"A greeting in passing," said Sergi.
Bakhtiian edged back toward the rock. He lunged forward suddenly to Tobay's right, cutting low. There was a quick exchange: low, low, and high; then low, and Bakhtiian came out to the open space with Tobay backed against the cliff.
"An exchange of kisses," said Sergi. "How passionate."
Tobay's face and demeanor changed utterly, as if, Tess thought with sudden fear, a light had been turned on inside him. He moved back until less than a meter separated him from the rough wall of rock. With his right hand he reached back to brush the rock with his fingers, and the angle of his saber changed ever so slightly. Bakhtiian circled in, trying to push Tobay completely against the rock, feinting high but striking low again. But Tobay's saber swept the cut aside and went on sweeping for Bakhtiian's head.
Tess gasped, breath suspended. Bakhtiian fell to his knees, saber barely catching the blow. For an instant the tableau held and then Bakhtiian twisted Tobay's saber around, cut free from a flurry of blows, and leapt backward, regaining his feet.
"A conversation," said Sergi. "About the weather."
But Bakhtiian was wounded. Tess stared. Blood welled and, welling to fullness, bled off a cut on Bakhtiian's wrist. She breathed again. Not deep enough to be fatal, or even perhaps, debilitating. And yet, what if Tobay was only playing with him?
They moved away from the rock. Their exchanges grew more complex. Tess saw only a mix of high and low, wide and close, movements begun in one place that ended in another until she could not recognize where one began and the other left off. And all the time, the slow drip of blood from Bakhtiian's wrist tracked his movements over the ground. She could not move. They both feinted, and feinted again, their sabers never touching. Every second she expected to see Tobay kill Bakhtiian. Every second Bakhtiian escaped.
Tobay fenced him against a slab of rock and went for his face, angled the slice into an arc that would open his stomach. Somehow Bakhtiian twisted the blade and was still whole and moving. He parried and pressed, made a bid for open ground, and gained it. They backed off, eyeing each other, breathing fast and hard. Bakhtiian's face shone with intensity. My God, she thought, watching him as he circled slowly, so concentrated that it seemed his entire being had caught fire: if he ever looks at me like that, I'll last about as long as tinder under a glass.
And she suffered an instant of stark fear, wondering what such a blaze would do to her.
"Right hands," said Keregin.
Tess watched the rest of the fight in a haze. Somehow, now that they were right-handed, they seemed more evenly matched, but still she knew that she ought to fear more for Bakhtiian than for Tobay. Until, in a furious exchange, To-bay wrenched himself free and slapped his left hand over his right arm. Blood leaked out between his fingers. He grinned.
"Enough!" yelled Keregin, dismounting.
"The woman didn't bolt," said Sergi. "I'm more impressed with her than with Bakhtiian."
Keregin strode over to Bakhtiian, who stood breathing deeply to regain his wind.
"By the gods," Keregin squinted down at him. "Maybe there's something to your reputation after all. Tobay, put up and go." Tobay sheathed his saber, looking again halfwitted and lifeless. Many of the men, who had looked up to watch the fight, turned their heads away again. "Tobay's got no interest in life but saber. He prefers fighting two or three men, since one is too easy. He wasn't going for the kill."
"I know." Blood still dripped from Bakhtiian's wrist.
Keregin laughed. "And not too proud to admit it." His expression changed. "You've got foreigners with you."
Bakhtiian shrugged. Tess crouched, balancing herself with a touch of one hand on the pebbles that littered the ledge.
"I know the ruins up in these mountains. A place to inspire the gods in you if nothing else might, but I warn you, Bakhtiian, to reach them you've got to ride through khaja lands. There have been jahar raids into khaja towns, and your name linked to them. I won't lift a hand against you, but there's been mischief done. Is it yours?"
"No."
Keregin lifted his right hand to flick a piece of grass off his beard. His little finger was missing. "I believe you. But remember, the khaja know your name now. They blame you. They are like us in one way, Bakhtiian, if not in any other: They seek revenge."
"I'll scarcely bend a blade of grass as I go."
"One blade might be too many. Well, then, can you promise me one thing?"
"How can I know until you ask?"
Keregin smiled. "I admire your companion, who wears a man's clothes with a woman's courage, who is foreign and yet speaks our tongue. Don't let her get into their hands. I've seen khaja do things to their women that made me cringe, and I'm not an easy man to sicken."
Bakhtiian's head moved slightly, as if he began to look back up at Tess and then chose not to. "That I can promise you, Keregin. No woman for whom I have accepted responsibility will ever fall into khaja hands. Don't forget that I have also seen how khaja treat their women."
" 'He who has traveled far,' " Keregin mused. "I begin to think you might even deserve it."
Bakhtiian sketched him the merest trifle of a bow, half respectful, not quite mocking. "You honor me."
Keregin chuckled. "Do I, indeed? I'd offer you a place with us, but I don't think you'd accept."
"I wouldn't." He smiled. "I love women too well, Keregin, to give them up now."
"Yet you've made no jaran woman your wife." Behind, the other riders began turning their horses away. Keregin angled his gaze toward the two horses standing quietly between them. "They're beautiful horses, Bakhtiian, as well you know." He smiled, a little mocking in return, and glanced once at Tess. "Breed strong stock if you can. I wish you luck."
He mounted without waiting for the reply that Bakhtiian seemed unlikely to give in any case, and reined his horse away from them. The rest of the arenabekh followed, not even glancing back as they galloped off. The sound of hooves drummed away, fading into silence in the clear air.
When they were out of sight, Bakhtiian sat down and rested his head in his hands. Tess scrambled down from the rock.
"Ilya, are you hurt?"
He lifted his head to give her a wan smile. "Just regaining my composure."
"I'll get the horses."
"Thank you," he said into his hands.
She busied herself with the horses, recovering her own composure. Eventually he appeared and took the black's reins from her.
"Thank you," he repeated. He rubbed his horse's nose and talked nonsense to it for a bit, slapped its neck, and mounted. Tess, who had been repelling Myshla's attempts to chew off her ear, quickly followed suit. "A congenial group," he said.
"Keregin offered you a place. Would you ever have gone with them?"
"I thought of it once, a long time ago. For them, it is the only life." He shook his head. "It can't be mine."
"I didn't like them."
He smiled and brought his left wrist up to his mouth, touching partially congealed blood to his lips. "And blood is sweet, but life is sweeter." He urged the black forward and they walked the horses parallel to the ridge. "Tobay is better than I am. Much better."
Wind touched her throat and her eyes. She blinked. "Because fighting is his whole life?"
"He could have killed me." He lowered his hand, turning it slowly, eyes on the cut, its slow well of blood almost stopped now. "He chose not to."
She put a hand on her stomach. "Good Lord." He turned his hand over; the cut no longer showed. "But Keregin was impressed."