The Mongoliad: Book Three

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The Archery Competition

Gansukh felt well rested, all things considered. He had not expected to sleep that night, and it was only by a stroke of luck that he had stumbled upon the fact that Chucai had left the camp. Chucai’s ger had seemed like a perfect place to hide from Munokhoi.

The ex-Torguud captain had nearly assaulted Gansukh at the fights, barely managing to contain his volcanic temper. Gansukh was certain Munokhoi was waiting for him somewhere in the camp, and if the positions were reversed, he would have certainly lain in wait near his ger. He had been of half a mind to sleep in Munokhoi’s ger, figuring that the ex-Torguud captain’s rage would keep him alert and fixed in place outside of Gansukh’s ger, but in the end that had felt too risky of a proposition.

What he needed was another opportunity like that of the night before to publicly mock the ex- Torguud captain without being seen as challenging him. It wasn’t a very clever plan, but it would get the job done as long as there were witnesses-people who would attest that Munokhoi attacked first, without provocation-then any response on his part, including a fatal one, would be seen as self-defense. No one would be fooled, but propriety would be maintained.

He had learned that much from court-the maintenance of propriety. The phrase even sounded like something from one of Lian’s endless scrolls. The understanding-the unspoken rule of acceptable behavior-was that it didn’t matter who knew what you had done, as long as you gave the court an excuse to pretend otherwise. And if you took care of a persistent thorn, you were given latitude.

Of course, this was all predicated on Munokhoi playing along-at least with the part where he was supposed to lose his temper publicly-but this plan didn’t leave as bad a taste in his mouth as the option of assassinating Munokhoi.

He was running out of time, however. The Khagan was supposed to leave for his hunt today.

“Ho, Gansukh!” It was Tarbagatai, eager as ever. The mountain archer jogged up to Gansukh, his round face nearly bursting with some irrepressible news. His face fell slightly when he realized Gansukh’s hand was on the hilt of his knife. “Did you not sleep well, friend?” Tarbagatai asked. “You seem jumpy.”

Gansukh relaxed. “I slept quite well, in fact. It’s just…”

“Oh,” Tarbagatai said, nodding. “It’s-yes, the fights… I… I think I understand.” His brow furled, betraying the fact that he probably did not have as much clarity as he claimed.

Gansukh realized the mountain clan archer wasn’t that much younger than himself-only a few years. What a difference those years made, he thought. I would be just like him if I hadn’t gone to Kozelsk, if Chagatai Khan hadn’t picked me as his envoy.

“I’m sorry,” Tarbagatai said, dropping his gaze. “I have said something to offend you.”

“No, no,” Gansukh assured him, brushing aside his melancholic thoughts. “Forgive me. I am… distracted this morning. It is the excitement of this…” he struggled to focus his attention, “of the Khagan’s hunt.”

“Yes,” Tarbagatai agreed. “But not today.”

“What?”

“You haven’t heard? The Khagan”-Tarbagatai mimed drinking from a cup-“We will go tomorrow.” He brightened. “I have never participated in a hunt with the Khagan before.”

Gansukh reflected on the hunting technique typically used by the Khagan. “I fear it will…” He paused, all too aware of the other man’s enthusiasm. “It will be fantastic,” he amended, clapping Tarbagatai on the arm. Privately he was relieved to have another day in the camp. Another chance to draw Munokhoi out…

Tarbagatai smiled, losing the consternation that had been clinging to his face. “We could… practice,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. “To be sure that we are ready for tomorrow.”

“Practice?” Gansukh asked.

Tarbagatai gestured at the bow slung over Gansukh’s shoulder. “Our archery. You have your bow with you. You wouldn’t have to borrow one this time.”

Gansukh touched the horn-and-sinew shape of his father’s bow. “Oh, yes, I suppose,” he feigned a look of sudden realization, “but I am supposed to pick flowers with some of Second Wife’s attendants this morning. They wanted someone along to ensure no wild animal disturbed them.”

“Of course,” Tarbagatai said, clearly crestfallen. “Very well, then, Gansukh. Perhaps some other time.”

Gansukh kept a straight face until the mountain archer had turned his back and started to walk away, and then he relented, releasing the laugh that was clamoring to get out of his mouth. “I am joking,” Gansukh said in response to the hurt look on Tarbagatai’s face. “I would enjoy a rematch. I think that is an excellent idea.”

Tarbagatai guffawed. “When I saw you with your bow, I hoped you would,” he said, grinning and ducking his head like a tongue-tied boy talking to his first courtesan.

“Yes, we do think alike, don’t we?” Gansukh said, “A free afternoon. Good weather. It is a perfect opportunity to match our skills once more.” He offered Tarbagatai a guileless smile, and he let it stretch wider in response to the other man’s grin. He felt a twinge of shame for lying to Tarbagatai, but he couldn’t admit to the mountain archer the real reason he was carrying his bow and sword with him around camp.

One more day.

He hoped it would be enough.

Jachin was uncharacteristically quiet when she returned from the Khagan’s ger. Lian shooed the other attendants out of Second Wife’s sumptuous ger and attended to the distracted woman herself. She helped Jachin out of her silk gown and into her favorite robe. It was plain and unadorned-not the proper costume for the Khagan’s second wife-but she knew it was warm and soft. Its simplicity also allowed Jachin to put aside her role as wife of the Khagan, and Lian suspected Jachin wanted some respite from the burden of her office.

Let us just be girls, she thought as she quietly combed out the snarls in Jachin’s long hair.

“Do you love him?” Jachin asked suddenly. She had said nothing since Lian had sequestered the two of them in the ger, quietly accepting Lian’s ministrations. Lost in thought.

“Who, my Lady?” Lian asked quietly. Her hands had hesitated for only a fraction of a second with the comb.

“The Khagan calls him young pony. That one. What is his name?”

“Gansukh, my Lady.”

Jachin turned her body and looked at Lian. “Do you love him?” she repeated.

“I am but a humble attendant to the Khagan’s court,” Lain demurred, dropping her head into a more submissive pose. “I would not assume to love a proud Mongol warrior.”

Jachin grabbed her chin and raised her head. She peered intently at Lian’s eyes, and Lian was surprised at Jachin’s expression. She had thought Second Wife would have been angry or annoyed at her refusal to answer, but what she was in Jachin’s own gaze was a frank honesty, a plain desire for companionship, for understanding.

“Yes, my Lady,” Lian said quietly, gently removing herself from Second Wife’s grip. “I do.”