He said something more to her and then, to her horror, struggled up to his feet.
"Anatoly! No, you shouldn't get up." She jumped to her feet.
He wasn't listening to her. He dipped his head, to get the necklace back on.
She stopped him. "No." She took it from him and settled the gold beads around her own neck. His face lit in an astonished smile, and he recalled himself and looked away.
He waved toward the tents, pillowed his head on his hand, mimicking sleep. Motioned that way, but did not touch her. He began to walk, so she had to follow. He limped badly, but he refused help. He led her to Dr. Hierakis's tent, and here he paused beyond the awning, in the half-gloom heralding dawn. Under the awning, Charles Soerensen sat with Dr. Hierakis and David and Marco, conferring by lantern light. Marco glanced up. His gaze froze on Diana for an instant, moving to her chest, where the necklace dangled, gleaming. Darted to Anatoly Sakhalin, and then he looked away, lips tight, his expression shuttered.
Anatoly spoke to her in a low voice and motioned toward the tent and made the pillowing gesture again. Diana nodded and, as if that satisfied him, he caught her gaze for a piercing instant, and then turned and limped away.
Diana took in a deep breath and walked under the awning. "Doctor, is there somewhere I can sleep?" she asked.
Dr. Hierakis did not even look up. "Yes, dear. In my tent. Maggie and Jo are already in there. Just be careful of the equipment."
Diana did not look at Marco, kept her gaze away from him as she slipped past the little group and pushed the tent flap aside to go in.
"Diana? Here's a stretch of ground, and a thermal blanket."
"Maggie. Goddess, I'm tired. What are you doing?"
"Just trying out this new program." Maggie lay on her side. A thin slate gleamed on the tent floor, its screen lit with letters and numbers. "It's a fairly primitive translation program from an abstract of the khush language sent to us by His Nib's sister."
"Oh." Diana lay down. She stared at the dark canvas ceiling above. Perhaps she was simply too tired to sleep. "Maggie. What does elinu mean?"
"Hmm." The sound of light tapping. " 'Angel.' 'Spirit.' Wait, there's a longer description here. 'The Sun's daughters are elinu and they come down from the heavens to men and women who have died in battle or in childbirth-' That's egalitarian of them, I should say. '-to raise them up to Heaven.' There's a cross reference to-" Maggie went on.
Diana shut her eyes. "Arkady Suvorin," she whispered, so that she would not forget his name. But somehow, she doubted she ever could. Yet it was not his face she saw, drifting down into sleep, nor even Marco's, but Anatoly Sakhalin's, staring at her while he lay on the surgery table, holding on to her as if she alone secured him to the earth.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Orzhekov liked to maintain a leisurely pace, preferring to save her riders' strength for battle. Not for her the constant, restless driving pace endured by those riders favored enough-or cursed enough, some men muttered-to ride with Bakhtiian's chosen thousand, or with those commanders eager to emulate Bakhtiian. It was one reason that men sought a place in her jahar. For another, she knew how to think fast and well when trouble rode in, and her jahar had invariably taken low casualties in the past three years. She was famous for being reckless on her own behalf and conservative when it came to the riders under her command. That she was a woman, and Bakhtiian's niece, counted for less than the chance to see the plains and one's wife and children again.
So it caused no comment that Orzhekov's looping sweep of towns along the lands tributary to Bakhtiian took longer than it might have, given a hastier commander. Indeed, it took so long that word reached them when they were still a day's ride from the main camp that Bahktiian had already returned from his mysterious trip to the coast with a host of barbarians in tow.
A number of the men dug out a fire pit near the commander's small traveling tent and loitered there, hoping to glean additional information by proximity. Hobbled horses grazed on the outskirts of the little camp. Orzhekov stood outside her tent, talking with Tess Soerensen and Soerensen's brother, Aleksi, who had joined up with them in late afternoon with the news.
"That one, Aleksi, he rides with Bakhtiian's jahar, doesn't he? But I heard he hasn't even a family name. How'd he get so honored?"
"He's Soerensen's brother, you fool. She adopted him three years past."
"But he's an orphan, Leonid. I heard his whole tribe was killed, that it was a plague sent by the gods. That only he and a sister lived, and she died soon after. You'd think even a khaja woman would know better than to take in someone as cursed as all that-"
"Hush, you idiot. Have you ever seen him fight? He'd take your ears and your balls off before you even drew your saber.''
In the low round of laughter that followed this sally, Feodor Grekov strolled up to the fire and some of the men moved aside to make room for him.
"Grekov. Haven't you any news for us?"
"Why should I have any more news than you, Yermolov?"
Several of the riders chuckled. Feodor flushed. "Well," said Leonid with a grin, "you've shared her tent more than one night this trip. She must say something."
Conscious of Orzhekov's proximity, a few men offered suggestions, in low voices, of what their commander might say.
From her tent, Nadine had turned to watch Feodor Grekov settle down by the fire. She raised her voice and called over to her riders. "If you men haven't anything better to do but sit and gossip around the fire, you can give the horses some extra grain. We've a hard ride in the morning, and an early start."
The men grumbled, but they all rose.
"Just like a woman," said Leonid good-naturedly. "If they think you're giving their lover a hard time, then they work you to death." But he gave Feodor a friendly slap on the shoulder as he left.
Nadine watched the riders disperse and then turned back to Tess. "If you'll excuse me, I'd better go prepare our ambassador: We'll reach camp by mid-afternoon, and if he doesn't want to destroy his embassy completely, he has a couple of hard truths to learn about the jaran."
"Dina, if you don't mind me saying so-"
"I probably will, but you'll say it nevertheless, so go on."
Tess rubbed her hands together and blew on them, then slid her gloves out from under her belt and pulled them on. "You're just putting his back up."
"I invite you to try. You've a worse temper than I do."
"Do I, indeed?" Tess glanced at Aleksi, who winked at her. She sighed. "Only where Ilya is concerned, and it hasn't done me a damn bit of good yet. I'll speak with the ambassador.''
Nadine stared past Tess at the elaborate flagged awning that Jiroannes's servants had set up, as they did every evening, precise in their work. The tent entrance always faced southeast, toward the lands of the Great King. From this angle, they saw the back of Jiroannes's head where he sat in his carved and padded chair. One of the Vidiyan guardsman stood next to him, holding a lantern to cast light on the parchment Jiroannes read. "I wish you luck. May I watch?"
"Aleksi and I will go. You may listen, but stay in the shadows. He doesn't like you, Dina, so I'd rather he not see you."
Nadine gave a sarcastic snort. "As you command, Soerensen." But she did not wait to watch them go, rather walked out toward the horses.
"She's moody," said Aleksi.
"Dina is always moody. How did Charles seem? You got the letter to him?"
"Yes. He doesn't look like you."
"No, that's true enough." She pulled off her gloves and tucked them back into her belt.
"You're nervous, Tess."
She rubbed her hands together and started to jerk the gloves back out, then stopped herself, looking rueful. "Damn it. Yes, I am."