"Oh," said Charles in a low voice. "The boy, Vasha. He's dark-haired. Tess told me that you acknowledged him as your son, even though by jaran law he isn't-he can't be."
"Inessa-his mother-was also dark. But, yes, by the laws of Jeds, Vasha is my son." He stroked the cloth bundle, stroked it, and said nothing for a long long while. They watched the clouds drift along the heavens. Aleksi sat as still as stone out by the fires. The awning sagged down and sighed up, and sagged down again, as the wind breathed on it.
"From the days before she married, and for all the years she was married, my mother and Khara Roskhel were lovers. He was dark-haired, like me."
Through the flap, thrown askew, the lantern gave dim illumination to the chamber and dimmer light yet to the two men standing just outside. Like a beacon, it marked them, throwing vague shadows out from them into the night.
"By the laws of Jeds," said Ilya slowly, "Khara Roskhel might have been my father."
"How long have I been under?" Tess asked, and was relieved to hear her own voice both inside and outside of her head.
At once, Cara appeared beside her. "Aha! We've got you back. Jo, drape all the counters, cover everything, and then go get Charles and Bakhtiian."
"But how long?" Tess insisted.
"About seven hours. I'm so pleased to see you, my dear. Just lie quiet. You're stable. Everything is fine, Tess. Everything is fine."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Night enveloped the city of Karkand. The hellish noise of the day's fighting had evaporated into the darkness, though echoes of it remained. Within the walls, a minaret still burned. Outside the walls, four siege towers smoldered, three of them collapsed into ruins. Beyond the range of catapults and arrows, Nadine heard knocking and pounding: the laborers built anew for the next day's assault.
Smoke obscured the stars, here close to the city, and on the eastern horizon clouds streaked the sky, blotting out the moon. Otherwise, silence lay like a blanket over them. Nadine gave command of her jahar over to Yermolov, took three auxiliaries to bear torches to light her way, and went in search of her uncle.
Her jahar had been stationed halfway round the inner city walls, almost opposite the main gates, and she rode back through the abandoned outlying districts. In these suburbs, quiet reigned. Many of the trees and houses nearest the inner city walls had been demolished, either by catapult fire or by laborers or soldiers scrounging for materials to build, for food, for shelter, or for firewood. A line of men stood patiently in a dark plaza, waiting for their turn at a public well. The two jaran guards lifted their hands, acknowledging Nadine as she passed by.
Farther along, she skirted a flat field on which a new set of siege towers and artillery rose or were repaired. She paused to watch, and there, escorted by four men bearing torches, she saw David ben Unbutu on his rounds. She rode over to him.
"David! Well met." She smiled and lifted a hand in greeting as she pulled up beside him. His torchbearers edged away from her. David spun around, startled. "Your engines did good work today."
"Dina! I didn't see you."
The wavering torchlight gave him an ashen appearance, but then she realized mat a fine white powder covered his hands and that streaks of it lightened his black skin. "You're out late," she said. She felt inordinately pleased to see him; his pleasant open face was such a relief to look at after watching the siege all day, after arguing with Feodor yet again at dawn over her decision to ride out with her jahar.
"Most of my work is done at night." said David. He glanced to either side. The torchbearers-khaja laborers all-had averted their faces from the exchange. "Preparing for-" He shuddered, cutting off his words. "You didn't see any righting, Dina? You look no worse for the wear. I'm glad of that."
"Saw plenty of it. We're too heavily armored, my jahar, to be of any use in these conditions, except what archers we now have with us. But we can protect against sorties that come out beyond the gates, and if those khaja bastards look over the walls, they see how many of us there are. That ought to encourage them to surrender."
A smile came and went on David's face, and he looked uncomfortable.
"If you'll excuse me. I'm off to report to my uncle."
"Dina."
"What is it? What's wrong?" she demanded. He waved his torchbearers away impatiently and looked meaningfully at hers. "Go on," she said, and they moved a few steps away. Her horse shifted restlessly, disliking the dark, and Nadine dismounted and stood at its head.
"Tess had the baby. It's-there's no way to say this gently, except to say I'm sorry. It's dead."
"Oh, gods." She was shocked and saddened, mostly, but a second voice nagged at hen If the baby had lived, there might have been less pressure on her to contribute heirs. No matter what Ilya said, Nadine suspected mat his children could inherit over any she bore, especially if they showed promise for command. "Where is she?"
"In Dr. Hierakis's tent. You ought to go…"
"I'll go. Thank you, David."
"For what?" he asked bleakly. She took a step toward him, reached up, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Nadine!" he whispered fiercely, and pulled back from her.
She sighed and mounted again. Her torchbearers hurried back to her, and she rode on. She did not ride directly to camp. Instead, she detoured along her original route and came to the main gates near midnight. Torches ringed the fallen stretch of wall, and now and again arrows sped out and thudded dully against the shields, but there was otherwise no movement along the collapsed wall except for an occasional slide of loose bricks.
"Zvertkov! Well met!" She hailed the rider, and he turned his horse aside and came to meet her.
"Orzhekov. Your position?"
"Quiet, for now."
"You heard about Tess?"
"I heard."
They said nothing for a while, ruminating in silence over the ways of the gods.
"We've a courier in from Vershinin," said Zvertkov at last. "He's turned south. Grekov's jahar will ride to Karkand to replace him."
"Garrisons?"
"They left Izursky's jahar to patrol the area, but we can't afford the men. There isn't much resistance left there in any case."
"Zvertkov!" This from a rider at the far end of the line. "Messenger riding in!"
Torchlight bobbed along the uneven ground, heading for their position. Nadine heard the bells before she could make out the figures. Soon enough the sound resolved into three men running with torches in their hands and a single mounted rider. He pulled up before them. His horse was lathered, and he himself look exhausted.
"Gennady Besselov. Sakhalin's command."
"Sakhalin!"
"There's a khaja force marching north to relieve Karkand, under the command of the king's nephew."
"The Habakar king is dead," said Zvertkov. "The nephew may well be the king, now."
The courier shrugged. "Whatever he is, he's good enough on the field, for a khaja, and he's got twenty thousand well-trained men with him. Sakhalin could only spare two thousand of his army to harry him as he marched north; it was that, or lose the ground we've gained so far in the southern lands, which was hard enough won to begin with."
"I'll take you to my uncle," said Nadine, and she looked at Kirill for confirmation. Zvertkov nodded. She led the messenger away.
The man regaled her with stories of Sakhalin's advance southward and how stubborn the southern Habakar inhabitants were-except they called themselves Xiriki-khai, and some of them spoke a different language. The Habakar prince's mother was a Xiriki-khai princess, and the merchants they had captured said that she had herself as a girl led an army and thus gained the title "Lion Queen," and that it was her heart and courage the boy had inherited. The torchbearers trudged on beside them.