The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [17]
Rehada approached, but then she stopped, gasping as she recognized him. He had a ruggedly handsome face and dark, commanding eyes. A ragged scar ran down from what was left of his ear to his neck and cheek. The upper part of the ear remained, and he wore a handful of golden earrings there.
This was Soroush, the leader of the Maharraht, and the father of her child.
He had always been a brazen man, but to come here when he was at such a disadvantage? Snow fell on his dark turban and the stone of jasper held within it. She knew the stone was useless—at least to Soroush—and she wondered if he wore it as a ploy or to remind himself of his past. Soroush was nothing if not steeped in the past.
She continued walking past him, and he stepped alongside her, the two of them falling into a pace that made it seem as if they had always been together. Still, there were feelings of anxiety and uncertainty welling up inside her. Had it been so long since she’d seen him that she could act this way? Had they fallen so far out of touch?
“You were told not to take a disciple,” Soroush said.
“I have been here seven years, Soroush. Questions were being asked.”
“Attachments, Rehada, are to be avoided.”
She scoffed. “Have you come this far to chide me over my urge to teach?”
They walked in silence for a time, their footsteps scuffing the light dusting of snow. She did not look toward him, but she could picture the muscles along his jaw working, as they had always done when she’d tested his patience.
“We have lost the boy,” Soroush said.
Then Rehada did look at him. His face was set in stone as he walked, refusing to return her gaze. “How?”
“I misjudged Ashan. He stole him away a month ago.”
“Then we are lost.”
“I do not believe so, not as long as Ashan is headed here to Khalakovo.”
“Can you be so sure that he is?”
“The rift over Rhavanki has nearly closed, while the one here over Khalakovo is widening.”
“That means nothing. If he suspects what you’re about, he’ll keep Nasim away.”
“I don’t think so. He believes that Nasim is the key to healing the rifts. He will bring Nasim here, and he will continue to study him. It is his only hope of unraveling his mysteries.”
They came to a larger street. Though there was some traffic—some peasants with baskets, others with carts—Soroush continued on as if he hadn’t noticed them. Rehada did so as well, so as not to draw attention.
“We cannot succeed without Nasim.”
Soroush nodded. “We shall see, but there is much to do in any case. Two days ago we gathered the first of the stones, and there are still four more to find.”
“You have learned so much?”
“We know how to find four, and the fifth may well indeed hinge upon Nasim.”
They were heading across an old walking bridge now. No one was in sight, but Rehada still felt terribly exposed.
Soroush stopped at the foot of the bridge, just before the street resumed its upward trek. His face was resolute, his body like stone. It made Rehada cold inside to see him like this. “Three days from now, take the road to Iramanshah at midday. Release your spirit the day before you come.”
Rehada was suddenly very aware of the beating of her heart. “What am I to do?”
“Can you not guess?” The expression upon Soroush’s face was not one of fervor, as she might have guessed, but of lamentation. “You will find for us our second stone.”
CHAPTER 5
Nikandr and Borund guided their ponies around the gallows where three young men hung from the ends of ropes. No doubt they had been taken for simple robbery, most likely for food. It was too common a scene in Volgorod of late. Ranos had taken a serious stance on such crimes—allow such things to go on, he’d said, and the city would devolve into chaos. And if Khalakovo’s largest city fell prey to such things, the rest would soon follow.
One of the boys was Aramahn, something he took