Tsuboy, known as Saddleskull after he killed a raider and mounted the man’s skull on his saddle-horn.
All these were grandsons of Jongir. All descended from Ulric.
Tenaka’s violet eyes grew bleak and cold as he brought the trio to mind. Each had showed his hatred of the half-breed.
Abadai had been the most vicious and had even resorted to poison during the Feast of the Long Knives. Only Shillat, Tenaka’s vigilant mother, had observed the placing of the powder in her son’s cup.
But none had challenged Tenaka directly, for even by the age of fourteen he had earned the name Bladedancer and was accomplished with every weapon of war.
And he sat for long night hours round the camp-fires, listening to the old men as they remembered wars past, picking up details of strategy and tactics. At fifteen he knew every battle and skirmish in Wolfshead history.
Tenaka drew on the reins and stared at the distant Delnoch mountains.
Nadir we,
youth born,
axe wielders,
blood letters,
victors still.
He laughed and dug his heels into his gelding’s flanks. The beast snorted and then broke into a full gallop across the plain, hooves drumming in the early morning silence.
Tenaka let the horse run for several minutes before slowing it to a canter and then a trot. They had many miles to go, and though the beast was game he did not wish to overtire it.
By all the gods, it was good to be free of people! Even Renya.
She was beautiful and he loved her, but he was a man who needed solitude – freedom for his plans to form.
She had listened in silence when he told her of his plan to travel alone. He had expected a bitter row, but she had offered none. Instead she embraced him and they had made love without passion, but with great tenderness.
If he survived this insane venture, he would take her to his heart and his home. If he survived? He calculated the odds against success at hundreds to one; perhaps thousands. A sudden thought struck him. Was he a fool? He had Renya and a fortune waiting in Ventria. Why risk everything?
Did he love the Drenai? He pondered the question, knowing that he did not but wondering just what his feelings were. The people had never accepted him, even as a Dragon general. And the land, though beautiful, had nothing of the savage splendour of the Steppes. So what were his feelings?
The death of Illae had unhinged him, coming so close to the destruction of the Dragon. The shame he felt for spurning his friends had merged with the agony of lilac’s passing and in some strange way he saw her death as a punishment for his failure to fulfil his duty. Only Ceska’s death – and his own – could wipe away the shame. But now it was different.
Ananais would stand alone if necessary, believing in Tenaka’s promise that he would return. And friendship was something infinitely more solid and greatly more sustaining than love of the land. Tenaka Khan would ride across the deepest pit of Hell, endure the greatest hardships under the sun, to fulfil his promise to Ananais.
He glanced back at the Skoda mountains. There would the deaths begin in earnest. Rayvan’s band stood upon the anvil of history, staring up defiantly at Ceska’s hammer.
Ananais had ridden with him from the city just before dawn, and they had stopped on the brow of a hill.
‘Look after yourself, you Nadir slop-swiller!’
‘And you, Drenai. Look to your valleys!’
‘Seriously, Tani, take care. Get your army and come back swiftly. We don’t have long. I should think they will send a Delnoch force against us, to soften us up for the main thrust.’
Tenaka nodded. ‘They will probe and cut – tire you out. Use The Thirty; they will be invaluable in the days to come. Have you anywhere in mind for a second base?’
‘Yes, we are moving supplies to the high country south of the city. There are two narrow passes we could hold. But if they push us back there, we are finished. There is nowhere to run.’