“Wait for me.”
“I can’t wait for you, my friend.”
Hans suddenly reached down and took Ketswana’s hand.
“Thank you. I don’t know how many times over I owe you my life.”
“I owe you my freedom,” Ketswana replied, his voice suddenly choked.
“No man owes another man his freedom,” Hans replied softly. “That was, and always will be, your right. Remember that.”
He nudged his mount gently, not wanting to hurt it.
“Wait here; I’ll be back soon enough.”
The two rode off, side by side, heading to where Bantag survivors of the bloody fight were rallying. Overhead a flyer circled as if keeping watch. Chin infantry, coming off of the trains, was fanning out to envelop the flank of the Bantag. Eastward, toward the still-burning city, the sound of battle continued to thunder, though it seemed to be dying away, falling into a final spasm of slaughter.
The pain had abated; he wondered for a moment if that meant that he would survive the day after all, or was it the final ringing down of the curtain and that soon he would slip away.
At the moment it really didn’t seem to matter. He felt a sudden lightness, a gentle floating, a sense of peace. Back home, back in Suzdal, for that now was home, Tamira would most likely be out with his young Andrew, the boy leading his mother on their daily walk through the meadows to the east and south of town. The thought of it made him smile. In the last year he had shared not more than half a dozen days with them, but each moment had been a blessed treasure, each night a reawakened dream.
They would be safe, and ultimately he knew that a man could not ask for anything beyond that, to know that those whom he loved were safe.
“What are you thinking about?” Jurak asked.
Hans stirred.
“My family.”
“You had a child, I remember that.”
“Yes.”
“And they are safe?”
“You mean did they escape safely with me?” Hans asked, a touch of anger flaring into his voice.
“No. I know that. I was there, I saw her lead the escape carrying your child. She was brave. To be proud of.”
Surprised, Hans nodded his thanks.
“They are safe now?”
“Yes, as far as I know.”
“You are lucky.”
“Why so?” Surprised he turned to look at Jurak. Strange, for a brief instant he had almost forgotten who he was talking to.
“My home world. My family, parents, the one that I … what you called married.”
“Yes.”
“They all died. A type of bomb I pray to the gods is never known on this world. They all died. That was just before I came here.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jurak looked over at him, surprised. Hans as well felt a mild shock. The two words had slipped out of him so easily. Never did he dream he could feel sorrow for a Bantag. Yet in Jurak’s voice he had sensed the pain.
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“Do you have a family here?” Hans asked.
Jurak shook his head.
“No. They cannot replace her.”
“Perhaps someday. I lived alone nearly all the days of my life and did not find her until …” He let the subject drop, given how he and Tamira had met.
“Perhaps someday.”
They were approaching the Bantag formation. Hans could see them stirring as they recognized that their Qar Qarth was still alive. Jurak reined in, gaze sweeping the battered ranks.
“The war is finished,” he shouted. “We withdraw.”
Excited murmuring erupted. Hans could sense rage on the part of many, but there were others who seemed relieved, nodding, grounding clenched rifles.
Jurak looked over at Hans.
“I will order my troops pulled back north of the city at once. Tomorrow, at noonday, let us meet on the rail tracks going north out of Huan. We both have to assume that there will still be fighting until word reaches all, and we can separate from each other.”
Hans nodded.
“Noon then.”
To his surprise, Jurak extended his arm in the gesture of clasping. Hans reached out tentatively, then grasped Jurak’s wrist, and felt the tight grip on his own forearm.
“No!”
Hans looked up. A rider, followed by half a dozen, broke out of the ranks and approached. There was something darkly familiar about him, and then the recognition hit, the scarred disfigured face. It was Tamuka.
“No! That is the path of a coward. Press the fight now and slaughter them all.”
Jurak drew himself up stiffly.
“They are between us and the yurts of our clans. In agreement for our ending the war and withdrawing, they will harm no one and let our families live. If this madness continues half a million or more of our sires, females, and cubs will die.”
With the announcement of that Hans could see that yet more were now glad that it was ended. He suddenly realized that the Bantag had been terrified that over the last day the Chin would even now be swarming southward to initiate a massacre.
“They have made the gesture of letting our old ones and young live, even though they now have the power to kill them all. We all know that we are powerless to stop them. There is not one more warrior between Xi’an and Nippon capable of resisting them. It will take days to bring down what we have left in Nippon. By then, all our families will have been slaughtered.”
That admission startled Hans. So it was a bluff. They had stripped themselves bare.
There was a sidelong glance from Jurak and Hans felt he could almost smile, as if Jurak had finally revealed that he didn’t have a pair of deuces, let alone a full house.
Tamuka turned to face the Bantags.
“Fight! Kill them all while there is still time! One more charge, and we break through and slaughter them all!”
His screams were met with a stirring. More than one again gave himself over to the lust for battle, some raising their rifles in response, shouting agreement.
Hans could not understand all that was being said, the words were spilling out of Tamuka so quickly, yet he could sense the rage that was out of control. He looked over again at Jurak, who sat motionless. This wasn’t a leader who could win by overpowering. It had to be a display of calm in the face of madness.
He knew that if Tamuka should somehow win the argument, then it was over. Jurak would die, they would attack in a mad frenzy, and the Chin would unleash a massacre against hundreds of thousands in a final orgy of mutual destruction. Madness, to be so close and then have it all plunged back into madness.
“Kill them all!”
The world seemed to be shifting like sand swept away by a tidal wave. The lust was coming back. Jurak sat impassive, undoubtedly knowing he could not shout down the mad leader of the once great Merki.
“And kill this traitor from another world first!” Tamuka cried.
Hans barely understood the words, but he recognized the gesture as Tamuka dropped his reins and reached for a saddle-mounted holster. Like a snake striking, the revolver flashed out.
“No!”
Hans kicked his own mount forward. He saw the revolver going up, thumb cocking the trigger back. He fumbled with his own holster … and grabbed nothing but thin air. There was a flash memory of throwing it away after firing the last round. Time seemed to distort, he felt his heart thumping over, wondering if it was finally shattering. Or was it fear.
He saw the gun coming down, Tamuka squinting, one eye half-closed, the other sighting down the barrel, aiming it straight at Jurak. He caught a final glimpse of Jurak, knew the Bantag, at heart, was not a true combat soldier. He was reacting far too slowly, just then recognizing the danger, starting to recoil in anticipation of the crashing blow.
There was a final instant, a wondering, a sense that somehow this was a vast cosmic joke. This wasn’t Andrew, or Pat, or Emil, or even a simple Chin that he was trying to save. It wasn’t anyone, yet it was, as well, a warrior whom he had learned in the last few minutes to respect. He was someone who had offered an ending to the madness, a way out, a way for Tamira and the baby to live in peace … and that peace was about to die if Jurak died.