The Mongoliad: Book Three

sea of horses spanning from horizon to horizon, their manes flowing like waves. His hand tightened on the banner as the horsehair tassels whispered gently in the slight breeze.

By midafternoon, the hunting party had ascended into the forest that lay heavily about the shoulders of the mountain. Sunlight trickled in solid streams through the branches of the trees, and swarms of golden motes danced in the radiance. The hunting master and his dogs ranged in front of the main party, keeping company with the trio of Darkhat scouts. Chucai and Namkhai flanked Ogedei, and the remainder of the Torguud followed them in a clump. The other scouts were arranged in wide arcs on either side. There had been no sign of the bear yet, but Ogedei wasn’t terribly concerned.

His mount’s steady gait echoed throughout his body, knocking loose memories that had lain covered for many years. He had forgotten the pleasure of the hunt-his senses awake and marveling at the proliferation of details that his mind, taut like a bowstring, was readily processing. He was ready, quivering like one of the hunting master’s hounds, waiting for some sign of his quarry.

“It has been too long,” Ogedei remarked to Chucai. “I should hunt like this more often. Too much time has passed, and this,” he poked his stout belly, “has grown too large.”

“You are still a better hunter than most,” said Chucai, perfectly composed upon his black steed. “I, for one, have not hunted since before your father elevated me to my position at court.”

“Father!” Ogedei laughed jovially. “No one could match my father. I remember a time when he provided for the entire army. A buck, each and every night. He hunted alone and always brought one back.”

“Bashkiria, my Khan,” Chucai said. “Yes, I recall that campaign. There was more food than we could possibly eat. I gorged myself on venison on more than one occasion.”

“Life was simpler then, wasn’t it?” Ogedei said. “When we got hungry, we would hunt; when we were tired, we slept; when we wanted something…” He sighed and his hand idly patted his belly again.

“The empire has grown mighty, my Khan,” Chucai said silkily. “It has done so under your guidance, and many are thankful every day. The spirits are pleased with your efforts.”

Ogedei stretched in the saddle, working out the tension that had settled in the middle of his back from the ride. “The spirits stir slowly in this disused body,” he said.

Chucai hesitated, and then swallowed his words with a quiet “mmm.” He turned his attention to the forest around them, taking particular note of the lichens that mottled the bark of many trees.

Ogedei considered insisting that Master Chucai reveal what was on his mind, but the Khagan could guess what words had been repressed. He knew he was rotund and out of shape, just as he knew where he had hidden a pair of wineskins in his saddlebags. Chucai would speak in the obsequious language of the court for only so long before his tongue would get the better of him, and in this case, he would be speaking the truth. All he had to do was stretch out his right hand, dig around in the saddlebag on that side of his horse, and he could lay his hand on that disappointment. He hadn’t been able to abandon his thirst entirely. His strength of will had improved immeasurably, but it was still nothing more than a newborn babe. Easily smothered.

There was too much silence in the air for the Khagan’s comfort, and he turned to Namkhai and said, by way of changing the subject, “Have you ever brought down a beast as mighty as this?”

Namkhai shook his head. “The great bear is going to be a mighty challenge, my Khan,” he said. “Arrows alone might not be enough to penetrate its hide.”

“The dogs will weary it.” Ogedei waved a hand in the direction of the snapping pack who yearned to be freed of their yokes. “When they are done, when they have blooded it, then it will be my turn.”

“It may take down one of our hunters before then,” said Namkhai. “A wounded beast is dangerous. Perhaps we could set a trap for it with spears. Harass it until we can drive it into impaling itself.”

Ogedei shook his head. “Where is the honor in that?”

Namkhai looked at him with heavily lidded eyes and only shrugged.

“Harass it, bleed it even, if that allows us to trap it, but I must kill it. That is what the spirits want. I must deliver the killing blow so that I can take in its spirit. How else will the spirit of the Great Bear know who it must fill?

Namkhai shook his head. “You have a great challenge before you, O Great Khagan,” he said. “May the Blue Wolf favor you.”

Ogedei felt his blood surge in his ears, a sudden pounding as his heart beat more heavily in his chest. Just like Chucai, he thought wildly, he doubts that I can do it. His hands tightened on his reins, and he felt his neck muscles tense in preparation of the shout that was beginning to swell from his belly. With a great deal of difficulty, he swallowed his ire. He has no faith, he realized, and instead of letting his anger out, he shoved it back down, deep into his belly. I will show him. I will show them all.

In his mind, he could see himself wrestling with the bear, armed only with a curved sword. Towering on its hind legs, foam flecking its enormous jaws, it raged and snarled at him. He stabbed it, over and over, ignoring its ineffective swipes at his armor with its giant paws. It tried to pin him, tried to bite his throat with its sharp teeth, but he plunged his sword deep within that open mouth, ramming the blade back and up and into the bear’s brain.

Let them doubt me, Ogedei thought. I can-I will-do this.

On the last stroke, his hand had been steady. He did not waver. He did not hesitate.

Gansukh rode on the right rear flank of the hunting party, his eyes scanning the forest. A beast as old and venerated as the Darkhat spoke of would have terrorized this area for so long that it would make little effort to hide itself. He watched the groupings of smaller saplings for signs that some of them had been rudely forced aside. He read the patterns on the bark, looking for the white scars left by claws being sharpened. Would it hide its kills? Gansukh doubted so, and he kept an eye out for the carrion birds that would circle around the rotting carcasses of the bear’s prey, picking at the dead until there was nothing left.

He also kept watch for Munokhoi. The ex-Torguud captain was not part of the hunting party. He had carefully examined every face of the forty-plus men the Khagan had brought with him. Nor had he expected that Munokhoi would have joined the group. Too many of the men would have noticed the ostracized ex-captain’s presence and said something. No, Munokhoi was in the woods, though he did not know how close.

As the hunting party made its way through the woods, Gansukh drifted farther and farther away from the main host. If Munokhoi was trailing them, waiting for an opportunity, then it would be best if he was out of sight of the Khagan’s host. Offering himself as bait.

Sometimes the easiest way to catch a predator was to pretend to be prey.

As the morning wore on, he found his vigilance flagging. There were too many shadows under the trees. Hunting in the woods was much more tiring than hunting on the steppes.

His horse shifted its gait, dancing around the moss-covered hump of an old log, and Gansukh squirmed in his saddle. He was no stranger to riding long distances with a full bladder, but that didn’t make the experience any less uncomfortable. He had pissed from saddleback often enough, but it was easiest when he could look ahead and see that his horse wouldn’t need to change its gait. Here, in the forest, the ground was uneven and the occasional branch tried to grab his horse. Performing the necessary contortions and managing his horse was a little more complicated. Stopping to relieve himself would be simpler.

He pulled his horse to a halt, dismounted, and looped his reins around a low branch of a nearby sapling. He opened one of his saddlebags and retrieved a handful of dried berries. His horse snorted as he offered the treat, its breath warm on his palm. “I’ll be right back,” he said with an affectionate pat between its ears.

He walked a few paces away, adjusting the bow slung over his shoulder. He undid his sash to make water over the gnarled roots of an immense oak. The tree leaned crookedly, an aged malingerer that refused to point in the same direction as its surrounding brethren. Gansukh let out a sigh of satisfaction as the pressure of his bladder lessened.

He was, not unlike other wild animals in the forest, marking his territory. If the hunting party was anywhere near the bear’s cave-and the lack of bear sign suggested they weren’t very close-he would have been more