‘No. They are riding slowly, conserving the strength of their ponies.’
‘We attack when he comes into view?’
‘You think he will be easy to take?’ countered Gorkai.
Baski cleared his throat and spat, then he shrugged. ‘He is one man. We are three.’
‘Three ? You would be wise not to consider Djung in your estimate.’
‘Djung has killed before,’ said Baski. ‘I have seen it.’
Gorkai shook his head. ‘He is a killer, yes. But we are facing a fighter.’
‘We have not seen him yet. How do you know this, Gorkai?’
The older man sat back on his haunches. ‘A man does not have to know birds to see that the hawk is a hunter, the pigeon his prey. You understand? The sharpness of the talons, the wicked curve of the beak, the power and speed of the wings. So it is with men. This one is careful, and wary, avoiding areas of ambush, which shows he is skilled in the ways of the raid. Also he knows he is in hostile territory, yet he rides anyway. This tells us he has courage and confidence. There is no hurry, Baski. First we observe, then we kill.’
‘I bow to your wisdom, Gorkai.’
A sound came from behind and Gorkai twisted round to see Djung scrambling up the slope. ‘Slowly!’ hissed Gorkai, ‘you are making dust!’
Djung’s fat face adopted a sulky expression. ‘It cannot be seen from any distance,’ he said. ‘You worry like an old woman.’
Gorkai turned away from the younger man. There was no need for further conversation. Djung had a gift for stupidity, an almost mystic ability to withstand any form of logic.
There was still no sign of the riders and Gorkai allowed his mind to relax. Once he had been considered a coming man, a voice for the future. Those days were far behind now, trodden into the dust of his past. When he was first banished he had believed himself unlucky, but now, with the near-useless gift of hindsight, he knew this was not so. He had been impatient, and had sought to rise too far, too fast. The arrogance of youth. Too clever to recognize its own stupidity.
He was just seventeen when he took part in the raid on the Wolfshead tribe, and it was Gorkai who captured thirty of their ponies. Suddenly rich, he had learned to swagger. At the time it seemed that the Gods of Stone and Water had smiled upon him. Looking back he saw that it was a gift laced with poison. Capturing two ponies would have helped him find a wife; ten would have gained him a place among the elite. But thirty was too many for a young man and the more he swaggered, the more he became disliked. This was hard for a young man to understand. At the midsummer gathering he made an offer for Li-shi, the daughter of Lon-tsen. Five ponies! No-one had ever offered five ponies for a virgin.
And he was rejected! The flush of remembered shame stained his cheeks even now. Before all he was humiliated, for Lon-tsen gave his daughter to a warrior who offered only one pony and seven blankets.
Angry beyond reason, Gorkai had nursed his humiliation, fanning it into a hatred so strong that when the plan came to him he saw it as a blindingly brilliant scheme to restore his shattered pride. He had abducted Li-shi, raped her, then returned her to her father. ‘Now see who desires Gorkai’s leavings,’ he told the old man. Nadir custom was such that no other man would marry her. Nadir law decreed that her father would either have to give her to Gorkai, or kill her for bringing shame to her family.
They had come for him in the night, and dragged him before the Council. Once there he witnessed the execution of the girl, strangled by her own father, and heard the words of banishment spoken by the Elders.
Despite all the killing since, he still remembered the girl’s death with genuine regret. Li-shi had not struggled at all, but had turned her eyes upon Gorkai and watched him until the light fled from her and her jaw fell slack. Guilt remained with him. A stone in the heart.