The doubt
Getting up had not been that difficult, Daryun decided when, on the fifth attempt, he managed to pull himself up, holding onto the nearest support pole of the jurta.
He straightened his shoulders and waited for the world to finish to go around him like a mad carousel. He could do it, Daryun told himself as he struggled to resist dizziness. It had been harder to get back on his feet the last time he had been persuaded by Qbad to drink with him and Farangis.
When he thought he could abandon the pole's support at least with one hand, Daryun adjusted on himself the clothes that someone, perhaps Ay Jana, had left on the mattress and which, before getting up, he had worn, albeit with some difficulty because of pain to his wounds.
They were comfortable clothes, of light silk and soft wool, artfully modified to adapt them to his build. They kept warm and turned out to be pleasant to wear.
In arranging the tunic, Daryun glanced at the drawings that the nomadic priestess had traced on his skin. He had watched them for a long time, with curiosity, without being able to give them meaning, but now he had other things to worry about.
No longer thinking about the drawings, he lifted his head and looked at the stiff cloth that closed the entrance to the tent.
It was close. He could get there.
On the verge of leaving the pole to which he held himself up, ready to move first step, Daryun suddenly stopped in hearing someone approached. Among the sounds of the camp, which came to him through the tent, he heard a light footstep settle on the boards of what was to be the ladder to get into the cart. A few moments later, he saw Ay Jana peeking out from behind the pulled sheet and looking for him. When she found him, the girl smiled and stepped forward.
As Ay Jana approached him, Daryun watched her and belived to see a satisfied expression on the young woman's face. She was looking at him too, and when she came near him, she stretched out her tattooed hands to tie the shirt over his chest.
She was even smaller than appeared at first, Daryun thought as he let her do it. The girl could not reach his shoulders with the head, and her pale skin made it even more evident the thinness of her face a little bony.
When she had finished closing his shirt, Ay Jana took a step back and looked up at him. She smiled again and spoke a few words.
Daryun shook his head, to tell her that he could not understand. The language of these people sounded completely alien to him. It did not resemble any of the idioms he knew, while the objects he saw around him were not entirely unknown to him. In particular, the heavy, brightly colored carpets with refined designs that covered the wagon boards had something familiar. He had already seen similar ones, but where?
He felt Ay Jana touch his arm, to attract his attention, then the young woman took his hand and drew him to her. She spoke again, nodding at the exit, and this time, although he had not understood her words, Daryun realized that she was inviting him to follow her out.
It was exactly what he wanted. Getting out of that tent was necessary for him to understand where he was, and to find out what had happened to the men he had managed to wrest from the trap in which they had been lured.
Without hesitation, Daryun left his support and took a step, but found himself still too weak to remain standing. He had to hang on to Ay Jana so as not to fall. He tried not to weigh on her, but she grabbed him firmly and stood at his side, supporting him without difficulty.
"You are less fragile than it looks" Daryun murmured, feeling the tension of the thin but strong body of the girl through the clothes.
She looked at him and nodded proudly, as if she understood. Adjusted her grip and placed Daryun's arm behind her shoulders, then walked steadily toward the exit of the tent.
Daryun walked with her, stubbornly resisting the throbbing pain of the wound and the feeling of frost that, from time to time, ran through his veins. Last residual, he thought, of the poison instilled in his blood by the claws of the sorcerer.
He brought his hand to his chest wound and, once more, was surprised to be alive. Ay Jana, who had extended an arm to pull aside the curtain cloth, stopped, interpreting his gesture as a sign of suffering. She asked a question, in that unknown language, and her clear eyes became worried.
Fearing that the girl would change her mind and give up helping him out, Daryun straightened up as much as he could and tried to make her understand that it was nothing. She looked at him, unconvinced, but ended up pulling aside the heavy colored cloth and led him out.
The sunlight forced Daryun to squint, accustomed to the dim light of the tent, while the crisp air of the mountains lashed his face pleasantly. It was full day, white clouds chased each other in a blue and transparent sky; only to the south, sinister piles of gray and heavy clouds, oppressed the snowy peaks of the mountains.
Daryun frowned. He knew those mountains, but he did not expect to find himself so far from them. He looked around and his trained mind examined the situation in a few moments. It was on the northern highlands, and those that looked northward were the chains of the Wa Chan, and they were closer than he wished.
Those mysterious nomads had carried him far away from Peshawar. Too far.
The camp was not unlike that of many other plains clans. Jurta tents shaped round, made of leather and woolen cloths, mounted on poles. The horses, small and robust with thick tawny fur, were enclosed in fences, also formed by low palings.
The horses were not many, certainly less than those actually owned by that group of people, evaluated the general of Parsia. Surely, the able men were out, and rode hunting on the plateau. After all, he saw only elderly people, women and children, engaged in their daily activities.
Someone looked at him with curiosity, others smiled at him. Everyone greeted Ay Jana with deference.
Supporting himself onto the girl's small but solid figure, Daryun could descend the few steps of the wooden ladder that separated him from the ground. The wagon that housed the jurta of the nomadic priestess was mounted on low, solid wheels of solid wood wrapped in sheet of iron. The pole, to which the horses for towing were attached, had been removed. That and many other signs in the camp made Daryun think that the nomads had not intended to move from there for some time.
From the number of tents, horses and people he saw, Daryun thought he was not mistaken in thinking that the nomadic group was made up of at least fifty individuals. About the identity of their leader, he had no doubts: certainly he had to be that gruff guy of Tavan Bogd.
Shabrang's snort and low nitrite made him turn abruptly. His horse was tied to the cart, not far from him, and he was pulling the halter that held him back.
"Shabrang" Ay Jana said. She pointed to the black steed and accompanied Daryun next to it, until the general could caress the animal, which calmed down and began to rub on him with the shuddering muzzle.
"Also I am happy to see you, my friend" Daryun murmured, passing his fingers on the black mane of his steed.
The horse's hair was perfectly clean. The beast had been groomed, nourished and well cared for. Despite the ugly wounds, which still marked his hips, Shabrang appeared in force and not at all suffering.
Ay Jana had cared for it well, and she had traced her mysterious drawings also on it. Daryun looked at the doodles on Shabrang's glossy fur, until he seemed to identify a recognizable form: they were not abstract signs, they drew something: animals, maybe deer. He watched better. They were not deer, they were mountain goats. Those big mountain goats, with the big, long, curved horns that he too had seen sometimes, travelling over the steep slopes of the mountains on his journeys north of his country.
Suddenly a name flashed through his mind and he knew who those nomads were.
"Paziki" he said, turning to Ay Jana. "You are Paziki. I saw the merchants of your people in Serica, years ago. They traded carpets like those in your tent. Why are you here, so south?" he asked, without expecting to be understood and even less to receive an answer.
Ay Jana stared at him for a long moment, as if he were reflecting on his words. "Paziki" she finally nodded, then turned to the northeast and pointed away. "Serica" she said.
When turned back to Daryun she was smiling. "Parsia" she said again, and pointed south.
"Parsia" repeated, touching the general with the tips of her fingers, then laughed and pushed away the muzzle of Shabrang who, intrigued by the unknown clothes of his master, was chewing one of the dress laces.
The animal snorted and scratched the ground. Daryun hastened to grab him by the halter, fearing that the steed would react badly to the gesture of the young woman, but Shabrang was already letting Ay Jana to caress its nose and the horse was tickling her other hand with its lips, as if looking for something greedy on her palm.
Apparently, his terrible war horse had let himself be tamed by that nomad girl, Daryun told himself with a half smile. Not many, apart from himself, were those to whom Shabrang deigned to grant such confidence.
He ran his hand over the powerful shoulders of the horse, still intent on being pampered by Ay Jana, and felt the force vibrating in its muscles. Shabrang was definitely able to travel. He could leave, but first he had to find out how many of his men had been saved, or if someone had been saved.
He raised his head and was about to look around when he heard his name called. He recognized the voices and the sense of relief that invaded him almost made him forget all anguish. But it was a brief relief. When Daryun saw only three soldiers coming towards him, accompanied by an old man and a child Paziki, all the weight of the ferocious defeat he suffered fell on him like a boulder.
Only three, he kept repeating himself, while the men reached him and stood around him with expressions of relief and expectation on their faces.
"General, sir. You look fine?" asked one of the soldiers. "We thought you were dead."
"Now we'll go back to Peshawar, are not we, sir?" Another came forward, with a bandaged arm, hanging around neck.
"Sir, they were ghouls!" exclaimed the third, dragging himself clinging to that of the comrades who had spoken first. "They did not have to be there, they should not even exist! Why did they attack us? And those sorcerers? Who are they?!"
"And these people? Who are these nomads?" asked the first soldier, who seemed to be the strongest one. "They've been taking us on their travels for days."
Daryun looked at Ay Jana, who had stepped back, as if frightened by those agitated and loud men. "They are nomadic Paziki," he said, deciding to answer the simplest of question that had been addressed to him.
"Paziki?" said the same soldier.
Daryun looked at him. He was not one of his knights, he was one of the men of Qbad.
"What are Paziki doing here?" asked the soldier again and suspect was painted on his face.
"I do not know," Daryun replied, "But they saved our lives."
The soldier looked at Ay Jana. "She took care of us," he said, but there was no gratitude in his voice.
"They buried our dead," said the soldier with the injured arm.
Daryun resisted the temptation to ask how many had been buried by the Paziki. It would not have made any difference to know it. He had left Ectabana with five hundred knights, and only two remained alive, along with the Peshawar soldier.
Never before in his life had he suffered such a disaster.
"Let's go back to Peshawar, sir," begged the man clinging to his comrade.
Daryun looked at him and frowned. That soldier could not endure the travel to Peshawar. Actually, of the three the only one who could be able to ride was the Qbad warrior. As for himself, standing still cost him more and more effort and he began to doubt that he would hold up for a long time.
But this fact, these men did not have to know it, or even suspect it.
He held out his hand the soldier's healthy shoulder and felt it tremble under his fingers. "We'll leave when you're better. What's your name?" he asked.
"Khorask, sir," replied the soldier, and tried to straighten up. "I'll be fine soon" he said.
Daryun nodded to encourage him, although it was clear that the man would have taken days before he could even hope to get on horseback.
And Peshawar was so far away.
"Are you sure they will let us go, sir?" asked the soldier of Qbad.
Daryun turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"These people" said the man, "they saved us is true, but we do not know why they did it. And then, they too, like the ghouls, should not have been so far south."
The movement of Ay Jana withdrawing, almost hiding behind Shabrang, drew Daryun's attention, but the General of Parsia did not turn and continued to face the other man.
"Your name, soldier," he ordered dryly.
"Tharas, sir" replied the man without hesitation.
"Speak more clearly, Tharas."
The soldier looked at Ay Jana and then turned his gaze to the old man and the child who were close to them. The boy, full of wonder and fear, watched Shabrang tower over him.
"In addition to ghouls and necromancers, there were also unknown warriors. Men of some people never seen before. We do not know who our enemies are, sir, but we know we have fallen into an ambush. A trap. Who tells us that these people are not allied with those who have deceived us?"
"But they saved us," Khorask said.
"Yes, but they also took us far away from Peshawar, taking us with them further north," Tharas answered. "They might want to use us for another trap," he watched at Daryun, but quickly looked down. "They may want to use you, sir, to draw other Peshawar men out of the fortress, because, you know sir, his Majesty Arslan and general Kishward will never stop to seek you."
The suspect about the Paziki people caught Daryun by surprise. He had not thought of such an eventuality, and although it was hard to belive for him, there were still many things that did not fit. He liked it or not, Tharas could be right.
Maybe. Or maybe not.
"We will return to Peshawar as soon as Khorask will be able to ride again" he said, without giving an answer to Tharas' doubts. "In any case, even if the Paziki will want to continue their journey further north, we will not follow them" concluded. He turned to Ay Jana, who still smoothed the snout of an unusually meek Shabrang.
It was impossible for him to belive she could betray them, but could he be sure? After what had happened, after seeing the necromancers of a demon king guide the ghouls to the massacre of his men, what could still be considered certain?
Suddenly, Ay Jana looked up at him. If she sensed his uncertainty or not, Daryun could not know it, yet he looked back at the young woman, looking for a negation of Tharas's suspicions in the clarity of his irises.
And he did not notice the dark expression with which the soldier of Qbad was staring at them both.