The Mongoliad: Book Two

restlessness of his eyes, betrayed his uncertainty.

What was he waiting for?

“I’m from Qingyuan, originally,” said Lian, sensing an opportunity to distract him. “When the Mongols came, they burned the city and took every woman and child as a slave. Many of them”-she swayed slightly, feigning dismay with little effort-“mercifully died soon thereafter. Others…lingered. I was…fortunate. I had useful skills.” She paused, knowing his eyes were on her body. “I had to teach them about Song culture.”

Luo tore his eyes away from Lian’s body and looked over at Gansukh. The captive Mongol had managed to sit up, and he looked like a hungry wolf that had been caught in a snare. Resentful, tense, and ready for any chance he got. “Did they learn?” Luo snorted.

“I would have made better progress teaching pigs.” She laughed derisively and hoped it didn’t sound forced.

“Pigs are already more civilized than these mongrels.”

Lian turned to the Chinese commander and bowed from the waist. “You have my endless gratitude for rescuing me.”

Luo acknowledged the bow with a nod and a slight, formal smile. “A lady in distress is always worth saving.”

“You are far from home, even for the sake of rescuing a lady. Or am I simply an added surprise to your glorious efforts at striking the Khagan down?”

Luo stroked his chin in an effort to hide a secret smile that wanted to spread across his face. “What is the point of killing a single Khan?” he asked. “Will these mongrels not elect another one?”

“Ah, I see you are a clever man, Commander Luo. Your actions are much too sublime and hidden for a simple girl such as myself.”

“And you are much too silver-tongued to be mistaken as such a simpleton, my lady,” Luo replied.

Lian laughed. An unexpected thrill ran through her body, making her shiver. She was very much in danger, as were these Chinese men, and yet the two of them tarried long enough to engage in trivial wordplay. Gansukh would never dream of participating in such an exchange, and it had been so long since she had been around a civilized man that she had forgotten how pleasant such company was. There was a nobility in Luo’s bearing that was unmistakably refreshing.

Luo turned away. He may have sensed the change in their conversation, and unlike Lian, he was not so starved for such talk-or perhaps the reality of their situation pressed more firmly on him than on her. “This filthy mutt,” he said, waving a hand at Gansukh, “he is a special advisor to the Khagan?”

“Indeed,” Lian replied, showing no sign of disappointment, though she felt a tiny panic in her chest. “The Khagan values him highly.”

“Why?”

“He reminds the Khagan of what he once was.”

“And what is that?”

“A man of the steppe.”

Luo laughed. “And why would the Khagan want to be reminded of that?”

Lian shrugged. “I do not know. They value all manner of strange things.”

Luo nodded, his attention turning toward the camp. “Yes,” he said, “they certainly do.” His face grew troubled, and he strode past Lian to get a better view of the camp. He turned back after a moment, and the softness in his face was gone, replaced by a hard certainty, a look Lian knew all too well.

“They have been gone too long,” he snapped at the other Chinese men. “I do not like this.” He gestured at Gansukh. “If she speaks true, then he may be of use to us. Otherwise”-he glanced at Lian-“we are all dead and our efforts have been for naught.” And the look in his eye told Lian that he would not die alone.

Gansukh saw the apprehension in Luo’s eye too, and a low chuckle rumbled out of his throat. One of the other Chinese soldiers smacked Gansukh with the butt of his spear, and the Mongol warrior fell forward, his face driving into the dirt. He rolled over onto his side, and his teeth were bared, a grimace of both pain and joy.

Lian’s heart pounded in her chest. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. The Chinese would free her and keep Gansukh as a hostage. Given time, she was certain she could convince Luo that the young Mongol would be useful. She knew she was being naive and foolish, but despite everything-the years of captivity, the degradation of being Chucai’s slave, of being forced to teach this savage manners-she found herself reluctant to turn her back on Gansukh. He was something different in an otherwise cruel and barbaric world. She hadn’t lied to Luo; Ogedei did respect Gansukh and might even consider ransoming his return.

Luo roughly grabbed her arm, all pretense of civility gone. “Take her,” he said, shoving Lian toward his men. “And if this dog looks like it might bite, kill it.”

32

The Night of Steel and Fire

Two days later, Cnan was sitting in camp when she heard approaching hooves-a party of perhaps half a dozen. “Approaching hooves” was generally not a welcome sound in Mongol-held territory. Nevertheless, she did not even bother to look up from her mending. It would be the war party that Feronantus had sent out before dawn. They would be returning in high spirits. R?dwulf, Finn, Vera, and Istvan, accompanied by Eleazar or Percival, or whichever sentry had first detected their approach and ridden out to greet them. It was always thus. The Shield- Brethren were never surprised, never caught off guard. She was as safe in this camp as an emperor within the walls of the Forbidden City. Perhaps safer.

Which meant that she was useless, bored, and irritable.

The war party’s tale told around the cook fire was, in many respects, a repeat of the fight in the gully in which Cnan had taken part. This time, Istvan had lured the Mongol party into the ambush. Alchiq had increased the size of such parties to a full arban and had changed their tactics.

There was no more leisurely tracking of quarry across the plain: when they had seen Istvan against the skyline, they had sent one of their number galloping straight back toward their main camp, while the other nine had come for him. But only eight had pursued the Hungarian in earnest; one other had trailed along deep in their rear. As soon as R?dwulf’s first arrow had taken the leader of the arban out of his saddle, this other had wheeled his pony and ridden for the main Mongol party.

Beyond that, it sounded not unlike the engagement Cnan had witnessed. R?dwulf ’s bow still had the power to surprise the Mongols with its range, and so he had killed a few. Vera, left without weapons, had been given a crossbow by Feronantus from a pack whose contents Cnan found wondrous indeed.

The other Mongols had tried to circle and penetrate the screen of brush in which R?dwulf had concealed himself, but Vera had killed one with a single, silent boltshot. Two more were killed at close quarters by Finn and R?dwulf while Vera went through the tedious process of redrawing and loading her weapon. A bolt in the back had taken down one horseman who had decided to flee, and Istvan had pursued the last two survivors in a running archery battle across the steppe, eventually killing one with an arrow and the other with his scimitar. Immensely pleased with himself, the Hungarian had returned, trailing a short string of ponies and sporting three Mongol arrows that had embedded themselves in various parts of his armor.

Meanwhile, R?dwulf had recovered all but one of his arrows. One, still lost, had missed and likely lay buried in the grass, and he might have been able to find it had they more leisure to search. But many more Mongols would be coming after them soon, and so they dispersed, flying in all directions as fast as they could ride, driving the spare ponies across the grass to lay false trails and then picking their way down into streambeds to complicate the work of those who would soon be tracking them.

As Cnan knew perfectly well, there would be no rest until the thing was finished. For there was nowhere to hide on the steppe, and childish tactics like running down streambeds could only delay the moment when Alchiq and his remaining threescore and seven Mongols would descend upon them in force.

Without being instructed to, she got ready to ride through the night.