The Mongoliad: Book One

Roger began to comply, but the weight of the arrow was wont to spin the head back round to where it had started. He drew out a hatchet and put his head against the fletching of the shaft to hold it in position, then withdrew his foot to reveal the heraldry on the front of the dead man’s helmet.

In almost the same moment, he let out a shocked curse.

His three companions stepped forward as one and bent down for a closer look. The design—a red Maltese cross above a red sword, on a background of polished steel—was simple and easy enough to read. They drew in close, not because they hadn’t seen it right the first time, but because none of them could quite believe the evidence of their eyes.

CHAPTER 27: A GIFT FOR THE KHAGAN

Lian watched Gansukh vanish into the press of bodies around the wrestling field. She had arrived with the Khagan’s retinue, hanging back in the ranks of servants and concubines who trailed behind the Great Khan. She was pretty sure Gansukh hadn’t seen her.

Some of the other concubines were twittering behind their fans about the match between Gansukh and Namkhai, a few casting coy glances in her direction as they wondered what it was like to bed such warriors. She ignored them. Their lives were filled with gossip, a constant stream of whispers back and forth about the sexual prowess of the men at court: who was a splendid lover, who was rough and prone to violence, who was laughably inept and unable to perform. Their constant chatter reminded her of the angry chirping of the blue jays in the garden when they were disturbed. That was all they were—chattering birds.

So much of her life was spent waiting. Waiting for the Khagan to decide it was time to leave Karakorum. Waiting until her next meeting with Gansukh. Waiting to answer Chucai’s endless questions about the young warrior, about the other men with whom she spent time at court. Waiting patiently until they no longer noticed her and she could escape.

It wasn’t difficult to be demure and properly respectful to Chucai; he was her keeper, after all, and there was nothing in their relationship that made it difficult to keep that distinction crystal clear. He appreciated her background and education, and while he still treated her like property, she had, in his eyes, some value.

Gansukh was another matter altogether. She had been mistaken in her original assessment of his character. Even though he still had moments of intolerable insensitivity and brutishness, she could tell that he was trying to change. Not just because he thought his duty required him to be a different person, but also because he knew it brought them closer together.

What would happen to him if she escaped? Would he be blamed? Munokhoi would use the opportunity to discredit him before the Khagan. Would her flight ruin his chance at saving the Khagan?

Lian shook her head clear of such thoughts. Gansukh was Mongolian. His people had slaughtered and dominated hers. What did she care of the empire? She was not here by choice; she was here as a prisoner. And if this empire—the world of Ogedei Khan’s—fell apart, what would become of her?

She knew the answer to that question; she knew what happened to prisoners when new conquerors claimed their spoils.

Nearby, the Khagan laughed uproariously and then lurched around his retinue, inviting everyone to join him at the feast that evening. His leering face was dark with drink and his robes soaked through with the sweat induced by the slow poison of the alcohol. The concubines cared little for his appearance— sweat and stink were ever their lot. They squealed with excitement.

During the festival, Lian thought, they will all be so busy watching the Khagan drown himself in wine no one will be paying attention to me.

If she dared to dream of escape, wouldn’t this be the best time?

Gansukh smoothed the front of his new blue robe as he stepped into the large dining hall. It fit him exceptionally well, though he couldn’t stop fidgeting with the fine material. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she had given it to him.

Four large tables dominated most of the room. At the northern end was a low platform on which a round table had been placed. Gansukh glanced at the waiting crowd of nobles and warriors surrounded by servants and concubines, quickly scanning faces for a general idea of who was sitting where. The table to his right was surrounded by Torguud, marked by the white fur trimming on their clothing. Several spotted Gansukh by the door and raised cups in greeting. He nodded in return. Respect earned. Even though his wrestling match with Namkhai had been a draw, he had performed better than many of them. He pulled at the stiff, wide belt he had wrapped around the robe and nearly dropped the package he held under his left arm. He was already too warm, and he’d be sweating before long.

Suddenly his idea seemed even more preposterous, bordering on ridiculous.

Near the round table, he saw Master Chucai, and though there was a mass of people between them, the tall advisor had little trouble clearing a path to Gansukh.

“Master Gansukh, I have heard stories of your exploits.”

Gansukh shrugged. “The match was a draw,” he demurred.

Someone shouted at Gansukh from the back of the room, and Chucai’s eyes flicked in that direction before returning to Gansukh’s face. “Nevertheless, I am heartened by these stories. May I surmise that our conversation earlier today was… insightful?”

“Somewhat,” Gansukh admitted. He thought he saw Lian, sitting next to… Who is that? He tried to look past Chucai without being rude about it. Namkhai.

“You’ve brought a gift,” Master Chucai motioned to the bundle under Gansukh’s arm. “Would you like me to present it to the Khagan?”

Through the throng, Gansukh couldn’t see the pair clearly, and he hesitated, torn between wanting to get a better look and responding to Master Chucai. He sighed, giving up for a moment. Chucai stared at him expectantly. “Yes, of course,” he said. “It would be my honor to present it to the Khagan personally.”

“Of course,” Chucai said smoothly, as if that had been the plan all along. Was that a smile creasing the lips of the Khagan’s advisor?

“Perhaps you might suggest where it might be best for me to sit at the Khagan’s table,” Gansukh said. He tapped the package suggestively.

Chucai waved a hand at the table on the platform. “Certainly,” he said. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “A simple arrangement. Those who can be oblivious to his drunkenness sit close, those who cannot, but still wish to curry favor, sit beside them, and those who feel ashamed, but dare not overtly show it, keep as far away as possible.” He smiled grimly. “It is a round table, however, and the Khagan likes to circulate and mingle—which makes it very difficult to stay far enough away, I fear.”

“I will not overthink my position then,” Gansukh said, inclining his head. “I will sit in the first empty chair I find.” And leave the rest up to the whim of the Blue Wolf, he finished silently.

“A most prudent and wise choice,” Chucai said, nodding in return.

Gansukh took his leave, making his way to the head table, where he placed his package on the table in front of a chair to the right of the lavish seat intended for the Khagan. He sat down, bending uncomfortably around the belt, before he realized who was sitting directly across from him.

Munokhoi.

He only had a moment to return the jaghun commander’s glare before a swift drop in the noise level in the long hall signaled the arrival of Ogedei Khan. It took some time for the