The Mongoliad: Book Three

more like a giant in comparison, and Gansukh felt his throat relax when he recognized the man. The wrestler, Namkhai.

Namkhai pulled his horse up short-deliberately blocking the advance of the riders behind him-and Gansukh stood still as other riders flowed around Namkhai like a stream diverting around a large stone. Out of the corner of his field of vision, Gansukh saw a pale flicker as moonlight glanced off a rider’s naked head. Munokhoi. He inclined his head toward Namkhai, acknowledging what the wrestler had just done for him.

Respect. Hard won and easily lost. But still very much the coin of the realm among the true men of the steppes.

Horses continued to flow around them, and by the time the Torguud captain managed to bring his horse around, a ring of Mongolian riders had formed. Freezing the tableau of recent events into an image that would now be assessed.

Gansukh. Lian. The dagger. The dead Chinese commander.

Munokhoi pushed his mount through the throng, his sword raised above his head. “I said to cut down anyone on foot,” he shouted, his voice breaking. “Why are these dogs still standing?” He refused to look at Gansukh and Lian, staring at his men with a wild ferocity, daring any of them to question his order. His face was streaked with soot and blood, which made his bulging eyes only that much more deranged.

“Because they are not dogs,” replied Namkhai evenly.

Munokhoi jerked his horse’s head back, and the animal nearly reared. Its nostrils flared and it showed its teeth. “They are dogs if I say they are dogs,” he retorted, still not looking at Gansukh or Lian.

Namkhai stared at the aggravated Torguud captain with the same calm mien that Gansukh had seen when they had wrestled. Appraising. Waiting. Confident. Unafraid.

Munokhoi knew the gaze as well, and he looked away. He finally looked down at Gansukh and Lian, his lips curling into a sneer. “She’s Chinese,” he pointed out as if no one had ever noticed. “The Chinese attacked us. They are her people. She must have told them where to find us.”

“Was the Khagan hiding?” Gansukh found his voice, and in the silence that followed his words, he cleared his throat and explained his question. “If she had to tell them where we were, that would suggest that they couldn’t have found us with their own eyes.” He rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. “Are you saying that the Khan of Khans was traveling in stealth? That he was afra-”

Munokhoi kicked his horse, and it lunged forward while simultaneously trying to avoid running into Gansukh. Gansukh shuffled to his right, but not so much that he abandoned Lian, and the horse’s shoulder bumped into his chest. He stepped back, not out of fear of being hurt by the horse, but to get out of range of Munokhoi’s sword. His hand, reaching back, brushed Lian’s arm and he felt her shiver.

“They are no danger to us, Munokhoi,” Namkhai said. “There is no danger to the Khagan here.” Namkhai’s voice was clipped and tight, somewhat impatient. With a hint of a challenge. “We should be guarding the Khagan. Not riding around in the dark, chasing ghosts.”

“You will go where I tell you to go,” Munokhoi raged.

Gansukh took another step back, directing Lian to move with him. He knew that physical contact with her would clearly link them together, but what could be gained by denying their connection? Munokhoi was out of control. He was dangerous when he was soft-spoken and calculating, but that was only because everyone knew that calm facade hid a much more monstrous aspect of the man. They were all seeing it now, and glancing around at the faces of the other men, Gansukh saw that he was not the only one who was concerned.

Namkhai remained unruffled, as if he had seen this facet of Munokhoi before and was not concerned. Gansukh looked at Namkhai’s expression and knew the wrestler had looked upon something much more terrifying than the enraged Torguud captain and had found that thing wanting. Namkhai was still waiting to find a reason to be truly afraid, and judging by the placid arrangement of his features he was prepared to wait a long time.

“Namkhai’s right,” Gansukh said. “There are no more Chinese. They’ve all fled. Back south.”

A few heads turned toward the south, but most eyes were still roving back and forth between Munokhoi, Namkhai, and Gansukh. Munokhoi had gone icily quiet. His hand rested on the hard rim of his saddle, and Gansukh noticed the shape of his saddlebags. They were full. But of what?

“Escaped, you mean. Escaped with the help of their Chinese spy.” Munokhoi had control of his voice again, and Gansukh felt a chill touch his spine. “She may be no danger to the Khagan now, but she’ll bring her murderous brothers back for another attack.”

Lian stirred at Gansukh’s side. Words tumbled from her mouth, but they were so softly spoken that only Gansukh heard them. He tried not to react. She was speaking Chinese.

“She brought them to us; she betrayed our Khagan,” Munokhoi repeated, still holding on to his previous accusation. “Your whore is a traitor. Protect her, and you are a traitor.” His hand twitched, and almost imperceptibly, he turned toward the pair of bags thrown across his horse’s back.

“You are a liar.” Gansukh stared up at the Torguud captain, keeping his gaze away from the bulging saddle bags. “Lian killed the Chinese commander.” He pointed in the direction of the body. “He lies over there. There is her dagger.” He grasped for her hand, found it, and raised it up for the throng to see. “Here is his blood.”

Munokhoi spat on the ground, refusing to look at the dead Chinese man. “Look at my face,” Gansukh demanded, letting go of Lian’s hand. “I was their captive. They were going to interrogate me, but she came to my rescue.”

Namkhai locked eyes with the two men nearest the dead man, and they dismounted to examine the corpse. Namkhai jerked his head, and the two Mongols flipped the body over. Grabbing the corpse by the hands, they dragged it around Munokhoi’s horse and deposited it on the ground next to Lian and Gansukh. She shied away from the body, stepping more closely to Gansukh, her hands lightly touching his arm. The Chinese man lay on his back, the dark ruin of his throat plainly visible.

“Anyone could have killed this dog.” Munokhoi spat on the body.

Gansukh felt Lian go rigid and then relax. When she spoke, her voice was clear and precise. “I killed him,” she said. She wasn’t looking at Munokhoi. She held Namkhai’s gaze. “And when I killed their leader, the rest fled. Like the broken dogs they were. We’ve stopped their attack.”

“We?” Munokhoi’s voice dripped with scorn and disbelief.

“We,” Gansukh said simply. “Following them would be a mistake. We do not know this terrain. We do not know if they even have a camp. Those who are still alive are scattered, running for their lives. What would we gain by chasing lost dogs in the dark? It is better for us to return to the Khan’s side.”

Namkhai nodded in agreement, but he made no move to do that. He only looked at Munokhoi with that same flat expression. Waiting.

Munokhoi had two options as Gansukh read the situation: agree with him and return to the Mongol camp, or insist on continuing the hunt. If they continued and found little trace of the Chinese raiders-which seemed likely- then Munokhoi risked losing face with the Khagan for making a foolish decision. If he returned to camp now, he only lost face with the current group of men by standing down from his challenge to Gansukh. It was an infuriating choice, Gansukh knew, but as he watched the Torguud captain weigh these choices, he realized Munokhoi was considering a third choice. Killing both him and Lian now before anyone could intervene.

Lian sensed the conflict in Munokhoi as well, and she took a step back and to the left, putting some distance between herself and Gansukh. Making two separate targets. Gansukh, surprising himself, took a step to his right, preparing to flank his enemy.

Munokhoi growled deep in his throat, and his eyes betrayed him, flicking down to the saddle bags.

What secret did he have in there? Gansukh wondered.

“Captain,” Namkhai said, breaking the tension. “What are your orders?” What saved them was not the question, but the deference in Namkhai’s voice. The submissive request for direction from a superior.

“We head back to camp,” Munokhoi snapped. “Take them with us.” Without another word, he pushed his horse through the rank of men and the sound of its hooves trailed after it in the night.