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.He'd kiss Chichek, too, most thoroughly.Toragina had entertained him well enough on the journey back from the yurts of the Ak-Koyunlu.He doubted she would end up unassigned, to do menial labor and bear children to whatever Soldiers the Breedmaster decided.She would make some Soldier a companion better than the usual run of tribute maiden.But Chichek was something special.An uxorious Soldier! How the nomads would have laughed, had they known.He wondered what Gimilzor had learned while he was gone.Children changed so fast.Wasn't it yesterday—day before at the earliest—when the boy had been only a wailing lump swaddled in a blanket of soft muskylope wool? Now he was reading, field-stripping a toy assault rifle, learning the tricks of unarmed combat and of controlling his own enhanced body.Whereas Sharku just went on, cycle by cycle.So far as he could tell, he hadn't changed since Gimilzor was born.But his son's growth made a lie of that.Ahead in the distance reared the glittering peaks of the Atlas Mountains, the northern farm part of the Shangri-La Valley.The snow that topped those mountains never melted; some of it was CO2.The peaks reminded Sharku of the spine that might top a dragon's back; like a dragon's armor, they shielded the softer valley from danger all around.Already the land was falling toward the pass; invisible to the eye, but the air was a trifle thicker, the grass taller and more lush than on the high northern steppe.His party had taken a wide detour around the northern foothills of the Atlas range to approach the Citadel.Here near the great fortress of the Soldiers, traffic on the steppe was heavy: merchants coming to trade with and cater to the richest folk on Haven, a couple of tribute parties like his own, nomads bringing their animals or their wives to give birth in the thick lowland air of the Shangri-La Valley.Soon they would meet the customs stations and the paved road.He twisted to look behind him.Scattered here and there out on the steppe, he saw examples of all the groups that had crossed his mind.And there, less than a klick away and closing fast, he also saw a lone runner eating up the ground with the unmistakable untiring lope of a Soldier.His vision leaped the distance to give him a better look: a young fellow, beard still patchy, dressed in the furs and leathers of the plains.Not a man he knew by sight, which puzzled him a little; he thought he at least recognized most of the Soldiers of the Citadel likely to pull steppe duty.Turning to his companions, he pointed out the approaching runner."Any of you seen him before?"Mumak, Ufthak and Snaga all looked back at the fellow."No," they said in the same breath.Mumak added: "He's one of ours, though.Couldn't be anything else, not moving like that.""Raggedy-ass excuse for a Soldier," Snaga said."If he's what our distant Bases turn out these days, no wonder the cattle overran Angband."Sometimes Sharku wondered if Snaga had any brains at all.As patiently as he could, he said, "It wasn't just cattle, if you'll remember.One of ours run wild led them.It's Juchi's fault.Curse him, he's got the whole steppe boiling against us even after he's dead.""Raggedy-ass," Snaga repeated.Not for the first time, Sharku decided some selection board had been asleep at the switch when it made him an officer.Ufthak said, "Maybe he's been doing intelligence work among the cattle.That would account for the way he looks.You travel among the barbarians on that kind of mission, you don't want to be conspicuous." Ufthak, now, knew how to use his wits, Sharku thought.He wasn't just a fighter, he was a Soldier.Maybe the fellow trotting along through the calf-high grass heard the men of the tribute party speaking Americ.Maybe he recognized the field-gray they wore.Whatever the reason, he swerved toward them.His clothes looked ragged, but his boots were new—from the gaunt look of his face, he'd run far and fast and without time or opportunity to eat enough, wearing out footwear as he came.When he spoke, he blew all of Ufthak's fine theorizing into a cloud of muskylope flatulence.Not only did he use the Turkic dialect of the plains, he addressed the men of the Citadel as if they were others, not comrades: "You fellows, you're—Saurons?""We're Soldiers," Sharku answered stonily; Sauron was an other-people label for the descendants of those who had reached Haven in the Dol Guldur.The Chief Assault Leader studied the newcomer, who effortlessly kept pace with the tribute party's horses."So are you, by your genes.Who are you, anyhow?" What are you? was the unspoken echo to the question.The stranger's mouth twisted.Sharku noted that for a couple of reasons: first, the stranger didn't like the question, the answer to it, or both, and second, he'd never had proper Soldier schooling in controlling his musculature.Maybe Snaga had a point after all, Sharku thought reluctantly.The stranger's breath hissed out in a sigh—not weariness, not with the way he moved, but resignation.He dipped his head in what might have been either salute or challenge."Saurons—Soldiers, if you'd rather—know I am Dagor son of Juchi.Having heard that, do with me as you will." His head came up again.His eyes locked with Sharku's.It was challenge, then; whatever else was in this young man, he held no resignation.Sharku needed all his discipline to keep from staring.In Turkic, so Dagor could hear and fear, Snaga said, "Kill him.If he lies, he deserves death for his presumption.And if he's telling the truth, he deserves death for who he is."Much as Sharku disliked agreeing with Snaga about anything, he thought the other Soldier was right this once; at least, he found nothing missing from Snaga's analysis.Then Dagor threw back his head and roared laughter.Yes, he had spirit, whoever he was.Sharku said, "Have a care with your mirth, stranger.Your life is in peril.""By Allah and the spirits, why should I not laugh?" Dagor retorted."I went to the oasis where the Seven gather their hosts against the Citadel, seeking to set my sword among theirs, and they cast me out, may they roast in Hell forever.So I decided I would have my revenge upon them—after all, Saurons, I share your blood as well as theirs.And now you'd sooner kill me than hear me out! The bards on the steppe would set song round the several sides of such stupidity.""Hold, there," Sharku said."You know of the Seven?""Know of them?" Dagor said."Do you just hear with those augmented ears of yours, or do you listen? I know them well.With two, indeed, I could scarcely be more closely connected [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]