His Conquering Sword: 3 (The Novels of the Jaran)
PRAISE FOR KATE ELLIOTT’S JARAN SERIES
“Elliott’s sure-handed and seductive blend of exotic locales, complex interstellar politics, intriguing cultures, realistic romance, and wonderfully realized characters is addictive. I want my next fix!” —Jennifer Robertson, author of the Novels of Tiger and Del
“Sweeps the reader along like a wild wind across the steppes. Tell Kate to write faster—I want to read the whole saga NOW!” —Melanie Rawn, author of the Dragon Prince Trilogy
“[Kate Elliott] spins a splendid web of a tale to trap the unwary and hold them in thrall until the tale is done. Here is another one . . . take care, for if you open these pages you’ll be up past dawn.” —Dennis McKiernan, author of Voyage of the Fox Rider
“A new author of considerable talent . . . a rich tapestry of a vibrant society on the brink of epic change.” —Rave Reviews
“A wonderful, sweeping setting . . . reminds me of C. J. Cherryh.” —Judith Tarr
“Well-written and gripping. After all, with a solidly drawn alien race, galactic-scale politics, intrigue, warfare, even a crackling love story, all set in a fascinating world that opens out onto a vast view of interstellar history, how could anyone resist?” —Katharine Kerr
His Conquering Sword
A Novel of the Jaran
Kate Elliott
The second book of The Sword of Heaven is also dedicated to my brother, Karsten, just in case you were wondering.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Act Four
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Act Five
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Preview: The Law of Becoming
About the Author
“He, who the sword of heaven will bear
Should be as holy as severe . . .”
—SHAKESPEARE,
Measure for Measure
CHAPTER ONE
ALEKSI COULD NO LONGER look at the sky without wondering. On clear nights the vast expanse of Mother Sun’s encampment could be seen, countless campfires and torches and lanterns lit against the broad black flank of Brother Sky. Uncle Moon rose and set, following his herds, and Aunt Cloud and Cousin Rain came and went on their own erratic schedule.
But what if these were only stories? What if Tess’s home, Erthe, lay not across the seas but up there, in the heavens? How could land lie there at all? Who held it up? Yet who held up the very land he stood on now? It was not a question that had ever bothered him before.
He prowled the perimeter of the Orzhekov camp in the darkness of a clear, mild night. Beyond this perimeter, the jaran army existed as might any great creature, awake and unquiet when it ought to have been resting; but the army celebrated another victory over yet another khaja city. And in truth, the camp still rejoiced over the return of Bakhtiian from a terrible and dangerous journey. The journey had changed him from the dyan whom they all followed in their great war against the khaja into a gods-touched Singer through whom Mother Sun and Father Wind themselves spoke.
And yet, if it was true that Tess and Dr. Hierakis and Tess’s brother the prince and all his party came from a place beyond the wind and the clouds, beyond the moon and the sun, then to what land had Bakhtiian traveled? To whom had he spoken? By whom was he touched? And how could a land as large as the plains lie up there in the sky, and Aleksi not be able to see it?
The stars winked at him, mute. They offered no answers, just as Tess had offered no answers before he had discovered that there was a question to be asked.
From here he could see the hulking shadow of Tess’s tent at the very center of the camp—not just at the center of the Orzhekov tribe but at the heart of the entire army. Another, smaller shadow moved and he paused and waited for Sonia to catch up to him.
She rested a hand on his sleeve and he could tell at once—although he could not see her face clearly—that she was worried. “Aleksi,” she said, whispering although they were already private. “Have you seen Veselov?” She hesitated, and he heard more than saw her wince away from continuing. But she went on. “Vasil Veselov. He came through camp earlier. He said he came to ask Niko about one of his rider’s injuries, but I don’t believe—” She faltered.
Aleksi was shocked at her irresolution.
“No one has seen him leave,” Sonia continued. “And Ilya just came back…” She trailed off and flashed a look around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, despite the fact that they both knew that they were well out of earshot, and that no one walked this way in any case. This part of camp, unlike the rest of the huge sprawl of tents extending far out into the darkness, was quiet and subdued. “The guards didn’t see him, but you never miss anything, Aleksi.” She waited.
A discreet distance beyond the awning of Tess’s tent stood the ever-present guards, these a trio who had ridden in with Ilya. Aleksi had seen him arrive with a larger train and then dismiss most of them. Bakhtiian had gone into his tent alone.
“Oh, I saw Veselov leave camp,” Aleksi lied in a casual voice. It wasn’t true, of course. But Aleksi knew when to trust his instincts. Better that no one else realize where Veselov actually was.
“Thank the gods,” murmured Sonia on a heartfelt sigh, and she gave Aleksi a sisterly kiss on the cheek and returned, presumably lighter in spirit, to her own tent.
It made Aleksi feel sick at heart, to lie to her like that, but he had learned long ago that orphans, outcasts, and all outsiders could not always live by the truth, though they might wish to. He trusted Tess to know what she was doing, just as she trusted him to protect her. No greater bond existed than love sealed by trust.
Aleksi touched his saber hilt and glanced up at the stars again. He wondered if Tess had not become like a weaver whose threads grow tangled: If the damage is not straightened and repaired soon enough, the cloth is ruined. Wind brushed him, sighing through camp. Songs drifted to him on the breeze, a distant campfire flared and, closer, a horse neighed, calling out a challenge. Above, in the night sky, the campfires of Mother Sun’s tribe burned on, too numerous to count, too distant to smell even the faintest aroma of smoke or flame from their burning.
“We come from a world like this world,” Dr. Hierakis had said, “except its sun is one of those stars.” Could there possibly be another Mother Sun out there, giving her light to an altogether different tribe of children? He shook his head impatiently. How could it be true? How could it not be true? And what, by the gods, did
Tess think she was doing, anyway? Did she truly understand what trouble there would be if it was discovered that Bakhtiian and Veselov had met together, secretly, even with her serving as an intermediary?
He cast one last glance at the silent tent and then began to walk the edge of camp again.
CHAPTER TWO
ILYA LAY IN ELEGANT disarray beside her, breathing deeply, even in sleep marked by a harmonious attitude that drew the eye to him. A soft gloom suffused the tent. The lantern burned steadily, but its light did little more than blur the edges of every object in the chamber.
Vasil was one such object: the light burnished his hair and accentuated the planes of his handsome face. He lay on his side with his eyes shut, but Tess knew he was only pretending to be asleep. Somehow, not surprisingly, she had ended up between the two men. She traced her fingers up his bare arm to his shoulder.
“Vasil,” she whispered, so as not to wake Ilya, “you have to leave.”
He did not open his eyes. “If you were a jaran woman,” he said, no louder than her, “you would have repudiated him, and never ever done such a thing as this. What is it like in the land where you come from?”
“In the land where I come from, there are marriages like this.”
His eyes snapped open. He looked at her suspiciously. “Two men and a woman?”
“Yes, and sometimes two women and a man, sometimes two of each. It’s not common, but it exists.”
“Gods,” said Vasil. He smiled. “Ilya must conquer this country.”
“No,” said Tess, musing. “It’s a long way away.”
“I never heard of such a thing in Jeds,” said Ilya.
“I thought you were asleep! It isn’t Jeds, anyway. It’s Erthe.”
“Ah,” said Ilya. He shifted. She turned to look over her shoulder at him, but he was only moving to pull the blankets up over his chest. “Tess is right. You have to go, Vasil.”
Lying between them, Tess was too warm to need blankets. Vasil reached out to draw a hand over her belly, casual with her now that they had been intimate.
“Not much here. You must be early still, like Karolla.”
Tess chuckled. “Dr. Hierakis says I’m not quite halfway through. She says with my build that I carry well.”
“Dokhtor Hierhakis? Ah, the healer. She came from Jeds.”
“From Erthe, originally, but she lives in Jeds now.”
“How can she know, Tess?” asked Ilya suddenly.
For once, there was a simple, expedient answer, and she didn’t have to lie to him. “Because you got me pregnant after you came back from the coast with Charles. I know I wasn’t pregnant before that. Ilya, if you think back, you know as well as I when it happened.”
“I’m sorry I—” began Vasil, and then stopped. He withdrew his hand from her abdomen and sat up abruptly.
“You’re sorry about what?” Tess asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. Tess watched, curious. She had never seen Vasil at a loss for words before.
“You’re sorry you weren’t there,” said Ilya in a low voice, “and you’re sorry to think that I might have a life with my own wife that doesn’t include you.”
Vasil did not reply. He rose and dressed without saying anything at all. Tess could tell that he was troubled. She watched him dress, unable not to admire his body and the way he moved and stood with full awareness that someone—in this case she—was watching him. She could feel that Ilya watched him, too, but she knew it was prudent not to turn to look. Vasil did not look at either of them. He pulled on his boots and bent to kiss her. Then he stood and skirted the pillows, only to pause on the other side, beside Ilya. Tess rolled over.
The light shone full on Vasil’s face. “Are you sorry I came here tonight?” he asked, his attention so wholly on Ilya that Tess wondered if Vasil had forgotten she was there.
Ilya regarded him steadily. “No.” His gaze flicked toward Tess and away. His voice dropped to a whisper. “No, I’m not sorry.” Vasil knelt abruptly and leaned forward and kissed him. Lingered, kissing him, because Ilya made no move, neither encouraging him nor rejecting him, just accepted it.
Simple, ugly jealousy stabbed through Tess. And like salt in the wound, the brush of arousal.
Ilya shifted and suddenly he changed. All this night he had been astonishingly passive, going along with the choice Tess and Vasil had made as if he followed some long-set pattern, pursued acquiescing to his pursuer. As if that was how it had been before, between him and Vasil. Now he placed a hand on Vasil’s chest and gently, with finality, pushed him away. “But it can’t happen again,” he said quietly. “You know that.”
Startled, Vasil glared at him. “Why not? She said there were marriages like this, in that khaja land.” He reached out to Ilya’s face and splayed his fingers along the line of Ilya’s jaw. With his thumb, he traced the diagonal scar up Ilya’s cheek. “You are the only man marked for marriage in all the tribes.”
“Oh, God,” said Tess, recalling that moment vividly now. “And I was wearing your clothes and using your saber when I did it.”
“So it is true,” said Vasil triumphantly. “Can you deny it?”
Ilya closed a hand over Vasil’s wrist and drew Vasil’s hand away from his face, then released it. “It is also true that not twelve days ago a rider named Yevgeni Usova was banished from the army for lying with another man, with one of the actors. Shall I judge myself less severely than he was judged?”
“I was sorry to hear about Yevgeni,” said Vasil carelessly. “But he was stupid enough to get caught.”
“So we are to be allowed to continue as long as we are not caught? I think not, Vasil. I must be more holy than the riders I command, not less. Nothing else is just.”
Vasil looked annoyed, as if he had not expected this turn of events. “So that is why after your family was killed, after the tribes agreed to follow you, you threw me out? That is why you stopped getting drunk? I remember after you came back from Jeds, how many women used to ask you to their beds and how very often you went. It is true, what I heard later, that you rarely lay with women afterward? After your family was killed? After I was banished? Were you punishing yourself? Is there a single piece of gold in this tent from any of the khaja cities your army has conquered? Once you questioned everything, you demanded to know why the jaran had to live as our grandmothers and grandfathers and their grandparents had lived, as the First Tribes had lived. Now you are the most conservative of all. Do you know who you remind me of? You remind me of the man who killed your mother and sister. You remind me of Khara Roskhel.”
For an instant Ilya’s anger blazed off him so strongly that he seemed to add light to the room. Then, as suddenly, he jerked his head to one side, to stare at the curtained wall that separated the inner from the outer chamber. “He was pure,” he said in a low voice.
“And you are not? Because of me?” Vasil’s tone was scathing.
Ilya hesitated. Tess had a sudden instinct that Ilya wanted to say “Yes, because of you,” but that because he did not believe it himself, he could not bring himself to lie.
“Roskhel always supported you, Ilya,” said Vasil, his voice dropping. “When we got to the great gathering of tribes, that summer eleven years ago, when we rode in to the encampment, he supported you. And then, the day you stood up in front of the elders of the tribes to tell them of your vision, he was gone. What happened there to turn him against you? Did he and your mother quarrel?”
The silence following this question became so profound that Tess heard, from outside, the bleating of startled goats. Tess realized that she was cold, and she wrapped a blanket around her torso. Vasil did not move, staring at Ilya.
“Yes,” said Ilya in a clipped tone. He would not look at either of them. “Go, Vasil. You must go.”
“Ilya.” Vasil extended a hand toward Ilya, tentatively, like a supplicant. The gesture seemed odd in him, and yet, seeing it, Tess felt heartened. “You have always had such great visions, ever sinc
e you were a boy. What I want seems so small beside it.”
“Yet what you want is impossible.”
“It is because I’m dyan? I’ll give it back to Anton. I never wanted it except to get close to you.”
“You know that’s not the reason.”
“But I have children, and a wife. You have a wife, and soon you’ll have children as well. What is to stop us continuing on like this?”
“You will never understand, Vasil. Only what I granted to the gods and to the jaran, that I lead us to the ends of the earth if need be, if that is our destiny. You aren’t part of that vision. You can’t be, by our own laws. I banished you once. I’ve already made that choice. Don’t force me to do it again. Because I will.”
“Damn you.” Vasil rose abruptly, anger hot in his face. “I would have made a different choice.”
Ilya’s weight of authority lent him dignity and a sheer magnitude of presence that so eclipsed Vasil’s beauty and charisma that Tess suddenly understood the desperate quality in Vasil’s love for Ilya. “You are not me. The gods have touched me. Through my father and my mother, the gods chose to bring me here, so that I might act as their instrument. My first duty will always be to their calling.”
“What about her?” Vasil asked bitterly, gesturing with a jerk of his head toward Tess.
“Tess knows the worth of my love for her.”
“Yes,” said Tess in a quiet voice, seeing how Ilya’s shoulders trembled with emotion, and fatigue. “I do know the worth of his love for me. Vasil, you know what the answer is. You must have always known it. Why couldn’t you have taken this night as a gift and let it go?”
She could not tell if Vasil heard her. But then, whenever Ilya was near him, the greatest part of his attention had always been reserved for Bakhtiian, no matter how much he might seem to be playing to others. “Let it be my curse to you, then,” said Vasil, “that you always know that I have always and will always love you more than anything.” He spun on his heel and strode out, thrusting the curtain aside so roughly that it tumbled back into place behind him.