While Baver prepared to roast their daily marmot catch (he started fires skillfully now), Nils drilled Hans with the sword, a routine they skipped only occasionally, though sometimes shorted. Meanwhile Achikh rode off to the Kazakh camp, not much more than a kilometer away. He would, he said, try to trade their worn-out horses for fresh, perhaps with an extra thrown in because the Orc horses were much taller and more handsome than the local stock, and fleeter when in good condition.
By twilight he was back. The Kazakhs had refused his offer, he said, refused it rudely. The camp was in the charge of the chiefs mother, an ill-tempered, bad-mouthed woman. Most of the Kazakh men were away; only old men and young boys remained there with the women and children. According to the chiefs mother, the warriors had left that morning early, to catch and punish a band of thieves who’d stolen a calf. They were expected back the next day.
Achikh didn’t believe her. He’d noticed that the horse herd was small for so many gert, as if the men had left on some longer, more distant trip with lots of remounts,
98
a trip that might take hard riding. A war or raid, he thought; it was too early in the season for major hunting. Actually, he’d decided, she was wary of possible robbers, and wanted him to think the camp’s protectors were close at hand.
He looked hard at Nils. “This is the best chance we’ll have to steal horses, and I will get some whether you approve or not. When we are mounted, we can ride by night; by daybreak we’ll be far away, and with remounts we won’t need to rest the horses longer than it takes them to drink and eat.”
Nils regarded him calmly. “The moon will rise not long after midnight,” he pointed out.
“I will ride in the moonlight. It doesn’t frighten me.”
Baver sat tense; this was the point of decision, crucial decision. If Achikh insisted and Nils refused, they’d part. And if they parted, the three of them would be left with just a single horse. The Kazakhs might even take out their anger on them for lack of having Achikh in their grasp!
If Nils agreed, on the other hand, they’d have to ride hard, without sleep, and he didn’t know whether he could do that or not. And the Kazakhs might catch them anyway. He couldn’t even plead innocent then, mounted on one of the stolen horses.
“What will they do to us if they catch us?” he asked.
Achikh turned and stared, not used to having Baver speak to him except in the context of language lessons, and answered in Anglic. “They are barbarians; they would probably impale us if they caught us. But they won’t catch us.”
Baver’s guts clenched at the word “impale,” as if the stake had already entered him. And if Achikh considered them barbarians— His head snapped around to look at the northman. “Nils,” he began . . .
But the Northman replied to Achikh even as the word left Baver’s lips. “You will do what you must, and we will see what happens. If you do not come riding back with
99
a band of horses, I’ll see what can be done to rescue you.”
At this answer, Achikh stared for a moment, bemused. “Good. Let us eat. Afterward I’ll try my luck.” He grinned then, the grin startling Baver. “I have always enjoyed horse raids,” he said. “They are so dangerous.”
It had been dark for more than an hour when Achikh left. Baver watched him disappear into the moonless night. The Buriat had argued that it would go much better, much more surely, if he had help. Hans would liked to have gone, Baver thought, but the boy had said nothing, waiting for Nils’s response, and Nils again declined. Baver didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.
“What do you think?” he asked when Achikh was out of sight. “Will he get them?”
“I doubt it. I think he’ll be caught. I think they expect him to do this, and they’ll be ready.”
“Why do you think so?”