Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey) Page 7

  “She was the greater fool!” snapped Kiska, a hand on her belly. “Our chief might have made her his own concubine, if she hadn’t given away all her magic for free! He never saw any reason to buy her until it was too late. Now she won’t be here to help with my baby, and everyone knows she’s more skilled than that fool Navia!”

  Kalie thought about pointing out that if Alessa had behaved like a woman of Aahk, she probably wouldn’t bother helping Kiska in the first place, but decided to drop it. The important thing was that Alessa might still be alive.

  She wandered around awhile longer, finally slipping into the fringes of the crowd that ringed the king’s tent.

  There were games and contests taking place in the open area in front of the tent. They mostly involved mock fights—and some that looked pretty real. The king himself was making one of his rare appearances. Reclining on a bed of pillows, swaddled in blankets despite the mild weather, there was no question he was dying. His eyes were sunk in his gray face and his body shook like a bundle of sticks beneath the richly embroidered linen robes and gaudy gold ornaments.

  Kalie could hardly believe this was the same man who had given her to Maalke less than a year ago. Strange, she thought. He’s really not that old, even by beastmen standards. Here, when men died young, it was usually in battle. She thought about which illnesses could strike a healthy man so quickly.

  Pushing her way through the crowd, Kalie strained to get a closer look, and now her healer’s eye began to take in what she was seeing. While she desperately wished for Alessa, or better yet, Maris, to confirm it, Kalie suspected Ahnaak was being poisoned.

  Many thoughts occurred to Kalie as she stared. Could she learn to make some poison of her own? How many could she kill at one time? Could she somehow expose the would-be killer and save the king, thus gaining access to the inner circles of power? Kalie took another look at the king. It was most likely too late for that.

  That left learning all she could of the power who would soon replace Ahnaak, and from what she could see, that wasn’t Kariik. Kalie smiled. It seemed all paths led back to the man who had begun it all.

  At length, the king’s retainers insisted he go inside to rest. His senior wife, somehow dignified, rather than pathetic in her servitude, followed behind as his men carried him inside the tent. There would be no feasting or dancing or visiting with friends for her tonight. And when he died, there would be no more life for her either. And, most likely, she would think it a great honor to follow him to the next life. Perhaps that was better for her, than if she had screamed and fought and clung to life, as Kalie would have. But she still found tears welling up when she thought about it.

  Women roamed freer than usual tonight, many of them allowing a veil to slip or a robe to swing open as they walked past a certain man, or danced in groups with other women. Kalie had little trouble placing herself near a group of warriors who were more interested in discussion than debauchery. And sure enough, Haraak was there, at the center of it all.

  It had been more than half a year’s turning since Kalie had last seen him. She was surprised at the rage and ashamed of the fear that swept through her like a wildfire at that first glance. He was the same: the scarred and tattooed face, the wild red hair, now caught up in elaborate braids and studded with gold, the sheer menacing size. Kalie told herself to keep still and listen, and one day he would be crawling at her feet, spitting blood. She tried to smile at the thought, but could only shrink down into her robe and hide behind her veil, afraid he would recognize her.

  She saw that Yessenia, the king’s woman who had boasted about being given to Haraak, was there as well. She was trying to draw Haraak’s attention as surely as Kalie was trying to avoid it. So far, Kalie’s attempts to ingratiate herself with the simpering fool had gone nowhere. She was beginning to think the woman was too stupid to know anything of value. Still, everything Kalie could learn about Haraak’s habits, likes or dislikes was valuable. And more importantly, with Yessenia, she didn’t have to get close to him herself.

  The warriors were discussing chiefs and war leaders from various neighboring tribes, weighing the merits and liabilities of bargains and treaties with each one. Kalie tried to remember names, and as much about each one as possible.

  “A treaty with the Wolf Tribe might work,” the scarred old man beside Haraak was saying. “At least until it’s time to divide up the spoils. If these lands to the west are as rich as you claim.”

  Kalie inched closer, barely breathing.

  “You have no idea,” said a familiar voice slurred with much drink. Gault, Kalie remembered, brushing aside the memories his voice brought back. “It’s not a place a man could believe existed, until he saw it.”

  There was muttered discussion. Kalie strained to hear it, keeping her head down.

  “Alliances never last for long,” another man said. “And usually aren’t worth the blood you have to spill when they end. But you want more than that!” He pointed an accusing finger at Haraak. “You want a federation! You think you can bring all the western tribes together—“

  “It will be necessary,” said the man on Haraak’s other side. “If we’re to be masters of the lands of the west—“

  “The Sons of Aahk live in the grasslands!” shouted the man across from him. “Leave our home, and we’ll lose the favor of the gods.”

  “If we haven’t already lost their favor,” muttered an old man, staring morosely into the fire. Others glared at him, and made protective signs against evil.

  Haraak, Kalie noticed, had said nothing the entire time she had been listening. Now he cleared his throat, and everyone fell silent.

  “We need this alliance because our future lies in the west.” Haraak’s gruff voice was quiet, yet it carried easily to the far edge of the crowd.

  “We’re already in the west,” muttered a petulant voice. It’s owner was richly dressed, but more boy than man. Yutiik, the king’s nephew. “We’re about as far west as the grasslands go!”

  “And that,” said Haraak, with an ingratiating smile at the young prince, “is exactly my point. Our enemies are many; yet the grasslands grow smaller and poorer each year. As bad as recent winters have been for us, they have been worse to the east. So men push west out of desperation.”

  “And always we have defeated them!” shouted Yutiik. “As we always will!” There was thunderous agreement from the assembled warriors.

  “But only a little further west,” said Haraak, “there is a land like no other. Hills where water gushes down all year, without drying! Rich pastures for our animals, fields of grain, forests of fruit trees.” They were spellbound. For all that they had heard it before, the warriors listened like children at a favorite bedtime story.

  “And don’t forget the game that waits to be hunted,” said Gault with a leer.

  Haraak grinned. “Yes, the best part. The land is empty of men. Real men, anyway. But filled with women who think the gods gave them the land to rule!” The men exploded with laughter. “Women longing for the touch of real men. Women waiting for us to be their masters!”

  “Then why tell anyone else of this marvel?” cried a young man. “If these men are as weak as you say? If they really are ruled by women—“

  “We can take them all ourselves!” shouted another. “Why share the spoils with anyone?”

  “Or worry about a knife in the back when settling our shaft into a nice juicy cunt?”

  “They are weak, but they are many,” said Haraak. “They are more numerous than rabbits in a warren. Their smallest settlements are larger than the clan of the king himself. The place where I…stayed…had more people than our entire tribe.” The men stared at each other in disbelief. “Even rabbits could prove dangerous in such numbers.”

  The prince snorted. “I might risk an army of rabbits, if it meant keeping such a prize for myself.”

  “And that would be enough,” said Haraak, “If all we wanted was to grab treasure and slaves, and return home. But we co
uld have more! With an alliance of the mightiest tribes of the steppes, we could take that land—and hold it!”

  Kalie stopped breathing.

  “Give up the land of our gods and our ancestors? Forever?”

  Haraak shook his head violently. “Bring our gods to the west! Burn those obscene walls, smoke out their warrens, tear down those boxes they live in until only good pastureland remains, and our tents cover the land! Sacrifice nine of every ten people to the spirits of our ancestors—and I think they will like their new home.”

  The other men were beginning to understand. “Leave only the comeliest women for our beds, and the skilled men to work our gold and silver!” cried one.

  “And when the land is ours,” said Haraak patiently. “And we prosper there, what happens here, in the east, when the winters get worse, and the summers parch the water from the land?”

  They understood, and so did Kalie. Only great numbers could hold the stolen land from the next wave of thieves.

  “The king will not support such a venture,” said a grizzled veteran, probably older than the king himself.

  And that, Kalie saw, was why the king must die. Had his two oldest sons been of a similar mind? Or were they simply too strong to become Haraak’s puppets?

  Finally remembering to breathe again, Kalie slipped away from the meeting.

  She had known this would happen; it was why she had returned to this cursed place as a slave. But now that it was here, all laid out before her, Kalie suddenly wasn’t sure what to do.

  When? She had to find out when the invasion was to occur.

  Kalie was glad that Haraak was her chief enemy here. She already hated him with a passion that felt old and familiar. But she would have to learn who the leaders of the other tribes were. The beastmen had said it themselves: alliances were not something they were good at. She would see to it this one did not last.

  Her stories had yielded some results, although admittedly not what she had hoped for. If she could craft a tale that whispered the dangers of trusting outsiders; that promised great rewards to men who acted alone…If she could cause this alliance to fall apart spectacularly enough, she just might be able to convince them to wipe each other out. Or at least reduce their numbers to the point where they wouldn’t be a threat to her people for many years.

  Kalie was briefly angry that she hadn’t learned the arts of seduction: that seemed the surest way to get two men to kill each other in this place, and it was something a slave could do, without corrupting something she valued as much as her stories.

  Walking through the camp, she shook her head. She could never be that good an actress.

  Maalke’s tent was dark when she returned. Only the faint glow from the banked fire let Kalie see her way through the disorderly tent, with Cassia asleep in her corner and Irisa’s two sons curled up together like a pair of puppies. Everyone else was still out celebrating.

  Kalie was about to seek out her own sheepskin, more to think than with any hope of sleeping, when a faint noise brought her outside again.

  Varena was huddled between the shadow of the tent and the spill of starlight on the flattened grass beside it, sobbing as if her heart had been rent in two.

  “What’s wrong?” cried Kalie, rushing to her side.

  Varena looked up at her through dead eyes. “I am a woman now,” she said.

  Chapter 8

  It took Kalie a moment to understand. “Do you mean…is it your first bleeding?”

  Varena glared at her. “I know the women are different where you come from, but don’t they at least get moon times?”

  Kalie sat beside the girl, who was still just a girl as far as she could see. She reached out a hand carefully, as with a wounded animal. “Yes, a girl’s first bleeding is what marks the beginning of the transition to womanhood. But where I come from, it’s a joyous event; a cause for celebration.”

  Varena looked puzzled. “Why?”

  Kalie sighed. “Another difference between our peoples, I suppose.” From across the years, Kalie remembered her own womanhood ceremony. She had been frightened, too, she now recalled. But it was the fear of change; the nervous excitement of the unknown. Perhaps even some discomfort at all the attention: all those people hugging and kissing her; all the gifts and well wishing. Was she thanking everyone properly? Showing enough dignity and decorum? Would she make a fool of herself during the dancing, when everyone was watching her?

  Not this blank eyed terror, warring only with a sense of final doom. “I know being a woman isn’t a wonderful thing in this land, but what has you so terrified?”

  “Maalke is going to sell me. I heard him promise Altia a few days ago. They were arguing; she was accusing me of seducing him; saying I wouldn’t be worth anything if he gave in to my wiles. Maalke said he hadn’t; that he’d already made a bargain with a warrior from Griiv’s clan to trade me for two old women slaves as soon as I was a woman—or sooner, if I took too long about it. I guess they won’t have to wait now.”

  Kalie tried to speak twice, and finally managed, “Could we hide it from the rest of the tent? At least until your next moon time?”

  Varena looked surprised. “I thought about trying that! I didn’t think anyone would help me with such a deception, not even you, Kalie.” Surprising, how much it hurt that she had stopped saying mother. “But Altia already knows. I came back to the tent to look for you; I needed the rags that the women use. Altia was here, getting more kumis for Maalke. She knew right away. I think she smelled it.”

  “Yet another way in which wives resemble dogs,” said Kalie. That won her a nervous smile from Varena. “Did you get the rags, at least?” Varena shook her head. “All right, let’s take care of that first. Then we’ll worry about the rest of it.” Kalie led Varena inside the tent, to the place where she kept her supplies, grateful that she had recently made some new pads of absorbent felt. She didn’t want to give Varena something used for her first time.

  “The men will leave at dawn for their summer horse sacrifice,” Kalie said, as she showed Varena what to do. “They’ll be gone four whole days. And when they come back, you’ll probably still be bleeding, so they’ll avoid you until you’re done. That gives us time.”

  “For what?” asked Varena, hope creeping back into her voice.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Kalie said with more confidence than she felt. “But we’ll think of something.”

  The sun was just rising on the eastern plains, when the men rode out of camp.

  Kalie, who had barely slept that short night, was dragged from her bedroll by the bleary-eyed women of Maalke’s tent, to join in the singing as the women bid farewell to the warriors.

  Kalie stumbled out of the tent with a curse, and then froze in awe at the sight before her. The pearly glow of dawn kissed the grass and tents with dew, while a gorgeous display of pink and gold lit the sky in the east. Of course, the most beautiful sight of all was that of the men leaving.

  Unlike times of war, when a small group of older or less favored warriors were left behind to guard the women and herds, the summer horse sacrifice was a time when all men—and all boys old enough to leave their mothers for a few days—would be away from the camp. They would be near enough to hear if an alarm was sounded, but Kalie had heard that this was a sacred time for all the people of the steppes, and that not even the worst of enemies would risk the wrath of the gods by violating the solemn ceremony with fighting.

  When she had asked what ceremonies the women would perform to welcome in the summer, she received blank looks. Wives apparently performed some kind of short ritual, but slaves and concubines did not attend. Mostly, it seemed, the women went quietly about their work, anxiously awaiting the return of the men.

  Kalie took her place with the others slaves, chanting the appropriate responses while the wives made two columns for the men to ride between, singing of the glory of men of honor who served the great god Aahk. She saw Cassia, one of the few who looked well rested, her hands demure
ly crossed over her swollen belly. Just one more moon span, thought Kalie, and the baby could be born safely.

  Cassia’s pregnancy, Varena’s womanhood, Riyik’s interest in her, the planned conquest of her world—thoughts raced through Kalie’s mind, giving her no peace. She had the sense of things about to change. And if she wasn’t watching the right thing at the right moment, everything would be lost.

  As the men disappeared from view beyond a low hill, a change came over the women, but unlike Kalie, most did not become giddy with relief. Rather, they seemed to sag, as if some vital life force had deserted them. Altia, who had obviously drunk too much kumis the night before, staggered back to her bed, clearly intending to sleep the rest of the day. Cassia, fearing she had pushed herself too hard by taking her place in the farewell ceremony, also returned to her bed. Irisa took advantage of the absence of both master and wives to go visit friends. Who knew she had any? Kalie thought.

  She turned to Varena who looked lost and sad. Somewhere deep inside, the beauty of new womanhood sparkled in her and mirrored the beauty of this summer day. Kalie ached to give to Varena all that she had been given at this time in her own life.

  Then it hit her: perhaps she could.

  Hurrying to the tent, Kalie found the three geese and the little brown duck she had killed the day before where she had left them, still unspoiled. But they would need to be cooked soon: the lovely dawn was promising to turn into a hot day. Hurrying to the pit in which last night’s feast had cooked, Kalie found it still warm. Little effort would be required to have it ready for the birds.

  “Varena, come help me pluck these! Then I will show you how we prepare them in my homeland.”

  Sullen, but curious, Varena approached. “What are we doing?”

  “You’re a woman. Tonight is Midsummer. And it’s a full moon besides! We’re going to have a proper celebration of all of that—but most especially we’re going to welcome you into this glorious new phase of your life! And we’re going to do it with a feast worthy of you, my beautiful daughter.” Kalie embraced Varena, who stared at her as if she had truly gone mad. Kalie didn’t care. On fire with a purpose for the first time since coming here, Kalie set about preparing a feast.