Kate Elliott - Jaran

"I beg your pardon," he said politely, and turned to greet Anton Veselov.

"There's news," said Veselov.

"Your mother?"

"No, she is the same. Arina will stay with her. But ten riders just came in. Mikhailov's jahar slipped away last night, and it looks as if they've ridden hard south. Sergei sent word that you may have the ten riders for your journey to the coast. That way," he added, looking thoughtful, "you can leave today, since you ought to gain enough of a head start that Mikhailov cannot catch you now. With the ten riders, you'll have double his men, counting the pilgrims, that is."

But Bakhtiian was frowning. "What about the rest of V-selov's jahar?"

"They'll stay between Mikhailov and our camp. I don't think you need worry that Mikhailov will attack us, even if his riders outnumber ours." Anton grinned. "He'll save his fighting for you, Bakhtiian."

"But if Mikhailov has swung south, then my men, and yours, from the shrine, will ride straight into him because they're riding here."

There was a moment of coiled silence.

"Petya is with them," said Vera, an odd, unsettling note in her voice. She looked sidewise at Ilya, but he was staring south.

The three men watched him, waiting.

"Niko! Tell Tasha to stay here. Choose ten of our riders to stay with him, to guard-to remain as escort for the khe-pellis. On no account are they to allow any of the pilgrims to wander out by themselves-just as we've set our guard these past nights. Anton, we're riding south. All the riders here and the rest of my men.''

"Very well, Bakhtiian. What will you tell Sergei, when we meet up with him?"

"What will I tell him?" asked Bakhtiian. He shrugged off the question, energy taut through every line of his body. "Vladi, come. They've already too many hours on us." He strode off, and even with his limp, Vladimir had to hurry to keep up with him.

"Does he think Sergei will simply hand command of his jahar over to him?" Anton asked, more curious than anything else.

"Yes," said Niko. "If you will excuse me." He inclined his head toward Vera and left, leaving the two cousins side by side at the fire.

"You may hope Petya is killed," said Anton suddenly, "but you will never get him, Vera. Never." He smiled.

"I hope your mother dies," said Vera.

"So do I," replied Anton amiably. "Then Arina won't have to be polite to you anymore just for Mother's sake. If you will excuse me." He inclined his head with exact courtesy and left her standing alone while the fire flamed and roared and the water bled steam into the chill morning air. Vera did not move for some minutes. Then, seeing several women approaching the etsana's tent, she tossed her golden hair back over her shoulder with a flourish and went to greet them.

They left the shrine at midmorning, delayed by a protracted argument with Yeliana, who wanted to come with them. There were extra horses, so the case was not utterly unthinkable, but Mother Avdotya remained firm: Yeliana could not be released that easily from her service to the gods.

"I don't know how well she'll serve the gods," said Yuri as they finally rode away, "if she's forced to do it."

Tess had waved once but Yeliana had only turned and run back into the shrine, weeping. "I think Mother Avdotya is only trying to protect her. She's very young. How would she fare, Yuri, riding out with us? Who would take her in? She'd be alone."

"You were alone."

"Yes, and I would have been dead very soon if Ilya hadn't found me. Yuri, why was your tribe so hospitable to me and not to Vladimir?"

Yuri frowned and rubbed his chin. "I meant to say because he's an orphan but now I think it was because you weren't jaran. You were different. Perhaps it is better that Yeliana stay at the shrine. And yet there must be a woman somewhere who has no daughters and would take her in." He shook his head. His fine hair shone in the sun. "But who is to know if the bond would hold, if times grew hard or the woman got sick, and they shared nothing between them but words."

"But you and I, Yuri, are not related by anything but the gifting of a tent."

"You and I, Tess," he said somberly, "have been related by something much stronger than words or a tent since the moment we met, and you know that is true. We shared a mother once, and died, and now we have found each other again."

"Yuri. I never thought of it like that. As if we were looking for each other. It was a strange enough path that led me to you."

"Poor thing," he said with a grin. "Now I feel responsible. If you hadn't come looking for me, you wouldn't have ridden into Ilya."

"Yuri," she said suddenly, "Yuri, have you ever thought-would you ever think-of coming back with me to Jeds?"

He flushed and then looked away from her for a moment before he met her gaze again. "I will miss you, Tess. I will miss you bitterly. But this is my home."

He went ahead, riding in front of her up the narrow trail that switchbacked up the hillside to lead them out of the valley of the shrine of Morava. Somewhere behind them lay Hon Garii's corpse-if Ishii had not already fed it to the recyclers. Tess shuddered.

"Are you cold?" Yuri asked when the trail spilled out onto the plain and they could ride side by side again.

"No, just thinking."

"I'm sorry, my sister, but I can't."

"No, you are true to yourself, Yuri. That's what I love you for."

He glanced ahead up to the front of the group, where Kirill rode with Mikhal. "Kirill asked you."

"I can't take him, Yuri."

"No. I suppose not. He would hate Jeds, and you would grow to hate him for hating it. And Ilya will never go back, unless, of course," he grinned, "we ride so far south that our army comes at last to the very gates of the city. If I may beg your pardon for suggesting it."

"You're forgetting one thing. I am the heir to Jeds, so by marrying me-"

"No, I won't believe that he married you for that-or at least, if he did, he didn't know he was-I mean, that part of him might have known, but not that he thought about it. Do you understand what I mean?''

"Yes, I think I'm beginning to understand Bakhtiian tolerably well."

Yuri laughed. "By which you mean that you think that Bakhtiian wants you for yourself alone, and yet, that your brother is Prince in Jeds is inseparable from who you are."

"What?"

"I'm being wise, Tess."

"Gods," she said, and laughed. "You're being completely incoherent. But perhaps there's some relation between being wise and being unintelligible."

"Only to those," said Yuri with dignity, "who have not yet achieved wisdom." He paused, and then said in an altered tone: "Tess. I will only say this once. Stay with us. I know I ought not to ask it of you, that I have no right, but I have this-this feeling that you will outlive Ilya.'' He was speaking quickly, in an undertone, as if he had very little time to say what he thought. "Not that that would be any surprise; he's ten years older than you, and with us going to war against the khaja-but still, there would be time for you to go back to Jeds later, wouldn't there? Or if you must return now, couldn't you come back here after? Or better yet, stay here for a few years and then go. Does it have to be one or the other? Why must it all be so final, Tess?"

Because you can't understand the distance I have to travel. She did not say it. Instead, she smiled sadly at Yuri and glanced away without answering.

"Look," she said, "why is Petya riding in? Isn't he on scout-Yuri, what's wrong?"

Petya reined his horse aside by Kirill. A few words sufficed.

"Turn around, everyone!" Kirill shouted. "Back to the shrine. Mikhailov's jahar is ahead of us."

They had all pulled up their horses. Yuri suddenly grabbed Tess's reins and jerked Myshla's head around, kicking his horse.

"Yuri, what-?"