The Law of Becoming: 4 (The Novels of the Jaran) (41 page)

“Would you rob a Singer?”

“Of course not! Anyway, Cousin Ilya has already made a decree exempting khaja priests from taxes.” She urged her horse forward down the slope that led to the field on which Sakhalin had halted his men. Some had begun pitching tents. “I suppose it speaks well for the khaja, then, that they honor their priests enough to grant them both respect and wealth.”

“And immunity from thieves?”

Katya grinned at him suddenly, and he felt the spark of her laughter catch on him. She had been so quiet the last five days, riding in silence alongside the other two women, attending to herself and assisting Princess Rusudani, who had clearly never learned how to take care of herself. He smiled, and as if she knew what he was thinking, she gestured toward Rusudani and Jaelle, who rode some ways in front of them.

“I think all khaja noblewomen must be poorly educated. That’s what Mama says. She says Tess was the same way when she came to the jaran, not knowing how to care for a horse or to prepare food or weave or shoot, although I do admit that the princess can use a knife.”

“Khaja have slaves to do all their work for them.” Her words stung a little, though. He didn’t like to hear her criticize Rusudani. “Perhaps they think it isn’t fitting that noblewomen wait on themselves.”

Katya snorted. “No wonder they’re so weak. Do you suppose any soldier in this army would respect Bakhtiian if he could not care for his own horse, repair his tack, and know whether or not his saber was balanced and sharp? Jaelle is much more like a proper woman. She can take care of herself.”

Stefan had been silent until now. “Do you think jaran women respect her?”

“I know nothing of her parents or her tribe. She has never spoken of them to me. But you must know, Stefan, that she was a
whore—
” She used the Taor word, “—before she became an interpreter.”

He got a little red. “I know that Tess says that among the khaja a whore is a dishonored woman who lies with men for gold, but Tess also says that such women are merely surviving in the only way they can and it is not the
women
who ought to be condemned.”

“She has always done her share of the work,” said Katya, as if that settled the matter of Jaelle’s character.

Stefan looked pleased.

Here at the edge of the great field that fronted the monastery’s outer wall a second road intersected with the one they had traveled on. The second road led away to the southwest, back into the forest. Ten of Sakhalin’s riders vanished into the gloom of the trees. Vasha looked back to see the telltale white plume of Konstans’ helm at the rear of their party. Konstans pulled up his horse and gazed after the riders who had gone into the forest. After a moment, he came along after the main group.

It was difficult to pass through the mob of horses that crowded the field as the jahar arrived and settled down. Since every man had two and perhaps three mounts, and some of the fields beyond still wore a coat of unharvested grain, there wasn’t as much room to spread out as was proper. Flanked by Vasha and Stefan, Katerina pushed her way through and came out to a relatively clear space where Ilya, still mounted on Kriye, was having an uncomfortably polite disagreement with Andrei Sakhalin.

Ilya had taken off his helmet and held it tucked under one arm. “I will go in now with you. There is no reason I can’t interview the accused man tonight, allowing us to leave again in the morning.”

Sakhalin shook his head. “Of course that would be the swiftest way, Bakhtiian, but there are certain traditions which are best followed in Dushan. King Zgoros makes no request himself. He always sends ahead an envoy to make his will known. He does not go to others, they come to him. If you go in yourself, you will be considered no better than a servant. Let me act for you. I will bring the presbyter out to wait on you. Thus will he understand your power.”

“So be it.”

“It would be well,” added Sakhalin, “if I took Princess Rusudani with me. No woman wishes to remain with a jahar when she could spend the night in the tents of her own people.”

Katya’s head snapped up. “I grant her the protection and good name of the Orzhekov tribe. That is sufficient.”

Sakhalin dropped his gaze away from her at once. He hesitated, shrugged, and rode away with ten of his riders. They passed in through the stone archway that was the only opening in this stretch of wall. Mounted, Vasha could see over the wall, which came up to Misri’s withers. Like any khaja town, the buildings inside appeared crowded together, but they had an orderly look to them. All the paths were straight, and the church itself was impressively tall, with a high, peaked wooden roof.

“I beg your pardon, Cousin,” Katerina said in a low voice to Ilya.

Vasha looked at them in time to see a glance flash between them, she and Ilya, and his lips quirked. He seemed amused. “I would never presume to correct Mother Orzhekov’s representative. But perhaps it is true that Princess Rusudani, because of her own customs, would prefer to rest for the night inside the monastery walls.”

“I will bring her over,” said Katya.

“I’ll go get them,” said Stefan quickly, and dismounted, tossing his reins to Vasha. Katya did the same, following him.

Konstans Barshai appeared, white plume bobbing. He took his helm off and surveyed the field with disgust. “These khaja never have enough pastures. I have posted sentries and sent out a few scouts. I would prefer to send more out, but it would be an insult to Sakhalin, since he’s already sent many of his men to reconnoiter.”

“Find room for the horses, and forage,” said Ilya. “That is my first concern.”

Konstans nodded and rode away, clapping his helmet back on. Ilya dismounted finally, giving Kriye over to Vladimir.

“Kireyevsky, give Vladi your horses as well. Put out my carpet.”

Most of the riders had nothing with them except their horses, the armor they wore and weapons they carried, and a pouch and flask for food and water. Ilya had brought an extra horse to carry a carpet, pillows, and an awning, and Vasha set these out beside the handful of tents pitched by Sakhalin’s men.

As he threw down the first pillow, he heard Rusudani’s voice and then Jaelle’s translation.

“—and that is the dormitory and the refectory, those roofs beside the church. They enclose the inner
claustrum
, which only the monks may enter.”

“Have you been here before?” Katerina asked, with some amazement.

“I have not. Many years ago, in the time of Saint Benaris, the blessed founder of the holy Orders, the presbyters held a great council and prepared in court the plan to which all monasteries and convents have since been built. Those that could. Even I have heard of Urosh Monastery, which is famous for its adherence to this holy design.”

Ilya had already seated himself. Rusudani took her place on a pillow next to him with a kind of exalted grace. Jaelle knelt beside her, and Stefan hovered behind Jaelle. Katya halted beside Vasha and gave him a look, which he could not interpret.

“Katerina Orzhekov has asked if I wish to enter the protection of the monastery, but you must know that women are not welcome within the walls, except in times of extremity. There is a guest house outside the north wall. But—” She hesitated and glanced toward Katerina. Swallowed. “In Dushan, I would prefer the protection of jaran.”

“Why is that?” Ilya asked.

“Many years ago my father had reason to quarrel with King Zgoros. I would not necessarily be welcome here.”

“Yet you came with us willingly, even asked to.”

Her lashes shaded her eyes as she fixed her gaze on her clasped hands. “I wish only to save you from error, my lord.”

“Ha!” said Katya under her breath, and Vasha glanced at her, but her expression gave nothing away.

“When did your father have this quarrel? What was it over?”

“I was very young, my lord. It was before I entered the convent.”

“By whose hand were you sent to a convent at such a tender age?”

“By God’s Hand. He sent me a vision when I was a child. So my father gave me to the convent.”

The locus of Bakhtiian’s attention, still focused mostly outward, keeping track of the settling in of his jahar on the field around them, changed abruptly when Jaelle translated these words. “You are a Singer?”

“I am dedicated to God’s service.”

“To a woman or a man whom the gods have given a vision we give the name, a Singer.”

Rusudani looked up and met Ilya’s gaze. Something passed between them. That moment of intimacy flooded Vasha with wild jealousy. “You were granted a vision,” she said.

“I was.”

“Only God grants true visions.”

“And my vision has come true. Just as Mother Sun spreads her rays in all directions, so my power is spread everywhere, and so my armies march as with the rising sun.”

“All that comes about, comes about because of God’s will.”

Ilya smiled. He lifted up his right hand and held it out, open. “The gods gave us different fingers to the hand, and so did they also give different ways to jaran and khaja. Is this not so?”

She hesitated, looking angry.

Ilya went on. “Why did you leave the convent?”

A pause. She looked up at him again. “I did not leave. I was taken. My father promised me to the church, but some men do not respect the sanctity of God’s house.”

“That is certainly true.”

“The Lord of Sharvan sent his men to take me out of the convent. He wanted to marry me.”

“You did not wish to marry him?”

She caught in a sharp laugh. “Why should I wish to marry any man, when I could be a bride to Hristain himself, and dedicate myself to His service? Nor would my father ever have sanctioned such a match. The Lord of Sharvan is a bandit, nothing more.”

“Yet you are a valuable woman.”

Both she and Jaelle looked startled by this comment. Finally, Rusudani nodded. “It is true, my lord,” she said at last, “that you married the Prince of Jeds’ sister, who in her turn became prince when her brother died. But I have never heard that the jaran take more than one wife.”

Vasha thought he would choke. Was she actually suggesting that his father might want to marry her? Did she want him to? He eyed his father surreptitiously. He was a good-looking man; everyone said so. A woman might desire him for that alone. But he was far more than that. Rusudani had not spared the least glance for Vasha since this journey began. Gods, why should she? For a moment, Vasha hated his father for that.

Ilya coughed into his hand. “No, indeed,” he said mildly. “It would be more than a man could bear. It is bad enough having to please your sisters and aunts and cousins. You had been captured by the Lord of Sharvan, then, and were being taken to his holding?”

The abrupt change of subject threw Rusudani off. She looked down at her hands again as if recovering her composure. She had beautiful eyelashes, and the soft curve of her lips made Vasha’s palms damp. “That is true,” she said finally.

“Then who were you escaping from? Who were the men who attacked the holding? Why would you run from your father’s men?”

“They were not my father’s men. Otherwise I would have run to them instead of to…” She looked up at Vasha. Her gaze seared him. “Is it true he is your son?”

“You don’t know who attacked the holding, or if you were the object of their attack?”

“I cannot say, great lord.”

Ilya blinked. “You know whose men they were.”

This sort of tense silence had the interesting quality of magnifying nearby sounds, so that abruptly Vasha could hear horses and laughter and a man singing a lewd song. Afternoon had faded toward dusk, and the sun dipped down below the wall of forest, shading the road west. He felt Stefan’s body next to him, and on the other side, could sense Katya’s breath, in and out.

“I know, or at least I could guess,” she admitted at last. “I am not a fool. I was betrothed to him as an infant, but the betrothal was annulled when God marked me for the convent.”

“What is his name?”

A shout came from far away, and Vasha heard Konstans barking an order, but he could not make out the words.

Ilya waited.

Khaja were very strange, Vasha thought as he watched Rusudani struggle with herself and then, giving in, look up. They only looked you in the eye after you had beaten them. Except Tess, of course, but Tess was different.

“Prince Janos of Dushan,” she said in a low voice.

Hard on her words a cry rang through the gathered riders.

“Stanai! Stanai!”

The quiet scene centered on the carpet dissolved into confusion. A sudden maelstrom surrounded Vasha. Ilya jumped to his feet.

“Get that helmet on!” he snapped at Vasha as he fastened his own over his head.

Katya moved in a blur. She shoved Vasha and Stefan off the carpet and grabbed it by the edge. “Off!” she shouted to Jaelle. “Quickly! Get under it!”

Vasha gaped, but Jaelle moved swiftly enough, crouching on the grass and dragging the carpet up over herself and Rusudani for what little protection it afforded.

A sudden dark shadow covered the sun with the whirring of thousands of wings. Stefan yelped, staggered, and fell to his knees. He clapped a hand over one ear. Blood leaked through his fingers. Ilya had vanished. Men, mounted, pushed past, but already the screams of horses shredded the late afternoon stillness.

Katya wrenched Stefan’s hand down from his head. “Just flesh. It will only bleed. Get your helmet on, you idiot.” She slipped her bow from its quiver and fitted it with an arrow.

Another flight of arrows darkened the air.

And there was his father, on Kriye, with Konstans beside him.

“No,” Konstans was saying, “these aren’t bandits. We have been betrayed. Look there.”

Already the jahar had arrayed into ranks while Vasha and Stefan stood gaping. Already men had fallen under the awful rain of arrows. Another flight fell. Metal rang on Vasha’s helmet, and he started, coming out of his daze. He stared down to see two arrows sticking out of the quilting of his heavy coat, and an instant later he realized that something wet was running down his skin. He yanked out one arrow, but it had no blood on its tip. Twenty paces away, a horse reared, screaming, and threw its rider. Stefan moved, bolting for the horse.