"As you wish, Yaroslav," replied Anton. He gave Vasil a slap on the arm and a grin, and then mounted and rode away with Petya and his troop to give the orders.
"You seem to inspire loyalty, Veselov," said Sakhalin, whether with sarcasm or admiration it was impossible to tell. He was distracted by a scout riding in. "What news?"
"We've rounded up every khaja we could find in the valley and on the nearby slopes. There's few enough women and children-they've either fled or been slaughtered by their own army, I don't know which. What shall we do with the men?"
"Sort out those who have some skill, artisans and blacksmiths. Kill the rest." Sakhalin turned back to Vasil. "You'd best be on your way at dawn, Veselov. Bakhtiian is assembling the army, and he won't want any confusion about his commanders, not on this campaign. We'll be driving on through the pass in the morning. The heart of the kingdom lies beyond these mountains." Then he turned to the man at his right, dismissing Vasil, and began to discuss supplies and fodder for the horses on the mountain crossing.
The finest blush crept onto Vasil's cheeks, but he turned and walked with a careless stride back to his horse. "We'll set up camp here," he said to Yevgeni, "and go on in the morning."
They found a quiet spot, distant from the ruined city and the slaughter going on there. The men built a few fires, including one set aside from the rest for Vasil. He sat before the fire, brooding. Bringing out his komis cup, he poured the pungent drink out of a flask and into the cup, and drank. By the other fires, his men laughed and sang songs and gambled, relaxed now as they had not been for a long time. Still, there was no assurance that Bakhtiian would not punish them: they were arenabekh, after all, men who had left the tribes for their own reasons, or been cast out. Some had no families to return to, and others, no hope that their tribes would want them back. But with the jaran tribes united, they had no future anywhere else. Vasil licked a spot of the fermented milk off of his lips and smiled. He knew Bakhtiian's weak spots, and he knew how to exploit them. It came down to one thing in the end. It always had. What he wanted, he intended to have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Diana, you don't have to go through with this."
Diana stared at her hands, refusing to look up. After nine days sequestered in the Company's camp, rehearsing every day and then staying behind when the others went out to explore the jaran encampment, she had grown used to her colleagues coming back to harangue her, to get her to change her mind, and in some cases to ridicule her for going native. But the more they tried to budge her, the more her resolve hardened.
Now it was early morning of the day she was to marry, and Yomi had appeared at her tent at dawn with Tess Soerensen in tow. And left the two women there together.
Diana stared at her pewter bracelet and heard Tess sigh. "Diana, are you even sure why you're doing this?"
Diana looked up. "You did it. You married Bakhtiian."
Tess chuckled. "Not on my second day in camp, I didn't. Although it's true enough the tribe welcomed me in as soon as I arrived, and adopted me only days after that. You must think of Anatoly as well. Have you considered what it would be like to stay here, after your Company goes back to Earth?"
Diana twined her fingers together and fastened her gaze on her knuckles.
"Or what it will be like for him if you leave?"
She pressed her lips together. She could feel the heat burning in her cheeks. "Isn't it better that we-even if I go, isn't it better that we have shared something together than nothing?"
"If by something you mean you want to have sex with him, I must tell you that you don't need to be married to him to do that.''
"But-" Diana felt all at sea, confused and hurt at once. "But why did he mark me, then? I thought all barbarians were prudes, that you had to be married or else it was-taboo or something. Bakhtiian killed a man, back at the port-"
"For rape."
"You approved of it? The execution, I mean."
"I wasn't there. You can't make assumptions about these people, Diana." She hesitated. Diana braced herself. She knew what was coming, and she was determined to resist it. But instead, Tess took her off guard. "I've asked my sister Sonia Orzhekov and Anatoly's grandmother Elizaveta Sakhalin to come to you this afternoon before the celebration. I hope you will listen closely to what they say.''
Which would be yet another attempt to talk her out of the marriage. "I've learned a little khush," said Diana defensively. "You think I'm a fool for doing this, don't you?"
Tess smiled ruefully. "That would be rather like the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think? It's easy to act on impulse, and much harder to think about what the consequences might be. But the consequences will show up sooner or later, and then you must prepare yourself to deal with them."
"I love him," said Diana stubbornly, as much to convince herself as to convince Soerensen. Then she recalled the intense blue of his eyes, the piercing sweetness of his gaze, and she flushed.
"Love is a compelling reason," said Tess quietly, "if indeed what you're feeling is love. But you don't even know him. You've never exchanged one word with him that wasn't translated through someone else."
"That doesn't mean I can't love him!" But, Goddess, what if Tess was trying to tell her that it was Anatoly who wanted free?
Tess sighed and rose. "Just remember, Diana, that love is never the only reason. I'll go now. Yomi said to tell you that rehearsal will start early this morning."
Diana flung her head up and jumped to her feet. "Oh, Goddess! If I'm late, Owen will have my head on a platter."
"Yes. I heard that the company will be doing its first performance tonight. What have they chosen to perform?"
Diana shook her head as she pulled a tunic on over her shirt. "We've been rehearsing some of Ginny's reductions of Shakespeare. Keeping the content without the verbiage and-well, reducing the story to its most basic components and mixing in some of the dell'Arte conventions of telling a story without words, or at least that the words in and of themselves don't have to be understood to understand the story. Owen has us working with gesture primarily, and tone and intonation. It will be fascinating to see how well it carries over.''
"I'm sure it will be," Tess replied tonelessly. The two women parted, and Diana ran over to the rehearsal area. Luckily she was not the last one to arrive. Hyacinth jogged up at her heels. His white-blond hair was in disarray and he held his belt in his right hand, fastening it as he halted beside her.
"Why are you late?" Diana demanded as they walked together through the screens and arrived to find the others assembled around the raised platform on which they usually rehearsed.
Hyacinth winked at her. He had delicate features and perfect lips, and eyelashes to die for.
Diana snorted. "Male or female?"
He grinned. "Both. Together."
Diana laughed, choked it off, and flushed suddenly. "I hope you know what you're doing," she said in a whisper, aware that half the company was watching them.
"Oh, Mother's Tits, Diana," said Hyacinth with disgust. "I may be gorgeous, but I'm not stupid. I've had days to watch how things go in the jaran camp. They invited me, not the other way around. I'm discreet, as were they." Then he leaned down and nibbled at her right earlobe. "And as you know," he said softly, "I'm very good."
Diana shoved him away, fighting back a smile. "I hope you're keeping track. At the rate you go, you'll sleep your way through half the camp before we leave."
"Only half? I'm wounded by your lack of faith. 'Look, here come Owen and Ginny. Phillippe and I have a bet running-I say we'll do Lear, and he says we'll do Tempest. What do you think?"