The Year of the Horsetails by R. F. Tapsell

Spring 6

When Marissa had recovered sufficiently to look round her, she was appalled by the air of cowed, helpless terror. What horrors had these others been through, she wondered. It was apparent that the guards were not at present molesting them, provided that they kept well away from the fence, and she began to question some of the women, in an attempt to find out what had happened elsewhere in the Drevich country. What she heard was not to her liking- the Drevich army was rumoured to have been destroyed in a battle at Mostek. Marissa had feared some such disaster since the capture of Krotos- how otherwise could small bands of Tugars, handicapped by prisoners on foot, move freely across the plains? Nevertheless, this news was shattering; all hope of rescue, in the near future at least, was gone. She wandered slowly back to Vara, tears in her eyes, to report what she had heard.

Vara listened distractedly- she was deeply worried about her daughter, who lay still, pale and fatigued, unable to sit up. Vara herself was a big, strong woman who had found little difficulty in keeping up on the march, but Sveta was a smaller, frailer girl, about the same age as Marissa- gay and energetic in normal circumstances, but clearly lacking in stamina. Her face was strained, and dark shadows had appeared under her eyes.

‘She can’t stand another day’s march,’ said Vara. ‘It’ll kill her.’ Marissa remained silent- there was nothing she could say.

In the evening, a great deal of bustle and movement began in the Tugar camp- the prisoners’ guards abandoned their casual poses and began to look alert; some polished their leather armour and their weapons. Marissa guessed that they were expecting an important visitor, and found herself trembling nervously. Soon the general stir died down, and she heard the sound of numerous horses passing through the encampment, coming closer. The captives looked at one another anxiously, then they saw standards waving and helmets flashing beyond the guards. A section of the fence was pulled aside- several horsemen rode slowly into the enclosure, the prisoners hastily scattering away from them.

With sudden, choking fear, Marissa realised that the leading rider must be the Kagan himself- one of his companions carried the seven-tail standard that Bardiya had described. Even without it, she would have known; no ordinary man could so dominate his surroundings with every eye drawn to him at once, radiating an atmosphere of unchallengeable authority.

A wide circlet of polished, gleaming gold, set round the base of his spiked helmet, was the sole mark of his rank. He sat tall and straight on his horse, sheathed in complete ring-mail, resting his right hand loosely on the hilt of the sabre slung from his belt. Marissa had never imagined a face so arrogant, so self-assured, or as coldly inhuman as his; high cheek-bones and dark, deep-set eyes combined with a sharper, narrower nose than the typical Tugar’s.

Today, however, he seemed in a good mood- she saw his teeth flash in a brief smile as he exchanged comments with one of his officers. They had come, obviously, to look over their haul of prisoners, and they spent some time at it. Several terrified women were dragged out by the guards one after another, at a word from the Kagan, and he leaned down to look at them, nodding his head once or twice in approval. Then they were thrust back among the crowd.

　

　

Eventually, he looked in Marissa’s direction and she tried desperately to blend into the mass of prisoners. He raised his hand from his sabre to point, and she realised with numb terror that he was indicating her. At once she was seized and brought up to him.

At close quarters, his presence was overpowering- his hard, merciless eyes stared down into hers, and she could not tear her gaze away. It was the longest moment she had ever endured. Then his hand moved fractionally and she was flung back abruptly into the crowd, shaking uncontrollably. Relief and humiliation alternated in her mind- he had studied her as coolly as a butcher examining cattle, and she realised that his interest had been solely that of the slave-trader.