With nothing but their expressions and body language to read, Ferenc had stiffened when Ocyrhoe got defensive, and now he reached out a protective hand toward her. She took a deep breath and stroked his forearm without looking at him. In this tent, in this company, she realized she was treating the boy like a dog… a faithful dog. He did not seem to notice, or to care.
“About three months ago, a messenger came from Rome with word that Senator Orsini was moving against our sisters,” Lena explained. “Since then, we have had no other news from the city. And then, with the death of the Pope, and this sede vacante, it has been a most troubling-”
“The Emperor is here, in this camp?” Ocyrhoe interrupted.
Lena inclined her head and stared over her long nose at Ocyrhoe. “No, I did not say-”
“He is,” Ocyrhoe offered a tiny smile. Lena’s explanation and Ferenc’s reassurance had calmed her, dispelling the desire for flight, and in its wake, her awareness was coming back. It wasn’t the same as the way the city spoke to her, but other subtle suggestions were there, if she simply took the time to read them. “A Binder’s duty is to deliver her message,” she said. “If the commander had to leave this camp in order to relay my message, then I would not have truly delivered it and you would not have released me from that duty. If you are discharging your duty properly, then wherever you are, he must be as well.”
Lena looked strangely satisfied at Ocyrhoe’s response. “Your arrival is timely, child; he has stayed overlong away from his court in Palermo and had planned to return soon. Your message will, I suspect, change his mind. There is more afoot, however. Why have our kin-sisters been taken? It would be helpful if you could tell me everything you can about what has transpired in Rome.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The change that came over Luo Xi was as dramatic as if a mask had been removed, revealing a face pitted and harsh beneath a delicately painted facade. Lines appeared in his face, deep striations etched in his forehead and cheeks. Such lines were not unusual-every Chinese person who had suffered under the yoke of Mongolian oppression was similarly burdened-but he secretly cultivated his suffering. His grip on Lian’s arm was tight, his fingers digging into her flesh as if he would squeeze down to her bones.
“These dogs ravage our homeland,” he snarled at her, all pretense of geniality gone. “They loot our cities. Kill our children.” He shoved her again, driving her ahead of him. “They rape our women.”
She wanted to run, wanted to flee the lash of his words. Moments ago, she had wanted his eyes on her, wanted him to be distracted from his surroundings, but now she didn’t want his attention.
One of the soldiers slapped Gansukh on the legs with the shaft of his spear, and the Mongol warrior rolled away from the blow, getting his legs under him. Even though Gansukh didn’t understand a word of what was being said, the message was clear. Clenching his teeth, Gansukh wobbled to his feet, and as he stood upright, one of the other soldiers whacked him across the back, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.
She couldn’t help herself, and she darted toward Gansukh. A Chinese soldier reached for her, and she slowed, pulling her arm out of his reach. He grinned, revealing a wide gap between his upper front teeth; lowering his spear so that the point hovered near her breast, he shook his head.
Beyond him, Gansukh stared at her. One of his eyes was swollen partially shut, dark shadows already discoloring his flesh. Dirt and ash and blood streaked his face, and a chill ran across her arms as she met his one-eyed gaze.
The Chinese soldier clucked his tongue, flicking the tip of his spear toward the unruly mass of her unbound hair that fell across her breasts. She looked away from Gansukh, met the Chinese man’s eyes for a second, and then demurely dropped her gaze toward the ground.
She caught sight of a dagger shoved negligently through the man’s belt, and she sucked in her breath. Her dagger!
A man staggered toward the group, and Luo Xi drew his sword. It wasn’t a Mongol, and Luo Xi relaxed his guard enough to slam his helmet back on his head as the wounded man came closer.
Lian recognized him as the other commander, the one who had argued with Luo earlier. The one who had argued against taking hostages. He had worn a helmet too, but it was gone now, and his head was covered with blood, some of it still wet.
“We have failed,” he gasped to Luo. “We had the banner-” He caught sight of Lian, and stared owlishly at her. Slowly, as if he was having a great deal of trouble remembering something of vital import, he looked at the four men surrounding Gansukh. “My men are dead,” he said, and he swung his gaze back to Luo. “We are all dead.”
Luo’s face was ashen. “Idiot,” he hissed. “We only needed the sprout. Why didn’t you take it?”
“It wasn’t there.” Seeing Luo’s expression, he shook his head. “It had been harvested already,” he explained. “We had no choice but to take the banner. Otherwise-”
Luo cut him off with a wordless hiss. “Do not think you know what is best. The banner is too old to sustain life. What we need-”
“Commander,” one of the soldiers interrupted Luo. He pointed toward the rise that blocked the caravan from view. The light was softer now, no longer the harsh radiance of hungry fires. White plumes of smoke hung in the night air. “The Mongols are putting out the fires,” he said.
Luo’s companion swayed unsteadily. “If they know why we are here, they will not negotiate.” He pointed toward Gansukh. “Your hostage will not save you.”
The soldiers guarding Gansukh shuffled uneasily.
“I cannot run,” the man said softly, indicating the dried blood on his head. “I can barely walk…”
Luo lowered his head briefly in acknowledgment; then, with a swift jab, he ran his sword into the belly of the wounded Chinese man. The look of confusion on the other man’s face faded, and the tension in his face eased. His gaze remained locked on Luo, and he grunted lightly as Luo pulled the sword free. Something akin to a smile came to his lips.
All the air had fled from Lian’s lungs. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t scream. She could only stare in horror as the dying Chinese man tried to speak, failed, and crumpled to the ground.
Luo whirled, his face twisted into a demonic mask. “Kill them both,” he snarled. “And then run. Run as fast as you can, for the Mongol dogs will be at your heels.”
His sword was red with blood, and as he strode toward them, the paralysis that had held Lian vanished. “Wait,” she cried.
Luo didn’t slow down. He raised his sword.
“Let me do it.” Lian was as surprised as Luo to hear the words come out of her mouth.
Luo hesitated. “What?”
“If I kill him,” she said, letting the words run out of her mouth of their own accord. She didn’t think about where they were coming from or what they meant. All she knew was that if she wavered, if she showed any fear or hesitation, this sudden resolve would vanish. “If I kill him, will you take me with you?”
Luo’s mouth twisted, finally shaping itself into a nasty leer. “You want revenge on this dog?”
Lian stood firm, pushing her chin out and throwing her shoulders back. “This one. All of them.”
Luo examined her, letting his eyes roam over her body. His sword dipped slightly, but his body was still rigid.
“Commander,” one of the guards interrupted.
“Go,” Luo shouted, the muscles in his neck standing out. “Run, you cowards!” His eyes remained locked on Lian.
Two of the four guards took him at his word, dropping their spears and sprinting away into the darkness. One of the remaining pair lingered, unwilling to turn his back on Gansukh or leave his weapon. The gap-toothed one stayed, and Lian’s gaze fell on the dagger in his belt again.