He leaned against the tree. Toman finished dismounting and tying his horse, and came over to where they watched the soldiers, who'd just rounded a bend.
The men were not warriors. Not even militia, but farmers pressed into service--ordinary men who'd grabbed whatever weapons they could find, and walked in something akin to military formation behind a man who, on closer inspection, did bear the dual swords of a warrior.
"Recruits," Gavril whispered.
"But not your father's," Moria said. "Look at the warrior's helmet. It is imperial. These are the emperor's men."
"You are correct," Gavril said. "Your man misjudged, Toman. There's no need to hide. Perhaps you ought to speak to the warrior there, see if he bears any news."
"You think you're clever, don't you, boy?"
"Not particularly. I'm merely suggesting--"
"They're recruits for Alvar," Toman said to Moria. "See the band around the warrior's arm? In order to pass through the empire unharmed, they dress as imperials, but wear some sign to show they are not, so they are not cut down by other recruits spoiling for their first skirmish. The sign changes as quickly as the emperor can get out word to his men. Or, I should say, almost as quickly."
Moria watched the men. There were twenty-two of them, all but the leader armed with only cudgels and scythes.
"Your men could defeat them," she said. "That's what the emperor would want."
"I'll leave that to the emperor's troops."
"But those men have supplies. You could defeat them and take what they have."
He snorted. "Dry rice balls and rotting cabbage? We do not need supplies that badly."
And so they let Alvar's recruits pass unharmed, and all Moria could do was fervently wish the emperor's side attracted a better class of bandits.
FIFTEEN
The wagon stopped again at dusk. There was no announcement. No escort either. Moria and Gavril waited for someone to open the wagon flaps. Then the bandits' voices faded, replaced by an odd keening sound that made the hairs on Moria's neck rise.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
He nodded, which meant it was not spirits. Moria opened the flap, and a blast of whistling wind nearly knocked her back. She looked out across a windswept plain. It was not a term she'd ever used before, having only read it in books, but seeing the landscape before her, it was the first one that came to mind. A windswept plain.
Brown. That's what she saw. A sea of yellow-brown grass, bent even when the wind died down. There were scrubby trees, also bent, as if from a constant northern wind.
"What is this place?" she whispered as Gavril moved up beside her.
"I don't know."
"Is it the steppes?"
"I don't know."
His tone suggested annoyance, but when she glanced over, his gaze scanned the vista, assessing and wondering as much as she was.
"Perhaps the steppes," he said. "I've never seen them."
"I don't like it."
He looked over, frowning, and Moria rubbed a hand over her face. "Ignore me, Kitsune. I'm tired."
He studied her then. "It's difficult for you. Without Daigo."
She started, surprised that he'd struck so close to the truth. Then she nodded. "I feel . . . unbalanced."
"You seem it. Off-kilter. Not yourself. More . . . vulnerable."