He felt he had gained some knowledge of Jurak, at least a vague understanding of this alien ruler of what was to him an alien race. Jurak possessed a keen intellect, as fitted someone from the future who had been thrown into a primitive world. In a strange sort of way he thought Jurak and his father were alike. For he too bore knowledge this world had not yet come to grasp. He had led the Rus in a war undreamed of before his arrival.
But it had been Jurak’s fate to come too late, when events were already unfolding beyond his control. Across the years afterward all he could do was brood, to maneuver for a way to survive, not just for himself but for the fallen Horde he ruled as well.
He looked at Jurak carefully, sensing the wariness, the sudden alertness and caution. The wind stirred the mane of his horse, the plume of his helmet. The light about them was soft, diffuse, mingled with the shadows of early morning. “Is that all there is to the message?”
“Yes, Qar Qarth Jurak, that is all that he sent directly to you. No one else, either in our government or our military, knows except for General Hawthorne.”
“There is more, though,” Jurak pressed, leaning forward, gazing down at Abe.
“Yes, to you personally.”
“I am waiting.”
“My father asked me to tell you that he knows what is about to happen.”
Jurak looked confused for a moment and then smiled, shaking his head and laughed softly.
“Are we playing some sort of game, Abraham Keane? You threaten me and watch how I react? If so, I thought better of your father and of you.”
Abe, however, could tell that Jurak was troubled. Abe had yet to learn the finer points of their language, to recognize the tonal inflections for emotion, a crucial element to master since tone often influenced the exact meaning of the word. Still, he could sense the unease in Jurak’s voice.
“Then tell me what your father speaks of when he says that he knows what is about to happen.”
“War with the Kazan,” Abe said, almost whispering the word. “You will receive an offer from the Kazan to ally with them shortly. War will ensue within the month, and my father asks that for the good of all you stay out of it. Either stay here or move north, but do not turn south.” Jurak’s features remained impassive. “Why? Why now?”
“I have no idea,” Abe replied. “I am only telling you what he sent to me, nothing more.”
Jurak gazed at him thoughtfully. “I suspect you are telling the truth.”
Abe bristled slightly. “I have never uttered a false word to you, Jurak.”
Jurak nodded. “And is there anything else, then?”
“Flyers will be doubled patrolling the lands to the south of here. If you should leave treaty land and move south toward the coast, it will be viewed as a hostile act.”
“And you will attack.”
“Yes.”
“And to you, though? What more was there to you?”
“My personal orders? I’ve requested a transfer to a troop assignment, and General Hawthorne has agreed. I’m to stay with the 3rd Cavalry, which will take up station on the border. Sir, if you would move, I will ride with that regiment against you.”
Abe looked straight into Jurak’s eyes.
“So why did you tell me?”
“I trust you.”
Jurak leaned back in his saddle and laughed so loudly that the cubs who were playing but a hundred yards away slowed in their game to see what was so amusing.
“Something is happening back west, or,” and Abraham paused, “or to the south. Is there an envoy in your camp, Qar Qarth Jurak? Are you expecting yet another envoy with news about the war?”
Jurak did not react. His mask was impenetrable.
“Don’t play the subtle envoy with me, boy. Whether I know anything or not I will never share such information with you.”
“I understand that. I understand what divides us as well.”
“I don’t think you fully do. In your eyes I am something strange, a remainder of an older day of glory. I fought your father, and it appeals to your sense of romance to now say that we could be friends.”
“It is not a sense of romance,” Abe replied heatedly. “What I’ve said to you is genuine.”
There was a moment of softness in Jurak’s eyes. “Yes, you are young enough that I believe you.” He shook his head. “Too much will forever divide us even though a few such as you will try to breech that wall. Do you know, Abraham Keane, that I have eaten human flesh?” Abraham stiffened. He could feel a cool shiver course down his back.
“Yes, I had assumed that,” Abe finally replied.
“That fear is primitive, instinctual. Enemies can kill each other and yet drink a cup with the sons of those whom they have slain, if the slaying is viewed as honorable. Over their cups they praise each other and speak of the glory of the old days, as you and I have done. But the eating of flesh, that is a dread beyond death. That, and the humiliation of slavery.”
He looked back at the cubs playing their game.
“They’re of age to be warriors. They were raised on the tales of their fathers, who fought your father, and of their grandsires, who still remember the old days of the everlasting ride to the east, the glory of the wars with the Merki and the Tugars and, yes, the harvesting of cattle.”
He looked at Abe, his gaze cool and penetrating.
“You don’t like that word, cattle. None of your race does.”
“It is a reminder of a time that is gone.”
“Gone to you who were born after it, but alive in the memory of many of my people, and still dreamed of by those cubs. If I whistled to them now, ordered them to drop their game and slay you, they would do it.”
“You are their Qar Qarth. Of course they would obey.”
“No, Keane, they would do it because they wanted to. And beyond that, they would devour you upon this very spot and do so with glee, do it while you are still alive and screaming, as they have heard their fathers describe it done.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Abe replied, voice edged with anger. “So that I can hate you? I was trained as a soldier of the Republic. I know of every battle, of all that happened before. I know that at Hispania and at Roum our men executed prisoners, tortured and mutilated some. Atrocities are committed in the heat and madness of battle.”
“But you never felt them,” Jurak said sharply. “You don’t know war. I do. I guess that’s always been the way of it. The generation that fought a war looks at its young, not imagining they too could do the barbarities required.
“Those cubs, look at them carefully, Keane. The next time you see them, they will be coming to kill you.”
“Is this what you truly want?” Abe asked.
“No, damn you,” Jurak snarled with a deep throaty growl. “I know where this will end, as do you.”
“Then stop it.”
“How?”
“Just stop it.”
Jurak laughed. “Perhaps your father will be a victim of the very sense of justice he is famous for. If you had slain us all twenty years back, this would not now be happening.”
“But we didn’t. Shouldn’t that sway your thinking now?”
“Blood. It is about blood and race. I wish it was different.” His voice trailed off, but the look in his eyes told Abe that there was nothing more to be said.
“Then this is where we part, Qar Qarth Jurak.”
He nodded. Reaching down to the side of his saddle, he pulled out a scimitar that was still in its scabbard and handed it over to Abe.
“A present in parting, Abraham Keane. It was forged for a cub and thus should fit your hand well.”
Abe took the present and unsheathed it. The fine wavery lines from the forging of the blade shimmered in the morning sunlight. He held it aloft, feeling its balance, then slowly resheathed it, nodding his thanks, unable to speak. “Strange as it sounds, I hope it protects you well.”
“I have no such gift to offer in reply.”
“Nor was one expected, young man. It’s a present to your father as well in a way, to protect that which he cares for. Call it a small repayment of the debt I owe to a human who was your father’s closest friend.”