The Mongoliad: Book Three

rider too, plus he has been with the men longer. He knows them as well as they know him. I do not know many of the men.”

Chucai gave him a tiny nod. Keep talking.

“I have seen Namkhai stand up to Munokhoi when Munokhoi has been caught up in rage, irrational and unable to command. The men respond to Namkhai’s leadership. They will respect him more quickly.”

“Respect is an important quality to have in a leader,” Chucai offered as encouragement for Gansukh to keep talking.

“And Munokhoi does not resent Namkhai like he resents me. The perceived insult would be less grave and the reaction less severe.”

“Would it be?” Chucai considered Gansukh’s words. “There is some wisdom behind your suggestion, Gansukh. Even as hastily offered as it is.” He smiled fleetingly, and then his expression deadened. “But you speak of Munokhoi’s reaction being less severe…”

“Yes,” Gansukh agreed.

“There will still be a reaction,” Chucai said. “His resentment of you will not be lessened. It will simply be unburdened, no longer shackled by the strictures of his rank.”

Gansukh sucked in a quick breath. Munokhoi would be free to come after Lian. Ever since the gladiator match between the two Westerners, Munokhoi’s furtive glances made Gansukh think of a wary predator-biding his time.

Chucai had to be aware that this would be a likely outcome of stripping Munokhoi of his rank. He found his hands clenching into fists as his temper flared, a reaction that Lian would have chided him for. He could almost hear her voice: this is the reaction he expects you to have. Though he was tempted to accuse of Chucai of playing a deadly game, Gansukh calmed his breathing and stared at his hands until he could force them to relax.

“Namkhai is a good choice, Gansukh,” Chucai said, ignoring Gansukh’s mental distress. “A better choice, in many ways.”

Gansukh felt a strange mixture of elation and disappointment at Chucai’s words. The emotional rush was confounding. On the battlefield, such confusion-this temerity and second-guessing about one’s decisions-was deadly. He needed to keep focused.

“However, that is all he will ever be,” Chucai explained. “He does not have the same broad-mindedness that Chagatai Khan saw in you when he selected you as his emissary. Namkhai has not been to the far edges of the empire; he has not been exposed to different martial cultures.” Chucai fixed Gansukh with his fierce gaze. “He has not watched his brothers die in the streets of foreign cities. He has not truly faced death, and as such, cannot tell his men how to be strong at such a time.”

Gansukh dropped his gaze, the crazy welter of emotions racing around his brain falling silent in the face of Chucai’s praise. “You honor me too much, Master Chucai,” he muttered.

Chucai was silent for a moment. “Perhaps,” he offered. “Still, recent revelations have made it clear that if the empire is to maintain its strength, it needs less blind devotion and more…”

“More what, Master Chucai?”

“Are you asking as a Torguud captain or a free warrior of the steppes-one who thinks more of his needs than the needs of the empire?”

Gansukh hesitated, sensing a trap. “My apologies, Master Chucai. I was merely asking as a concerned warrior of the empire, who only seeks to assist the Khagan in any way that the Khagan wishes.”

Chucai laughed. “You are much less a fool than anyone takes you for, Gansukh.”

Gansukh chuckled. “Please do not tell anyone otherwise.”

“Oh, I won’t.” Chucai sighed as he played with the trailing end of his beard for a moment. “It would have been much easier to address your problem with the weight of the Torguud guard behind you.”

Gansukh tensed as Chucai’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “That problem is my own, Master Chucai. It is best I dealt with it directly.”

“Yes, Gansukh,” Chucai said. “That would be for the best. Much less disruptive that way. Much less.”

Gansukh did not watch Chucai mount his horse and ride away. He stared down at the snaking caravan, his eyes following the tiny dots of the Torguud riders as they patrolled.

He wondered which one was Munokhoi.

He could wait until the caravan was in range, and then he could solve his problem with a single arrow. It would be so much easier.

Gansukh sighed and shook his head. While an arrow was efficient, it would have consequences that could be as equally disastrous. No, he had to find another way. A less disruptive way.

Patience, he told himself as he walked back to his horse. A true hunter knows to wait until his prey shows itself.

When the caravan reached the Kherlen River, it was greeted by a contingent of twenty horsemen. Each rider carried a pole with a sky-blue banner that snapped and whipped in the wind as the party galloped toward the caravan. The Torguud parted for the riders, and they swept through like a sudden squall of rain. As they reached the dense cluster of mounted guard near the Khagan’s ger, they reined as one and dismounted in near-unison, each landing swiftly on the ground and dropping to bent knee. Sky-blue arrowheads woven into their robes marked them. Darkhat. Guardians of the lands sacred to Genghis Khan-his birthplace, his tomb, and region beyond. Burqan-qaldun.

Some of the Torguud shuffled nervously, attempting to keep their horses at ease. The Darkhat remained still, waiting for Ogedei to emerge from his ger. The tableau remained frozen for what seemed to be an inordinately long time, and then the flaps of Ogedei’s ger were thrown back, and the Khan of Khans emerged.

Ogedei leaned against the railing of the narrow platform, and stared thickly at the Darkhat host as if he could not account for their sudden appearance in his camp. Just as he seemed about to lose interest in their presence, one of the Darkhat shot to his feet and raised both arms in salute to the Khagan.

“Hail, Ogedei Khagan,” he said. “I, Ghaltai, welcome you to the lands of your father.”

“Hail, Ghaltai, faithful and eternal servant of my father’s legacy,” Ogedei replied. He waved an arm to encompass the other Darkhat. “Hail, faithful servants.”

Ghaltai was not a tall man, but he was stocky, with thick weather-beaten skin. His eyes were thin, almond- shaped slits in his face. “What brings you to these lands, O Khagan, with so mighty a retinue?” he asked.

“A pilgrimage,” Ogedei replied. “We will need your guides to take us through the mountain passes.”

“That we can gladly provide,” said Ghaltai with a bow.

“Oh, yes,” Ogedei said as if the idea had just occurred to him. “My father’s grave. I wish to see it.” His gaze roamed over the assembled Torguud until he spotted Munokhoi. “The caravan will continue without me,” he instructed. “I will catch up with it by nightfall.”

“My Khan-” Munokhoi began.

“You have your orders, Captain.”

Ogedei shuddered slightly, surprised by the voice at his elbow.

Chucai stood a respectful distance behind the Khagan, but with his height, he still seemed to tower over the slumped figure of the Khagan. “Your task is to ensure the safety of the caravan,” he explained. “Namkhai and a few others will accompany the Khagan. As will I.” He inclined his head toward Ogedei. “With your leave, of course, Khagan. I too would like to pay my respects to your father, my late friend.”

“Of course,” said Ogedei thickly, a grimace twisting his mouth into an ugly sneer.