Eternal Sky 01(56)

Persecuted by more populous sects, a branch of the Rahazeen religion had withdrawn to mountain fastnesses that even the Great Khagan had sometimes chosen not to lay under siege. Temur had heard of the Nameless, too, as who had not? Within those holdfasts the Nameless had blossomed—a cult that worshipped the Uthman Scholar-God in her incarnation as Lady Death.

Not all, or even the majority, of Rahazeen were martial. But the martial ones—from among whom the Nameless were derived—were a contradiction. Like some Song monks, they swore themselves to peace and service. And like those self-same Song monks, they honored that service with an unrelenting study of the disciplines of combat.

Temur had met members of both Rahazeen and Falzeen sects in his uncle Mongke’s court. He respected them as scholars and warriors but found their doctrinal differences an incomprehensible foundation for what amounted to a long-term, low-grade civil war within the Uthman Caliphate.

Still, it was the Qersnyk way not to question too much the customs of others but rather accept them as they found them—so long as they bent their heads to the Khagan. His people conquered for riches and knowledge, not to evangelize.

And if the Uthman Caliphate warred against itself, well, that made things all the better for the Qersnyk clans, didn’t it? An enemy divided was easy prey. But now Temur’s people had fallen into the same trap, and if the Cho-tse could be trusted, that division was being encouraged by equally predatory outsiders.

How long would a Rahazeen master allow Qori Buqa to rule unbowed? How long before the proud Qersnyk Empire became a vassal state to some western warlord?

The Great Khagan himself had started life as a simple herdsman. It was not unheard of for great empires to grow from humble beginnings. The Qersnyk tribes could find themselves a vassal state as easily as they had made vassals of other lands.

Samarkar turned her back to throw a set of packs across the withers of the nearest mule. It still wasn’t happy about the proximity of the tiger, but it seemed to have decided that a predator making itself as small as possible all the way across the fire was not interested in mule flesh today, so the mule contented itself with wary staring. Buldshak was not so easily convinced, but she stayed on the far side of Bansh, and Bansh was so mild that if she were a cow, Temur would have expected her to be chewing cud.

Without looking around, Samarkar said, “Are you a wizard?”

Hrahima stifled a laugh before the horses could kick themselves free. “I am Hrr-tchee. We are not wizards. But I know necromancy when it freezes my flesh.”

Casually, she dug her claws into the soil and raked dirt and vegetation over the defiled prayer stone. She stood, slowly, a controlled motion that revealed more power than jerking herself to her feet would have.

“Hrahima?” said Temur.

She turned to him, ears pricked, eyes glowing. Temur’s tongue wanted to cleave to the roof of his mouth, but he ordered himself to speak on. “You have no wizards? No shamans?”

“We need them not.” The skin across her neck and shoulders shuddered as if she flicked water from her hide.

“What do your people worship?”

Another chuffing laugh. “My people?” She paused, wiped her hands on the pillars of her thighs. “My people worship the Sun Within, and the Immanent Destiny.”

“But not you?”

Samarkar was watching over the mule’s back, attentive.

“I do not worship.” Hrahima passed a palm over her ears. “I prefer the illusion of free will.”

“Huh,” Samarkar said. “And what is it that motivates a Cho-tse to involve herself in human affairs of empire?”

The tiger looked down, ears flat. Temur could not shake the impression that she was abashed, though what he knew of cats suggested they were as shameless as ravens.

“The Ctesifonin,” she said, “have the same motivation anyone else does. They want to be out from under the Uthman yoke. And they do not care to replace it with a yoke of the Rahazeen.” Her ears flicked again; the rings jangled again. “Or that of the plainsmen, or the Bey of Messaline.”

She was looking directly at Temur. He found his fingertips pressed to his scar, ragged nails worrying it, and pulled them slowly away. “Empires grow or they collapse,” he said. “Everything ends. You have not answered the wizard yet.”

Tigers did not smile, but her ears flicked forward and her eyes went wide. “What do I gain in all this? Nothing, personally. Except the pay I claim for delivering the message. Even an exile must eat. And travel across the steppe is not so safe or speedy for you monkey-men as it once was, now that Mongke’s children are devouring each other like queen bees hatched in the same hive.”