Judith Tarr Silk Roads And Shadows

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blue, she heard thunder and sensed heat lightning building up in a sky that
had probably not known clouds for years. The crowd was very quiet, watching.
Up and down the center of the hot, noisome field, she battled her enemy.
Snatches of prayer and incongruous remembrances chased themselves through her
mind;
Kyrie eleison jangled against "I will not flee a foot's breadth, but will
farther go," from one of Haraldr's interminable poems. There was nowhere to
retreat.
The thought that she might die here seemed incongruous.
She had never felt so alive, so aware of her own health and strength, of the
will that kept her on her feet, learning more about the strength of the blade
she held with every stroke. She was holding her own! The discovery of her own
courage thrilled her. Again she heard thunder.
Perhaps it would storm. Perhaps the rain would dissolve whatever spell knit
this demon to the goat's unnaturally animated flesh.
Again the beast charged her, and she brought down her
sword. The goat danced aside. Again, and then again.
She almost stumbled, and the beast opened its jaws and rushed her. Fumes from
its opened mouth made her giddy. She was near the end of her strength-if not
her courage-and it infuriated her. This was no proper way to die. The abbot
had assured her she faced danger on the journey east-and this, most assuredly,
counted as danger. But he had also promised her aid. Where was it?
She groaned and swerved out of the goat's path, and struck desperately at its
neck. Lightning pealed, leaping from sky to mountain, from mountain to the
blade of her sword. As her blade severed the goat's head from its body and
both parts of the beast fell to the ground, the blade trembled and rang in her
hand. Light flashed along it. When she glanced down at it, the sword was clean
of the goat's blood, which fell, smoking, into the dust.
Alexandra staggered. Her blade stuck in the dirt, and only that held her
upright. All around her, the circle of men held where they were, staring at
her in awe. Then Bryennius shook himself and started forward. He held out an
arm to her, prepared to carry her off the field, but she waved him back.
Hadn't she wanted the chance to make these men deal with her as a prince? She
had just shown herself to be even more than that; she dare not
Susan Shwartz dwindle into a mere woman to swoon and be carried back into the
inner rooms.
"My horse," she told him. "Bring him."
Haraldr led the horse forward, and she leaned against its side, running the
knuckles of her left hand against its smooth, warm neck. The horse rested its
head on her shoulder, and she felt better for the contact. Solemnly, Haraldr
knelt and made his hands into a cup. She mounted as smoothly as she could, and
adjusted her fingers on the reins, waiting for the strength to ride back to
her inn.
The crowd broke from its wary circle and reformed with her at its cheering
heart. She heard shouts, even the beginnings of a theological argument. Then
the man she had seen praying in the bazaar was nearby. His eyes met hers, and
she permitted herself a regal nod.
A sudden glint of light made him bend down and pick something up. Then he
offered it to her.
It was what the abbot told her was called a dorje, the scepterlike rod that
priests used in the rituals of the Diamond Path. "Shambhala," the man's
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toothless mouth formed. "Shambhala." As she took it from him, she felt a
thrill run from it up her arm and down her spine, banishing her fatigue and
giddiness. Bryennius watched her in some puzzlement.
"For luck," she said, and tucked it into her belt.
"Cousin, can you make it back to your inn?" he asked.
"What is this, brother?" shouted Suleiman
Mis'ar ibn Mulhalhil. "s-You send the
lady, your kinswoman" compolitely, he did not look at her-"back to some mangy
inn when my uncle's wives would vie to take care of her?"
still wouldn 't wager on that, Alexandra thought. A Greek, a woman, and a
Christian. She'd be fortunate if the merchant's harem didn't poison her.
She thanked the merchant. "Before I move-or think of dinner even-I want a bath
and fresh clothes,"
she said. "May we discuss this later?" She also wanted wine, perhaps several
flasks, and a chance to rest. And above all, she wanted off a nervous, sidling
horse and out of the center of a sweaty crowd that refought her battle and
battled to view the thing she had slain.
"Burn it!" she ordered anyone who would listen, and pressed knees against her
horse's flanks. The horse eased through the crowd. Suleiman Mi'sar ibn
Mulhalhil bowed and rode off.
Bryennius was at her side again. "If you are well, then I must see to my son's
funeral," he said. She blinked at him until she realized he meant the Kafir.
The man whose throat the demon spirit had slashed was one of Bryennius"
warriors.
"You're
King of the Kafirs?" she asked.
"They're called Simposh, and the answer is yes;
and I must go to them now."
"My guards will see me safely to my inn,"
Alexandra assured him.
"Leo's dead," Bryennius said. His face twisted, and the strangeness that she
had sensed between them fell away. "Oh, God, and I thought you were too!" His
eyes filled, and he fought for control as they headed toward the gates.
Hoofbeats sounded, and many riders rode between them and the gates.
Alexandra's hand dropped to her swordhilt. But it was the men of Ch'in. At the
prince's gesture, one man dismounted and walked over to her. She sat her
horse, keeping her face immobile, almost the Caesar-rnask she had used in
Byzantium. The man knelt at her feet and touched his brow to the dust in the
full prostration she had seen accorded only to her brother, the Basileus.
"This humble person has the honor to serve His imperial Highness, Li Shou. The
prince has commanded this unworthy one to bid the princess of
Fu-lin, her kinsmen, and her ministers to dine with him."
Alexandra gazed about somewhat glassily. She looked over at the silken bevy of
riders that was the
T'ang prince's entourage. The prince rode at its heart. He was a slender man
and, she thought, of middle height. His
TOO
Susan
Shwartz black hair and long mustaches were silvered, and he
looked more like a scholar than an adventurer. She met his eyes and felt
almost a physical shock. They were dark and clever, and irony seemed to dance
beneath their heavy lids. He nodded faintly at her, then turned to the Muslim
merchant who rode several deferential steps behind him.
So that was how the invitation came! News traveled fast in Kashgar. As if she
needed further proof of that, Father Basil pushed through to her side and
spoke rapidly with the kneeling man. "He's named you the princess of the
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Eastern Empire, of Rome, and of
Antioch," he explained. "And he's used the word for princess, not merely for
lady."
This was the opportunity she sought, Alexandra thought.
She touched the dorje tucked into her belt. It had indeed brought her luck.
"Tell His Imperial
Highness I accept," she ordered the priest. "And word it as beautifully as you
can." He spoke at length to the minister, who rose. A flurry of bows, and they
were both off to prostrate themselves before the prince.
He nodded to them, glanced over at Alexandra, and smiled. Then,, quite
deliberately, he waved his followers to one side and waited while she rode in
triumph a second time into Kashgar.
Alexandra climbed into the bullock cart sent around for her by the ibn
Mulhalhil household. Behind her rose what sounded like the sacking of a minor
city; servants had also been sent to pack and move her belongings and her
party's. Rising over the high-pitched voices of the women and the rapid-fire [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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