The Mongoliad: Book One

Mongols?”

“We can do it,” Eleazar insisted, “if we gather some spares.”

“Spares,” Percival repeated.

Raphael, to this point, had been silent. He cleared his throat and glanced significantly at Cnan.

She was ready for it. Some part of her was already saying good riddance to these heedless adventurers. What was an adventure, anyway? To any normal person, a problem. A disaster. Only the rich and the foolish would actually seek one out. “I’m faster without you,” she said, as if agreeing. She dismounted and handed the reins to Eleazar. “A spare,” she explained.

“But, my lady—” said Percival.

She sneered at being called that. “I’ll cut through the woods on foot and reach Feronantus by morning. The rest of you, do as you will. If you lie low, they’ll probably pass you by. If they don’t kill Istvan, you can do it.”

“Kill one of our Order? Are you in command now?” Eleazar cried.

She ignored him—as did Percival. “It would be best if they learn nothing of Feronantus,” Percival said. “Killing Istvan may not be enough. Perhaps we here need to make a stand and die to save the rest.”

Cnan squinted up at the knight. Truly, he seemed happy to make it easy for his death to find him. Perhaps he was as crazy as Istvan. “If the Mongols pass,” Cnan said primly, “and there’s no fight, we can join up at the end of this tangle, beyond the farms. I’m pretty sure there’s a route directly east from there.”

“Hold up,” Raphael said, rising in his saddle. He pointed north. “More riders coming out of nowhere. Those damned reeds. They’re surrounding the farmstead on the other side of the swale. Nine, ten…and…another formation, rising up like the spawn of dragon’s teeth. A patrol. Breaking off and coming this way.”

A moment passed while they all absorbed that news.

“No,” Raphael said, “I’m wrong. They too are looking for a ford. Going to rejoin the big group on the hill.”

The others watched in silence as their doom closed in from two, perhaps three, sides.

Percival leaned over Cnan. “Go,” he said. “Go now. This will not get better.”

CHAPTER 10: THE ARCHERY LESSON

Lian waited for Gansukh within the enveloping embrace of the willow. The tiny leaves didn’t hide her completely, but the drape of its boughs was enough to give her some semblance of security. Plus the shadows were getting longer… She sighed as she flicked tiny fallen leaves from her hair, regretting she had opted to wear it down. She’d told him to meet her again before the sun set, and now it was getting perilously close to slipping behind the bulk of the palace.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, not without an escort.

The garden still stank of blood. The gardeners were still working on a flowerbed when she had first arrived, and she had hurried past them, barely sparing them an imperious glance that would—hopefully—suggest they turn their eyes elsewhere. Also, she hadn’t wanted to look too closely at what they were doing.

Something had died in that flowerbed. She’d heard from one of the Chinese servants that the main course for the banquet had been shot just a few hours earlier. In this garden. It had died right here.

A momentary shudder ran through her frame. No better place to learn how to fight, she mused.

Lian had pressed the servant woman for details, and she had given a very satisfactory account. Everyone was talking about the young warrior and his bow. She hadn’t dared to ask the servant woman about Munokhoi’s reaction; while there would be satisfaction in hearing this tale, Lian knew what to expect: Munokhoi would be even more on his guard against this intruder from the Great Khan’s older brother. Her task would be even trickier now. Gansukh had been right this morning: she was afraid for him.

Lian sighed with relief as she spotted him, and she rustled the willow boughs to get his attention.

Gansukh approached and parted the boughs carefully. “Why are you hiding in there?” He cocked an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to look like a beautiful painting, don’t bother. I’m not that sophisticated.” He seemed more at ease, pleased with the day’s events.

“I don’t have free rein to walk the compound at night like you,” she snapped.

“Ah.” He looked over his shoulder and then stepped closer, letting the boughs cover him as well. “I suppose I should offer to protect you then…”

She put her hand against his chest and stopped him. “You should,” she said. “By teaching me.” She smiled at his expression. Clearly he had been thinking something else had been planned for tonight. “Remember? We made a deal. I help you; you teach me to fight.”

Gansukh frowned at her hand on his chest. “Yes,” he said. “We did.”

Lian was pleased that he didn’t try to deny making the deal. She hadn’t brought it up since that first day in the bath. It had been a dangerous proposition, one that could have gotten her killed had Gansukh been more inflexible in his ways. But Master Chucai had said the young man had promise, that he seemed to be able to think for himself and had confidence in the decisions he made. As long as he trusted her, she could trust him; while she had that trust, there were some skills she could stand to learn.

She wasn’t going to stay here forever.

“But you weren’t planning on training like that, were you?” Gansukh gestured at her green silk robes—much finer than the one she wore earlier in the day. “Tie your hair back, at least.”

She gathered it up—slowly, knowing he was watching her—and wound it into a bun.

“What?” he asked, some irritation creeping into his voice.

“I need something to hold it in place,” she pointed out.

Exasperated, he grabbed a willow branch and snapped off a long piece. With a jerk, he stripped the leaves from it and held out the thin stick. “Will this do?”

She smiled and took the offered twig. She slid it into place without a word.

Gansukh admired her. “You’re too small,” he noted, and as she drew breath to object, he continued. “Until you get a little more muscle, I don’t think you’re going to beat anybody in hand-to-hand combat. If it comes to that, you don’t have a chance. We need to try something else.” He stepped out of the confines of the tree and scanned the garden grounds. “Yes,” he said when he spotted a pair of guards. “Wait here.”

Before she could object, he hurried off. He called to the guards, getting their attention, and they came together, their heads bent toward Gansukh as he launched into some complicated story. Somewhat curious, she stepped forward so as to better see what the three men were talking about, and when Gansukh paused and the two men looked in her direction, she realized she was standing out in the open.

The guards laughed, and one of them handed Gansukh his bow and quiver before slapping the young man on the back. Saluting them with the weapon, Gansukh trotted back to Lian. “Come,” he said, handing her the quiver to carry. “Let’s go over by the wall. There will be less distractions.” He looked back over his shoulder and waved at the guards as they walked off the path.

“What did you tell them?” Lian wanted to know.

“They’re Khevtuul,” Gansukh said.

“Yes, I know that.” The Khevtuul were the imperial Night Guard, the ones who watched over the Khagan while he slept. “What did you tell them?”

“Munokhoi is Torguud. Day Guard.” He grinned at her. “You said it yourself. People like to talk at court. Word has gotten around already.”

She stared at him, amazed at what she was hearing. He shrugged, misinterpreting her look. “I told them I wanted to show you my bow, but as I had left it in my chamber, I was in danger of losing face to a pretty woman. I asked if they could lend me one.” He hefted the weapon. “They were happy to be of assistance.”