Jason knew he should stay quiet and let the other talk first. Or was that right? That is what he would do as Jason, attempt to outface and outpoint the other man. Stare him down and get the upper hand. But surely that was not to be expected of an itinerant jongleur? He must certainly feel a little ill at ease, no matter how snow, driven his conscience.
“You sent for me, great Temuchin. I am honored.” He bowed again.
“You will want me to sing for you.”
“No,” Temuchin said coldly. Jason allowed his eyebrows to rise in mild astonishment.
“No songs? What, then, will the leader of men have from a poor wanderer?”
Temuchin swept him with his frigid glance, Jason wondered how much was real, how much shrewd role- playing to impress the locals.
“Information,” Temuchin said just as the dentiphone hummed to life inside Jason’s mouth and Meta’s voice spoke. “Jason, trouble. Armed men outside telling us to come out or they will kill us.”
“That is a jongleur’s duty, to tell and teach. What would you know?” Under his breath he whispered, “No guns! Fight them. I’ll get help.”
“What was that?” Temuchin asked, leaning forward threateningly. “What did you whisper.”
“It was nothing, it was—” Damn, you couldn’t say “nervous habit” in in-between. “It is a jongleur’s… way. Speaking the words of a song quietly, so they will not be forgotten.”
Temuchin leaned back, a frown cutting deep lines in his forehead. He apparently did not think much of Jason’s rehearsing during an audience. Neither did Jason. But how could he help Meta and Grif?
“Men, breaking in!” her shouting voice whispered silently. “Tell me about this Pyrran tribe,” Temuchin said. Jason was beginning to sweat. Temuchin must have a spy in the tribe, or Shanin had volunteered information. And the dead man’s family seemed to be out for vengeance now, knowing he was away from the camp. “Pyrrans? They’re just another tribe. Why do you want to know?”
“What?” Temuchin lunged to his feet pulling at his sword. “You dare to question me?”
“Jason!”
“Wait, no.” Jason felt the perspiration beginning to form droplets under the layer of grease on his face. “I spoke wrong. Damn this inbetween tongue. I meant to say, What do you want to know? I will tell you whatever I can.”
“There are many of them. Swords and shields. They attack Grif, all together.”
“I have never heard of this tribe. Where do they keep their flocks?”
“The mountains… in the north, valleys, remote, you know…”
“Grif is down, I cannot fight them all.”
“What does that mean? What are you hiding? Perhaps you do not understand Temuchin’s law. Rewards to those who are with me. Death
to those who oppose me. The slow death for those who attempt to betray me.”
“The slow death?” Jason said, listening for the words that did not come.
Temuchin was silent a moment. “You do not appear to know much, jongleur, and there is something about you that is not right. I will show you something that will encourage you to talk more freely.” He clapped his hands and one of the attentive officers stepped forward. “Bring in Daei.”
Was that a muffled breathing? Jason could not be sure. He brought his attention back to the camach and looked, astonished, at the man on the litter that was set down before them. The man was tied down by a tight noose about his neck. He did not try to loosen the rope and escape because there were just raw stumps where his fingers should have been. His bare, toeless feet had received the same treatment.
“The slow death,” Temuchin said, staring fixedly at Jason. “Daei left me to fight with the weasel clans. Each day one joint is cut off each limb. He has been here many days. Now, today’s justice.” He raised his hand.
Soldiers held the man although he made no attempt to struggle. Thin strips of leather were sunk deep into the flesh of his wrists and ankles and knotted tight. His right arm was pressed against the ground and one soldier made a swift chop with an ax. The hand jumped ‘off, spurting blood. The men methodically went to the other arm, then the legs.
“He has two more days to go, as you can see,” Temuchin said. “If he is strong enough to live that long, I may be merciful on the third day. I may not be. I have heard of one man who lived a year before reaching his last day.”
“Very interesting,” Jason said. “I have heard of the custom but it slipped my mind.” He had to do something quickly. He could hear the hammer of moropes’ feet outside, and men’s shouts. “Did you hear that? A whistle?”
“Have you gone mad?” Temuchin asked, annoyed. He waved angrily and the now unconscious man was carried out, the dismembered extremities kicked aside.
“It was a whistle,” Jason said, starting toward the entrance. “I must step outside. I will return at once.”
The officers in the tent, no less than Temuchin, were dumbfounded by this. Men did not leave his presence this way.
“Just a moment will do it.”
“Stop!” Temuchin bellowed, but Jason was already at the entrance.
The guard there barred his way, pulling out his sword. Jason gave him the shoulder, sending him spinning, and stepped outside.
The outer guards ignored him, unaware of what was happening inside. Walking casually but swiftly, Jason turned right and had reached the corner of the large camach before his pursuers burst out behind him. There was a roar and the chase was on. Jason turned the corner and raced full tilt along the side.
Unlike the smaller, circular camachs, this one was rectangular, and Jason reached and dived around the next corner before the angry horde could see where he had gone. Shouts and hoarse cries echoed behind as he raced full tilt around the structure. Only when he reached the front again did he slow to a walk as he turned the last corner.
The pursuit was all streaming off in the opposite direction, bellowing distantly like hounds. The two guards who had been at the entrance were gone and all the other nearby ones were looking in the opposite direction. Walking steadily Jason came to the entrance and went inside. Temuchin, who was pacing angrily, was aware that someone had come in.
“Well!” he shouted. “Did you catch, you!” He stepped back and drew his sword with a lightning slash.
“I am your loyal servant, Temuchin,” Jason said flatly, folding his arms and not retreating. “I have come to report rebellion among your tribes.”
Temuchin did not strike, nor did he lower his sword.
“Speak quickly. Your death is at hand.”
“I know you have forbidden private feuds among those who serve you. There are some who would slay my servant because she killed a man who attacked her. I have been near her ever since this happened until today. Therefore I asked a trusted man to watch and to report to me. I heard his whistle, because he dared not enter the camach of Ternuchin, I have just talked to him. Armed men have attacked my camach in my absence and taken my servants. Yet I have heard that there is one law for all who follow Temuchin. I ask you now to declare about this.”
There was the thud of feet behind Jason as his pursuers caught up and stormed through the entrance. They slid to a stop, piling up behind each other as they saw the two men facing each other, Temuchin with his sword still raised.
He glared at Jason, the sword quivering with the tension in his musdes. In the silence of the camach they could clearly hear his teeth grate together as he brought the sword down, point first into the dirt floor.
“Ahankid” he shouted, and the officer ran forward, slapping his chest. “Take four hands of men and go to the tribe of Shanin of the rat dan—”
“I can show you—” Jason interrupted.
Temuchin wheeled on him, thrust his face so close that Jason could feel his breath on his cheek, and said, “Speak once again without my permission and you are dead.”
Jason nodded, nothing more. He knew he had almost overplayed his hand. After a moment, Temuchin turned back to his officer.
“Ride at once to this Shanin and command him to take you to those who have taken the Pyrran servants.
