The wild saurs came with us from the spirit country at the birth of the world, Apanador went on. In time youll learn all about them, Zayn. The gods gave horses to women, and the saurs to us. Horses are fit for women, because they come when theyre called. But a man has to hunt his gifts, with the bow we received from the Father of Arrows, back in the dawn of time.
Ive heard a little about him. Hes not a god, is he?
No. He was the first comnee man, and his wife was the first comnee woman Lisadin, Mother of Horses. So you see, theres a lot for you to learn.
Im just grateful youll teach me.
Youre the first Kazrak Ive ever met who admitted he had things to learn.
Well, the only people youve come across are the cavalry. Ill admit it: were an arrogant lot. Or I was, until I learned what it means to own nothing but dishonour and the charity of strangers.
Apanador nodded in silent sympathy.
Ah, you cant judge a herd by the geldings, Dallador remarked. You cant all be like that. Ive heard about Kazraki poets, and wise men who write in books, and beautiful women.
But they dont come to the border. Come to think of it, I dont suppose any other Kazrak has ever ridden with a comnee before. Zayn was only speaking idly, but the answer he got sent his mind racing.
There was one once, Apanador said. I cant remember his name, because he rode with another comnee in the south grazing, and he only stayed with them one summer. He glanced Dalladors way. You were still a boy then.
If I heard the story, I dont remember it.
Kind of interesting, though, Zayn remarked. What kind of man was he? Another cashiered officer?
No. Apanador thought for a moment. Stranger than that. A hunting party found a half-dead Kazrak, just lying there bleeding in the grass. His wounds looked like theyd been made with a ChaMeech spear, but when they took him back to the tents, he told them that he was an enemy of your great chief, and the chiefs assassins had tried to kill him. He kept saying that he wanted to die because he had nothing to live for, but they bound his wounds and told him hed change his mind later. So then, some of the young men found his horse. It must have fled when its rider fell, you see, and it was wandering around half-starved thanks to those metal bits you people use. Once he had the horse back, this Kazrak suddenly decided he wanted to live after all, because there was a piece of jewellery in his saddlebags that meant the world to him. If he ever said what it was, I never heard.
Thats a damned strange story. Was he a travelling merchant, then?
Oh no, one of your cavalry officers, which makes it even stranger. Apanador paused for a rueful sort of smile. He was still afraid, though, that the great chiefs men would find him and finish their botched job, so when the comnee went east to trade, he found a patron in the Cantons and stayed behind.
Well, lets hope the poor bastards happy. Hes a long way from his enemies now.
Unless of course one of them was, all unwittingly, coming after him. His superiors would want to know about this Kazrak, Zayn figured: someone whod angered the Great Khan, someone who should have been killed, but a clumsy paid murderer had let him get away and then there was that mysterious piece of jewellery.
Apanador? Zayn said. Do you remember when that happened?
When Dallador was still a boy.
I know, but what year?
Apanador blinked at him.
Sorry, Zayn said. How big a boy?
Let me think. Apanador did just that for a long moment. It would have been right before he gained his rightful name.
Dallador laughed. Ask the Spirit Rider, he said. Shes the only person I know, anyway, who can reckon years the way you Kazraks do.
As soon as Ammadin returned to camp, Zayn jogged out to meet her, catching up to her when she was turning her horse into the herd. She listened patiently while he explained.
I heard that story at the time, Ammadin said. When was it in years, you want to know?
Well, if its not too much trouble. Im curious about this fellow.
I cant blame you for that. Carry my saddle back to camp for me.
He picked it up, but she took the saddlebags herself. As they strolled back to the tents, she suddenly spoke.
Ten of your years ago, thats when.
Ah! Thank you. It would have nagged at me, not knowing.
Really? She stopped walking and turned to consider him.
Well, yes. I like to get things straight, thats all. In my mind, I mean.
She smiled, shrugged, and resumed walking. As he trailed after, Zayn was considering the date. Ten years ago Gemet Great Khan was purging his bloodlines to remove any disputes about his right to rule. That piece of jewellery might well have been the zalet khanej, the medallion that proved a man had been sanctified as a khan and thus as a rival for the Crescent Throne. Maybe. He knew nothing for certain, but that simple date shone like one of Ammadins crystals: hold it up, and it sent light sparkling in all directions.
When Warkannan and his men had turned east, they had left all of their plausible reasons for being on the road behind. They also traded the public roads for narrow dirt paths, and the constant rise of the land slowed them down as well. As long as they travelled through Kazrajistan proper, they rode at night and by day either camped well off the road or bribed some farmer to let them sleep in his barn. They avoided every town that was more than a village and kept clear of the military posts and courier stations that stood along the Darzet River.
After some days of this slow riding, they reached Andjaro, a province that had gone from being ChaMeech territory to an independent nation until, a mere hundred years ago, the khanate had decided that an independent nation on its border was a threat. The low hills angled from the north-east towards the south-west, so soft and regular that they reminded Warkannan of the folds a carpet forms when pushed and rumpled by a careless foot. Among these rolling purple downs, Warkannan had allies, and the allies, large landowners all, had private armies. Each night Warkannan and his party stayed in compounds surrounded by thousands of acres of purple grass, dotted with flocks of sheep. At each, Warkannan received coin for the journey, supplies of food and fuel, pack horses when he mentioned needing them, and the assurance that Jezro would have a place to hide when he came home.
Early on their third day in Andjaro, they crested a down and saw, stretching below them, a valley filled with green, billowing in the wind like clouds. Arkazo reined in his horse and stared, his mouth half-open.
What is that? he stammered. Water?
No, Warkannan said, grinning. Trees.
Ive never seen so many in one place. All that green! And they grow so close together.
How observant of you, Soutan drawled. The word for a lot of them in one place is forest. That university of yours seems to have taught you little of value.
We studied the works of the Three Prophets, Arkazo said. Nothings of greater value. Not that an infidel like you would understand why.
They had reached the tax forests, stand after stand of true-oak, planted in regular rows and watched over by foresters. As part of their most solemn duty to the Great Khan, the border landowners put as many acres into the slow-growing forests as they could afford more, in some cases. Although in the volcanic mountains every metal imaginable lay close to the surface in rich veins, fuel for the smelting of it was another thing entirely. So far at least, no one had ever found any of the fabled blackstone or blackwater that were supposed to burn twice as hot as true-oak charcoal. As a result, while any peasant could pan the easily-melted gold from a stream and work it, it took a lot of that gold to buy a little steel.
Its a pity about our prospecting venture, Soutan remarked. If wed actually found blackstone we could have been as rich as a khan ourselves.
If, Warkannan said, grinning. Those maps of yours show likely spots, not sure things.
Ah, but theyre copies of ancient maps spirit maps, the Tribes would call them.
Well, Nehzaym will take good care of them. As far as Im concerned, well have better odds backing Jezro Khan than looking for blackstone.
Soutan turned in the saddle and considered him for a moment.
Im inclined to agree with you, Soutan said at last. Ancient writings exist that present strangely disturbing implications concerning the black marvels.
And whats that supposed to mean?
Your manners are painfully bad, Captain. I see no reason to speak further and be mocked.
Soutan kicked his horse to walk, passed Warkannan, and headed downhill. For a moment Warkannan considered returning the insult, then shrugged the matter away. Most likely the sorcerer thought talking in riddles impressed people. Damned if hed encourage him in it.
Entering the forest felt like plunging into the ocean, all cool air and deep green light. All along the narrow road grew ancient trees, twining their branches overhead. In a few minutes Soutan paused his horse in the dappled shade and let them catch up. They set off again, riding three abreast with the sorcerer in the middle.
A question for you, Captain, Soutan said. Arkazo says that nothings more important than the books of the Prophets. Do you agree?
Well, it seems extreme, I know, but actually I do.
I suppose its a question of following the laws of God. But other prophets have written books of those laws for other peoples, after all.
True. But our books, our way thats what makes us who we are. We follow the Three Prophets, and that sets us apart from people who follow other religious leaders. If I stopped following the laws, I wouldnt know who I was any more.
Soutan frankly stared. You must love your god a great deal, he said at last.
I dont know if Id call it love, not like love for your family or for a woman. Its more like well, what? Warkannan thought for a moment. More like a sense of mutual obligation. I have a duty to serve God but in return, that duty gives me a place in His universe.
God as the supreme commander of a celestial cavalry? Soutan drawled. It would make sense to you, I suppose.
I dont like your tone of voice.
Sorry. Soutan shrugged. Just a figure of speech.
Two nights later they arrived at the last Kazraki villa. Kareem Alvados compound stretched out like a small town, with his mansion and gardens, the cottages of the craftsmen, the barracks for his private troops, and the dormitories for the workmen who tended the flocks and the tax forests. Since Warkannan had served on the border with Kareem, and Kareems son Tareev and Arkazo had attended university together, they stayed for two full days.
On their last evening, the men sat finishing their dinner around the true-oak table in the dining-hall, a long room with walls of purplish-red horsetail reeds, twined together with pale yellow vines. At regular intervals ChaMeech skulls, bleached white and bulbous, hung as trophies. The older men had been reminiscing about Jezro Khan when Tareev interrupted. Like many Andjaro families, Kareems had some comnee blood that gave father and son both pale grey eyes and dark, straight hair, and they turned to each other with the same tilt of the head, the same crook of a hand.
A favour to beg you, sir, Tareev said. The captains going to have a hard time guarding our khan with just a couple of men. Let me go with them.
Kareems heavy-set face turned unnaturally calm.
Why should Arkazo get all the glory? Tareev went on. Its unfair. Let me go and invite the khan here personally.
Now listen, boy, Warkannan broke in. This isnt going to be some pleasant little ride.
I know that, Captain, Tareev said, still grinning. Thats why you need me along.
Its up to your father. Therell be plenty for you to do once the war starts.
Kareem had a sip of wine, his calloused fingers tight on the goblet.
What about that girl you promised to marry? Kareem said at last.
What would her father want with a coward?
Kareem smiled, a weary twitch of his mouth. Very well, then. But youre riding under Warkannans orders. What he says, you do. Understand me?
Yes sir, I do.
Warkannan glanced around the table. Arkazo was leaning onto the table on his elbows, watching, unusually solemn, while Soutan lounged back in his chair.
This might be a good time to make something clear to everybody, Warkannan said. Its dangerous out on the grass. I spent fifteen years of my life there, and I know. When we ride out, Im the officer in charge of this little venture. Understood?
Of course, sir, Arkazo said.
Soutan sighed, long and dramatically. I was waiting for this, he remarked to the air, then looked Warkannans way. Someone needs to be in charge of the boys oh, excuse me, our young men, I mean but no one orders me around, Captain. Understood? If not, you can try to find Jezro on your own.
Warkannan took a long breath and let his anger ebb.
Lets hope we dont get ourselves into the kind of trouble where orders are necessary, Warkannan said at last. But if there is trouble, sorcerer, then Ill have to put the safety of the other men first, Jezro or not.
Soutan got up, bowed to Kareem, and strode out of the room. He slammed the door behind him so hard that the wall bounced. Kareem let out his breath in a long whistle.
I dont envy you this ride, Kareem said.
Thanks. Warkannan managed a smile. The Cantons arent that large. If worse comes to worst, we should be able to track the khan down sooner or later.
Well, inshallah. Kareem spread his hands wide. All right, Tareev and Arkazo. Youd better have weapons with you. Lets go to the armoury and see whats there.
Later that evening Kareem invited Warkannan to his study for a glass of arak. They settled themselves in comfortable chairs while servants lit oil lamps and bowed themselves out of the room. Once they were alone, Warkannan asked Kareem if he regretted putting his son in danger. Kareem shook his head no.
If hed wanted to stay home safe, Id have had some harsh words for my wife. Id have known he wasnt mine.
Ill do my best to keep him out of trouble.
Lets pray you can. If the Chosen have taken a hand in this Kareem shrugged. Who knows?
Thats true, unfortunately. That reminds me, Ive got something I want to leave with you. Suppose the Chosen decide to eliminate me and Soutan I dont want them getting their ugly paws on this.
From his shirt pocket Warkannan took out a roll of rushi, protected by a leather cover stamped with a design of two crossed swords below a crescent: Jezro Khans crest. Kareem kissed it, then slid the rushi free with a snap of his wrist that unrolled the letter. The sheet had one long torn edge, as if the khan had ripped a blank page from a book in his haste.
Its Jezros handwriting, sure enough, Kareem said. Thanks be to God, merciful as well as mighty!