The Mongoliad: Book Three

why Frederick had talked her into chasing after Father Rodrigo. Her faith in something else might be strong enough to withstand the Grail.

Her faith in her sisters.

She walked past Ferenc and knelt on the ground beside Father Rodrigo’s satchel. “Will it?” she asked, peering up at him. She reached out her hand to touch the cup.

“Don’t touch it,” Father Rodrigo shrieked. He lunged for her, meaning to shove her away from the cup, and she spun away from him. She tumbled across the satchel, knocking the cup over.

Father Rodrigo loomed over her, his face blotted with shadows. “You will not take what is mine! You will not!”

She raised her hands defensively, alarmed by the change that had come over him. The cup rolled away from her, and she saw that it was nothing more than a plain silver cup. Identical to the one Frederick had drunk from during the meal they had shared. She kicked it and it bounced across the dry ground.

“God owns me. Only an agent of the Devil would try to take what belongs to God,” Father Rodrigo shouted as he scrambled for the cup.

Ferenc finally shook himself free of whatever torpor had held him in place, and he grabbed Father Rodrigo, keeping the priest from reaching the cup. “Father Rodrigo,” he pleaded, trying to get the priest’s attention.

Father Rodrigo whirled, his hand striking Ferenc across the face. “Stand not in the way of God, heretic,” he screamed. “Vade post me Satana!”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

The Flight of the Khan

The shaman’s saddle was too narrow for Ogedei, and he perched on it awkwardly, half sliding off the side of the pony as it ran as fast as its short legs could manage. It was a bony animal too, and it ran with a stiff-legged gait that made Ogedei’s teeth clack together noisily.

Chucai’s powerful stallion was already pulling away from him, and the Khagan wanted to shout after his advisor. How dare Chucai leave him? But his own nauseating fear provided the answer: Chucai wanted to live too.

He was running away. He could not pretend otherwise as he bounced atop a short-haired pony, shrieking at it to run faster. It didn’t matter what sort of image he presented to his men. None of them were pointing and laughing. They were all either dead or engaged in the same headlong rush for safety.

A long arrow caught Chucai’s horse in the side, and it plowed into the ground. Chucai remained in the saddle as it fell, and as Ogedei bounced past, he saw why. The long arrow had gone through Chucai’s leg first, pinning him to the horse.

The last Ogedei saw of Chucai was the other man straining and tugging to get his other leg out from beneath the fallen horse. His beard was tangled too, streaked with blood, and Chucai was shouting something in Chinese, a language Ogedei had not heard him use for a long time.

Ogedei didn’t stop. He kept riding. He told himself it was what Chucai would have insisted he do.

The empire was all that mattered.

As the short-legged pony bounded out of the trees, Ogedei saw two things simultaneously that filled him with equal parts elation and dread. Directly ahead of him, he spotted a number of his Torguud. They were galloping fast toward him, and he raised his arm to signal to them. To me! he willed. Your Khagan requires your aid. And then, a flicker of light drew his eyes left, and he squinted against the sun flashing off metal armor.

Armored men, on horseback.

There were only four of them, but they came so relentlessly, their chargers galloping with such strength and determination, that his elation vanished beneath a wave of tremulous panic. Their armor gleamed, their faces were covered with blank masks of shining steel, and the crests on their chests appeared to be fiery roses.

The quartet split-the two on the right angling toward his approaching Torguud, the others thundering toward him. He lashed the pony mercilessly, trying to make it run faster, but he could feel it laboring heavily beneath him already.

Behind him, stragglers of his hunting party emerged from the woods, and they rapidly overtook his lumbering pony, reaching him a few scant moments before the two armored riders did. Metal clashed, a horse screamed, and two of his men were down. The armored riders surged through his paltry host, wheeling their mounts about for another charge. A Darkhat fired an arrow at one of the two attackers, but it skipped off the man’s helm without causing him any harm.

An armored rider came at him, and Ogedei fumbled for his sword, his fingers slipping off the hilt. The charger’s hooves pounded against the ground, and he could hear its heavy breathing. He finally got his hand on his hilt, pulled the sword halfway, and realized he wasn’t going to get it free in time.

He looked up, deciding he would rather see his death coming, and was suddenly buffeted as another horse and rider passed between him and the approaching rider. The armored man’s horse wheeled, nearly throwing its rider, and Namkhai, suddenly between him and his death, battered at the armored man with the long pole of the Spirit Banner.

Namkhai swept the banner around again, and the armored man hesitated for a second. Ogedei could not fathom why the man faltered. Had he felt the power of the banner? Had he seen the endless sea of horses that lived within the banner? Did he realize how pointless his efforts were? The empire was endless. It would run from horizon to horizon, from mountain to sea. It could not be stopped.

“Ride!” Namkhai screamed at him, startling him out of the ecstatic fervor that had suddenly gripped him. Namkhai hit the rider one last time with the banner, knocking him out of his saddle, and then his Torguud protector was reaching for him. Ogedei let go of the pony’s reins and swung his right leg out of the way as Namkhai brought his horse closer. He leaned over, grabbing a fistful of Namkhai’s trousers, and with a grunt he pushed off from the pony’s saddle. He floated through empty space for an instant, and he was certain he had mistimed his leap, and then the back of Namkhai’s horse slammed against his thighs. He snaked his arm around Namkhai’s waist as the horse, now carrying twice the weight, stumbled briefly before finding its balance again.

Screaming a wordless battle cry as if he dared any man or spirit to stand before him, Namkhai urged his horse to run harder. The ground flashed beneath them, and Ogedei buried his face against Namkhai’s broad chest, hanging on for dear life.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

The Strong Heart

Orsini strode toward the waiting room. He was agitated by Cardinal Fieschi’s messenger, and while he had immediately sent the captain of his guard off to mobilize his men, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was chasing a wild horse that would never be tamed. Fieschi had made promises, and at first it seemed that the Cardinal might actually be able to produce the results he said he could, but in the last few days, Orsini was beginning to doubt that the Cardinal had the situation under control. And if the Cardinal wasn’t running things, who was?