The Mongoliad: Book Three

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Skjaldbr??ur.

The word burned in Haakon’s head for the rest of the day after the gray-haired one had caught him off guard. He hadn’t imagined that a Mongol would know of the Shield-Brethren, much less of his affiliation with the order. Had the gray-haired warrior been at Onghwe’s arena? He couldn’t recall. The first weeks were a dull blur in his head. Other than his chance encounter with the Great General, Subutai, he could not remember the faces of any of the Mongols.

Where had he learned about the Shield-Brethren?

After awhile an answer came to him, and it made his blood run cold. The gray-haired one had laughed when he had spoken the word, the savage glee of a man who thought he was stronger. A man who had survived battle and who was now fearless.

They’re dead, Haakon realized. Feronantus and his band. The Mongols found them. They’re all dead.

This news distressed him, and for several hours he struggled to understand why. As he lay in his cage, his head resting against the bars so he could see the sky, he gradually laid to rest a vain hope he had nursed ever since he had woken up in the cage. The Shield-Brethren were dead. No one was going to rescue him.

He was going to die in this foreign land. No one would sing of his deeds after he was gone. He was a nameless gladiator, and he lived at the pleasure of the Khagan, who was little more than a petulant child, constantly drunk on power and wine.

“Hssssst!”

Haakon shook off his maudlin fear and rolled onto his side. He peered out of his cage, looking for the whisperer.

Krasniy, in the next cage, waggled his fingers to get Haakon’s attention. Haakon nodded, indicating that he had seen the red-haired giant’s gesture. Krasniy held up a small object, nearly invisible in the dark, and Haakon nodded again. Krasniy pointed at the sky and then drew an arc with his finger, from east to west-sunrise to sunset. Haakon understood.

Tomorrow night, Krasniy was going to use the arrowhead he had been hiding since the Chinese raid. The Khagan was leaving on his hunt in the morning; by nightfall, no one in the camp would be paying much attention to the prisoners in their cages. It would be the best chance they had to escape.

Haakon lay back down on the floor of his cage, and after a few moments of trying to find a comfortable position on the unyielding floor, he fell asleep.

A plan always quieted the mind.

After the Khagan’s hunting party had left, Lian had gone to Gansukh’s ger, even though he had warned her to avoid it. She only had to unlace the flaps partway to understand Gansukh’s command. The destruction and the smell within mortified her, more so because even though it was Gansukh’s ger, it was the only place within the caravan-with the entirety of the Khagan’s empire-that she might have been able to feel a feeble sense of security and freedom.

Munokhoi had taken that from her.

Lian had stumbled through the camp-her heart numb, her mind a confused cascade of thoughts. Munokhoi said he was going to kill her when he returned from killing Gansukh. If the ex-Torguud captain did return, that would mean Gansukh was dead. Would Master Chucai protect her? That was unlikely. She was a pawn in his endless court games-a piece whose use was, unfortunately, coming to an end.

Even if she found someone else to protect her, wouldn’t she still be nothing more than a slave? Her life would never be her own.

Lian paused between two ger and fumbled in the pocket of her jacket, where she had slipped the tiny box that Gansukh had given her. It was an unadorned lacquer box, the sort that appeared seamless. She had had one like it when she was a child, and she knew the trick to getting them open. The lid was stiff and moved slowly, but she managed to open the tiny container.

Inside was a small twig crowned by three green leaves. It looked healthy and vibrant and not at all like a dried sprig cut from a tree. She touched the leaves gently, and found them soft and pliant. She raised the box to her face and sniffed. The scent was crisp and fresh, not quite mint and not quite lavender. Looking at the twig lessened her panic and confusion, and easing the lid back onto the box was more difficult than she expected.

This is what Chucai wanted, she thought. This is what the Chinese came for.

“Lian!”

Her hand closed reflexively around the box, and as she turned, she tucked it away in her jacket again. “Jachin,” Lian said as she spotted the approaching woman, trailed by a trio of her handmaidens.

“We have nothing to do until the Khagan returns,” Jachin said as she swept up to Lian. “I, for one, am going to take a bath.” She rolled her eyes at her handmaidens. “If these simpletons can ever manage to shore up my ger well enough that the water doesn’t keep running out of the tub.”

“Perhaps it might be best to not fill the bath completely,” Lian suggested, attempting to quickly fix Second Wife’s problem.

“I might as well not even bother in that case.” Jachin shook her head. “Next you’ll be suggesting that I have the servants rub my skin with wet clothes in lieu of actually submerging my body.”

“Oh, my Lady, no.” Lian moved her hand-the one that had just shoved the box and sprig into her coat-up to her mouth as if horrified by the idea. “That would be akin to suggesting that you strip naked and jump in the river.”

Jachin snorted. “Just like the men?”

“Well, not just like them.”

One of the handmaidens giggled and Jachin laughed outright before frowning playfully at Lian. “I do not think the Khagan would approve,” she said. “No, I want to please him when he returns from his hunt. Even though he will be elated, he will be tired from the long day of riding. I want to be ready for him. I want him to take me to his bed on the night of his victory. I want to be-” She broke off, and surprisingly, blushed. She toyed with her hair, staring off over Lian’s shoulder.

“Of course.” Lian fought the urge to fidget, to try to flee from Jachin before Second Wife got it into her head to insist that Lian keep her company while she bathed.

“Toregene would tell me to leave the Khagan alone on his victory night. He would come to me if he wanted my company,” Jachin said, nodding to herself. “But that is what she wants. Of course, left alone, the Khagan would choose her. Not because he likes her, but because she is First Wife.” She wrinkled her nose. “It is all so easy for her. She doesn’t have to worry about being forgotten, about being left alone, night after night.”

Jachin thought of the ruin of Gansukh’s tent, of sleeping alone amid that wreckage, and nodded.

“Toregene is lazy,” Jachin said, a smirk curling her lips. “She is. She thinks everything will come to her because of her station. That her son will become Khagan after Ogedei is gone, but she doesn’t understand him.”

“Not like you,” Lian said politely, sensing some sort of comment was expected of her at this point. “You are always thinking of what is best for the Khagan.”

“A true wife always does,” Jachin purred, eyeing Lian. “As I am sure you think about Gansukh.”

Lian’s breath caught in her throat. “Gansukh?” she asked.

Jachin smiled at Lian. “Oh, you don’t need to be so coy with me. I know you are thinking about him. It is so plain on your face.”

“I-” Lian tugged at the hem of her jacket, finding something to do with her hands. “My Lady, I would not presume to think that such a proud warrior as Gansukh would want me.”

Jachin laughed. “He’s already had you, Lian.”

Lian blushed. “That is not what I meant, my Lady. I am a slave. I am owned by Master Chucai, and-”

Jachin waved away Lian’s words as if they were nothing more than minor annoyances. “The Khagan may do anything he pleases, Lian. He could simply tell Chucai that you are no longer his.” She laughed, clapping her hands delightedly. “Oh, wouldn’t that make him so angry!”

“Who, my Lady?”

“Master Chucai. He thinks he is in charge of the Khagan, and not the other way around.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Khagan detests him. He told me himself. Just the other night.”

“My Lady…” Lian began, unsure what she should say. Her heart was unexpectedly racing in her chest. Freedom from Chucai. Could it be so simple? It would be easy enough to convince Second Wife of her desire to be with Gansukh, that such a union could only be accomplished by releasing her from bondage. Jachin, inveterate romantic that she was, would be delighted to be instrumental in the consummation of her relationship with Gansukh (beyond the mere physical one they already enjoyed). Also, there was the perverse joy that would come with seeing Chucai put in his place by the Khagan.

“My Lady is most kind to think of my happiness,” Lian murmured. Would that be enough? she wondered.

“It is done,” Jachin said. “I will tell the Khagan tomorrow. He will be ready to agree to anything after I have…” She trailed off, and her handmaidens giggled behind her. Jachin smiled broadly, entirely too pleased with herself.

“I… I am in your debt,” Lian said.

Jachin clapped her hands delightedly. “I am going to take my bath now,” she announced. “I must prepare myself for a very important audience with the Khagan.” She smiled at Lian. “You should prepare yourself as well,” she said with a wink. “For when the hunters return. And later, you and I can share stories about our men.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Lian dipped her head and remained in the submissive pose. It was an old trick that worked well with some of the ladies at court. Pleased with the gratitude proffered by slaves they would wander off, not realizing that it was they who had been dismissed by the servants and not the other way around. It worked in this situation too, as Jachin, humming happily to herself, wandered off toward her ger, her handmaidens trailing behind.

Lian watched the four ladies depart, her mind racing once more. A debt to Jachin would never be paid in full; Second Wife would constantly remind Lian of what she had done. Regardless of her freedom from Chucai-of her relationship with Gansukh-she would not be free of Jachin. In which case, wasn’t she still a slave?

Her hand drifted to the tiny bulge in her coat.

What if she left the empire instead?

Cnan waited and waited. She grew tired of waiting, slept, and woke, wondering if the Khagan was ever going to leave his camp. She hid her horse not far from the Mongol camp, and donning a dirty robe and a rose-colored scarf that she had pilfered the last time she had crept into camp, she wandered into enemy territory once again. She stayed among the maze of ger and wagons that belonged to the merchants and staff that served the Khagan. There was a mix of ethnicities among this rabble, and when someone did pay attention to her, she seemed no more or less exotic than those around her.

There was a bustling urgency in the camp, and she knew the Khagan was finally leaving. As more and more of the camp drifted toward the center where the Khagan’s ger was located, she wandered toward the cages where the prisoners were held.

Haakon was still there.

She didn’t reveal herself. Not yet. It would give the boy unreasonable hope if she made contact with him. She didn’t know when she was going to try to free him, nor exactly how she was going to get him away from camp. She needed a little time to think yet, and nightfall would come soon enough.

That was when she would free the young Northerner.

She found an unattended pot hung over a fire pit, and she scooped out its contents into a wooden bowl. She pilfered a half loaf of bread that lay forgotten near a pair of wooden benches, and squatted down behind a half-assembled wagon to stuff the food into her belly.

She still had to wait, but at least she wouldn’t be hungry.

The Khagan’s camp was in the most isolated location in all of the empire, and there was no friendly Chinese village for hundreds of miles. Lian knew that fleeing now was a fool’s choice, but the isolation worked in her favor. There were fewer guards with the Khagan here than there were at Karakorum, and most of the trackers were away with the Khagan at this time. When the Khagan returned, there would be a celebration that would last several days. If she was lucky, no one would really notice she was gone until it was too late to track her.

Except Gansukh.

Would he come after her?

Part of her hoped he would, but she shoved those feelings aside. She had to escape. She had to do it now.

She knew Jachin was taking a bath, which meant the ger used by her handmaidens would probably be empty. After slinking in and stealing a few articles of clothing and a bag to carry them in, she wandered toward the makeshift pasture on the northern side of the caravan, intending to investigate the possibility of stealing a horse-a dangerous proposition, especially given the punishment for horse thievery among Mongols-but as she caught sight of Gansukh’s lonely ger one last time, an idea occurred to her.

She didn’t bother unlacing the flaps this time; she simply used her knife to cut through the ties. Inside the smell assaulted her, but she breathed through her mouth, ignoring the worst of the acrid reek. Munokhoi had broken everything that could be broken and taken his sword to the rest. She rummaged through the wreckage until she found Gansukh’s store of extra supplies: needle, thread, candle, cloth, sharpening stone, flint.

Working quickly, she arranged everything that would burn readily along one wall of the ger, piling the furs and the straw from Gansukh’s sleeping mat on top. Her hands shook slightly as she used the flint, and it took her three tries to coax a steady flame from the slightly damp straw.

The flames were tiny and threatened to go out as she watched. She blew on them a few times until they grew steadier. As she stepped back to the flaps of the ger, she watched the flames. They weren’t going to go out, but it would take a little while before the pile really caught. Long enough for her to be nowhere near the ger when it started to burn.

As she turned to leave, she heard voices outside the ger, and she carefully peeked out. Two Torguud were wandering nearby, arguing about the evening meal. They noticed nothing amiss about Gansukh’s ger, though more likely they hadn’t even looked. They were very intent in their conversation.

Waiting, Lian glanced back nervously over her shoulder. The flames were a little taller than before. She didn’t have as much time as she thought.

As soon as the men were out of earshot, she ducked out of the ger, laid the flaps carefully over one another, and strode off quickly for the horse pasture.

On her way there, she passed the row of cages that housed the prisoners from the West. She stumbled to a halt when she realized one of the cages was empty. The blond-haired Westerner was housed in the adjacent cage, and he was staring at her eagerly, almost as if she had caught him doing something illicit.

Her breath caught in her throat. The prisoners were trying to escape.

Krasniy sawed savagely at the thick rope that looped around the door of his cage while Haakon kept watch. After the excitement of the Khagan’s departure, the camp became very quiet, and after a heated discussion, they decided this was the best opportunity they were going to have for escape.

Krasniy went to work on the rope, and when the arrowhead didn’t cut through the thick rope quickly, Haakon’s apprehension started to mount.

If they were discovered…

It was best to not worry about such possibilities. They were committed to their course of action now, and as fraught as the spontaneous plan was, they were actively attempting to escape. They were fighting for their freedom, and as the first rope parted and Krasniy began work on the second, Haakon’s fear was replaced with a growing elation.

Freedom.

The last rope parted, and with a hoarse shout, Krasniy shoved the door of his cage open. Moving stiffly, he lumbered over to Haakon’s cage and shoved the arrowhead through the bars to him. As Haakon picked up the tiny saw and went to work on his ropes, Krasniy indicated he was going to look for weapons. Haakon nodded absently, his attention focused on keeping the slippery arrowhead moving back and forth along the same axis of the hempen rope.

He had just finished sawing through the first rope when the dark-haired woman appeared not far from his cage. He hadn’t heard her coming, and he could only stand there stupidly, the arrowhead hidden in his fist, staring at her. Beside him, Krasniy’s empty cage with its open door was all the evidence anyone needed to understand what was going on.

Haakon stared at the woman, quickly trying to figure out what he could do-if anything-to keep her from raising an alarm. And when voices did go up in the camp beyond the first row of ger, he flinched. They had been discovered already! He wanted to bang his head against the cage door in frustration.

Much to his surprise, the dark-haired woman quickly strode toward his cage, pulling a knife out of her robes. He stood back from the bars and watched-both mystified and elated-as she hacked at the rope holding his cage closed. Her knife cut through the rope very quickly in comparison to the laborious effort it had been taking with the arrowhead. “Escape?” the woman said in the Mongol tongue as she pulled open the door of his cage. She motioned to him, pointing off to his left. “Now,” she said.

Behind her, he spotted Krasniy returning, a bloody sword in his hand. The woman sensed his attention shifting to behind her and she turned around, quickly backing a few steps away from the cage, trying to both he and Krasniy in her field of view.

“We have to go,” the woman said. “Now. There is very little time.”

Krasniy looked at Haakon, who could only shrug. He had no idea where the woman had come from, but the fact that she had helped him with the ropes on his cage suggested the three of them had the same plan in mind.

“Okay,” Haakon said, ducking out of his cage. He stood upright, feeling his spine rattle and crack, and he filled his lungs with air. It felt good to stretch, even though time was of the essence. Off to his right, he noticed a lazy finger of smoke drifting into the air, and the sound of excited voices drifted toward them from that direction.

A diversion? he wondered. His gaze was drawn to movement and he saw a tiny woman, her head swathed in a red scarf, watching them from the row of ger. She stood awkwardly, staring at the cages, and there was something about her bearing that struck Haakon as familiar.

She looked in his direction as she reached up and removed the scarf from her head. Haakon stared, shocked to recognize her. “Cnan…?”

The Chinese woman complicated the situation, especially when the other prisoners started to make noises about being freed as well. Cnan gestured at Haakon to follow her, and started walking briskly toward the tree line to the west of the camp. The young Northerner would either follow her or not, and she couldn’t really do anything about the others-the giant man covered in red hair or the Chinese woman who had helped Haakon escape. In her mind, she could already hear Feronantus admonishing her for the number of strays she had picked up, and she felt her face flushing with embarrassment as she strode out of the camp.

She hadn’t thought through Haakon’s escape. She hadn’t really considered the complications that would arise with trying to free just one of the prisoners. She glanced over her shoulder-happy to see that Haakon was following her, not as happy to see the other two coming as well. As least, they’d moved away from the cages before other prisoners made too much noise.

They had to move quickly.

She picked up her pace when she reached the tree line, and behind her she heard Haakon hiss at her, trying to get her attention. She didn’t slow down, not wanting to stop until they were some distance into the woods.

The red-haired one, she heard, was not very good at moving quietly through the woods.

“Cnan!” Haakon grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to a stop.

“We can’t stay here,” she said. “We have to keep moving.”

“In a moment,” he said. He was slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed with excitement. His beard had come in more fully and he seemed taller. Perhaps that was only her memory of him-thinking of him as a mere boy, even though he hadn’t been.

“I wasn’t expecting your friends,” Cnan said.

Haakon looked over his shoulder. “That one is Krasniy,” he said, nodding at the red-haired man who was clumsily making his way through the forest. “I do not know the other one.” He smiled. “I never expected to see you again.”

She flushed at his attention, and gently removed herself from his grasp. “I couldn’t…” she started.

“You aren’t here alone,” Haakon said. “One of the Mongols talked about the Shield-Brethren. Like he knew them.”

Cnan started. “Alchiq?”

“Aye,” Haakon nodded. “I think that is his name. Older man. Gray hair.”

“That is the one,” Cnan said. She suppressed a shiver. If Alchiq was with the Khagan, the Shield-Brethren might be walking into a trap.

“Excuse me,” the Chinese woman said in the Mongol tongue, having caught up. “We cannot stay here. We have to move farther into the woods.”

Cnan glared at her. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I am Lian. Like your friends, I wish to escape the Khagan’s reach.”

“You can’t come with us,” Cnan said. “I don’t know you.”

“Nor I you,” the woman responded. She glanced at Haakon. “But I know him.”

Cnan noted that Haakon appeared to be following their conversation. “But I don’t know you,” he said to the woman.

“I like your new friends, Haakon,” Krasniy boomed as he joined them. “Very pretty.” He laughed at Cnan’s expression.

Cnan shook her head. “Come on,” she said. “We need to far away by nightfall.”

“Where are we going?” Haakon asked.

“Anywhere but here,” Cnan muttered.

Haakon didn’t budge as she started to walk away, and she stopped too, looking back at him. “We have to go,” she reiterated.

“Where are they?” Haakon asked.

“Who?”

“The Shield-Brethren. They’re in danger, aren’t they?”

Cnan shook her head. “They’re always in danger,” she replied.

“They’re trying to kill the Khagan.” Haakon didn’t phrase it as a question.

Krasniy guffawed at Haakon’s pronouncement, but his laughter subsided when he glanced at Cnan’s face.

“Yes,” she said.

“I want to help them,” Haakon insisted. “If Alchiq is with the Khagan, then it may be a trap.” He turned to Lian and spoke in the Mongol tongue. “How many warriors with the Khagan?”

She shrugged. “Four, maybe five arban.”

“Fifty men,” Haakon said to Cnan. “How many Shield-Brethren?”

She shrugged, not wanting to tell Haakon the true number. “A dozen or more,” she lied.

“Who leads them? Is it Feronantus?”

Cnan felt herself growing impatient. “This isn’t important. We have to flee.”

“It is important,” Haakon insisted. “Because we’re going to help them.”

“You are out of your mind,” Cnan snapped. “We are deep within the Mongol Empire. We have very little in the way of supplies. We are-you are-clearly a stranger in this land. We only have one horse. We can’t afford to go riding into… into-” She struggled to find the right words.

“Battle?” Haakon supplied. He smiled at her and glanced at Krasniy. “Where else would we go?”

Cnan let loose a tiny cry of frustration. Completely stubborn, she thought. Just like Feronantus.

“They are my friends,” Haakon said. “They are my family.”

She glared at him. Was that not the same reason she had defied Feronantus to stay behind and rescue Haakon? Had she not-over the long journey from the West-come to think of the Shield-Brethren as family? She couldn’t find fault in Haakon using the same reasoning in his argument.

“Fine,” she snapped. She pointed at Lian. “What about her?”

Krasniy laid a large hand on the Chinese woman’s shoulder. “She can be with me,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

Lian tossed her hair back from her shoulder and smiled up at the giant man. Cnan was unsure whether Lian had been able to follow their argument, but she could tell from the anger in the woman’s eyes that Lian understood the meaning of Krasniy’s hand on her shoulder.

“Come on,” she said with a hint of resignation. She turned and started to weave her way through the woods.

This whole rescue was turning out to be much different from what she had planned.