A stream of words, incomprehensible, delivered in a steady, commanding voice.
She whirled. A man stood on the slope above her. He had dark hair, cut short, a trim dark beard, and the look of a man hardened by many years of difficult life, yet he had no coarseness. He waited patiently. His shirt was scarlet and full, his trousers black; his high boots were tanned leather and fit closely to his ankle and calf. A long, curving blade! hung from his belt. He took one step toward her and asked' another question in the same incomprehensible tongue.
She held her ground and replied in Rhuian. "Who may you be, good man?" she asked, remembering formality somehow, perhaps only because it was all that was left her. Here, not even her brother's name mattered, except as a courtesy. "I am Terese Soerensen. I have nothing in my possession that could harm either you or your people."
His unreadable expression did not change. He spoke a third time in his strange tongue, motioned to her, and turned to walk up the hill. She hesitated the barest second. Then she followed him.
CHAPTER TWO
"Speech is the shadow of action."
He waited for her just over the crest of the hill, one hand loosely grasping his horse's reins. Compared to the horses she had traveled downside with, this was a stocky animal, with no beauty whatsoever; its legs were thick, its neck short and powerful. Its thin mane straggled over a dense coat, and its muzzle had a blunt shape that gave it the look of some prehistoric creature. Against its imperfections, the man standing at its head looked faultless: His red shirt was brilliant against the dull grass, his posture utterly assured, his eyes a deep, rich brown, his face-Too hard. There was too little kindness in his face. Wind stirred Tess's hair and a bird called in the distance, a raucous cry. The man's eyes as he examined her in his turn were intelligent. She recalled her conversation with the merchant: intelligent enough to suspect her off-world origins? How could he, when Jeds itself-thousands of miles away but at least still on his planet-was likely a meaningless word to him? When Rhui was interdicted, protected from the knowledge of the space-faring civilizations that surrounded it? Without realizing she was doing it, she shook her head. The movement made her dizzy. Her hunger and thirst flooded in on her, and she stumbled.
She did not even see him move, but his hands were under her elbow, pulling her up. She jerked away from him.
"Damn it," she said, ashamed of her weakness. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you would speak Rhuian." He stood very still, watching her. "God-damned native wildlife," she added in Anglais, just to make herself feel better, but even her tone made no dent in his impassivity. He simply retreated to his horse, returning to her side a moment later with a hard, flat square of bread and a damp leather pouch filled with water.
She ate the bread, but drank only enough water to slake her thirst, and offered the pouch back to him. After he had tied it to his saddle, he mounted and held out one hand for her to swing on behind him. The strength of his pull surprised her; she had to grab at his shoulder to keep from falling over the other side. What he said under his breath did not sound like commendation.
Tess bit at her lip. She put one hand on each side of his waist, the cloth of his shirt fluid and smooth under her hands. Ahead, a wind moved in the grass. He glanced back at her, moved her arms so that they circled his waist entirely, and gave a terse command-even without knowing the language, she could translate the tone of voice. She took in a deep breath and held it, because her instinct was to tears. His legs moved against hers. The horse started forward.
His entire back was in contact with her. She turned her face to one side. Her cheek pressed against the back of his neck. The ends of his dark hair tickled her eye. His back was warm, and under her hands, held open and flat on his middle, she could feel every movement of the hard muscles in his stomach, his slow, controlled breathing. She closed her hands into fists.
They rode down onto the plain. Here, away from the hills, the sky seemed even larger, as if some giant hand had pushed the horizon down to reveal more blue. They seemed so small, the three of them alone in such an expanse, invisible, surely, to any eye looking down from above, yet his sense of purpose and direction gave them significance.
She could not judge time, but soon her thighs began to ache. After an eternity she began to believe that there had indeed been some change in the sun's position. The grass continued on around them without a break. Snow glittered in occasional patches. The man in front of her neither spoke nor moved appreciably, except for the finest shifts to adjust for the horse.
A flash of brilliance sparked on a far rise, vanished, only to appear again closer: another rider in scarlet and black. This one had a second horse on a lead line, trailing behind him. Quickly, more quickly than Tess expected, the two riders met, slowed, and halted their horses.
The newcomer was a young man with bright blond hair and a cheerful smile. The smile emerged as he met them, fading into astonishment as he looked at Tess. He spoke in a flood of words, to which the dark man replied curtly. Unabashed, the younger man swung down from his horse and came over to stand below Tess. He blushed a little-easy to see on his fair skin-and lifted his arms up to her.
She flushed with embarrassed anger-he was helping her down as if she were a child. But her eyes met his, and there was something in his gaze, something utterly good-natured, that made her smile slightly, at which he blushed a deeper shade of pink and lowered his gaze. At least he was as embarrassed about this as she was. She let herself be helped down. He let go of her instantly, and for a moment she stood next to him under the censorious gaze of the dark man and felt allied with the young blond against a force impatient with both of them. Without a word, the dark man reined his horse around and left them standing there together while he rode back the way he and Tess had come.
She gaped, she was so surprised at this desertion. Beside her, the young man laughed.
"Not worry," he said in perfectly horrible Rhuian. "Ilya is always angry.''
"I beg your pardon!"
He repeated the words, slower this time, so that she caught them all. "I beg pardon for my tongue," he added, not looking very sorry about it. "It is not so good."
"How did you learn Rhuian?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "I study in Jeds."
She felt herself gaping again: this young native-nondescript except for the merry cast of his face, arrayed as barbarically as any savage, living out on a trackless plain-had studied in Jeds.
Under her stare, he dropped his gaze shyly. "I apologize. Forgive me. I have not given you my name. I am Yurinya Orzhekov." Long lashes shaded his blue eyes. "But perhaps you will call me Yuri." He hesitated, as if this request were a liberty.
Tess began to feel dizzy again and, leaning forward, she put her hand on the first thing within reach: his horse.
"Are you well? We go to camp now. Ilya says you were walking many days."
"Yes, I…" In a moment her head cleared. "I'm Tess. Terese Soerensen, that is. But Tess, that is what my friends call me."
"Ah," he said wisely. "Can you mount?"
Under his stare, not intimidating at all, she felt it possible to be truthful. "The last time I rode a horse was, oh, ten years ago."
"Well, then, I will keep the lead, and you hold on. Can you manage that?"
By this time she had adjusted for his atrocious accent-his vocabulary was decent enough. "Yes," she replied gratefully, "I think I can manage that."