Voices womens voices woke him from the dream. Just outside Ammadin was talking with someone, discussing the horse fair. In a few minutes the other voice stopped, and the Spirit Rider lifted the tent flap and came in, carrying a roll of cloth in one hand. She knelt beside him with a thoughtful glance at his back.
Orador says youre healing, Ammadin said.
I am, Holy One, Zayn said. I can think again.
Thats always good. She flashed a brief smile. Dont push yourself too hard. She laid a blue-and-green striped shirt down by his head. This is for you. Dont put it on until you can stand the feel of it, though.
Thanks. I wont, dont worry.
Those cavalry trousers of yours are stained all down the back with blood. Other than that, are they still wearable?
Oh yes. Ill wash them when I can. Ive got another pair anyway. And Ive got a hat for riding.
Good. Ill let you get back to sleep now.
Zayn stayed awake, however, to rehearse his new identity. Hed invented all the details of his supposed affair with the officials wife, just in case someone demanded them. He spent a long time drilling himself on the story, along with his new name. Over and over he repeated, both silently and whispered, Zahir Benumar is dead. I am Zayn Hassan. By nightfall he believed it.
When Orador finally allowed him to walk around, Zayn discovered that eighty-three people rode with Ammadins comnee, ranging in age from two infants to white-haired Veradin, who at ninety could still ride a horse, provided her great-granddaughter helped her mount. With the single exception of Ammadin, all the women were closely related, but the adult men had all come from other comnees. Even so, the men tended to look much alike. To the eyes of most Kazraks, the people of the Tribes all looked alike, men and women both, with their light-coloured hair and pale eyes, fine noses and thin lips, but a trained observer like Zayn could see plenty of differences.
Zayn pretended to make mistakes anyway and endured some good-natured laughter at his expense. One mistake, however, was an honest one. He came out of Ammadins tent and saw a young man walking past Dallador, he thought, and hailed him as such. The fellow turned and laughed.
Im his cousin, he said. Names Grenidor.
My mistake! Zayn said. Im sorry.
As they shook hands, Zayn studied his face. He could have been Dalladors twin.
Your mothers were sisters? Zayn said.
No, were much more distantly related than that. Grenidor frowned, thinking. Our grandmothers had the same mother. I think. Youd better ask Dallo.
Oh, doesnt matter.
And yet, Zayn felt, it did matter, that two men so distantly related would look so much alike.
After two more days of doing very little, Zayns back healed enough for him to take over the job of leading Ammadins horses to water; she owned a stallion, fifteen brood mares, four saddle-broken geldings, and twelve colts and fillies. One of the geldings, a sorrel with a white off-fore, would be his riding horse, she told him, for as long as he was her servant. When, some few days later, the comnee packed up and left Blosk, Zayn could ride well enough to keep up with the communal herd and watch over her stock.
Like all comnee men, he was expected to do the cooking for those in his tent. Since Dallador had gone out of his way to befriend him, Zayn asked him to teach him.
I dont know a damn thing about cooking. Back home food is womens work.
You cant eat very well, then. What do women know about preparing game?
Well, we dont eat much game. Sheep and chickens thats about it for meat.
Dallador rolled his eyes in disgust. Not much of a cuisine. Well, come watch me when Im cooking. Youll catch on quick enough.
Thanks. I appreciate it. I dont even know whats edible out here. We had servants in the officers mess who took care of all that.
Dallador laughed. First lesson: dont eat anything until Ive told you its not poisonous.
Since the comnee was hurrying to reach the summer grazing grounds, they never made a full camp at night, but they always raised Ammadins tent, because it housed the god figures, they told him, and the chiefs splendid white and red tent, because he was the chief and no reason more. After a meal at one fire or another, Zayn would take his bedroll and go sleep in the summer grass. In the morning he would return, toss his bedroll into a wagon, and make a fire to cook breadmoss porridge. Ammadin would join him, eat in silence, and then, after a few words about the horses, she would leave, saddling one of the geldings and riding alone in advance of the comnee.
In their brief times together, Zayn studied her. Unlike the rest of the comnee women, she wore little jewellery, only a true-hawk feather hanging from a gold stud in one ear. Her long, blonde hair was bound up in heavy braids, like a crown over her soft, bronzed face, oddly pretty and sensual for such a solitary soul. Her eyes, however, showed nothing but the hardness of someone who keeps a distance from the world. Fittingly enough they were the pale grey of steel.
Zayn had no idea of what to think of her magic, but everyone in the comnee believed in it. Ammadin would at times make them charms out of coloured thread and the chitinous portions of various native insects, bugs as the first settlers had indiscriminately called the smaller life-forms that came their way. Most of the horses in the herd had bluebuh-claw charms in their halters to ward off lameness and colic; the children in the comnee all wore thongs full of reebuh charms around their necks to keep them healthy and free from evil spirits. Since the good health of the Tribes was legendary, and they had nothing between them and illness but the charms, Zayn could only conclude that somehow or other, the magic worked.
The comnee had been travelling nearly a week before he saw hard evidence that Ammadin did know things beyond the reach of ordinary people. Although the sun shone warm in a clear sky, she announced that it was going to rain.
When that happens, well make a real camp and set up all the tents. You can sleep in mine, but you sleep on your side and me on mine. Understand?
Never would I offend you, Holy One.
During the days ride, Zayn would occasionally look up at the clear sky and wonder what Ammadin would say when the sunset came dry. He never found out, because in the middle of the afternoon the wind picked up, rushing in from the south and making the tall grass bow and ripple like the waves of a purple sea. Ammadin galloped back to the comnee; she rode up and down the line of march to shout orders to make camp. When Zayn looked to the south, he saw clouds piling up white and ominously thick on the horizon. By the time the comnee found a decent campsite near a stream, the sky was filling with thunderheads, racing in before the wind.
Everyone rushed to set up the tents and bring the wagons round into a circle. They unloaded the wagons, piled everything helter-skelter into the tents, then ran to tether the horses. The rain began in a warning spatter of big drops. The women as well as the men kept their shirts dry by stripping them off and tossing them into a tent. Just as they finished tethering the stock, the rain began to fall in sheets, sweeping across the open plains like slaps from a hand. The women clustered around Ammadin to ask her if there was going to be lightning that might panic the herds.
I dont know yet, but Ill find out. Zayn, you can go get dry.
Zayn trotted back to her tent. He crawled in, stripped the worst of the water out of his hair, and let himself drip a bit before he put his dry shirt back on. Although a few drops came in the smokehole in the centre of the tent, the leather baffles kept the worst of it out. Zayn was pleased with the tents. About twelve feet across, they were solid, dry, and good to look at, too. It wasnt a bad way to live, he decided, owning only what you could carry. He set to work sorting out their bedrolls, the woven tent bags that hung from hooks on the walls, the floor cloths of thick horsehair felt. When he tried to lay the floor cloths out, the tall grass sprang up and made them billow. He was swearing and trying to tread it down when Dallador joined him.
I thought youd need some help. Theres a sickle in one of the tent bags. You cut the grass and pile it up under your blankets.
Although the sickle had a bronze blade, not a steel one, it cut grass well enough. Thread-like leaves, tipped with red spores, fringed each long violet stalk. Dallador showed him how to grab a handful of stalks at the ground and harvest them in a smooth stroke. By the time Ammadin returned, they had the tent decently arranged.
Will there be lightning? Dallador said.
None, Ammadin said. Ive already told the women.
Dallador bowed to her and left.
Ammadin laid two pairs of saddlebags down on her blankets, then knelt beside them. From one set she pulled out a red-and-white rug and the god figures. Zayn saluted them with hands together, then turned his back. It wasnt his place as a servant to watch her set them out.
Youve got some idea of how we live, I see, Ammadin said.
Well, I served on the border before. Before this last trip out, I mean.
Ah. All right, Im done now.
Zayn turned back. Ammadin sat down on her blankets and undid her braids to let the long tangle of golden hair spill over her shoulders and breasts. Zayn had to summon his will to keep from staring at her. She began to comb out her wet hair with a bone comb while he got an oil lamp and set it on the flat hearth stones under the smokehole. Matches he found in a silver box inside one of the tent bags. As the light brightened, he sat down opposite her and noticed a strange pattern of scars on her left shoulder.
How did you get those scars? Zayn said. They look like some kind of claw mark.
Thats exactly what they are. The slasher I killed to make my cloak? He got a good swing on me.
You killed it yourself?
Of course. It wouldnt have any power if someone else did it for me. Spirit riders have to get everything they use for magic by themselves.
Makes sense, I suppose. How did you kill it?
Arrows first, then a couple of spears to finish him off. He broke the first one.
Zayn looked her over with a curiosity that had nothing to do with lust. She was about as muscled as a woman could get, he supposed; her shoulders and arms were strongly and clearly defined, heavy with sinewy muscles.
Whats wrong? Ammadin said. You mean your women back home dont kill saurs?
Not that I ever heard of.
Huh! Your women couldnt even kill a yellabuh if it flew their way.
Since she smiled, he allowed himself a laugh. She turned to look at him, and as the lamplight caught them her eyes flashed blood-red and glowed. Another movement, and they returned to their normal grey, leaving him to wonder if hed imagined the change.
You have to do a lot of difficult things if youre going to ride the Spirit Road, Ammadin went on. I knew that from the moment I decided to ride it.
When do you make a decision like that?
When youre a child, but they give you plenty of chances later to back down. I left my mothers comnee when I was five to ride with the man who trained me.
During a lull in the rain, Orador came by to invite Zayn to join the men in Apanadors enormous tent. After the chiefs wife left to visit friends, the men of the comnee filed in and sat down round the fire burning under the smokehole. The married men sat in order of age nearest the chief; the unmarried men, Zayn among them, sat farthest away with their backs to the draughty door. Apanador opened a wooden box and took out a drinking bowl, gleaming with silver in the firelight. He filled it from a skin of keese, had a sip, then passed it to the man on his left. As it went round, each man took only a small ritual sip before passing the bowl on. When it came to Zayn, he saw that it was a human cranium, silvered on the inside. Zayn took a sip, then passed it to Palindor, who looked him over with cold eyes.
Once theyd emptied the ritual cup, Apanador filled ordinary ground-stone bowls and passed them round. The men drank silently and looked only at the fire unless they were reaching for a skin of keese. This was the right way to drink, Zayn decided, with neither courtly chatter nor the kind of bragging men do just to be bragging. Finally, after everyone had had three bowls, Apanador spoke.
Its time to make some decisions about this summer.
The unmarried men laid their bowls down and got up to leave. When Zayn followed them out, Palindor caught his arm from behind in the darkness. Out of sheer reflex, Zayn nearly killed him. He had his hunting knife out of his belt and in his hand before he even realized what he was doing, but just in time he caught himself, stepped back, and sheathed it. Palindor smiled at the gesture.
Listen, Kazrak. The Holy One was good enough to pick you off the street like a piece of garbage. Treat her with the respect she deserves, or Ill kill you.
I have every intention of treating her the way Id treat the Great Khans favourite wife.
Good. Ill make sure you do.
His tone of voice challenged, but Zayn had trained his emotions too highly to take offence. With a shrug, he walked off in the rain and left the comnee man scowling after him.
In the tent Zayn found Ammadin sitting close to the flickering lamp. Beside her, on a piece of blue cloth, lay four smooth spheres of transparent crystal, each a good size for cupping in a hand. The lamp light shone through one sphere and cast on the tent wall curving shadows of numbers and strange symbols. He focused his mind and captured a memory picture of them. When he returned to the khanate he would draw it for his superiors. Ammadin noticed him staring at the shadow.
There are tiny numbers engraved all around each crystal, like a sort of belt, she said. Thats what youre seeing.
Interesting, Zayn said. But should I be looking at them? Ill leave if Im breaking one of your Banes.
Its perfectly all right. Theyre just glass at the moment. They dont have any power unless you know the incantations that wake their spirits.
As he sat down on his bedroll, Zayn tried to look solemn instead of sceptical. In the dim light, the crystals glittered as if they were faceted, but their surfaces appeared perfectly smooth.
Can the spirits answer questions?
Oh yes, but only certain kinds.
Can they tell me why Palindor hates me?
What? Ammadin looked up with a laugh. I dont need spirit power to answer that. Palindor wants to marry me, and here you are, sleeping in my tent.
It was just the sort of thing that might get in the way of his mission.