The Venetian Betrayal Read Online Free

stallions of Fergana, first prized over a millennia ago when they were traded to the Chinese for silk. Her stables contained over a hundred steeds bred both for pleasure and politics.
    "Are the other riders ready?" she asked the attendant.
    "Yes, Minister. They await you on the field."
    She wore high leather boots and a quilted leather jacket over a long chapan. Her short, silver-blond hair was topped by a fur hat fashioned from a wolf she'd taken great pride in killing. "Let's not keep them waiting."
    She mounted the horse.
    Together, she and the animal had many times won buzkashi. An ancient game, once played across the steppe by a people who lived and died in the saddle. Genghis Khan himself had enjoyed it. Then, women were not even allowed to watch, much less participate.
    But she'd changed that rule.
    The spindly-legged, broad-chested horse stiffened as she caressed his neck. "Patience, Bucephalas."
    She'd named him after the animal that had carried Alexander the Great across Asia, into battle after battle. Buzkashi horses, though, were special. Before they played a single match years of training accustomed them to the game's chaos. Along with oats and barley, eggs and butter were included in their diet. Eventually, when the animal fattened, he was bridled and saddled and stood in the sun for weeks at a time, not just to burn away excess kilos, but to teach him patience. Even more training came in close-quarter galloping. Aggression was encouraged, but always disciplined so that horse and rider became a team.
    "You are prepared?" the attendant asked. He was a Tajik, born among the mountains to the east, and had served her for nearly a decade. He was the only one she allowed to ready her for the game.
    She patted her chest. "I believe I'm properly armored."
    Her fur-lined leather jacket fit snugly, as did the leather pants. It had served her well that nothing about her stout frame was particularly feminine. Her muscular arms and legs bulged from a meticulous exercise routine and a rigid diet. Her wide face and broad features carried a hint of Mongol, as did her deep-set brown eyes, all thanks to her mother, whose family traced their roots to the far north. Years of self-imposed discipline had left her quick to listen and slow to speak. Energy radiated from her.
    Many had said that an Asian federation was impossible, but she'd proven them all wrong. Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Karakalpakstan, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan were no more. Instead, fifteen years ago, those former Soviet republics, after briefly trying independence, merged into the newly formed Central Asian Federation. Nine and a half million square kilometers, sixty million people, a massive stretch of territory that rivaled North America and Europe in size, scope, and resources. Her dream. Now a reality.
    "Careful, Minister. They like to best you."
    She smiled. "Then they better play hard."
    They conversed in Russian, though Dari, Kazakh, Tajik, Turkmen, and Kyrgyz together were now the official Federation languages. As a compromise to the many Slavs, Russian remained the language of "interethnic communication."
    The stable doors swung open and she gazed out onto a flat field that stretched for over a kilometer. Toward its center, twenty-three mounted horsemen congregated near a shallow pit. Inside lay the boz--a goat's carcass, without a head, organs, or legs, soaked in cold water for a day to give it strength for what it was about to endure.
    At each end of the field rose a striped post.
    The horsemen continued to ride. Chopenoz. Players, like herself. Ready for the game.
    Her attendant handed her a whip. Centuries ago they were leather thongs tied to balls of lead. They were more benign now, but still used not only to spur a horse but to attack the other players. Hers had been fashioned with a beautiful ivory handle.
    She steadied herself in the saddle.
    The sun had just topped the forest to the east. Her palace had once been the residence of the