Kate Elliott - An earthly crown

What would they think of a Chapalii coming in with Soerensen's escort? With his blessing? Under his authority? Nadine would be sure to be suspicious, and she would give a full report to her uncle. David did not for one instant doubt her loyalty to Bakhtiian, or doubt that she put her loyalty to him and to her people above all else, however much she did not follow their customs in other ways.

Well, it was hopeless. As Charles had said, the argument could run around in a circle and never get anywhere. He saw Nadine and went to sit beside her. She greeted him with a smile and he set to work on the food while discussing with her his plans for a survey of the north front.

"But tell me, David," she said after he had told her of his plans, "I see how you can use this method to measure accurately the dimensions of the shrine. Is there a way to measure greater distances, using the same methods? I can draw out a map with rough accuracy-Josef Raevsky taught me how to do that, and I learned more about maps at the university in Jeds, but still, there must be more accurate methods. Mostly, the jaran measure distances by how long it takes a rider, or a wagon, to get from one place to another. But that's not a good measure. How fast is the rider? Is it a jahar that's foraging as it goes? Is it a wagon train? Is it a messenger, who changes horses frequently and so can ride as far in one day as wagons cover in ten?''

"I'll show you some more about that today," replied David. "If you have two angles and one side, you can calculate the rest of the triangle. That's why I use a staff that's a set length; in my case two meters."

"Yes, I know about triangles. They're one of the gods' mysteries."

David chuckled. "Yes, there is a certain magic to them. Now, look." He took his knife and held it point down, perpendicular to the table. "If you know the height of your measuring staff-this knife-and you know the angle-"

"But I understand that," said Nadine impatiently. "I helped you survey the grounds of the shrine. But what about really long distances? Do you have to measure each stretch of ground you ride over? Add them together, perhaps? How can you reckon distances off to each side, as well? And bring them all together to make an accurate map?"

You put satellites into orbit. You use aerial photography. You use computer-driven navigational instruments and beacons and… "At sea you use a sextant and the altitudes of celestial bodies," said David instead. "On land maybe you don't really need a truly accurate map, because you can use landmarks to guide your travels."

"Yes, but what if you want one?" Nadine insisted. That was the trouble with her; she wasn't content with what just worked.

"Orzhekov!" One of her riders burst into the room, breathing hard from running. "Messenger, riding in."

She jumped to her feet but hard on the man's heels came the messenger himself, wind-blown, pale, looking exhausted. He wore a harness of bells strapped over his shirt. The bells sang as he walked.

"Feodor!" exclaimed Nadine. She froze.

The young man strode across to her. By Nadine's expression, David could guess who it was: the young man named Feodor Grekov, the one Nadine had mentioned with scornful affection. The young man of princely family who wanted to marry her. And David's first thought, unintended and embarrassing, was to wonder if now that Feodor was here, Nadine would throw David out of her bed in favor of her jaran lover.

The bells chimed and brushed into silence as Feodor halted before Nadine. He was good-looking; David could see that even through the young man's fatigue. He looked competent. He looked like exactly the kind of man Nadine had made him out to be: reliable, stolid, and pleasant.

"What news?" she asked, looking worried. "Have you come from camp?''

"Your uncle," he said. The words seemed choked out of him, either from suppressed anguish or from exhaustion; perhaps from both. "He's-" It all came out: Bakhtiian had fallen ill. His spirit had been witched from his body by Habakar priests. No one knew if he was dying, or if he was coming back to them. No one knew.

Nadine stood there dead still. Her mouth was drawn tight, and David could see the pulse beating under her jaw. She looked half in shock. And he couldn't say a thing. He couldn't even reveal that he understood their conversation perfectly, now that he understood khush much better than he dared let on.

"You must return," Grekov finished. "You're his closest living relative."

"I must return," she echoed, but the voice had no force of emotion. Only her drawn face did. She stared out the huge windows onto the gardens, brilliant with summer flowers. David felt sick with guilt, seeing how she suffered with fear for her uncle. Knowing she didn't have to.

Grekov drew his saber. A murmur ran through the men standing around them. Nadine's eyes went wide. She began to draw her own saber. She looked furious. "Grekov, this is no time to-"

But Grekov's aspect had changed, and David mentally added 'stubborn' to the young man's list of attributes. "Mother Sakhalin came to my mother and my aunt and my uncle. They agreed between them that I should set aside my-scruples and mark you. Bakhtiian must have heirs."

Nadine had her saber half out. She seemed suspended, unable to move one way or the other, unable to act, unable to accede. "Our cousins have many fine sons."

"That's true," said Feodor, "but it's properly through his sister's line that Bakhtiian should have heirs. You know it's true. You know it's your duty to marry, if your uncle dies. He may be dead already. Who will the tribes follow then? They would follow your child." He brought his saber to rest on her cheek.

Nadine had gone so pale that David thought she might faint. But, of course, Nadine would never faint. Her saber did not move. Neither did Feodor's. David wanted to tell her, Goddess, how badly he wanted to tell her. But he could not.

Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She shut her eyes, briefly, and opened them again, as if disgusted with herself for trying to hide from what was facing her. Then she slid her saber back into its sheath.

Feodor marked her. She submitted meekly enough, but her eyes burned. Like her uncle, her spirit showed in her eyes, and it was a strong spirit, even in defeat. Blood welled and coursed down her cheek, dripping off her jaw. A drop caught on her lips and, reflexively, she licked it off. Feodor had the grace to look ashamed, and yet, at the same time, he managed to look jubilant, as at an unforeseen victory.

David turned away. He could no longer stand to watch.

"Give me the bells," said Nadine. "I'll ride to my uncle's bedside. You'll stay with my jahar, here at the shrine, until the prince of Jeds is finished with his work here, and then you'll escort him back to the army. Yermolov will act as your second."

It was a trivial revenge; it might be months until they saw each other again, but Grekov did not look disheartened. Why should he be? As far as David could tell, marriage was for life in the jaran. The young rider slipped out of the bells and handed them to Nadine. She slung them over her shoulders and turned to go. Her glance stopped on David, and her mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. She knew he knew and understood what a bitter blow this was to her.

What she did not know was that he could have prevented it.

"I'm sure he'll be all right," David said, impelled to say it. He wanted to shout it: He is all right. He's alive. He's recovering. But it was too late. Perhaps the time would have come inevitably, the pressure for her, Bakhtiian's sister's daughter, to marry and have a child who could inherit through the female line closest to Bakhtiian. It was some consolation. Not much.

"Good-bye, David," she said. He felt as if she were saying good-bye not so much to him personally, or to him as her lover, but to what he represented, the knowledge, the curiosity, the urge to explore and range wide. It was pretty damned difficult for pregnant women and women with small children to range wide.