He had spoken of the Emperor’s message only to the chieftains of the Five Clans, and each day he returned to the centre of the camp to await their answer. Always before the chieftains had spoken on the open plain, and any man or woman might witness what was said and speak to it if they had the courage. But in a tall white tent the chieftains gathered now, and their sworn bodyguards chased back any who drew close. For there were many others who now gathered in that place with Kai, kneeling in circles and waiting, and though they knew not how, they knew that their fate was being decided. Supplicants before an altar, awaiting a sign of the gods.
And the gods themselves were asked to speak, for again and again the seers and diviners would come before the great tent, casting stones or scoring lines and dots into the ground with a branch of sacred wood. Perhaps it was that even the gods could not see a path for the people of the plains, for every oracle was inconclusive. The gods remained silent.
Others came and went, summoned to the tent and sent away once more. Some were champions of war, others the far travellers who had ventured beyond the boundaries of their lands, others still the old women who had lived longer than any others. And when each one emerged, stony faced, the crowd begged them to tell what was spoken. But their lips were bound by the strongest of oaths, and they would not break their silence.
Kai went there day after day, waiting for the chieftains to make their choice. Yet when finally the decision was made, it came at night. The time amongst his people when only the secret, shameful things were done.
He was woken by a scraping at the felt of his tent – the sign a shy lover might give, but for Kai it had another meaning. When he was a child he had heard that same pawing sound, just like that, when his sister had some risk for them to run or a childish wager to win.
When he emerged from the tent, he could sense others in the darkness, close by, and he reached out to know them by touch. A gloved hand that batted his reaching arm away – Laimei. The warm rounded cheek of Tomyris. Bahadur’s shoulder, sharp and hard like a bone picked clean of meat. And Arite, a calloused hand that found his for a moment before she drew it away.
‘I come with word from the chieftains,’ Laimei said. ‘Bahadur, you are to go at first light. We shall…’ She paused, and even in the darkness Kai could see her mouth twisting. Then she said: ‘The chieftains will surrender to Rome. Cowards that they are.’
A shivering cold twisting up the spine – the feeling of the gods setting their plans in motion, and Kai saw Bahadur stand taller, lighter. Released from some great weight.
‘There are those that watch us,’ said Kai. ‘That watch him. That shall know it when he leaves.’
‘They are going to break up the clans tomorrow. Each people back to their territory. Who will notice a rider slipping away in such chaos? Bahadur shall go west, and bring our message back to the Romans.’
‘There will be more than one rider slipping away, I think.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘more than one. They thought to send him alone, but I made them think better of it. I shall keep him company on the path to the west.’ She hesitated. Then she said: ‘I told them that you would go, Kai. That you should go.’
‘Why would you ask such a thing of me?’
‘That is not for you to know,’ she said. Then, with a bite to the words: ‘Perhaps because you know better how to surrender than most.’ But when he offered her his arm, she took it – a warrior’s clasp of one sword arm to another, the other hand upon the heart.
‘I thank you,’ said Kai. And then he knelt down, beckoned the others to join him.
No words for a time. They spoke only in little touches, a choking sob, a shaking of the head, a brave smile half glimpsed in the moonlight.
‘I go west again, little one,’ Kai said to Tomyris. ‘Do you understand?’
She nodded, solemn as any warrior.
‘You must stay here,’ he said, ‘and watch the herd. But you can help me find my friends. The white-painted riders, you remember them? They came here with gifts. For Bahadur.’
‘I remember.’
‘Find as many as you can, and say as little as possible. Just enough to bring them here.’
‘What shall I tell them?’
‘To bring their war gear and best horses. To say their farewells.’ Kai hesitated. ‘And that it matters. That what we will do shall matter more than anything.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I will search too, for one in particular. Let us go, now.’
Others were trying to speak then – Bahadur, and Arite, talking over one another, clutching at his arm. But Kai cut them off. ‘We do not have long, and it will be a hard search in the darkness.’ He hesitated. ‘And you must say your farewells, too.’
Before they could say any more, he was away – hands outstretched to guide himself in the darkness, tracing his passage along the side of wagon and tent. He looked back only once, as he hurried through the labyrinth of the camp. He saw Laimei speaking with Arite, leaning close and whispering, and in the light of the stars, he thought he saw Arite’s face turn pale as milk. As though she were one of the chosen, marked with the white of killing. Then the two women faded away from him, like a memory or a dream.
No barriers or signal fires, totems or cairns to mark the divide. But Kai knew at once, when he crossed the invisible boundaries between one clan and another, and he trod carefully once he was amongst the people of the Wolves of the Steppe. There was little love lost between their people, and though there was peace that winter, it was a fragile one. Much was done in the night that was forbidden in the day, loving and killing.
As he moved through the shadows, he could hear them trading rumours around the fires – that their chieftain Zanticus had come back furious from the council tent, that there would soon be war between the clans. Kai even thought that he saw the chieftain himself, a towering figure that strode amongst the tents, speaking in clipped whispers to the bodyguards.
Kai had to get close to the fires to look on the faces, to search for one in particular, risk a whispered conversation with a child and lone woman he met between one wagon and another. Soon there were shadows behind him, breeding and gathering in number. Silent at first, but soon they found voice – calling insults, drinking in a murderer’s bravery from their wineskins, and the light of the stars upon a knife brandished towards him.
He was just deciding whether to stand and fight or run for his life when he heard a voice calling from the darkness. Even in the dim light, Kai knew Gaevani at once from the dark hair, broken by the ugly flap of scarred skin across the scalp, as he came forward and ordered the others away.
‘Some lover of yours?’ one of the shadows called out.
‘No,’ Gaevani answered. ‘I have better taste than that.’
The others slunk off, and Gaevani held a careful distance. As though they were messengers meeting before a battle, offering a parley that they knew would be refused.
‘So,’ said Gaevani. ‘Bahadur rides to the west.’
‘You know of this?’
‘It is the rumour that sounds the most truthful. Obvious enough, to any man with wits to think. And I have never seen Zanticus so angry as he is tonight.’ He sniffed. ‘A fool’s errand.’
‘You believe so?’