it turns north.”
“Will it? “Kadan said.
“Yes.” Psin looked around at their faces. They were tired, but not so tired as they had been after the first few days’ riding. “In my absence, Baidar will command the camp.”
Quyuk roared and sprang to his feet. Psin said, “In my absence Quyuk will be gone too. I won’t be here much.”
Buri said, “Where Quyuk goes I go.”
“I told you once before, Buri. I can always use extra horses.”
Quyuk thrust his head forward. The firelight turned his eyes deep red.
“Merkit, you talk a lot. Too much. You talked us out here and you’ve talked us gentle so far. I’m sick of talk. What else do you have, Merkit?”
Psin looked at Buri and saw the sinews standing up in his throat and his mouth trembling with eagerness. “Baidar. Watch him for me.” He got up.
“Come on, old man,” Quyuk said. His voice hissed across the fire. “Come and fight me.”
Psin unbuckled his belt. “I should think a boy of your good mind would have learned by now. I don’t go to you, Quyuk. You come to me.”
Quyuk snatched out his dagger and plunged around the fire. His arms were longer than Psin’s. He held the dagger low, aimed at Psin’s belly, and Psin sucked in his breath. He stood still, watching Quyuk prowl toward him. The belt dangled from his hand.
He glanced at Buri again and saw Buri’s hot glittering eyes and Baidar’s, behind him, doubtful. He pulled the belt through his fingers, so that he held it by the tongue end.
“Yaaah!”
Quyuk came in from one side like a leopard. The dagger flashed in the firelight. Psin jumped backward and slashed the belt at Quyuk’s face. The lean brown face jerked back out of range, and Psin rushed forward. Quick, he thought. Make it quick. The dagger’s ruddy blade streaked up between his chest and Quyuk’s, and Psin caught it on his forearm and brought the belt down like a whip. He felt, together, the slice of the dagger across his arm and the belt buckle striking bone.
Somebody shouted. Psin wrapped his bad arm around Quyuk’s waist and threw him hard, away from the fire. Quyuk rolled, his arms crossed in front of his face. Psin with the belt pursued him. He remembered just before he struck to grab the buckle end and swing the other. Quyuk lashed out with his legs and Psin dodged, flogging Quyuk across the arms and head with the belt. He could hear Quyuk’s gasping breath and the flat thudding of the leather on flesh. Quyuk kicked him in the shin, and he grunted, but he brought the belt down so hard that blood popped from the edge of the welt on Quyuk’s hand.
“Stop,” Buri cried.
Psin leapt back, away from Quyuk’s legs, and turned. Buri was on his feet, and his face was taut.
“Quyuk?”
Quyuk had rolled almost into the fire. He pressed his hands against his face. The backs of his hands were ridged with welts. He lurched up onto his knees. Psin stood still, the belt buckle clenched in his fist. Across Quyuk’s forehead a cut oozed blood. Kadan whispered something.
“Get up,” Psin said, quietly.
Lowering his hands, Quyuk rose. Welts streaked his face. He touched his forehead and looked at the blood on his fingers.
“What punishment?” Buri shouted. “What punishment for the man who spilled the blood of the son of the Kha-Khan?”
Baidar thrust at him, spat away from the fire, and went back to his place. Uncertainly, Arcut said, “The Yasa—”
Quyuk straightened. “The Yasa says that the blood of no highborn man shall be spilled.” He reached out and caught Psin by the left arm and held it toward the fire. Psin’s sleeve was sodden with blood from the dagger slash. Quyuk flung down Psin’s hand. “No price against either of us.” More softly, he said, “I’ll get you my own way, Merkit.”
He strode off from the fire. Baidar came up by Psin and looked at the wound. “You could have killed him with that belt buckle.”
“I know.”
Arcut and Baidar led him off to his own camp, and
“Will it? “Kadan said.
“Yes.” Psin looked around at their faces. They were tired, but not so tired as they had been after the first few days’ riding. “In my absence, Baidar will command the camp.”
Quyuk roared and sprang to his feet. Psin said, “In my absence Quyuk will be gone too. I won’t be here much.”
Buri said, “Where Quyuk goes I go.”
“I told you once before, Buri. I can always use extra horses.”
Quyuk thrust his head forward. The firelight turned his eyes deep red.
“Merkit, you talk a lot. Too much. You talked us out here and you’ve talked us gentle so far. I’m sick of talk. What else do you have, Merkit?”
Psin looked at Buri and saw the sinews standing up in his throat and his mouth trembling with eagerness. “Baidar. Watch him for me.” He got up.
“Come on, old man,” Quyuk said. His voice hissed across the fire. “Come and fight me.”
Psin unbuckled his belt. “I should think a boy of your good mind would have learned by now. I don’t go to you, Quyuk. You come to me.”
Quyuk snatched out his dagger and plunged around the fire. His arms were longer than Psin’s. He held the dagger low, aimed at Psin’s belly, and Psin sucked in his breath. He stood still, watching Quyuk prowl toward him. The belt dangled from his hand.
He glanced at Buri again and saw Buri’s hot glittering eyes and Baidar’s, behind him, doubtful. He pulled the belt through his fingers, so that he held it by the tongue end.
“Yaaah!”
Quyuk came in from one side like a leopard. The dagger flashed in the firelight. Psin jumped backward and slashed the belt at Quyuk’s face. The lean brown face jerked back out of range, and Psin rushed forward. Quick, he thought. Make it quick. The dagger’s ruddy blade streaked up between his chest and Quyuk’s, and Psin caught it on his forearm and brought the belt down like a whip. He felt, together, the slice of the dagger across his arm and the belt buckle striking bone.
Somebody shouted. Psin wrapped his bad arm around Quyuk’s waist and threw him hard, away from the fire. Quyuk rolled, his arms crossed in front of his face. Psin with the belt pursued him. He remembered just before he struck to grab the buckle end and swing the other. Quyuk lashed out with his legs and Psin dodged, flogging Quyuk across the arms and head with the belt. He could hear Quyuk’s gasping breath and the flat thudding of the leather on flesh. Quyuk kicked him in the shin, and he grunted, but he brought the belt down so hard that blood popped from the edge of the welt on Quyuk’s hand.
“Stop,” Buri cried.
Psin leapt back, away from Quyuk’s legs, and turned. Buri was on his feet, and his face was taut.
“Quyuk?”
Quyuk had rolled almost into the fire. He pressed his hands against his face. The backs of his hands were ridged with welts. He lurched up onto his knees. Psin stood still, the belt buckle clenched in his fist. Across Quyuk’s forehead a cut oozed blood. Kadan whispered something.
“Get up,” Psin said, quietly.
Lowering his hands, Quyuk rose. Welts streaked his face. He touched his forehead and looked at the blood on his fingers.
“What punishment?” Buri shouted. “What punishment for the man who spilled the blood of the son of the Kha-Khan?”
Baidar thrust at him, spat away from the fire, and went back to his place. Uncertainly, Arcut said, “The Yasa—”
Quyuk straightened. “The Yasa says that the blood of no highborn man shall be spilled.” He reached out and caught Psin by the left arm and held it toward the fire. Psin’s sleeve was sodden with blood from the dagger slash. Quyuk flung down Psin’s hand. “No price against either of us.” More softly, he said, “I’ll get you my own way, Merkit.”
He strode off from the fire. Baidar came up by Psin and looked at the wound. “You could have killed him with that belt buckle.”
“I know.”
Arcut and Baidar led him off to his own camp, and
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