Page 44

T o be khan was a lonely thing. Jai sat, brooding in his great tent, listening to his hearth’s fire crackle. Had he not Winter, her heavy head in his lap, he might have despaired.

He had always thought of himself as being alone. But now, he realised that Leonid, for better or worse, had been his constant companion. Even in the dead of night, all those years ago, he could hear the old man snoring through the thin walls of his makeshift wardrobe chamber.

With Winter asleep, and unable to offer much more than silent feelings of love and encouragement, he longed for companionship.

For Rufus’s ribald jokes. Even his nudging, and prodding, at Jai’s reddening face.

And Erica. With her wild beauty, and hidden depths. The kind heart behind steel walls, where only thoughts of her people were allowed to enter.

Where could she be now?

Yet no sooner did their faces swim to the surface, he pushed them down. He knew he had more pressing things to consider. How could he help them, when he was still drowning himself? For now, they would have to wait.

He yawned, glad he had allowed himself and the rest of the tribe the afternoon and night to rest, after Zayn’s departure. But the time to think had allowed tongues to wag, and he knew his riteless status was the topic of the day.

The Rite. He cursed the practice, even as he knew it was the great equaliser. Pauper or prince, every Sithian that belonged to a tribe had gone through it. Though, he knew, most made far more paltry offerings. Stolen oxen from a trader, or pilfered gold from the same. Perhaps a wild old khiro, near dead on its feet, or a calf, abandoned by its mother. Others might bring other animals, grass eaters of the plains, or their carcasses to be eaten.

These, according to Feng, were the most common offerings. More often than not, it was the ceremony that was important.

But not for him, lest the shame of his pathetic offering to the tribe follow him the rest of his life. He, the son of Rohan, soulbound to a dragon. To bring back anything but a wild, fresh-broken khiro or the heads of a handful of legionaries would be paltry.

He might also perform an act of daring. Like crossing the Great Steppe without a khiro. Or kidnapping the heir of another tribe. Fat chance of doing that, soulbound or not.

The only thing worse was to be riteless forever.

He knew that he could cheat. So many did, if the tales Harleen told were true. Even Teji had been dogged with rumours.

Still, even Sindri said that he had a few weeks yet before it became a worry. His people knew his purpose. But whatever Tainted tribe they hunted, whether Keldar or not, once that was done, he’d be out of excuses.

Worst of all, he had another conundrum. Because Harleen had reported there were no Keldar campfires on the horizon that night, though the smoke of others stained the far skies. Lean as they were, they were still too slow.

Hunting another tribe meant riding out again, leaving his tribe exposed. Already, the rumours of his split with Teji would have spread throughout the Great Steppe – traders often profited more from their news than their wares. Many had peeled away from his own, remoras in seek of another shark to follow. Soon it would spread that a Great Tribe was vulnerable.

More enemies would come, for both he and Teji. And with many tribes moving east in fear of the Sabines, there would be more close by than usual. This was not the time to play cat and mouse games, alone or with his army.

Yet that was what he had been forced to do, one after the other. Was it right to make war on the Keldar? They had never done him any harm. And yet he knew, they would easily have fallen on the Valor, had they shown weakness.

He had no choice. This was the way of things. For now, he must ride the Great Steppe’s tide. Only when he had crested might he make his own way.

To hunt the Keldar, he would need to leave a sizeable force behind to protect his people. Three hundred, at least. Few tribes could field more than that number, and those that could would not force a battle with the same.

Scouts and outriders aside, that left him with some hundred and eighty knights to spare. Hardly much greater than the Keldar’s numbers, if Sindri’s estimate was accurate. He had not enough to force a surrender and it was too many to face in a fair fight.

Jai wondered if his father had suffered such evenings. Alone, in his tent, weighing the fate of the Kidara. If Samar and Arjun could see him now. Jai raised a horn of wine, where the servants had left it for him. They were still used to how Teji had liked things, and for once, he was grateful.

He looked up to where the smoke from the hearth drifted through the tent’s opening. There, he could spy the stars. The self-same stars he and his brothers had looked up at, dreaming of the world they had left behind.

He gave them silent toast, letting the bitter fruit of the wine slip down. Hoping they were watching him, from the Mother’s bosom, somewhere out there.

It was only now, as his thoughts turned to family, that he remembered. Though both his brothers’ mother and his own had died, he wondered if Arjun and Samar had aunts, or cousins among his people.

Even as he knew he would have none of his own. For his mother... she had been a concubine. Not even queen consort, as Samar and Arjun’s mother had been.

And he realised then. That here, now, he might find the answers to the questions Balbir could never give him. To know of his mother. Even... her name.

He put aside the drink, and called out.

‘Guard.’

An armoured man ducked into the tent, his head bowed. ‘Sire?’

‘What elder might remember my father’s time?’ Jai asked.

‘My khan, Meera is the memory keeper of the tribe. Now she shall be asleep, but her disciples are young and can be roused.’

‘Memory keeper?’ Jai asked.

The man reddened, and Jai winced as he realised he had revealed how little he knew of the Sithia’s ways once more. He hoped the guard understood discretion.

‘An elder who holds the memories of the tribe,’ the guard said tactfully. ‘They remember the victories and defeats, the oaths. The bloodlines of the herd. The bloodlines of the nobility...’

Jai held up a hand.

‘You said a disciple could come?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my khan,’ the guard said. ‘She has two of them, listening to her stories, until they know them too. That way, it is not forgotten.’

Jai almost let out a chuckle. It sounded like he’d been Leonid’s inadvertent memory-keeping disciple. But for it to be their entire purpose... they must be as patient as the Sabines’ saints.

Jai knew it would be proper to wait until morning. But by then, the problems of the morrow would be upon him. He allowed himself to be selfish.

‘Please,’ Jai said. ‘Summon one of her disciples.’