Bakhtiian took off his helmet and shook out his hair in the breeze. The acrid scent of burning, the pall of dust, tinged the air. "My children."
"Exactly. So you see, Bakhtiian, that we are already allied by many forces, by our own ambitions, by the threat of the Chapalii, by the children Tess will bear, by your education at the university my father founded and I built."
Bakhtiian considered in silence, and at last he spoke. "There is one thing I've never understood. Tess said that when you're not in Jeds, you sail to Erthe. Your mother came from that country, and so do many of the people in your party. Tess went there to study. Do you rule there? Was your mother the queen? Is that why she-married your father, the Prince of Jeds?"
Charles shook his head. "They do not govern on Earth as they do in Jeds or in Habakar lands. They rule, well, more like the jaran in the tribes: there is a council, and one woman or man who administers."
"And you are that man."
"Yes."
"But also Prince of Jeds."
"Yes."
"How can you be both? Why visit Erthe at all when you rule entire in Jeds?"
"Why live with your aunt's tribe?"
Bakhtiian grinned. "Any man must respect his mother's and his aunt's wishes."
"So it is with us as well. I am a child of two countries, just as the child less is carrying will be a child of two countries. But there is one other thing that Tess did not, perhaps, explain to you."
Bakhtiian lifted one expressive eyebrow. "No doubt."
Charles chuckled. "I beg your pardon. It was in deference to my orders that she kept her secrets. If I may?"
"Soerensen, I have learned more from you today than I have in three years from Tess. Why now?"
"Because of what I learned at the palace-the shrine-of Morava. Bakhtiian, Earth does not rule itself. It is part of the Chapalii Empire, where it lies, far across the seas. We rule within our lands, by their favor, but they rule us completely,"
"But Jeds-"
"They are not yet concerned with Jeds."
"Tess said that the khepellis had only recently learned about the shrine itself." Bakhtiian stared, musing, at the city, at the figures struggling on the walls, at the archers below and above firing sheets of arrows, at the flames inside the city, at the trampled corpse of the Habakar king. The thud of artillery serenaded them. Yet Bakhtiian did not really seem to be watching the battle but rather something beyond it. "Gods. Then why-?" He broke off. "You mean to free yourselves, to free Erthe, from their rule."
"Of course."
"Of course," Bakhtiian echoed. "Of course. And you want my help."
"We of Earth can't war with the Chapalii outright. They're too strong."
"Though they rule you, you aren't part of their empire, not in truth. Not in your hearts."
"Not at all."
Bakhtiian considered Karkand. For a while his gaze rested on the Farisa auxiliaries, taking the brunt of the attack over the mined wall. "It's true that a land may be won by war, but to hold on to it takes subtler skills. To hold on to what you've won, and to unite it. Since the khepelli are zayinu, there is even less reason to love them or to accept their rule. What profit for me in this alliance?"
"What do you want?"
"I want Jeds."
Charles laughed. "I thought you didn't covet Jeds."
"I only said that you must not think I did, to put yourself in my power. If I said the word, my men would kill you."
"True," said Charles coolly. "But you'd still be no closer to having Jeds."
Bakhtiian's lips twitched up into a smile. "It's true that Tess would repudiate me in an instant if I killed you. Well, then, if I can't have Jeds, then I want all the lands that lie between."
"I can't promise you them. And I didn't say that I wasn't willing to bargain with Jeds."
Stones lobbed out from the city fell harmlessly onto the ground a hundred paces in front of them, spewing clots of dirt into the air. A clay pot filled with water struck earth and broke into shards; the water spattered and steamed over the churned-up soil.
Bakhtiian stared at Charles, eyes wide and questioning. "But then-" He broke off and twisted around in his saddle.
"Bakhtiian!" A rider hailed him. The next instant, two other riders appeared, galloping, driving their mounts hard. They resolved into two of the Orzhekov children, the brother and sister, Mitya and Galina.
Bakhtiian muttered a word under his breath. His stallion shifted restlessly beneath him, sidestepping.
As they rode closer, the children could be seen to have pale faces and a drawn look about their mouths. Still, Bakhtiian held his place, waiting for them to attend him.
Mitya held back so that his sister could take right of place before Bakhtiian. She reined her mare in beside him.
"Cousin! It's less!" She broke off and cast a glance back at her brother. He nodded.
"Go on," said Bakhtiian sharply.
Galina gulped and went on. "The baby's coming early."
Charles swore. "I must go back. Are you coming?"
Bakhtiian did not reply. A huge stone flung from Karkand struck the ground about eighty paces in front of them. The impact shuddered through the soil. Dirt sprayed out.
Konstans rode up beside Bakhtiian. "They're getting better range. Perhaps we'd better move back."
Bakhtiian flashed a furious glance toward Konstans. "I do not move back! We hold our position." He was taut with suppressed emotion. "Mitya, you will stay with me. Galina, go with the prince."
"You're not coming with me?" Charles demanded.
Bakhtiian turned his dark stare toward Soerensen. "Don't you think I want to go? But I have a duty to my army. I must remain here, to be seen, until nightfall."
"Ah," said Charles. "I understand."
"Yes," said Bakhtiian softly, "I think you do. Go. I will come when I can." He was pale, and his horse minced under him. "Konstans, get Mitya some armor and take him back behind the lines until he's suitably outfitted to sit up here with me."
"Of course." Konstans rode away with the boy.
"Well, then," said Charles.
"Keep her well," said Bakhtiian. His voice slipped and broke on hoarseness.
"Cara will be with her. Nightfall, then." He reined his horse aside and followed Galina toward camp. Behind, Bakhtiian fastened on his helmet, clenched his hands on the reins, and stared out at the assault. Inside the walls a minaret burned, flames leaping up its delicate neck to scorch and engulf the ornamented tower. A din rose from the city like the distant clamor of the ocean: the blare of trumpets, the roar of flames, the constant arrhythmic thunk of catapult fire, the bellowing of animals, a multitude of sobs and cries all blended with the clash of the armies and the screams of the wounded and the pounding of stone against stone as artillery battered down the walls of Karkand. The sun sank toward the west, and as sunset came, the light ran like blood along the western hills.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
David could not bear to go anywhere near the siege, now that he'd done his work so well. He could not bring himself to observe the fruits of his labors, since it had cost him nothing, and others-jaran soldiers, khaja civilians-so much. He condemned himself as a coward and a hypocrite. As penance, he worked triage in the hospital with Marco and Gwyn Jones. The wounded came in in a steady stream. Three times David almost fainted from the sight of blood and gaping flesh. After the third time, a numbness settled over him and he could follow Marco about, helping him hold down the screaming wounded, refilling the three leather flasks he carried- one with water, one with alcohol, and one with a jaran concoction, a blend of herbs in tea that dulled pain. At the water jars, he met Diana Brooke-Holt. Blood spattered her tunic, and she gave him a pained smile, filled her flasks, and went back out to the ranks of wounded.