Writers of the Future 32 Science Fiction & Fantasy Anthology

  Mahkah had dispatched two of the others while she was busy. The last man eyed him warily. “A duel?” the stranger said.

  “Very well,” Mahkah agreed. He dismounted. As he came clear of the horse, the enemy prodded his own horse and galloped forward. Mahkah’s horse started and leaped away. Mahkah went down on his back. Yvina gasped. She was too far away to help. Mahkah would be trampled underfoot.

  Watch! her bear shouted, and things seemed to slow. She saw the horse striding toward Mahkah. Saw him tense as he lay on his back. His abdomen tightened, and he sprang up just as the horse was on him. His fingers grabbed at the bridle, and he swung himself upward. One hand punched his enemy square in the jaw. The other yanked on the horse’s reins.

  The horse stumbled. Mahkah sprang free. His enemy and the horse fell. The horse got up and scrambled off. The man lay groaning in the dirt.

  Yvina slid off her horse and approached. Mahkah stood over the fallen man. A trickle of blood ran down the man’s lips. He writhed, but only the top half of his body moved. “My legs,” he moaned. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  Mahkah knelt. He touched the man, who stiffened and screamed. “You have broken your back,” Mahkah said. “What did Sihkun tell you?”

  “To kill.” The man stared up at the sky, his eyes wide with pain. “He said. The woman and the wanderer, both.”

  “You will die in a day whether I aid you or not,” Mahkah said. “It will be agonizing. I cannot spare the time to make you comfortable. I offer you the mercy of my blade.”

  “Mercy,” the man said. “And death to Sihkun. He knew what he was doing, sending us after you.”

  “Sihkun is my worry now, not yours,” Mahkah said. He drew his knife. Yvina watched, without hate or disgust, as he slid the blade up between two ribs. The man gasped, then his face slackened. Mahkah straightened up. His eyes met Yvina’s. She gave him a tiny nod. Mahkah cleaned his knife and put it away.

  “Come,” he said, walking away from the dead man. “We’ve lost time. Sihkun will reach the bluffs tomorrow morning. We must be close behind.”

  The smoke from Sihkun’s band smudged the horizon as they made camp and settled in. Yvina ate the same meal of dried meat and bread they’d shared for the past two days. It tasted better tonight than it had before. Life is sweeter after a brush with death, her bear said.

  They sat and watched the fire die down without much talk. Mahkah took a flask from his bag, drank, and offered it to Yvina. She tried a sip. The liquid tasted like strawberries and honey but burned going down. “What is it?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I got it off a trader.”

  She took another sip and handed it back. “By tomorrow night, my brother will be free or we’ll be dead.”

  “Yes.” Mahkah drank. “When we free your brother, what will you do?”

  She frowned. “The army will be here. I know they’re not far behind. We saw the dust they kicked up, earlier today.”

  “This is not the time and place for a fight,” Mahkah said. “All my people are assembled at Kharakor. There are enough of us to destroy you, but we would not soon shake off our own wounds.”

  Yvina said, “That’s what I’ve feared from the first time our peoples crossed paths. I spent months laying the groundwork for an alliance, and now Sihkun’s destroyed everything.”

  Mahkah rubbed his chin with his hand. She felt strangely fascinated seeing a grown man with no beard, no hair anywhere on his torso. The glimpses she’d caught of his legs, when his pants rode up, showed some hair there at least. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands across his chest. “We should be more than just strangers content to ignore each other,” he said.

  Yvina laughed. “I’ve heard how our men speak about your people. They’ll do anything for a chance to test our strength against yours. We cannot ignore each other. But we could be brothers.”

  Mahkah raised an eyebrow. “You understand warriors,” he said.

  “Sometimes I doubt it,” Yvina said. She sighed. “Even if I persuaded Aradon to talk, who speaks for your people? You have no khan-of-khans.”

  “No,” Mahkah agreed.

  “It seemed so easy, back when I sent Ikkayana to find Kharil,” she said.

  “Why did you care so much about this alliance?” Mahkah asked gently.

  “Maybe I didn’t,” Yvina said, not looking up at him. “Maybe I was just tired of my brother’s generals discussing which of them would have me. As though I should be grateful for any of them to deign to claim me. I’m twenty-six, not dead.”

  “You’ve been a woman for a long time,” Mahkah said.

  “Yes.” Yvina pulled her legs up to her chest. Mahkah was a wanderer. Maybe he understood what it meant to be lonely. “A woman who could not give herself to any man. Not until my brother secures his throne. Even now, if I choose wrong, my husband will use me to make himself king in my brother’s place. That’s why I thought perhaps Kharil . . . He’s not Aradori, my people would never follow him. Instead of being a threat, he could bring my brother new allies. But I’ve never met him. For all I know, he’s dead, or married, or he’ll think I’m too old.” She left a question in her voice, wondering what Mahkah would reply.

  “Well,” Mahkah said, a teasing note in his voice, “a Methlan khan may take as many wives as he wishes. Or as many as his wives permit. Though going beyond three is a bit gaudy.”

  “If you think I’d share my husband,” she began, looking up. Her words and annoyance died as she met Mahkah’s eyes.

  He set a hand on her knee, and she shivered as the warmth seeped through the thin cloth. He offered her the flask and she drank deeply before handing it back. “Yvina,” he said, and his voice was a caress. “Yvina.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. His eyes held hers. In the fire, a stick popped. She felt warm all over, lightheaded.

  “The steppes are my home. You’ve seen my world these last few days. Could you come out here, abandoning everything you know? Could you ride a horse day after day, birth your sons in a yurt, have only the things you can carry?”

  Yvina stared into his face, searching, seeing only openness and intensity. An appealing combination, so different than any man she’d known.

  A streak of light caught her eye. She looked up as a star fell flaming across the skies. She sighed. “The sky itself fell in flames, the day my father brought my mother out of the wreck of our old country,” she said. “Mountains fell into the seas. The world shook and shattered. The ocean was blood and fire. But they came out of that, with me clinging to my mother’s skirts, and they found a new land, among strange peoples. I asked my mother once if she was afraid, and she said no, because my father was there.”

  Mahkah’s hand slid across to enfold her own. Her fingers rested on his wrist. She could feel his heartbeat pulsing against her fingertips. Her own heart raced like a runaway horse. “Then . . .” he prompted. He shifted closer to her.

  “If it were with a man I loved,” she said, tasting her words wonderingly. A man she loved. She’d never even dreamed of that. To marry for duty would be enough. “I could go anywhere. Do anything.”

  Mahkah’s other hand stroked her face. She shuddered with pleasure at the light touch. “For ten years I wandered,” he said. “I searched, I did not know for what. Then I found an answer, but not an answer I liked, so I said I would keep looking.”

  “What answer?” she asked.

  “That is a story for tomorrow,” he said. “But then I found a woman standing in a river, wearing her shift like the golden robes of a queen, leaving her foes dead around her. And I knew that my future stood in front of me.”

  “Ahh,” Yvina sighed, and closed her eyes. Mahkah’s fingers traced the line of her jaw, trailed down her neck, touched her shoulder. His touch made her shiver. She wished they could stay like this, hesitated to speak the words that would end this moment. ??
?I’m a kingsdaughter of the Aradori,” she said at last, gazing up into his serious face. “I cannot just go where I please. My marriage should be an offering for my people.”

  “You have given your people one king already,” Mahkah said. “Is it not time for your own pleasure? Ride with me, Yvina, daughter of the storm. Be the wise counsel of my ears, fire of my life, mother of my sons. I will give you my sword for your defense, my cloak for your warmth, my devotion for all your years.”

  Yvina leaned against Mahkah’s shoulder. His arm went around her waist, pulling her close. She wanted to stay there, forever. And perhaps . . . perhaps she could. “When my brother is free, I will be free,” she said.

  They sat like that for a long time, as the ashes of the fire ceased their glowing. When they lay down to sleep, they lay beside each other, fully clothed but sharing blankets and warmth, and when Yvina started awake at a wolf’s howl, Mahkah’s hand on her shoulder soothed her fears and let her find sleep once more.

  The bluffs behind Kharakor stuck up out of the land like red and gray teeth chewing at the sky. At their foot clustered thousands of round yurts, surrounding banners bearing various devices. Mahkah told her what some of them meant as they rode.

  “How many Methlan are there?” Yvina asked.

  “All the clans have gathered,” Mahkah said. “The messengers went out weeks ago.”

  They rode past herds of sheep and goats, waving to the boys out guarding the flocks. Most of the boys appeared annoyed to be there. “They know they are missing history today,” Mahkah said. “Sihkun will have had his men stirring the people up. Today the future of my people will be decided.”

  Yvina glanced over her shoulder. The Aradori army crawled along behind, too far back. “They need to hurry,” she said. “Sihkun will have my brother’s head on a post by the time they get here.” Even if Mahkah could stop Sihkun, she feared the army would fall on the Methlan camp. They’d spent days chasing after Aradon, they’d be howling for blood by now. She’d never get them to stand and listen.

  “We will stop him, my heart,” Mahkah said.

  Yvina’s own heart skipped a beat. “I hope you’re right,” she said. Her mind worked furiously. Mahkah was going to fight Aradon, to impress his people, he’d said. Her heart told her that if any man could go head-to-head with her brother, it was Mahkah.

  Here was the answer to the scoffing bear warriors who asked what the Methlan could offer the Aradori. Let them see Mahkah, let them respect the Methlan skill at arms. Not just as a worthy challenge to be defeated, but as a foe that they could not easily best. Then, maybe, they’d be willing to talk. Especially if Mahkah beat a little sense into Aradon. Just as long as he didn’t kill him.

  “You are quiet,” Mahkah said.

  “My heart is full,” Yvina said.

  The sun stood overhead by the time they rode near enough the Methlan encampment for riders to approach. “They won’t attack us,” Mahkah assured her. He pointed to the banners that studded the land near the outskirts of the camp, the same as the ones in the riders’ hands. “The wise women rule here. Sihkun can try his tricks but he will not best our grandmothers.”

  The riders surrounded them. Mahkah raised a hand in greeting. “Has Sihkun spoken yet? Does his prisoner live?” he asked.

  The men exchanged looks with each other. “The grandmothers said wait until sunset,” one said at last. “The omens were strange. Greatmother Khassila said that today is a day of many changes. She could not read the winds at sunrise.”

  “She is right,” Mahkah said.

  “Then there’s still time,” Yvina said. She looked back over her shoulder, where the Aradori army crept over the horizon. They were a dark cloud against the land. They’d reach Kharakor well before sunset.

  Somewhere ahead, a horn sounded, two long blasts. Yvina turned to Mahkah, whose face was grim. The horn sounded again, different this time.

  “Sihkun calls the warriors,” the rider said. “He told us last night to be ready, that the bear-clan would come for their prince and that we would fight.”

  Mahkah scowled. “Sihkun is not khan-of-khans yet.”

  Yvina set her hand on Mahkah’s arm. “Can you stop him before he attacks?” she said.

  Mahkah’s eyes narrowed. “If your people are willing to parley.”

  Yvina seized a banner from the nearest rider, silencing the man’s protests with a glare. “Bring my brother out,” she said. “I’ll bring the Aradori. Your people aren’t the only ones who need to see this fight. If we are to be more than a pair of wary dogs circling the same corpse, if we are to ride and fight together, then my people must see how strong, how honorable the Methlan are.”

  Mahkah smiled. “Make them see,” he urged. “Tell them to let this fight decide whether our peoples are to be brothers or enemies, from now until the end of time.”

  Mahkah seemed so confident, so certain, but without Aradon’s cocksure swagger. For the first time she realized Mahkah had sworn not to kill Aradon, but Aradon would be under no such constraints. Did Mahkah know what he was getting into?

  Then it hit her. She grinned. “The second reason you fought me,” she said. “You wanted to learn what a bear can do, so you can beat my brother.”

  Mahkah looked a bit abashed. It was a strange expression on his handsome face, and she found it uncomfortable. “Yes,” he said.

  “Well, my brother’s ten times the warrior I am,” she said. “And I was tired. And I didn’t show you everything. So don’t underestimate him.”

  “I will not,” Mahkah said. “After all, if I lose to your brother, I can hardly expect you to ride with me.”

  She showed her teeth. “Then you’d better not lose,” she said, and turned her horse’s head around.

  Yvina galloped across the land. Her horse’s stride ate up the distance between her and the Aradori army. Miles fell away behind her. Her heart pounded with the horse’s hooves. Would Mahkah be able to make his people listen? What if Sihkun killed Aradon anyway?

  Three thousand mounted men, armed to the teeth, rolled like a wave over the land. Their heavy armor and dark hair looked out of place here, after the last days spent with Mahkah. The Aradori had left behind the baggage train. That meant they’d be eager for a fight, and quick to return home. Whatever happened would be resolved today.

  Her bear sharpened her eyes and she scanned the banners. The scouts raced to intercept her, then fell away as they recognized her. Yvina rode up to the generals.

  “Lady Yvina!” General Jorum exclaimed. “You escaped!” The whole army ground to a halt, pressing around the knot of high-ranked warriors.

  She addressed the generals. “We have an ally. He will bring Aradon out from the Methlan camp. They will fight a duel in front of both our peoples. No one is to attack unless there is treachery. We ride in under a banner of truce.” She shook the standard at them.

  “Lady Yvina?” Jorum said, sounding uncertain. “What madness is this? After they betrayed you under the last banner?”

  “A duel?” General Byorn said. He leaned in closer. “Who’s this ally of yours, kingsdaughter? Is he any good?”

  “I haven’t seen Aradon in a serious duel in six months,” a captain farther back from Yvina remarked. “I’d pay good money to see him fight a half-decent Methlan warrior.”

  The murmurs rippled out from Yvina. The Aradori clustered in closer, asking questions, arguing loudly with each other about Aradon’s chances. She let them talk, enjoying the speculation. The only thing Aradori warriors liked more than fighting was watching a good duel. This would work.

  “Are you seriously calling off the attack?” Jorum asked Byorn.

  “By the hells, yes,” Byorn said. “Look, if this Methlan fellow is any good at all, then when Aradon defeats him the rest of them will understand what it means to oppose the Aradori. They’ll crumble without a fight.”

/>   “Is he?” Jorum asked Yvina. “Any good? Whoever this fellow is?”

  Yvina wheeled her horse around. “Why ask me when you can see for yourself?” she said. “Keep your swords in their sheaths, and come see a fight you’ll be telling your grandchildren about.”

  The assembled Aradori and Methlan stared at each other across fifty yards of empty grassland, broken by bits of rock and small, round bushes. A hawk screamed overhead. A horse whinnied. Yvina dismounted and crossed into the open space. Her brother stood bound in the midst of the Methlan. He seemed confused, with a patch of dried blood on his forehead, but otherwise unharmed.

  Mahkah strode out toward her, a trio of ancient Methlan women with him. He’d redone his skin-wards, black lines sharp against his bronze skin, and his swords were in his hands. She tore her attention away from his chest to meet his eyes. His face gave away nothing. The Aradori generals hurried after her.

  “Is this the fellow?” General Jorum said. “He doesn’t look like much, does he?”

  Mahkah held up a hand. “Will you speak my words for me, my lady?” he asked. “Word for word, whatever I say?”

  “You swear you told me the truth last night?” she said.

  He hesitated. “The truth,” he agreed, “but not all of it.”

  Her earlier suspicions resurfaced. Or were they hopes? “I will translate,” she agreed.

  “What are you saying?” General Byorn demanded. “What is he saying?”

  “I’ll translate,” she told them.

  “Who’s this fellow, anyway?” another general asked.

  “Yvina,” Aradon said. “They told me you were dead. I knew they lied. Do you have plans to get me out of here?”

  “Mahkah does,” she said, “but not necessarily in one piece. Don’t worry, I think you’ll enjoy this.” She smiled coldly. “I know I will.”

  “Who’s Mahkah?” Aradon asked. She ignored him.

  “I’m ready,” she told Mahkah. He turned to face the Methlan. She stood back to back with him, facing her people, conscious that Mahkah was only a foot away.