They guided their horses around stray rocks, along the road to the gate, but in the end they had to lead their horses up the bluff where the last slice of road, badly fallen away, gave access to the next level.
Here, in front and to the left, the ground was littered with the remains of old buildings. To the right the land rose again in an escarpment, ending in that other wall: the second line of defense. Behind it the ground seemed level and empty for a space, and behind that Tess saw the line of escape: a trail twisting upward into the heights, disappearing behind a huge outcropping of veined rock.
Dusk came sooner here, hedged in as they were by rock. Bakhtiian sent them all up to the level area behind the second wall, and put four men on watch below. He even allowed fires. The Chapalii stood huddled beyond the horses, conversing earnestly among themselves. Tess walked to the wall and stared down at the ruins below, and the long line of wall that edged the bluff below them.
Had men or nature destroyed these? On the one side, certainly, the avalanche had been the culprit. But as she studied the ground below, she could not imagine how any army could take this ground; if the defenders had enough people and missile weapons, their position would be virtually unassailable. Surely no human attack could have ruined these buildings—or was it just one huge rambling building?—so thoroughly. Only time, working with storms and harsh winters, could wreak so much havoc. How many thousands of years old must these ruins be to be so extensive and so wracked?
And yet the surface of this wall, chest high and a meter wide, was as smooth as obsidian. She ran her right hand along it, out away from herself and back again. Scars marred it, chips gone, a runnel scored across it in one place, but otherwise cool and even, like a polished stone. She ran her left hand out—and stopped. And stared down.
Symbols, letters, had been traced into the surface. She ran her finger along them, feeling the dust and debris of long years caught in their track, feeling the eroded edges, blurred by time and wind and rain. The first two, partially eaten away by erosion, she did not recognize. The third she did. The Chapalii glyph for “tai.” Duke. She stood frozen for a long moment. The murmur of voices drifted to her on the cold air of evening. Kirill, telling a ribald story about a man who crept into the wrong woman’s tent one night. One of the stewards, complaining about not being able to set up the tents. A lower voice, Pavel’s, talking about storms.
Breath stuck in her throat, she traced out the fourth symbol with her middle finger. And laughed. The fourth letter was a “w.” Or two “v’s” linked in the middle. Or the archaic Chapalii glyph for mountains. And the first, going back to it: with a little imagination and a tiny bit of allowance for erosion and time could be the Maya symbol for naught.
“Lord, Tess,” she muttered under her breath. “You’ll be finding the Rosetta Stone next. There’re only so many shapes can be chiseled into stone.” Maybe it was cuneiform. She sighed at her own folly and returned to the fire.
Yuri was on watch so she joined Niko and Bakhtiian where they sat together in the half light of one of the fires, arguing good-naturedly about the defensibility of the ruins. Niko smiled as she sat down, but Bakhtiian only glanced at her and continued speaking.
“I can’t agree that rain or storm gives the defenders the greatest advantage. Certainly, it ruins footing, but for both the hunter and the hunted. The loss of visibility is a far greater disadvantage for the defender than the attacker.”
“What do you think, Tess?” asked Niko politely.
“I think,” said Tess cheerfully, “that this is a terrible place to be holed up in. I feel like a pig trussed up and left in a pen for slaughter. Although I can see that the defending party does have the advantage of fortification and that narrow approach. Especially if they’re using spears or bows.”
“A jaran man never uses a bow in battle,” said Bakhtiian stiffly.
“Good Lord, I wasn’t talking about jaran. Sabers alone can’t hold this kind of position. I thought that was obvious.”
Bakhtiian stood. “Excuse me.” He left.
Tess stared after him. “Excuse me! I thought this was a theoretical discussion. Or was it presumptuous of me to have an opinion?”
“My dear girl.” Niko laid a hand on her shoulder, a fatherly gesture. “First of all, this is a holy place, and to liken it to a place where one would butcher animals is rather—shall we say—irreverent. Second, you might consider that Bakhtiian was the one who made the decision to lead us all here.”
She shut her eyes, wincing. “Oh, God. That was a stupid thing for me to have said.” She looked up at Niko. “I suppose I could just as well have said I thought he was a fool for bringing us here.”
“Be assured,” said Niko softly, “that he is wondering that himself.” Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. “But few people admit their mistakes as readily as you do, my dear.”
“I wouldn’t learn anything if I always thought I was right. But I will say that he was awfully quick to get angry.”
“He has a heavy burden on him, Tess, and you must remember that.”
“I suppose I must. Can you entertain yourself here?”
“Don’t mind an old, frail, friendless man. I’ll manage.”
Tess laughed at him and left. She found Bakhtiian leaning against the wall, staring down at the ruins and beyond them to the neck of the gorge. His form seemed merely an extension of the shadows.
“Ilya?” He didn’t move. She put her elbows on that uncannily smooth wall and leaned out, staring down. The wall below stood like a purplish line against a darker background. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“No. The things you said were true enough. The khaja will not scruple to use bows against us, when we ride into their lands. And here…well, no man likes to be told something he already knows and doesn’t want to hear.”
She shifted her elbows to fit into two hollows that marred the level surface of the wall. “And not when he could already be trapped.”
“Tess.” He turned his head enough to see her. “You have a habit of choosing unfortunate words.”
“What—oh, you mean ‘trapped’?”
“Among others. I don’t—” He reconsidered. “When you return to Jeds, you’ll have to be more careful. In khaja lands, people veil their true opinions in a layer of false words.”
“Oh, yes.” Tess leaned her chin on her intertwined fingers and stared morosely out at the moonlit outlines of the vale. The white ruins looked like a litter of bones on the dark ground. “When I return to Jeds—” She contemplated this event, amazed at her own lack of eagerness. When she returned to Jeds, when she returned to Odys, to be trapped once again by her duty to Charles. She pushed the traitorous thought away. “Why did you agree to bring me along?”
“You’re not going to admit that I was right all along?”
“You weren’t.”
“And you’re not going to tell me that now we’ve been run into a trap worthy of the fire-keeper’s daughter herself that you’re sorry you came?” He was, she realized, laughing at her.
“No.” She found she was blushing. “I’m glad I came,” she said softly, looking up at a bright star that shone above the gorge, glittering in the cold air.
“Yes,” he said, as if to himself. “Even for this short time.” He blinked, as if he had just realized where he was, and moved his elbows to a different place on the wall. “Of course you would be glad. Yuri and—and Fedya, and the others.”
“Yes. Yuri and Fedya and the others. It will be hard to board that ship.”
“It is always hard to board ships.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“No, I haven’t. I should have known better than to try to avoid it. Ishii insisted, finally. I’ll always wonder what you said to him.”
“But you’re too polite to ask.”
“That may be.” He smiled. “I also admired your spirit.”
“Now there’s a very handsome way of telling me that I was a nuisance.”
/>
“You were. Jaran women are much better behaved.”
“I don’t believe that for an instant, Ilya.” She laughed. “Are you telling me now that you’re sorry I came?”
“Tess.” In the silence she heard, far away, the low cry of an animal, followed by a slide of rock, distant and muted. “Tomorrow morning you’ll see an army in that gorge.”
“What do you mean?”
“They did pursue us. At least one hundred soldiers.”
“Oh, God, Ilya. And I said—” He was staring down, his hair and body dark, blending into cliff and wall, his face and hands starkly contrasting with the darkness. “Can you forgive me? I can’t believe I said—”
“Stop it, Tess.”
She swallowed. “How long have you known?” she asked in something resembling a normal tone of voice.
“Last night I went back down the gorge.”
“You might have been caught!”
“I doubt it. They have no more night wit than a crying infant.”
“One hundred soldiers.” She gazed down at the shadowed gorge. From the rocks came a bird’s cry, deep and wailing, like an owl’s hoot or a woman’s mourning. “The khaja must hate the jaran more than I thought.”
“This is their holy place as well. For us to be here no doubt defiles it in their eyes. And jaran have raided a town. Many towns. What did Keregin say? They are like us in that they seek revenge.”
“And yet—” She turned her head to look at him. “Yet you rode through their lands and into—into this? Why?”
The dim illumination made his complexion ashen and bloodless except for the shaded hollows of his eyes. “It’s a kind of madness,” he said, as softly as the merest brush of wind.
“No,” she said, equally quietly, because she felt impelled to reassure him. But she knew that to be the kind of man he was, doing what he meant to do, he had indeed to be infected with a kind of madness, a fire that would burn inward and outward until, in the end, he would be consumed and his people transformed on the anvil of change. “No, it’s a kind of honor.”
He turned his head slowly and met her eyes. “Do you think so?”
“Yes.”
“Death should not be unwelcome to the honorable man.”
Tess felt her insides tighten. She found it difficult to speak. “You once told me you had no intention of dying in battle.” He gazed at her, the two of them oblivious for that instant to all that surrounded them. Not me, she thought, I’m not going to get burnt in that fire. And then shook her head, disgusted at her own train of thought.
He shook himself as well and smiled, straightening his back. “Did I mention dying?” he asked, his tone light.
Tess attempted a laugh.
“I sent Josef up the back trail,” he continued conversationally, “to discover if it can indeed take us out. The pilgrims can look at the site tonight. In the morning, if the trail is good, we’ll ride out that way, though I’ll have to leave four archers behind to cover our retreat.”
“Who will you leave?”
“Mikhal, Tadheus, Konstans—”
“I’m better than Konstans.”
“You’re not included.”
“Who’s the fourth?”
“I am.”
“Of course,” she said softly. “Where did you learn to shoot so well?”
“In Jeds. I know how to shoot to kill a man. May the gods forgive me.”
“Why don’t jaran men use bows and arrows in battle?”
“Arrows in battle. That’s a grim thought.” Below, at the neck of the gorge, there was a slight movement. Stillness, a flash of light hair. Bakhtiian began to speak again. “The plains are as wide as you can see, and there is space to run. There is nothing to defend, except your kin and your honor, and honor rests in facing your opponent in a land where you could just as well flee.”
“In this land, between these walls, you’ll be dead before you can reach the man you’re trying to kill.”
“Do you wonder at our enmity?”
“No. I don’t wonder.”
“Look. The pilgrims have gone down. Just as I suggested to them. A surprise, don’t you agree?”
She looked down to the right, where a light moved among the ruins on the far side, against the slide, dipping up and down. They were looking for something.
“Good God.” She felt blood drain from her face. What if the symbols on the wall were Chapalii, worn away by time—but they could not have been here that long—worn away by some inexplicable confrontation, then. She had seen, she had touched, their transmitter with her own hands. She had found a fragment of a metallurgy too sophisticated for Rhuian development. What if the transmitter wasn’t a single anomaly set up in the last five years to prepare for this expedition? A whole cluster, perhaps dating from the first years after the League’s discovery of the planet, or from immediately after Charles’s ennobling and his receipt of the system. Set up to monitor him. And if he was disseminating the odd volume of Newton and Aristotle, what else might he be surreptitiously doing that violated his own interdiction order? What if the Chapalii had set up monitoring positions to incriminate him? It made sense.
She needed proof.
“I have to go,” she said, staring down at the light. She took one step away.
“No.” He stopped her with his voice alone. “Don’t go. Please.”
She turned back slowly, her throat tight, flushing along her neck and cheeks. She could just make out his face in the moonlight as he watched her, and she trembled, sure that he was afraid that this might be his last night on earth. What would she do if he asked her to spend it with him? God knows, he’s attractive enough, she thought; men like him always are.
“If you don’t disturb them now,” he continued, “then there will be no trouble about leaving before dawn tomorrow. But if you interrupt them, what will I do to convince them to go?”
She recovered her normal breathing, sure that it was fear that made her overreact in this way, cursing herself inwardly for forgetting everything she knew about jaran men. About this man in particular. “Surely when you tell them about this army, they’ll agree to run,” she said, knowing that the Chapalii could easily defend themselves against a hundred men, that they would, without hesitation. Missile weapons. She did not know whether to laugh or cry, thinking of it. And which would hurt Charles more—that she not investigate here now, or that she let the confrontation come and force the Chapalii to reveal what kind of magic, what kind of utterly superior weaponry, they possessed?
Bakhtiian stared beyond her at the disembodied, flameless light moving below them. “It has been said before that the khepellis control great powers. Magical powers. I have no use for magic.” He broke off. “Not any more. Can’t you wait until the shrine of Morava? We’ll be there for a hand of days. Enough time for spying, I should think.” But it was said without heat or accusation.
Enough time for spying. In a way, it was almost as if he knew what she was thinking, as if he were offering her a way out, an excuse to follow his lead and exercise restraint now for the promise of a later chance. And she found that against his asking, she could not refuse. “If we get that far,” she said, though she knew the very words sealed the agreement, that she would not disturb the Chapalii, not at this time and in this place.
“Be assured,” said Bakhtiian coolly, “that I do not intend to die here.” He turned away from her to return to the fires, as if, she thought with sudden bitterness, now that he has what he wants, the conversation no longer interests him.
Yuri woke her. It was quiet, damp, cold, and still dark. She lay still for a moment, hearing the soft sound of whispers, and horses, and of leather creaking and rustling against cloth.
“Get up, Tess,” Yuri said in a low but urgent voice. “We have to get the horses saddled.”
“Are we leaving now? There’s barely enough light to see by.”
“When Josef gets back.”
“Yuri, what if that trail is a dead end???
?
“It can’t be. It just can’t be. Come on, you’re one of the last.”
“The khepelli?”
“They’re ready. I don’t even think they slept. Niko has them.” He pointed, and Tess could faintly make out a group of men saddling horses, all gray and dim. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. “Tess! Don’t you understand? A khaja army is down there, waiting to kill us.”
“Are they already attacking?” The last dregs of sleep vanished, obliterated by adrenaline.
“No.” He looked back, but all was silence and darkness below. “Not until daybreak. They hate us, but they also fear us. It’s bad enough having to come up that path one by one, without it being dark as well. Ilya has fifteen men along the lower wall with him. The rest of us will go when Josef returns, then the fifteen from below—”
“And last the four archers?”
“Yes. Last.” A horse whinnied softly. “I’m a better archer than Konstans. But he says I’m to go with you and Niko.”
Tess thought, he’s doing that for me. She said, “If only you had bows for everyone. If only you could all shoot well.”
“It isn’t honorable,” Yuri began, but he hesitated. “They are only khaja, after all.” He put out a hand and Tess took it and laid it on her cheek. It was cold. “I don’t know what we’ll do if we lose Bakhtiian.”
“Neither do I,” she replied. They saddled their horses in silence and herded the rest to the base of the trail. The khepellis assembled behind them.
It grew light as they finished, Niko saddling one of the tarpans for Bakhtiian.
“Why isn’t he riding his black?” Tess asked.
Niko looked up at her, eyes dark. “He wants it to go with the herd.” He stood and laid a hand on the horse’s withers. “Headstrong idiot,” he muttered, and then, “Well, this is all we can do. Damn it, where is Josef? He knows our situation. Something must have happened to him.” And then, as if appalled that he had said it, he lapsed into angry silence.