The Mongoliad: Book Three

would still thirst for wine.

The previous night he had dreamed that the Great Bear had eaten Chucai. He had been greatly refreshed when he had woken. Why couldn’t he have that dream every night?

The guard, Alagh, ducked into the ger and bowed to the Khagan. “My Khan.”

“What is it?” Ogedei asked with a sigh. He could guess. I think of him and he appears.

“Master Chucai asked that I tell you the hunting party is ready. The day of your great hunt has finally come.”

“He couldn’t come tell me himself?”

“My Khan?” Alagh was flustered and mildly frightened by the question.

Ogedei grunted and waved, dismissing the guard, who quickly fled from the ger. Ogedei picked at the leavings on his plate, dawdling a few moments longer. I should reassign that one, he thought, staring at the entrance of his ger. Alagh was one of the pair who had guarded him the night of the Chinese raid, and of the two he was the more skittish. Like a young colt, recently born. Both overly curious and easily frightened. Once, he would have enjoyed having men like that around him. They tended to be eager to please. He recalled his new Torguud captain’s dispatch of the blond-haired fighter-quick and efficient. The difference was that Namkhai expected more of him as Khagan-he could read the desire quite readily in the wrestler’s face.

Ogedei looked at his hands. I will kill the Great Bear, he thought. I will be worthy of my father’s legacy once more.

His hands shook only a little bit.

Jachin could not decide on which scarf to wear. She had woken well before dawn to get ready for the momentous day. The Khagan would be leaving the camp, and Second Wife could not be happier. Soon their endless exile from Karakorum would be over. She had been giddily happy as she had ordered her servants to prepare her finest outfit.

Of course, such delight had given way to irritation: her servants hadn’t packed the right clothes. Some of her coats were too wrinkled. Her handmaidens had forgotten that she preferred to have her hair back over her left ear, not her right. None of her scents had the right floral note-they had all gone rancid overnight.

And finally, it was time to choose a scarf, and Lian could not suffer Jachin’s frenetic nervousness any longer. As Second Wife shrieked at her servants, threatening to tear all of her clothes off-Do you want me to stand naked before the Khagan? — Lian slipped out of Jachin’s ger.

The morning sun had warmed the valley enough to drive off the limpid fog, though many of the banners still gleamed wetly. The ground was damp, and she could feel the chill of the approaching winter through the thin soles of her shoes. The weather had been pleasant the last few days, but the nights got very cold. She skipped lightly as she walked through the camp.

Outside the Khagan’s wheeled ger the hunting party was gathering. The Torguud, in their finest armor, were fussing with their saddles. The Darkhat guides stood in a clump, stoic as ever. A tiny man, covered with tassels and bells and bits of metal and bone, was hand-feeding the smallest pony she had ever seen. She spied Master Chucai moving through the ranks of the Torguud, and he caught sight of her but gave no indication of pleasure or displeasure at her presence. And, over by the fire pits, she spotted Gansukh and a gray- haired man.

Sparing one more glance in Chucai’s direction, she hurried over to the pair. “You… you are going on the hunt?” she asked.

“It was not my-” Gansukh said. He glanced at his companion briefly and then took her by the arm and led her a few paces away. He stood so that his body was shielding her from the company being assembled. “It was not my idea,” he apologized, “though I should have known it was going to happen. What the Khagan wants…”

She was more flustered about this than she had expected to be, and she flushed as she realized how badly this news was affecting her. “Did you…?”

He shook his head. “Stay with Second Wife,” he said cryptically. “I will finish that matter when I return.”

“What matter?” she asked.

His forehead creased. “Munokhoi,” he whispered. He stepped closer to her. “Don’t go anywhere alone, if you can help it,” he said. “Stay with Second Wife.”

She shook her head, not wanting to hear his words. Not wanting to acknowledge what he was telling her. She was embarrassed by the fear and despair that were burning in her stomach. Like a hot coal that slowly blackened all that touched it. Slowly she realized her fear had little to do with Munokhoi and more to do with the fact that Gansukh was leaving.

She knew that the men going with the Khagan were not going to be in any danger- their presence was mostly ceremonial, once the bear had been located-but it was the realization of loss that was eating at her. What the Khagan wants…

Once the hunt was over, Gansukh would go away. Afterward, Gansukh’s presence at court would either be irrelevant or an irritant; either way, the Khagan would send him back to Chagatai.

“Don’t go to my ger,” he said. “There’s nothing left.”

Her body quivered. Nothing left. It was all coming to an end.

He read her fear in her face, and some of it leaped to his eyes as well. He stroked her cheek lightly, and she turned her head away, unable to bear his touch. “Lian,” he started, and then he fumbled with his jacket. He took her hands, pressing a rectangular shape between them. “I’ll be back,” he said, squeezing her hands tight around the thin box.

Someone shouted from behind Gansukh, and he turned his head. One of the Torguud stood on the platform of the Khagan’s ger, and he beat the base of his spear against the wooden platform to further command the assembly’s attention.

Lian transferred the object to her left hand and grabbed Gansukh’s jacket with her right. “Wha-?” he started, but she cut him off by pressing her lips to his mouth. She broke the contact before he could properly respond to the kiss, and somewhat reluctantly, she released her hold on him.

“Good hunting,” she whispered.

“Lian-”

She shook her head, cutting him off.

Many voices shouted behind him as the splendidly attired form of Ogedei Khan emerged from the ger. Dressed in a plum-colored fur-lined jacket and matching trousers, the Khagan carried a cup of tea in one hand and a curved bow in the other. He stood there, surveying the crowd, seemingly indifferent as the audience erupted into wild pandemonium.

Gansukh hesitated, confusion still written across his face, but as the Khagan began his speech, he tore himself away from Lian. She closed her eyes as he turned away, and her tiny sob was lost in the tumult of the burgeoning crowd.

“Many years ago,” Ogedei began once the cheering subsided, and his voice was soft enough that the crowd became instantly silent so as to hear his words, “my father came to Burqan-qaldun. He slew the Great Bear, and its spirit helped him bring the clans together.”

Lian opened her eyes, drawn in by the Khagan’s voice. He stood, regal and proud, on his raised platform, and with quiet dignity, he took a long sip from his teacup. “This,” he said as he raised the cup, “is Chinese tea. I would not be drinking it were it not for my father.” He hurled the cup down, and it shattered on the cold and hard wood of the platform. He thrust his other arm in the air, holding the curved bow high. “This is a Mongol bow,” he shouted. “This is how my father hunted. This is how my father made his empire. This is how I