Eternal Sky 01(107)
This time, though, she got up and moved over beside him, laying his head against her thigh. She thought he’d awaken fighting. She was prepared for it.
Instead he curled up to her, made one last noise, and sighed into relaxation.
That evening, when Temur uncased his bow and strung it, she saw that the meat he’d also packed in its case for moisture had dried to leather.
* * *
The sun that rose in the morning was an Uthman sun. As they approached the sea, they found themselves in sparse grasslands again—a rocky sort of terrain fit for goats but not cattle. When the first band of riders approached, heralded by much whickering from Bansh, Samarkar turned over her shoulder and glanced at Temur, who was leading Bansh along in the rear of the group. Her face showed concern and chagrin. He nodded.
“Score a point for the witch,” he said, as six mounted men circled them. They had arrows nocked, but the bows were not drawn. Temur noticed that the design of the bows was different from either the long Song bows or the back-curved Qersnyk variety, though he thought they were—like his—of laminated construction.
The men wore armor coats made of scales cut from horse hooves. The coats covered them to their knees. Beneath, they wore baggy pantaloons in bright colors. Their horses were grays, except for one black and one sorrel; they were dish-nosed and short-backed like the famed Asitaneh bloodlines. They were beautiful—bright-coated, bright-eyed, with deep nostrils and luxurious manes—and the rugs they wore under their saddles were all the bright, clear colors of jewels and fruits.
The men on their backs carried lances as well as their bows, banners snapping bright with crimson dragons. The leader, on the palest and tallest of the grays, put his horse a step forward. Their saddles were low, by Temur’s standards, and he noticed with a start that they had no stirrups. The men rode by balance and the grasp of their legs.
That is why they go to war in chariots, he thought, remembering the words of the witch.
“You are off the road,” the leader said in broken Qersnyk. “But you do not look like bandits. What is your intention in our lands?”
He spoke to Temur, and as he glanced from side to side, Temur understood that they would consider him the leader of this group. Just as Temur himself tended to look to Samarkar to fill that role.
“To pass through,” he said. “We are bound for the White Sea. I am Temur; this is Samarkar, Brother Hsiung, and the Cho-tse is Hrahima.” As he said them, it occurred to him that perhaps he should have given feigned names—but lying was a good way to attract unfavorable spirits, Hrahima would never support it, and a lie of names could not disguise the unmistakable composition of their group.
If Qori Buqa were seeking him through Nameless assassins, there was no way to conceal the news of his travel other than to avoid everyone.
One of the other men said something to the leader in a tongue Temur did not know. The leader held up a hand, which meant Wait your turn in any language. He said, “Do you have news of the east?”
“We do,” Temur said. “A great deal of it. And we need food and supplies, for which we wish to trade.”
A hesitant smile creased the man’s wind-tanned face. “You will come with us,” he said. “The Queen Dragon will wish to receive you.”
“Queen Dragon,” Samarkar whispered, leaning close. “These are the lizard-folk!”
They did not look like lizards, but Temur, too, had heard of the tribes to the west who rode under the banners of dragons and wore their hide as armor. These men’s mail was horse-hoof scale, and he saw no sign of the forked tongues attributed to the lizard-people by folklore. But he also knew that stories of faraway people grew stranger in the telling.
“If they are the lizard-folk,” he answered, “then we are indeed nearly to the sea.”
* * *
Three of the men pulled Temur, Samarkar, and Hsiung onto their mares, to ride pillion behind the saddle. One of the riders ponied Bansh behind his horse, which made Temur nervous. But he dried his hands on his thighs and held his tongue, mindful of what the witch had said over the tea leaves. Hrahima paced alongside, keeping up easily and apparently unconcerned.
At least the land they rode through was comfortingly familiar, after so many cities of farmers. The horses moved through grass that waved shoulder-high, its heads swaying with unripe grain. He spotted round white-houses with felted walls that differed in their decoration from the white-houses of home, but not in their construction. Sheep, cattle, and goats moved in flocks tended by boys and girls on horseback and guarded by curly-tailed yellow dogs. The details of dress were unfamiliar, the construction of the saddles—but the bold outlines were home. At the horizon, gold-green steppe lay like a razor’s edge against that pale Uthman sky.