“To be forced to meet one’s death at the hands of such barbarians.”
“Ah yes, indeed so,” Chien agreed.
“It would have been pleasant to have had a second option.” Below them the twenty soldiers had prepared three campfires. From his position on the hilltop Chien could see the scout Kubai sitting apart from the men. Chien unbuttoned the brocaded red silk coat and scratched at his armpit. “I shall not be sorry to say farewell to this garment,” he said. “It is beginning to stink.”
“It was part of your plan, lord,” said Sukai, smiling broadly.
“Indeed it was, but it is dreadfully uncomfortable. Who will wear it tomorrow?”
“Nagasi, lord. He is your height and build.”
“I must apologize to him; it is one thing to die in service to your lord but quite another to be forced to die in a dirty coat.”
“It is an honor for him, lord.”
“Of course it is, but good manners should be paramount. I will see him this evening. Would it be too great a privilege if we asked him to dine with us?”
“I fear that it would, lord.”
“I think you are correct, Sukai. You and I will dine together, though ‘dine,’ I fear, is too fine a description for a meal of broiled hare. However, I have some good wine, which we will finish.”
Chien stepped into the saddle and waited for Sukai. The officer mounted his gelding and cursed softly.
“What concerns you, my friend?” asked Chien.
“The man Kubai. I would dearly like to separate his head from his neck.”
“A thought I can appreciate—and share. However, it is vital that the soldiers of Kiatze commit no crime while in Nadir lands. All we can do is react.”
“As you wish, lord,” muttered Sukai, touching spurs to his mount and guiding the beast down the hill to the camp.
At noon the following day the Nadir scout Kubai, announcing that he was riding off to hunt, galloped away to the southwest. Sukai watched him go, then turned his horse and halted the column.
Chien-tsu rode alongside him. “We have four, perhaps five hours,” said Chien. “It is time to begin.” Sukai signaled the twenty guards to dismount, and they tethered their horses and stood at attention. Chien walked the line in silence, stopping only to admonish a soldier whose bronze and silver hilt guard showed a trace of tarnish. The man reddened.
“You all know,” said Chien, standing at the center of the line, “that treachery awaits us. The Nadir will attack at dusk. It is imperative that they believe they have surprised us; therefore, you will be sitting around fires when they come. You may leave your horses saddled. Once the attack begins, you may fight as your hearts desire. The Nadir greed and lust for battle show us that one day they will march on the kingdom of Kiatze itself. With this in mind, it is vital that you account for yourselves well. I would not expect any man to die until he has dispatched at least four of the enemy. There will be no retreat; you will die here.” Chien turned away, then swung around again. “It would not normally be necessary to add to what I have said, but we are standing under an alien sky and far from home. So let me say this: You are the best warriors, the finest of men. If it were otherwise, you would not now be with me. I shall watch the battle from the hill yonder; then I will ascertain whether Mai-syn lives. After that, I will find Jungir Khan and cut the head from his shoulders. That is all.”
Chien removed his brocaded coat of red silk and called Nagasi to him. The warrior shrugged out of his breastplate and pulled on the garment, then bowed to Chien.
“I will see that Oshi arranges your hair in a more regal fashion,” Chien told Nagasi, then walked away to where Sukai stood close to the wagon. The warrior was staring up at the storm-threatened sky.
“How many will they send against us, lord?”
“I do not know. Why does it concern you?”
“If it is less than a hundred, we might win, and that would not be in keeping with the plan you have so carefully considered.”
“That is true,” said Chien gravely, “but I would imagine—following your exhibition at the banquet—that they will want to be certain of the outcome. One hundred would be the barest minimum Jungir Khan would send.”
“And what if we win?” Sukai asked.
“Then you win, and we will think again,” said Chien. “Now would you be so kind as to cut my hair.”
“The men will see you,” protested Sukai. “It is not fitting.”
Chien shrugged. “It is important that I pass for a Nadir nomad. A gentleman of the Kiatze has no hope of survival in this barbarous land. Come now, Sukai,” and he sat on the ground. Sukai took a long pair of brass scissors and began to cut away at the heavily lacquered hair, leaving only a topknot on the crown. Chien stood and removed his shirt and trousers of blue silk and his high boots. He lifted the canvas from the back of the wagon and pulled out a Nadir jerkin of goatskin, leather breeches, and an ugly pair of high riding moccasins.
“This has been cleaned, I take it?” he asked, holding the goatskin at arm’s length.
Sukai smiled. “Three times, lord. Not a louse or a single flea remains alive in it.”
“It stinks of wood smoke,” muttered Chien, shrugging his arms into the garment. He clambered into the pair of illfitting breeches and tied the rawhide belt. Then he tugged on the moccasins.
“How do I look?” he inquired.
“Please do not ask,” said Sukai.
The warrior summoned Oshi, who brought two horses that had been unsaddled and reequipped with Nadir saddles of rough-cut leather. There were no stirrups. “Bury the other saddles,” instructed Chien.
The warrior nodded. “Also,” Chien added, “it would be better if Nagasi died having suffered facial injuries.”
“I have already explained that to him,” said Sukai.
“Then it is time for farewells, my friend.”
“Indeed. May your paths be straight and your days long.”
Chien bowed. “Look down on me from heaven, Sukai.”
The warlord took hold of his horse’s mane and vaulted into the saddle. Oshi scrambled to the back of his own mare, and the two riders galloped from the campsite.
Chien and Oshi rode high into the hills, hiding the horses in a thick stand of poplar. Then they sat in silence for an hour, Chien praying, and Oshi, looking ludicrous in the clothes of a Nadir warrior, wrestling with the problem of how to look after his lord in the middle of this barren, uncivilized land.
His prayers concluded, Chien rose and moved to a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley below. As ordered, Sukai had cook fires burning, the men relaxing around them. Chien allowed anger to wash over his emotions. It was intolerable that a warrior such as Sukai should be sacrificed in such a manner; there was no honor here in this land of treachery and barbarism. With good fortune his secret messages to the emperor, carried by his most trusted concubine, would mean no further gifts to the khan. Perhaps also the news would encourage the emperor to build up his army.
Oshi crept alongside Chien. “Should we not put distance between ourselves and the action, lord?” the old servant asked.
Chien shook his head. “It would be most unbecoming to allow them to die unobserved. If there is a small risk to us, then so be it.”
The sun began its slow descent and Chien saw the dustcloud to the southwest. His heartbeat quickened, and he fought for calm. He wanted to see, with a cool eye, the last moments of Sukai’s life. It was his hope—albeit a faint one—that one day he could write a poem about it and deliver it in person to Sukai’s widow.
As the Nadir force topped the hills around the campsite, Chien’s trained eye swept over them. There were almost three hundred men in the attacking group, and his pride swelled. Here at last was a compliment from the barbarians: three hundred against twenty. Chien could almost feel Sukai’s joy, watching as the twenty men ran to their horses. Sukai took up his position in the center, drawing both of his swords. Nagasi, in Chien’s red coat, was beside him.
/> Screaming their battle cries, the Nadir charged. Sukai, forming the point of a wedge, kicked his horse into a gallop to meet them. Dust swirled under the horses’ hooves. Chien made to stand, but Oshi tugged nervously at his jerkin, and reluctantly Chien sat. He could see Sukai cutting and cleaving a path through the Nadir ranks and could just make out the features of the traitor Kubai at the rear. Sukai almost reached him, but a spear was thrust through his throat; he killed the wielder, plunged his second blade into the body of a Nadir warrior, and fell from the saddle. The battle was brief, but Chien waited until he could count the Nadir fallen. Almost ninety of the enemy had been killed or wounded.
Kubai rode through the Nadir ranks and dismounted alongside Sukai’s body, which he kicked three times. Then he hacked the head from the neck and raised it by the hair, swinging it around and finally hurling it away to roll in the dust.
Chien backed away to the horses, Oshi following.
“They fought well, lord,” said Oshi.
Chien nodded and vaulted to the saddle. “The khan will pay dearly for Sukai’s death. I swear this on the souls of my ancestors.”
Turning his horse to the southeast, Chien led the way toward the distant mountains. His sword on his back, his hunting bow in his hand, he flicked the reins and let the stallion run. The wind was cold on his shaved head, but his blood was hot with the memory of the battle.
The distant mountains rose jagged against the sky, awesome in their size, clouds swirling about their peaks.
“Will we cross them, lord?” asked Oshi fearfully.
“There is a narrow pass that does not offer perils to the traveler. We will go there.”
“Do they have a name, these mountains? Do spirits wander there?”
“They are the Mountains of the Moon … and spirits wander everywhere, Oshi. Do not concern yourself.”
“I am concerned only for you, lord. Where will I find food to prepare for you? Where will you bathe? How can I clean your clothes?”
Chien smiled and hauled back on the reins, allowing the stallion to walk. He turned to Oshi. “I did not bring you with me so that you could serve me. I brought you because you are an old man and a friend, Oshi. You served my father with diligence and loyalty, and me with loyalty and affection. I still remember sitting on your knee and listening to fanciful tales of dragons and heroes. I remember you letting me drink seichi and eat rice cakes by your fireside. It was you, Oshi, who cured me of my childhood fears: my nightmares. Do not call me ‘lord’ any longer. Call me Chien, as you used to when I was a child.”
“You have decided to die, then, lord?” whispered Oshi, blinking back tears.
“I do not think that even I can hope to take on the Nadir nation and survive, Oshi. I am pledged to kill Jungir Khan. If necessary I will walk into his palace and do it before all of his generals. Do you believe I can walk away from such a deed?”
“You could kill him with an arrow,” ventured Oshi.
“Indeed. But then he would not know for what crime he was slain. No, it will be with a sword. But first we must ascertain the fate of Mai-syn. Once that is accomplished, we will find a ship for you to return home.”
“I could not leave you, lord … Chien. What would I do? What would you do without me? We will kill the khan together.”
“Someone must take the news back to the emperor. I will also give you letters to my wives. You will execute my will.”
“You have it all planned, then?” asked Oshi softly.
“As much as can be considered at this time. It is all subject to change. Now let us ride and seek a good camping site.”
They made camp in an old, dry riverbed, lighting a fire against the vertical bank and eating a light meal of dried fruit. Chien was in no mood for conversation. Unrolling the blanket from behind his saddle, he wrapped it around his shoulders and settled down.
“No, lord, here,” said Oshi. “I have pushed aside the pebbles, and there is soft sand beneath. I have bunched some for a pillow. You will be more comfortable.”
Chien moved to the place Oshi had prepared; it was indeed softer and away from the cold wind. He settled down to sleep. He dreamed of home in the ivory-white palace with its terraced gardens and landscaped streams and waterfalls. It was a place of tranquillity. But he awoke sharply when he heard the sound of boots on the pebbles of the riverbed. Rolling from his blanket, he rose. The moon was high, full and bright. Kubai stood staring at him with a wide smile on his face; beside him were four Nadir warriors. Oshi awoke and huddled against the rocks.
“Did you think I could not count?” asked Kubai. “I searched for you among the bodies. You know why?”
“Pray tell me,” said Chien, folding his hands across his chest.
“Because of him,” he replied, pointing at Oshi. “His body was nowhere. So I examined the corpse we took to be yours. There was a gash on the face, but not enough to fool me.”
“Your intelligence staggers me,” said Chien. “You are quite correct. I took you for an evil-smelling, stupid, treacherous barbarian. I was wrong; you are not stupid.”
Kubai laughed. “You cannot make me angry, yellow man. You know why? Because tonight I will hear you scream. I will take your skin an inch at a time.” Kubai drew his sword and advanced, but Chien stood waiting, arms still folded. “Are you not even going to fight, yellow man?”
Chien’s arm flicked out, and Kubai stopped in his tracks, the ebony handle of the throwing knife jutting out from his throat. Chien leapt, and his foot cracked against Kubai’s head, cartwheeling him from his feet. The other Nadir rushed in. Ducking under a sweeping blade, Chien stabbed his hand, fingers extended, to the man’s midriff. The warrior doubled over, all breath gone from his lungs. Sidestepping a thrust, Chien hammered the edge of his palm into a second warrior’s throat. Hurling himself forward, he rolled to his shoulder on the pebbles and came to his feet in one smooth motion. The remaining two Nadir came at him more carefully. Chien’s hand snaked out, and one of them crumpled to the ground with a dagger through his eye. The last warrior backed away, but Oshi reared up behind him, plunging a thin dagger through his heart.
“You must not take risks,” Chien told him. “You are too old.”
“I am sorry, lord.”
Kubai had pulled the blade from his throat and was kneeling on the streambed, blood gushing to his goatskin jerkin. Chien knelt before him and gathered his blade.
“In case it is of any interest,” he said, “your lungs are filling with blood. It is said that a man can experience the most delightful visions at such a time. You, on the other hand, deserve no such joy.”
Chien slammed the blade into Kubai’s heart and pushed the body onto its back.
“I was having the most wonderful dream,” said Chien. “I was in the gardens at home, and—you recall the plant we tried to train by the dry stone wall at the south gate?” Oshi nodded. “Well, it was in bloom, and the flowers were quite the most exquisite shades of purple. And there was a fragrance I recall that put my roses to shame. I wonder if that purple plant ever took root.”
“I would imagine so, lord. You have a fine touch with flowers.”
“It pleases me to think so.”
A groan came from the Nadir Chien had winded, and the Kiatze warrior stood and hammered a kick to the man’s temple. His neck cracked, and Oshi winced.
“What was I saying? Oh, yes, flowers. This land could do with more flowers. Perhaps then the Nadir would become interested more in poetry than in war. Saddle the horses, Oshi. This ugly place is making me melancholy.”
For three weeks the questers traveled only by night, hiding by day in the woods and jagged hollows that stretched across the land. The journey in darkness was taken with great care as the land descended in giant steps from rocky plateau to rocky plateau. The trails were scree-covered and treacherous, and the questers were often forced to dismount and lead their horses.
Four times Okas warned them of hunters, and twice the hidden questers saw bands of Nadre
n riders searching for sign. But Finn had obscured their trail, and the hunters passed on.
Water was scarce on the steppes, and they were compelled to take wide detours to seek rock pools in the plateaus. Most of them were guarded, and many times the questers were forced to move on, their throats dry. What little water they carried was used to rinse the dust from the nostrils and mouths of their mounts.
“Our enemies have all the advantages,” said Finn, as they made their third dry camp in as many days. “They know we cannot travel without water, and they have stopped trying to track us. Now they guard all the wells and pools.”
“Not all,” said Okas. “There is rock tank an hour’s ride from here. The water is shallow but good to drink.”
“Why is it not guarded?” Chareos asked.
“It is, but not by men.”
“If there are more demons,” croaked Beltzer, “I’d just as soon suck grass for another day.”
“Not demons,” said Okas. “Lions. But do not fear; I have a way with beasts.”
With a half moon to guide them, the questers set off across the plateau, their horses’ hooves muffled by cloth shoes. The trail wound down at first, then cut to the right, rising steeply. The horses grew increasingly nervous as the smell of lion droppings filled the air. Okas led the way on foot, and the trail opened to a wide bowl-shaped arena. They saw eight lions by the pool: one male, three females, and four cubs. The females rose first, baring their fangs. Okas began to chant softly; he walked slowly toward the beasts and sat some ten paces from them. The sound of his rhythmic song echoed in the rocks, and a lioness padded toward him, circling him, her tail thrashing. She pushed her face against Okas’ shoulder and head, then settled down beside him. The other lions ignored the old man.
Okas’ voice sounded inside Chareos’ mind: “Lead the horses to the pool. Let them drink their fill. You do likewise and fill the water sacks. Then withdraw. Let no one speak.” Chareos turned to the others and lifted his fingers to his lips. Finn nodded, and silently they made for the water.
The song of Okas continued as the questers led the frightened horses to the pool. The need for water overcame their fear, and they dipped their heads and drank. Chareos dropped to his belly and filled his mouth with the cool liquid. For some moments he held the water there, then he allowed it to trickle into his dry throat. Finally he drank until he felt he could contain no more. Only then did he fill the water sacks. The others followed suit.