“Are you far from your people?” asked the Notas leader, a burly warrior with a scarred face.
“I am never far from my people,” Tenaka answered him, accepting a bowl of raisins and some dried fruit.
“Your man is a Spear,” said the leader.
“We were pursued by Pack Rats,” answered Tenaka. “We slew them and took their ponies. It is a sad thing for Nadir to kill Nadir.”
“But it is the way of the world,” commented the leader.
“Not in Ulric’s day.”
“Ulric is long dead.”
“Some say he will rise again,” observed Tenaka.
“Men will always say that about kings of greatness. Ulric is forgotten meat and dusty bones.”
“Who leads the Wolves?” asked Tenaka.
“Are you Wolfshead, then?”
“I am what I am. Who leads the Wolves?”
“You are Bladedancer.”
“Indeed I am.”
“Why have you come back to the steppes?”
“Why does the salmon swim upstream?”
“To die,” said the leader, smiling for the first time.
“All things die,” observed Tenaka. “Once the desert in which we sit was an ocean. Even the ocean died when the world fell. Who leads the Wolves?”
“Saddleskull is the khan. So he says. But Knifespeaks has an army of eight thousand. The tribe has split.”
“So now it is not only Nadir who kills Nadir but Wolf who rends Wolf?”
“The way of the world,” said the leader once more.
“Which is the nearest?”
“Saddleskull. Two days northeast.”
“I will rest here with you tonight. Tomorrow I will go to him.”
“He will kill you, Bladedancer!”
“I am a hard man to kill. Tell that to your young men.”
“I hear you.” The leader rose to leave the tent but stopped at the flap. “Have you come home to rule?”
“I have come home.”
“I am tired of being Notas,” said the man.
“My journey is perilous,” Tenaka told him. “As you say, Saddleskull would desire my death. You have few men.”
“In the coming war we will be destroyed by one or another faction,” said the man. “But you—you have the look of eagles about you. I will follow you if you desire it.”
A sense of calm settled over Tenaka. An inner peace seemed to pulse from the very earth at his feet, from the distant blue mountains, to whisper in the long grass of the steppes. He closed his eyes and opened his ears to the music of silence. Every nerve in his body seemed on edge as the land cried out to him.
Home!
After forty years Tenaka Khan had learned the meaning of the word.
His eyes opened. The leader stood very still, watching him; he had seen men in a state of trance many times, and always it brought a sense of awe and a feeling of sadness that he could never experience this himself.
Tenaka smiled. “Follow me,” he told the man, “and I will give you the world.”
“Are we to be wolves?”
“No. We are the Nadir rising. We are the Dragon.”
At dawn the forty men of the Notas, minus the three outriding sentries, sat in two lines outside Tenaka’s tent. Behind them were the children: eighteen boys and three girls. Last sat the women, fifty-two of them.
Subodai stood apart from the group, baffled by this new turn of events. There was no point to it. Who would wish to start a new tribe at the dawn of a civil war? And what could Tenaka possibly gain from this shoddy band of goat breeders? It was all beyond the Spear warrior; he wandered into an empty tent and helped himself to some soft cheese and a loaf of gritty black bread.
What did it matter?
When the sun was high he would ask Tenaka to release him from his bond, take his six ponies, and ride home. Four ponies would buy him a fine wife, and he would relax for a while in the western hills. He scratched his chin, wondering what would happen to Tenaka Khan.
Subodai felt strangely uncomfortable at the thought of riding away. Few were the moments of original interest in the harsh world of the steppes. Fight, love, breed, eat. There was a limit to the amount of excitement those four activities could generate. Subodai was thirty-four years old and had left the Spears for a reason none of his peers could understand:
He was bored!
He moved out into the sunlight. Goats were milling at the edge of the campsite near the pony picket line, and high above a sparrow hawk circled and dived.
Tenaka Khan stepped out into the sunlight and stood before the Notas, arms folded across his chest, face impassive.
The leader walked toward him, dropped to his knees, bent low, and kissed Tenaka’s feet. One by one every member of the Notas followed him.
Renya watched the scene from within the tent. The whole ceremony disturbed her, as did the subtle change she sensed in her lover.
The previous night, as they had lain together under fur rugs, Tenaka had made love to her. It was then that the first tiny sparks of fear had flashed in her subconscious. The passion remained, the thrill of the touch and the breathless excitement. But Renya sensed a newness in Tenaka that she could not read. Somewhere inside him one gate had opened and another had closed. Love had been locked away. But what had replaced it?
Now she gazed at the man she loved as the ceremony continued. She could not see his face, but she could see the faces of his new followers: They shone.
When the last of the women backed away, Tenaka Khan turned without a word and reentered the tent. Then the sparks within Renya became a fire, for his face reflected what he had become. He was no longer the warrior of two worlds. His Drenai blood had been sucked from him by the steppes, and what was left was pure Nadir.
Renya looked away.
By midday the tribesmen had seen their women dismantle the tents and pack them on wagons. The goats were rounded up, and the new tribe headed northeast. Subodai had not requested to be free of his bond and rode beside Tenaka and the Notas leader, Gitasi.
That night they camped on the southern slopes of a range of wooded hills. Toward midnight, as Gitasi and Tenaka talked by a campfire, the pounding of hooves sent tribesmen rolling from their blankets to grab at swords and bows. Tenaka remained where he was, seated cross-legged by the fire. He whispered something to Gitasi, and the scarred leader ran to his men, calming them. The hoofbeats grew louder, and more than a hundred warriors rode into the camp, bearing down on the fire. Tenaka ignored them, calmly chewing on a strip of dried meat.
The horsemen dragged on their reins. “You are in the land of the Wolfshead,” said the lead warrior, sliding from the saddle. He wore a helm of bronze rimmed with fur and a lacquered black breastplate edged with gold.
Tenaka Khan looked up at him. The man was close to fifty years old, and his massive arms were crisscrossed with scars. Tenaka gestured to a place by the fire.
“Welcome to my camp,” he said softly. “Sit and eat.”
“I do not eat with Notas,” said the man. “You are on Wolfs-head land.”
“Sit down and eat,” said Tenaka, “or I shall kill you where you stand.”
“Are you a madman?” asked the warrior, taking a firmer grip on the sword in his hand. Tenaka Khan ignored him, and, furious, the man swung the sword. But Tenaka’s leg shot out, hooking his feet from under him, and he fell with a crash as Tenaka rolled to his right with his knife flashing in his hand. The point rested gently on the warrior’s throat.
An angry roar went up from the riders.
“Be silent among your betters!” bellowed Tenaka. “Now, Ingis, will you sit and eat?”
Ingis blinked as the knife was withdrawn. He sat up and recovered his sword.
“Bladedancer?”
“Tell your men to dismount and relax,” said Tenaka. “There will be no bloodshed tonight.”
“Why are you here, man? It is insane.”
“Where else should I be?”
Ingis shook his head and ordered his men to dismount, then turned back to Tenaka.
“Saddleskull will be confused. He will not know whether to kill you or make you a general.”
“Saddleskull was always confused,” said Tenaka. “It surprises me that you follow him.”
Ingis shrugged. “He is a warrior, at least. Then you have not come back to follow him?”
“No.”
“I will have to kill you, Bladedancer. You are too powerful a man to have for an enemy.”
“I have not come to serve Knifespeaks.”
“Then why?”
“You tell me, Ingis.”
The warrior looked into Tenaka’s eyes. “Now I know you are insane. How can you hope to rule? Saddleskull has eighty thousand warriors. Knifespeaks is weak, with only six thousand. How many do you have?”
“All that you see.”
“How many is that? Fifty? Sixty?”
“Forty.”
“And you think to take the tribe?”
“Do I look insane? You knew me, Ingis; you watched me grow. Did I seem insane then?”
“No. You could have been …” Ingis cursed and spit into the fire. “But you went away, became a Lord of the Drenai.”
“Have the shamans met yet?” asked Tenaka.
“No. Asta Khan has called a council for tomorrow at dusk.”
“Where?”
“At the tomb of Ulric.”
“I shall be there.”
Ingis leaned in closer. “You don’t seem to understand,” he whispered. “It is my duty to kill you.”
“Why?” asked Tenaka calmly.
“Why? Because I serve Saddleskull. Even sitting here talking to you is an act of betrayal.”
“As you pointed out, Ingis, my force is very small. You betray no one. But think on this: You are pledged to follow the Khan of Wolves, yet he is not chosen until tomorrow.”
“I will not play with words, Tenaka. I pledged my support to Saddleskull against Knifespeaks. I will not go back on it.”
“Nor should you,” said Tenaka. “You would be less a man. But I also am against Knifespeaks, which makes us allies.”
“No, no, no! You are against them both, which makes us enemies.”
“I am a man with a dream, Ingis—the dream of Ulric. These men with me were once Doublehair. Now they are mine. The burly one by the far tent is a Spear. Now he is mine. These forty represent three tribes. United, the world is ours. I am an enemy to no one. Not yet.”
“You always had a good brain and a fine sword arm. Had I known you were coming, I might have waited before pledging my force.”
“You will see tomorrow. For tonight, eat and rest.”
“I cannot eat with you,” said Ingis, rising. “But I will not kill you. Not tonight.” He strode to his pony and climbed into the saddle. His men ran to their mounts, and with a wave Ingis led them out into the darkness.
Subodai and Gitasi ran to the fire, where Tenaka Khan was quietly finishing his supper.
“Why?” asked Subodai. “Why did they not kill us?”
Tenaka grinned, then yawned theatrically. “I am tired. I will sleep now.”
Out in the valley beyond Ingis was being asked the same question by his son, Sember.
“I cannot explain it,” said Ingis. “You would not understand.”
“Make me understand! He is a half-blood with a ragtag following of Notas scum. And he did not even ask you to follow him.”
“Congratulations, Sember! Most of the time you cannot grasp the simplest subtlety, but on this occasion you surpass yourself.”
“What does that mean?”
“It is simple. You have stumbled on the very reasons why I did not kill him. Here is a man with no chance of success, faced by a warlord with twenty thousand warriors under his banner. Yet he did not ask for my help. Ask yourself why.”
“Because he is a fool.”
“There are times, Sember, when I could believe your mother had a secret lover. Looking at you makes me wonder if it was one of my goats.”
19
Tenaka waited in darkness and silence as the sounds of movement in the small camp ceased. Then he lifted the flap of his tent and watched the sentries. Their eyes were scanning the trees around the camp, and they were not interested in what went on within. Tenaka slid from the tent, hugging the moon shadows from the twisted trees as he silently edged into the deeper darkness of the woods.
Walking cautiously, he made his way for several miles as the ground dipped and rose toward the distant hills. He cleared the edge of the wood some three hours before dawn and slowly began to climb. Far below and to the right lay the marble-covered tomb of Ulric—and the armies of Knifespeaks and Saddleskull.
Civil war was inevitable, and Tenaka had hoped to convince whoever was the khan that it would be profitable to aid the Drenai rebels. Gold was a scarce commodity on the steppes. Now things would have to be different.
He continued to climb until he saw a cliff face pockmarked by caves. He had been there once before, many years earlier when Jongir Khan had attended a shaman council. Then Tenaka had sat with Jongir’s children and grandchildren outside the caves while the khan journeyed into the darkness. It was said that hideous rites were performed in these ancient places and that no man could enter uninvited. The caves were, the shamans promised, the very gates of hell, where demons lurked at every corner.
Tenaka reached the mouth of the largest cave, where he hesitated, calming his mind.
There is no other way, he told himself.
And entered.
The darkness was total. Tenaka stumbled. He pushed on, hands stretched out before him.
As the caves wound on—twisting and turning, splitting and rejoining—Tenaka quelled the panic rising in him. It was like being in a honeycomb. He could wander lost in this blind gloom until he died of hunger and thirst.
He moved on, feeling his way along a cold wall. Suddenly the wall ended, cutting away at right angles to his hand. Tenaka walked on, hands outstretched. Cool air touched his face. He stopped and listened. He had the impression of space all around him, but more than that he felt the presence of people.
“I seek Asta Khan,” he said, his voice booming in the cavern.
Silence.
A shuffling sound came from the left and right of him and he stood still, folding his arms across his chest. Hands touched him, scores of hands. He felt his sword being drawn from its scabbard, his knife from its sheath. Then the hands withdrew.
“Speak your name!” commanded a voice as dry and hostile as a desert wind.
“Tenaka Khan.”
“You have been gone from us for many years.”
“I have returned.”
“Obviously.”
“I did not leave willingly. I was sent from the Nadir.”
“For your own protection. You would have been slain.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why have you returned?”
“That is not a simple question to answer.”
“Then take your time.”
“I came to aid a friend. I came to gather an army.”
“A Drenai friend?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Then the land spoke to me.”
“What were its words?”
“There were no words. It spoke in silence, heart to soul. It welcomed me as a son.”
“To come here unsummoned is death.”
“Who decides what is a summons?” asked Tenaka.
“I do.”
“Then you tell me, Asta Khan—was I summoned?”
Darkness fell away from Tenaka’s eyes, and he found himself in a great hall. Torches shone on every side. The walls were smooth, embedded with crystals of every hue, while stalactites hung like shining spears from the vast dome of the roof. The cavern was packed with people, shamans from every tribe.
Tenaka blinked as his eyes grew accustomed to the light. The torches had not sprung up ins
tantly. They had been alight all the time, only he had been blind.
“Let me show you something, Tenaka,” said Asta Khan, leading him from the cavern. “This is the path you took to reach me.”
Directly ahead was a yawning chasm crossed by a slender stone bridge.
“You walked that bridge in blindness. And so, yes, you were summoned. Follow me!”
The ancient shaman took him back over the bridge to a small room close to the main cave entrance. There the two men sat on a goatskin rug.
“What would you have me do?” asked Asta Khan.
“Initiate the shaman quest.”
“Saddleskull has no need of the quest. He outnumbers his enemy and can win it by battle alone.”
“Thousands of brothers will die.”
“That is the Nadir way, Tenaka.”
“The shaman quest would mean the deaths of only two,” said Tenaka.
“Speak plainly, young man! Without the quest you have no chance to rule. With it your chances rise to one in three. Do you truly care about a civil war?”
“I do. I have the dream of Ulric. I want to build the nation.”
“And what of your Drenai friends?”
“They are still my friends.”
“I am no fool, Tenaka Khan. I have lived many, many years, and I can read the hearts of men. Give me your hand and let me read your heart. But know this: If there is deceit in you, I shall kill you.”
Tenaka held out his hand, and the old man took it.
For several minutes they remained thus, then Asta Khan released him.
“The power of the shaman is maintained in many ways. There is generally very little direct manipulation of tribal directions. You understand?”
“I do.”
“On this occasion I will grant your request. But when Saddleskull hears, he will send his executioner. There will be a challenge—it is all he can do.”
“I understand.”
“Do you wish to know of him?”
“No. It is immaterial.”
“You are confident.”
“I am Tenaka Khan.”
The Valley of the Tomb stretched between two ranges of iron-gray mountains; they were known as the Ranks of Giants, and Ulric himself had named this place as his burial ground. It amused the great warlord to think of these ageless sentries standing guard over his mortal remains. The tomb itself was built of sandstone covered with marble. Forty thousand slaves had died building this monolith, shaped like the crown Ulric never wore. Six pointed towers ringed the white dome, and giant runes were carved on every surface, telling the world and all succeeding generations that here lay Ulric the Conqueror, the greatest Nadir warlord of them all.