The Mongoliad: Book Three

spread out to the side and in front of the Khagan as the hunting party rode toward the northern fork. The sky was clear of clouds, and the morning mist had already burned off the floor of the valley. Thin wisps of fog still clung to some of the rocky knobs on the surrounding hillsides.

Gansukh was surprised by the variety of trees. He recognized ash, alder, oak, and cedar, but there were several other evergreens that he did not know. The trees hugged the edges of the valley, growing thicker the farther they ventured into the valley. The trees were tall too, as if they had never known fire or ax. Gansukh heard numerous birds singing and calling to each other, and he saw signs of small animals-squirrels, rabbits, and other rodents and scavengers.

The bear never had to go far to find food, and for a little while, Gansukh wondered if the Darkhat had been wrong and the bear had been dead for many years. The proliferation of life in the valley was, instead, a testament to the lack of predators.

The sun moved overhead as they reached the rocky spur that signified the split between the two ends of the valley. The hunting party paused briefly-some dismounting to piss, others chewing a quick snack of dried meat-and then continued to the left, moving past the outcropping of rock that split the valley into two forks.

The forest thinned out, and the trees gave way to fields of rocks and the scraggly bushes of the steppe. They started to come across piles of bear scat; after the first one, everyone sat up a little straighter in their saddles, and bows were strung and readied. As the hunting party approached the end of the valley, the hillsides forced them to ride closer together, and there was some confusion among the riders as to who would lead.

Ogedei finally pushed his horse to the front, silencing Namkhai and the chief hunter’s arguments with a curt shake of his head. The Khagan readied his spear, and the hunting party crept forward.

One of the Darkhat pointed out the dark hole of the bear’s cave, and the hunting party came to a halt. A hushed conference was held, debating the best way to approach the bear’s cave, and Gansukh sat a little ways off. His opinion wasn’t needed, and he would only be in the way of the Khagan’s triumphant kill. It was his job to watch now, to be a party to Ogedei’s triumph.

Alchiq’s horse ambled up to his. The gray-haired hunter was peering intently up at the dark cave. He grunted, catching Gansukh’s attention, and then pointed.

Gansukh looked, shading his eyes from the sun to see what Alchiq was pointing at. There was a clear trail up the slope, the route the bear took time and again, and it looked like there was a flat shelf in front of the cave where something caught his eye.

Gansukh looked at Alchiq, who shrugged as he slid off his horse. Carrying his bow ready, the gray-haired hunter darted forward, leaping from cover to cover as he approached the cave. Swearing under his breath, Gansukh glanced over at the clustered hunting party, wondering if anyone had noticed Alchiq. No one had, and with a final curse, he climbed down from his horse and followed the gray-haired hunter.

They were too far below the cave to see properly, but Gansukh had seen what had caught Alchiq’s attention: a wooden spar, jutting up at an angle that didn’t seem natural.

As he ran after Alchiq he heard Namkhai shout behind him. He ignored the Torguud captain’s cry, and dogged Alchiq’s heels as the gray-haired hunter raced toward the cave. They scrambled up the slope together, no longer caring to move silently. The hunting party was making enough noise now to alert anything that might be waiting for them up at the cave.

Breathing heavily, Gansukh reached the flat shelf at the cave a half step behind Alchiq, and he came to a sudden stop as he saw what was waiting for them.

The body of a Great Bear was crucified upon huge crossed logs driven into the ground in front of the cave. Its front legs splayed out, arrows driven into its paws. Its head was held in place by a length of rope. The beast’s tongue protruded from its mouth in an obscene and unnatural twist.

Alchiq slowly walked up to the dead beast. His head was almost level with the bear’s shoulders; directly in front of him was a long shaft jutting from the bear’s chest. Gansukh stared at the object, uncomprehendingly.

It looked like an arrow, but it was the longest arrow he had ever seen.

Alchiq turned around, his eyes restlessly scanning the hillside around them, searching for something that, judging from the savage grin on his face, he had been expecting.

“They’re here,” he said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

A Binder’s Choice

In the wake of the Cardinal’s departure from the Emperor’s tent, Frederick waved his hands and his guards withdrew. In a few moments, only he and Ocyrhoe remained, and he gestured for her to join him at the narrow table where several plates of food were arrayed. She hesitated, awkwardly aware of the ragged condition of her clothing and the matted tangles of her hair. The Emperor’s clothing was made of silk, and she could only imagine what it was like to wear such opulent clothing. She felt like the city rat she was, transported into an unknown wilderness, a forest so dense with trees and brush she could barely see the sky. So unlike Rome. So unlike anything she had ever known.

The Emperor sat on one of the stools beside the table and began to eat: salted pork, grapes, slivers of sliced fruit, hunks of dark bread. Her mouth watered as she drifted toward the table. “Sit,” Frederick said. “Eat.” He poured water from a jug into a plain cup. Into another cup he poured a measure of wine. “Earlier today I had a meal similar to this one with your friends,” he said, ignoring her reluctance to join him. He indicated the cups on the table with a piece of meat. “We drank from some of my finer tableware, which would normally be completely unremarkable but for an odd bit of roguish sleight of hand.” He stared at her intently as if she should know what he was talking about.

She shook her head.

“The priest truly does think he is in possession of the Holy Grail,” Frederick said without further preamble. “What do you think of such nonsense?”

“I know very little of such things, Your Majesty,” Ocyrhoe said, her hand darting out for a grape.

Frederick grunted and stared off into space for a few moments. “He is a curious fellow, your priest. One moment, he seems quite harmless; the next, sadly broken from his experience at Mohi; and the next…” He shook his head slightly. “I have met my share of zealots, little Binder, and most of them cannot hide their insanity. They are like moths that have been blinded by a candle. Father Rodrigo, on the other hand, concerns me. If he were a moth, he would be blind, burned, and still insistent on leaping into the flame again.” He picked up his cup and sipped from it. “And he doesn’t want to go alone.”

Ocyrhoe didn’t know what to say. The Emperor’s assessment of Father Rodrigo made her stomach knot. She reached for the cup of water and drank from it slowly.

“We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation this morning,” Frederick continued, “albeit one that was marred by the occasional outlandish remark concerning apocalyptic prophecies and divine inspiration, and then the priest produced a cup from his satchel and announced it was the Holy Grail.” Frederick smiled. “I laughed at him, I must admit, which was probably not the most circumspect reaction, but I was taken aback by his claim. He was, after all, trying to convince me that one of my own cups was the holy chalice.” He tapped a fingernail against the rim of his cup. “Just like this one. I offered him wine, and when my back was turned, he slipped the cup into his satchel so that he could produce it again.” He shook his head. “I knew it was my own cup. I had had a boy bring three into the tent. I had one, there was a second sitting on this table, and the third-well, the third was in Father Rodrigo’s hand and he was telling me that it was the Holy Grail and, with it, he was going to call a crusade against the infidels and nonbelievers. And by God, I believed him.”

Ocyrhoe nodded slowly. “I saw him preaching to a crowd at the marketplace,” she said. “They weren’t shouting at him or throwing vegetables. They were listening, and he had a cup there too. I could feel the mood of