuit. How far could one lad get on a tired horse? The eight ships were parked in the lot, unguarded, while the thieves caroused inside.

It was a simple matter to transfer the reins of the slave circuits and lead the eight away. Alp was reminded of the time, back in his very first part, when the T'ang Chinese had slipped the reins of the Uigur delegation's spare horses.

But Targ's warriors were not entirely napping. In seconds half a dozen of their ships were spaceborne and in hot pursuit. The Tay leader's steed was fresh and swift, and possessed a lariat: a ship-anchored cannon whose shells were magnetic, capable of latching on to a fleeing ship and nullifying its drive, making it easy prey for stunner or tractor beam. The range of the lariat was short—but the enemy was steadily gaining and would soon be near enough.

"Lend me your bow," Borchu said to Temujin. "I'll drop back and shoot him down."

This was a polite figurative way to put it; of course Borchu had his own. He was merely clearing his proposed course of action with his new friend.

"The others might catch up and wound you," Alp said generously, for he rather liked this man's attitude. "I'll do it myself." He looped about, aimed, and loosed an arrow at the Tay horseman. It scored, and the ship went dead. The others reined in as they came up to it. Alp's talents were improving! The threat was over.

"You're mighty handy with that bow!" Borchu said admiringly.

"My brother Qasar is better."

"Come and meet my father," Borchu urged. "I know he will like you!"

"I have to get back to my family. My mother and brothers are dependent on me. Take your four horses and depart with my gratitude; without your help I would have had nothing."

"I don't want the ships!" Borchu protested. "If I take what is yours, how could you call me comrade? Come home with me and tell your tale, and afterwards I shall ride with you and be your officer."

Alp was deeply flattered by this unexpected offer and determined that Borchu should never in his life regret it. "You will be my general!" he exclaimed, and the bargain was struck.

Chapter 15

BORTE

The three strong arms of Temujin, Qasar and Borchu, supported by the younger brothers and a dozen ships, made the nucleus of the Kiyat clan credible at last. The wandering clansmen began to drift back, and more of them now yielded tithes. Old Munlik himself returned. Alp did not like him but had to accept him—and the presence of the man's seven strong sons added considerably to the clan's power. No one laughed, now, at Alp's pretensions of leadership. The tide of his Mongol fortune had turned.

He did not fool himself that he was anywhere near the success he required, however. All he had done was to survive and grow into manhood, and make the role viable. He remained the young chief of a minor clan: one among many.

When Temujin was seventeen years old—four Days after Alp assumed the part—he called upon the chief of the Qongirat Mongols. This was another necessary step in his ascension, whatever his personal feelings.

His three hundred ships suddenly landed at the Qongirat home world, alarming the natives. Frantically they mustered their defensive forces.

"Peace!" Alp called as Chief Dai-Sechen's worried face appeared on his screen. "I am Temujin—and I come to beg the hand of your lovely daughter!"

The old man's face broke into a relieved smile. "Welcome, Temujin of the Kiyat! I had not expected to see you thus alive!"

The girl Borte had been just nine years old when Temujin and Yesugei had visited here last, just prior to Alp's assumption of his role. Temujin, historically, had seen the pretty child and asked for her in marriage, and Dai-Sechen had been pleased to agree. Such a link with powerful Yesugei, Chief of the Kiyat and the important Borjigin tribe, had been an attractive prospect. But almost immediately thereafter, Yesugei had been poisoned by the treacherous Tatars. Temujin had been visiting here when Munlik came to fetch him with the awful news.

Thus there was important history in this betrothal—but Alp himself had never seen the girl. He had no great expectations—there was no certainty that a pretty child would make a beautiful woman—but now the fortunes of the clans had been reversed, and it was Temujin who needed the alliance, not the Qongirat. So he had come to do his duty: a child-wife was not after all too great a price to pay for success!

He had a surprise coming! Borte had waited for Days for his coming, and now she was no child of nine but a woman of thirteen—and lovely. She wore a long dress of white felt, with a headdress of pseudo-birch bark covered with precious silk, and the black braids of her hair were entwined with silver coins and tiny statues. Her nose was small, her eyes bright, and she had an elegance of bearing far beyond her years.

Alp knew it was only a part. But there was something special about her. He saw before him a girl who could have been a true Mongol princess—or even the wife of a Uigur Khagan! Surely the actress had the blood of the historical Steppe in her. Possession of this one would be a delight!

Dai-Sechen threw a gala wedding party. Alp and his retinue ate until stuffed. No need now to worry about poison; these were Qongirat allies, not Tatar enemies! Then Temujin took off after his bride-to-be, in the time-honored ceremony of the Steppe.

"You!" he cried suddenly, as if he had just for the first time realized that there was a woman present. He advanced on pretty Borte while the merrymakers chuckled.

The girl screamed fetchingly and fled from the tent. Alp chased her out onto the surface of the planet, burdened by his monstrous meal and much fine Steppe liquor. She skipped lightly into her own tent, and he lurched after.

Her sisters and handmaidens lay in ambush inside. They flung themselves on him, and he struggled drunkenly to throw them off and win through to Borte. There was rather pleasant contact of bodies, for these girls were young and healthy and he was not as intoxicated as he pretended; some of the screams were genuine. At last he threw them off and grabbed his bride by her slender waist; she was now laughing too hard to resist. He threw her over his shoulder and bore her triumphantly toward his horse, while her sisters wailed amid their declining chuckles.