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among the mountain cats."
It was said quietly. There was a silence. Tai realized, with a kind of dismay, how unaccustomed he'd become to such exchanges, a sudden tension rising. This is the way the world is , he told himself. Learn it again. Start now. This is what you will find when you return.
Casually, so as not to shame the captain or the young soldier, he turned and looked across the lake towards the birds. Grey herons, terns, a golden eagle very high.
The young man--he was big, well-made--was still on his horse. He said, "This one cannot chop wood?"
"I believe he can, since he has been digging graves for our dead for two years now."
"Ours, or his own? While he despoils our soldiers' bones?"
Bytsan laughed.
Tai turned quickly back, he couldn't help himself. He felt something returning after a long time. He knew it for what it was: anger had been a part of him, too readily, as far back as he could remember. A second brother's portion? Some might say that was it.
He said, as levelly as he could, "I should be grateful if you'd look around and tell me which of the bones here is one of yours, if I should feel inclined to despoil it."
A different silence. There were many kinds of stillness, Tai thought, inconsequentially.
"Gnam, you are a great fool. Get the axe and chop wood. Do it now."
This time Bytsan did look at his soldier, and this time the other man swung himself down--not hurrying, but not disobeying, either. The bullock had pulled the cart up. There were four other men. Tai knew three of them, exchanged nods with those.
The one called Adar, wearing a belted, dark-red tunic over loose brown trousers, no armour, walked with Gnam towards the cabin, leading their horses. The others, knowing their routine here, guided the cart forward and began unloading supplies into the cabin. They moved briskly, they always did. Unload, stack, do whatever else, including cleaning out the small stable, get back up the slope and away.
The fear of being here after dark.
"Careful with his wine!" Bytsan called. "I don't want to hear a Kitan weeping. The sound's too unpleasant."
Tai smiled crookedly, the soldiers laughed.
The chunk of axes came from the side of the cabin, carrying in mountain air. Bytsan gestured. Tai walked off with him. They stepped through tall grass, over bones and around them. Tai avoided a skull, instinct by now.
Butterflies were everywhere, all colours, and grasshoppers startled at their feet, springing high and away in all directions. They heard the drone of bees among the meadow flowers. Here and there the metal of a rusted blade could be seen, even on the grey sand at the water's edge. You needed to be careful where you stepped. There were pink stones in the sand. The birds were raucous, wheeling and swooping, breaking the surface of the lake for fish.
"Water's still cold?" Bytsan asked after a moment.
They stood by the lake. The air was very clear, they could see crags on the mountains, cranes on the isle, in the ruined fortress there.
"Always."
"A storm in the pass five nights ago. You get it down here?"
Tai shook his head. "Some rain. Must have blown off east."
Bytsan bent and picked up a handful of stones. He began throwing them at birds.
"Sun's hot," he said eventually. "I can see why you wear that thing on your head, though it makes you look like an old man and a peasant."
"Both?"
The Taguran grinned. "Both." He threw another stone. He said, "You'll be leaving?"
"Soon. Midsummer moon ends our mourning period."
Bytsan nodded. "That's what I wrote them."
"Wrote them?"
"Court. In Rygyal."
Tai stared at him. "They know about me?"
Bytsan nodded again. "They know from me. Of course they do."
Tai thought about it. "I don't think Iron Gate's sending messages back that someone's burying the dead at Kuala Nor, but I may be wrong."
The other man shrugged. "You probably are. Everything's tracked and weighed these days. Peacetime's for the calculating ones at any court. There were some at Rygyal who saw your coming here