their humanity. It was as Zug kept reminding him: how long could they hold out hope of ever being free again, and how much would they have to sacrifice to be so once more?
The guards at the gate were clustered around a runner, a man who had come from outside the Mongol compound. As Kim strolled closer, the runner was waved through the cordon of armed Mongols. One of the guards pointed in his general direction-not
The runner came across the compound, and Kim trailed after him like a scavenger following a predator about to make a kill. The man had news of what was going on at First Field, he sensed.
Tegusgal was not available, and so the runner breathlessly gave his report to Tegusgal’s second, a large man whose name was Ashiq-temur. It meant “iron helmet,” and while he had probably been given the name as some sort of ancestral reference, he had truly grown into the name. His girth was mainly due to a bulbous paunch that covered a once-muscular frame; he had no hair, and the skin at the base of his skull was rolled and lumpy with fat. Tegusgal was quick-witted and shrewd; Ashiq-temur was short-tempered and eager to dispense discipline with his hands or with a stout stick.
“A Frank has come to the First Field,” the messenger reported. “He raised his standard and issued an open challenge to any man who would dare face him. He’s knocked down five men already, and he’s started shouting that the Khan has no worthy champions.”
Ashiq-temur, seated on a broad divan, was unmoved by the news. “Let him shout,” he grunted. He idly scratched his broad belly “The Khan will not answer to the demands of a barbarian fighter.” He waved the runner away.
“What do you want, Kim?” Ashiq-temur asked. He spoke familiarly, as if Kim were nothing more than a servant or a house pet. It was a tone Kim had grown inured to, and he no longer bristled at the man’s insulting tone. If anything, the man’s disdain only increased Kim’s desire to convince his jailor of his plan.
“This Frank is a loud-mouthed upstart, and I have no doubt that his prowess is unworthy of the Khan’s attention. Perhaps I could go to the field and engage him.” Kim indicated his face, thankful now that the masseuse had not had a chance to fully work the salve into his bruises. “Look at me. I am ugly and malformed. I cannot possibly be a shining champion of the Khan’s magnificent collection of fighting men. Am I not the appropriate response to this man’s brazen challenge?”
“What if he beats you?”
Kim smiled. “Would I give you the satisfaction of seeing that?”
Ashiq-temur brayed with laughter. “Your arrogance always amuses me, Kim. I will raise a cup in sorrow on the day when it is whipped out of you.” He waved over a pair of nearby guards. “Escort this foolish dog to First Field. We apparently didn’t beat him enough. Let the Frank do it for us for a while, and then bring him back.”
18
His mouth against the nape of her neck, Gansukh let his hands slide down Lian’s narrow frame to the swell of her hips. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Not in the narrow alley behind the north storehouse. It was too public; they could be discovered at any time.
Lian pulled his head up and crushed her mouth to his, silencing his mutterings. She leaned back against the shadowed wall of the storehouse, thrusting her pelvis out. He gripped her more tightly as her body pushed against him. He should have let go; he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior, but at the same time, it was exactly how he had imagined it.
She grabbed one of his wrists and moved his hand around to her backside. Her tongue flicked against his lips, and when he tried to catch it, it curled into his mouth and danced across the tips of his teeth. He moved his other hand too, and giving in to his desires, he lifted her up and shoved her against the wall.
She gasped slightly, turning her surprise into a moan of pleasure, and her legs parted. As he was supporting her weight, she closed her legs around him. Underneath her long tunic, she was wearing thick woolen pants-riding attire-and he ground himself against her in frustration. Too much clothing; so little time. He was wearing leather leggings himself, and while he was well practiced at pulling aside his silk undergarments so that he could piss from the saddle, he found himself fumbling with them now. But even if he could, he still had to get her clothes off too.
Releasing her, he dropped to his knees. He roughly pushed her tunic up, feeling the soft and warm skin of her belly. She growled, deep in her throat, and he felt her stomach rippling beneath his hands. Gripping his hair with both hands, she pulled his face to her, and he licked her belly hungrily as his fingers pulled and tugged at her pants. His right hand began to explore between her legs, pressing at her through the cloth, and she lifted her left leg over his right shoulder. He could smell her now, and his need was overwhelming.
He pulled at the knots of his riding leggings, frustrated at his inability to get the cursed garments off. His desire was evident beneath his fumbling hand, and just as he freed himself, she froze. Her fingers were stiff in his hair, holding him immobile.
He tried to quiet his ragged breathing. She wasn’t moving. Was someone coming? If so, then they couldn’t be caught in this position. They weren’t hidden. He strained against her hands, trying to look around, but she let out a tiny hiss of air and held him tight.
He shrugged her leg off his shoulder and pulled her hands away from his head. He glanced around and saw no one in the alley. The buzz of voices from the main courtyard was the same constant din in the background, and he strained to hear the noise that had startled her. A voice, footsteps, the tiny scrape of metal against metal-anything to indicate they were in danger of imminent discovery.
Lian adjusted her pants and smoothed down her tunic. Her breathing eased as she ran her hands through her hair, combing the errant wisps back into a single black cascade. Her face and neck were still flushed, and Gansukh thought about putting his hands on her again. Finishing what they had started…
She read his desire plainly in his eyes and stepped forward, her face close to his. Her hands dropped to his waist, and he gasped slightly as she took his softening hardness in her hands. Her lips brushed his as she tucked him back into his pants. “The third night,” she whispered. “There isn’t time now. Let us find each other on the third night after we leave Karakorum. We can take as long as we want.”
Gansukh groaned softly, but relented. She was right. Whatever they had started to do in the alley would have been over too quickly. As hard as it was to wait, it would be better. He nodded, and she kissed him fiercely once more and then slipped out of his embrace.
“I’ll go first,” she said as she glanced around for the satchel she had been carrying when they had met outside the alley and she had dragged him into the midmorning shadows. She spotted the bag, and as she grabbed it by its shoulder strap, a blue silk pouch fell out, hitting the ground with a
He had divided up the spoils of a conquest enough times to instinctively know what was in the purse.
She was avoiding his gaze, and he hesitated to offer the purse back. He wasn’t going to give it up so readily. Not until she looked at him.
She raised her eyes and met his gaze, and he was startled by the mixture of fear and defiance he saw. Her face softened, and he saw something else-a quiet desperation that made his chest tighten.
She needed him.
“We have to go,” she said, tugging the purse of coins and jewelry out of his slack hand. She stowed it carefully in her bag and then paused, pushing her hair back behind her ears. She wanted to say something else, and he waited for her to speak, but she changed her mind and flashed him a hopeful smile instead.
