The Mongoliad: Book Three

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Ogedei Khan took his morning meal late and alone in his ger. After Alchiq’s visit he had spent the remainder of the day in repose, mostly napping off the effects of the copious amounts of wine he had drunk, but some introspection had flitted across his mind during the long afternoon. It was the sort of post-drinking binge thinking he avoided as much as possible, as it was full of all manner of recriminations and self-loathing, but this time he let it run its course. When it was gone, he had fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber and had woken this morning feeling quite rested.

Still, he did not rush into the hunt. Now that his brain was free of the fog of the wine, the importance of this hunt was that much more evident. He wouldn’t go so far as to admit that the health of the empire rested upon the death of the Great Bear, but the symbolism of the hunt was significant. He was not superstitious-the empire had left all that behind when the clans came together and formed one people-but he understood the value in giving his subjects an event they could claim as a watershed moment in their lives. A token of the empire’s strength and everlasting value. It was best to delay such rewards, to further emblazon their reception with as much gravity as possible.

The Darkhat scouts knew where the Great Bear roamed-less than a day’s ride to the north. Master Chucai had suggested he take a jaghun with him, but Ogedei had scoffed at such an idea. What beast would not flee in terror before a hundred men? Half as many might still be too many-surely his trackers alone could find the bear’s den-but to take less would be to incite Chucai, and he was not in the mood to suffer that man’s persistent disappointment. It was his hunt, after all.

I will take four arban, he decided. Two would be his strongest guards, including the new Torguud captain. The other group of men would mostly be trackers, including both Chagatai’s envoy and Alchiq. One cook, Master Chucai, and the shaman would make up the remainder of his hunting party.

He would have preferred to leave Master Chucai behind. His advisor was beginning to annoy him again and, much like the previous time when their relationship had become antagonistic, Ogedei knew Chucai’s mood would only improve when the Khagan’s drinking lessened. Of course, knowing this only made him want to drink more, and it would be so easy to lay the blame for his drunkenness at Master Chucai’s feet. But it wouldn’t change anything. Chucai would still be an arrogant son of a whore, and Ogedei would still thirst for wine.

The previous night he had dreamed that the Great Bear had eaten Chucai. He had been greatly refreshed when he had woken. Why couldn’t he have that dream every night?

The guard, Alagh, ducked into the ger and bowed to the Khagan. “My Khan.”

“What is it?” Ogedei asked with a sigh. He could guess. I think of him and he appears.

“Master Chucai asked that I tell you the hunting party is ready. The day of your great hunt has finally come.”

“He couldn’t come tell me himself?”

“My Khan?” Alagh was flustered and mildly frightened by the question.

Ogedei grunted and waved, dismissing the guard, who quickly fled from the ger. Ogedei picked at the leavings on his plate, dawdling a few moments longer. I should reassign that one, he thought, staring at the entrance of his ger. Alagh was one of the pair who had guarded him the night of the Chinese raid, and of the two he was the more skittish. Like a young colt, recently born. Both overly curious and easily frightened. Once, he would have enjoyed having men like that around him. They tended to be eager to please. He recalled his new Torguud captain’s dispatch of the blond-haired fighter-quick and efficient. The difference was that Namkhai expected more of him as Khagan-he could read the desire quite readily in the wrestler’s face.

Ogedei looked at his hands. I will kill the Great Bear, he thought. I will be worthy of my father’s legacy once more.

His hands shook only a little bit.

Jachin could not decide on which scarf to wear. She had woken well before dawn to get ready for the momentous day. The Khagan would be leaving the camp, and Second Wife could not be happier. Soon their endless exile from Karakorum would be over. She had been giddily happy as she had ordered her servants to prepare her finest outfit.

Of course, such delight had given way to irritation: her servants hadn’t packed the right clothes. Some of her coats were too wrinkled. Her handmaidens had forgotten that she preferred to have her hair back over her left ear, not her right. None of her scents had the right floral note-they had all gone rancid overnight.

And finally, it was time to choose a scarf, and Lian could not suffer Jachin’s frenetic nervousness any longer. As Second Wife shrieked at her servants, threatening to tear all of her clothes off-Do you want me to stand naked before the Khagan? — Lian slipped out of Jachin’s ger.

The morning sun had warmed the valley enough to drive off the limpid fog, though many of the banners still gleamed wetly. The ground was damp, and she could feel the chill of the approaching winter through the thin soles of her shoes. The weather had been pleasant the last few days, but the nights got very cold. She skipped lightly as she walked through the camp.

Outside the Khagan’s wheeled ger the hunting party was gathering. The Torguud, in their finest armor, were fussing with their saddles. The Darkhat guides stood in a clump, stoic as ever. A tiny man, covered with tassels and bells and bits of metal and bone, was hand-feeding the smallest pony she had ever seen. She spied Master Chucai moving through the ranks of the Torguud, and he caught sight of her but gave no indication of pleasure or displeasure at her presence. And, over by the fire pits, she spotted Gansukh and a gray-haired man.

Sparing one more glance in Chucai’s direction, she hurried over to the pair. “You… you are going on the hunt?” she asked.

“It was not my-” Gansukh said. He glanced at his companion briefly and then took her by the arm and led her a few paces away. He stood so that his body was shielding her from the company being assembled. “It was not my idea,” he apologized, “though I should have known it was going to happen. What the Khagan wants…”

She was more flustered about this than she had expected to be, and she flushed as she realized how badly this news was affecting her. “Did you…?”

He shook his head. “Stay with Second Wife,” he said cryptically. “I will finish that matter when I return.”

“What matter?” she asked.

His forehead creased. “Munokhoi,” he whispered. He stepped closer to her. “Don’t go anywhere alone, if you can help it,” he said. “Stay with Second Wife.”

She shook her head, not wanting to hear his words. Not wanting to acknowledge what he was telling her. She was embarrassed by the fear and despair that were burning in her stomach. Like a hot coal that slowly blackened all that touched it. Slowly she realized her fear had little to do with Munokhoi and more to do with the fact that Gansukh was leaving.

She knew that the men going with the Khagan were not going to be in any danger-their presence was mostly ceremonial, once the bear had been located-but it was the realization of loss that was eating at her. What the Khagan wants…

Once the hunt was over, Gansukh would go away. Afterward, Gansukh’s presence at court would either be irrelevant or an irritant; either way, the Khagan would send him back to Chagatai.

“Don’t go to my ger,” he said. “There’s nothing left.”

Her body quivered. Nothing left. It was all coming to an end.

He read her fear in her face, and some of it leaped to his eyes as well. He stroked her cheek lightly, and she turned her head away, unable to bear his touch. “Lian,” he started, and then he fumbled with his jacket. He took her hands, pressing a rectangular shape between them. “I’ll be back,” he said, squeezing her hands tight around the thin box.

Someone shouted from behind Gansukh, and he turned his head. One of the Torguud stood on the platform of the Khagan’s ger, and he beat the base of his spear against the wooden platform to further command the assembly’s attention.

Lian transferred the object to her left hand and grabbed Gansukh’s jacket with her right. “Wha-?” he started, but she cut him off by pressing her lips to his mouth. She broke the contact before he could properly respond to the kiss, and somewhat reluctantly, she released her hold on him.

“Good hunting,” she whispered.

“Lian-”

She shook her head, cutting him off.

Many voices shouted behind him as the splendidly attired form of Ogedei Khan emerged from the ger. Dressed in a plum-colored fur-lined jacket and matching trousers, the Khagan carried a cup of tea in one hand and a curved bow in the other. He stood there, surveying the crowd, seemingly indifferent as the audience erupted into wild pandemonium.

Gansukh hesitated, confusion still written across his face, but as the Khagan began his speech, he tore himself away from Lian. She closed her eyes as he turned away, and her tiny sob was lost in the tumult of the burgeoning crowd.

“Many years ago,” Ogedei began once the cheering subsided, and his voice was soft enough that the crowd became instantly silent so as to hear his words, “my father came to Burqan-qaldun. He slew the Great Bear, and its spirit helped him bring the clans together.”

Lian opened her eyes, drawn in by the Khagan’s voice. He stood, regal and proud, on his raised platform, and with quiet dignity, he took a long sip from his teacup. “This,” he said as he raised the cup, “is Chinese tea. I would not be drinking it were it not for my father.” He hurled the cup down, and it shattered on the cold and hard wood of the platform. He thrust his other arm in the air, holding the curved bow high. “This is a Mongol bow,” he shouted. “This is how my father hunted. This is how my father made his empire. This is how I will claim what is mine.”

Ogedei looked down on the audience and his gaze settled on Jachin. And how could it not, with as many skirts and scarves as she wore? He gave her a beatific smile, and Lian’s heart jumped. For a brief instant, the Khagan ignored everyone else and focused on Second Wife, and Lian knew the effect the Khagan’s attention would have on Jachin-it would sustain her the entire time the Khagan was gone on his hunt. Longer, even. Somewhat selfishly, Lian knew that Jachin would be so much easier to deal with during that time. She would be lost in her own imaginary world, rapt with bliss.

“Such a dumb cow. So easily beguiled.” Munokhoi’s voice was quiet and controlled, and all the more frightening for it.

Lian’s heart hammered in her chest, and she found herself unable to breathe. She had not heard the ex-Torguud captain’s approach, and she was too frightened to do anything but press her left hand against her waist, hiding the tiny box with her hand and body as best she could.

“She will not protect you,” Munokhoi continued, coming closer to her. She could feel his presence now, a burning heat directly behind her. His breath stirred her hair.

Her hand dropped to her side, and she let out a tiny cry as his hand smashed on top of her right hand, pinning her fingers against the hilt of the knife she kept hidden in her skirts. “Do you think to stab me with your lover’s knife?” He pulled her hand back, twisting it behind her back. Out of sight of the crowd. “Here?” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “With all these people watching?”

She struggled briefly, but it only made him hold her more tightly, and the proximity of his body-and the oily stench of his breath-made her shudder and stop.

“I can kill you any time I want,” Munokhoi whispered. “Your protector is leaving, and Second Wife will be too busy pining for the man who doesn’t truly care for her to notice how frightened you have become.” He inhaled deeply, smelling her hair. “I like the way you smell when you are scared. I can only imagine what you are going to smell like when you know you are going to die.”

Lian tried to calm her breathing, tried to remember the lessons Gansukh had taught her, but her mind was like a cloud of wild butterflies. All she wanted to do was run, but Munokhoi’s grip on her arm was too tight.

“I am going to kill your lover,” Munokhoi sighed, “and then I am going to kill you. Maybe I will bring back his head so that he can watch you die.” He chuckled, and she couldn’t stop the shiver of revulsion that ran through her body.

She felt his leg against hers, and she finally remembered what Gansukh had taught her. Gathering her courage-a tiny spark of defiance that bloomed as soon as she reached for it-she stomped down with her heel, trying to catch Munokhoi’s foot. Simultaneously, she grabbed for his groping hand. If she could get a hold on his thumb…

His hand vanished as she was pushed from behind. Stumbling forward, she caught herself before she fell down, and still moving away from where she had been standing, she looked over her shoulder.

Munokhoi was gone.

The Khagan had finished his speech, and his horse-a magnificent white stallion-was being led through the crowd to the edge of the ger’s platform. The crowd continued to cheer, swords, spears, and bows rising and falling as they chanted the Khagan’s name.

Lian scuttled toward the crowd, trying to look every direction at once-hoping to find Gansukh, dreading that she might catch a glimpse of Munokhoi.

Gansukh tried to find Lian. When the Khagan had appeared, the crowd had become chaotic. More people had suddenly surrounded the Khagan’s ger, every one hoping to bask in his glory as he set out on this momentous hunt. He and Alchiq had joined the other hunters, waiting for the Khagan to finish his speech. Gansukh had started to fret with his horse’s tack. The last part of his conversation with Lian had been interrupted; he had wanted to tell her about the contents of the box. But he couldn’t find her in the crowd, even from the height afforded him by sitting astride his horse.

The Khagan had descended the stairs from his ger and was fussing with his horse’s bridle. The rest of his entourage had already mounted, and their horses were becoming restless. It was clear to most of the riders that there was nothing wrong with the Khagan’s tack, but no one dared say anything. They all waited, patiently; so did the crowd, but Gansukh could read an undercurrent of boredom creeping into some of the faces around him.

Where is she? He felt fairly certain that Munokhoi would come after him first, a certainty that had only increased in the days since the Chinese attack. The ex-Torguud captain liked to cause others pain, especially those who could not fight back as effectively, and so he knew Munokhoi would wait to deal with Lian. But now, scanning the crowd, he wasn’t so sure. And he was leaving the camp for at least a day. What would Munokhoi do while he was gone?

The Khagan swung himself up in his saddle, finally satisfied that the straps of his reins were not frayed or twisted. Ogedei adjusted his position in his saddle, and raising one arm over his head, he tried to stir the audience’s fervor again. But a little too much time had passed and some of the initial excitement of the Khagan’s hunt had waned; now the crowd’s enthusiasm felt a little forced.

Ogedei brought his hand down sharply and snapped his reins. His white stallion leaped forward with a snort, scattering courtiers who hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Namkhai gave a shout to his Torguud, and the honor guard followed the Khagan in a thunder of hooves. Master Chucai and the trackers followed, the shaman on his tiny pony bringing up the rear.

“Hai!” Alchiq shouted, slapping his reins against his horse’s neck. The gray-haired hunter galloped after the hunting party, leaving Gansukh as the last.

His horse snorted, eager to join the rest, and Gansukh searched for sight of Lian one last time.

Ogedei had given him the sprig to keep safe, and the decision to leave it with Lian had been a sudden one. He had sensed she was worried that he wasn’t coming back, and on one hand, he wasn’t terribly worried about the Khagan’s hunt. The escort would more than protect the Khagan from a rampant bear should things go awry. On the other, there was Munokhoi.

Munokhoi will come after me first. He tried to believe it, but his heart quailed. What if he was wrong? Not only was he was leaving her to die, he had entrusted her with the sprig. Had he just given it to his enemy?

Someone whistled shrilly, and Gansukh caught sight of Lian finally. Her face was drawn-frightened, concerned, steadfast-and her left hand was clenched tightly around the lacquer box that held the sprig. She pointed in the direction of the galloping horses. The fear vanished from her face as she slowly traced her thumb across her throat.

Gansukh was suddenly cold in the warm late-morning sun. He locked eyes with Lian and nodded, understanding what she was telling him. He slapped his reins, encouraging his horse to join the others.

The hunt had begun. It would be finished out there, in the woods.