Gansukh sighed, and calmly laced up the flaps on his ger. He had come to Karakorum with nothing more than what fit in a pair of saddlebags on his horse; he could survive being reduced to that again. In some ways, Munokhoi’s wanton destruction was a blessing-a reminder of who he really was. Most of the clothing he had acquired at Karakorum wasn’t all that functional out on the open steppe, and Gansukh felt oddly free of the weight of those belongings.
I am a Mongol clansman. I belong outside-the steppes beneath my feet, Eternal Blue Sky above my head. I want nothing else.
He had his knife, his sword, his bow, and his horse. On the first night of the trip, he had sewn a tiny pocket on the inside of his favorite jacket-a home for the lacquer box and the sprig. At the time he hadn’t given the urge to do so much thought, but now he was glad he had.
He did not understand the importance of the tiny twig, but it had meant something to the shaman and Ogedei. The sprig, in some ways, was the reason the Khagan was taking this trip. Ogedei had told him to hang on to it until the Khagan found himself worthy of it once more. Worthy of what? It didn’t matter; it was Gansukh’s job to keep it safe.
The afternoon shadows were getting long as Gansukh wandered past the fighters’ cages. There were only six men left now, and they all had suffered minor injuries during the last round of bouts for the Khagan’s entertainment. The red-haired giant had lost a chunk out of his left forearm when his opponent had desperately tried to chew his way out of the giant’s crushing bear hug. The one who braided his beard had almost lost an eye.
Gansukh drifted past Haakon’s cage, watching the young man as he calmly and slowly performed a series of exercises that worked the muscles in his upper body. He had stripped off his ragged shirt, and the cut across his chest was red and swollen, but it looked like it wasn’t infected. The bruise on his cheek had turned a sullen purple color.
Haakon noticed Gansukh and brought his hands together in the traditional greeting. Gansukh responded in kind, somewhat amused by the youth’s efforts to learn the local customs. “Hai, Haakon,” he said. “Your wound heals well?”
“Yes, friend Gansukh,” Haakon replied. “I am a valuable cow.” His accent had gotten better.
Gansukh couldn’t help but grin. “That you are.”
“Knife for me next time?”
Gansukh shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t-” He realized Haakon wasn’t speaking to him, and when he followed the Northerner’s gaze, he found a gray-haired Mongol standing a few paces behind him. In a flash, Gansukh read his history: the slight bow to his legs, the deep lines around his eyes, and the seasoned darkness of his aged skin. This man had been a horse rider his entire life.
“I suspected he knew our tongue,” the gray-haired man said as he came abreast Gansukh.
Bewildered, Gansukh tried to understand what had just transpired between the prisoner and the gray-haired rider. “Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Alchiq,” the rider said. “I was this one’s age when Genghis Khan brought the clans together. I have served the empire ever since.” He turned his attention to Gansukh. “You were at Kozelsk,” he said, “with Batu Khan.”
“I may have been,” Gansukh said.
Alchiq offered him a smile that didn’t go all the way to his eyes. “You were. You opened the gates so that the Khan’s army could take their revenge for their fallen brothers.”
Gansukh flinched. “You must be mistaken,” he said. “I was just a scout. I never…”
Haakon was staring intently at him, studying Gansukh’s face. Gansukh swallowed heavily and pushed away the memories of Kozelsk that were threatening to surface and changed the subject. “You gave the knife to the Kitayan.”
Alchiq nodded. “I did.” He too was watching Gansukh closely, watching for some reaction in Gansukh’s eyes to his admission.
“Why?”
“To see how well this one could fight. To see what he would do if he was given an opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what?”
“The Torguud captain-Namkhai-is a very large man,” Alchiq said. He held up his fist, showing it to Haakon. “He has a big hand, yes?”
Haakon raised a hand and touched his bruised cheek. “Big hand,” he echoed.
Alchiq walked up to the cage, his hand still clenched in a fist. “I know you, Skjaldbr??ur.” He opened his hand and slapped the bars of the cage, grinning at Haakon’s reaction.
Alchiq gestured for Gansukh to follow him, and when Gansukh opened his mouth to ask a question, Alchiq shook his head. The gray-haired man waited until they had passed the last cage before he spoke. “The boy listens too intently,” he said by way of explanation. “He spies on us from his cage.”
“That word you said. Skold-”
“Skjaldbr??ur,” Alchiq corrected.
“What does it mean?”
“How long did Kozelsk hold Batu Khan at bay?” Alchiq asked, seeming to not hear Gansukh’s question. “Seven weeks?”
“Something like that,” Gansukh replied, somewhat flustered by the change in topic. “I don’t recall exactly.”
“And how many experienced fighters did that city have? Once the gates were open, how many hardened warriors did we find?” He poked Gansukh in the chest. “How many did you kill?”
Gansukh rolled his tongue around his mouth. “A handful,” he lied.
Alchiq pursed his lips. “A handful? Batu let his army raze the city so that the West would know his anger at being denied, but the damage was done. There was a tiny garrison in that city, and the rest were old men, women, and children. They held off the entire might of the Khagan’s army for nearly two moons. Batu sent word back to Karakorum that he needed more men, that the West was so bountiful that his army could not carry all the wealth they were plundering. But that wasn’t the truth, was it? The armies of the empire had gotten soft. They had become accustomed to their enemies running in fear when they saw the banners of the Mongol Empire. Subutai recognized the danger, but Batu did not. The other Khans did not.” Alchiq jerked his head in the direction of Haakon’s cage. “There are others like him. Other Skjaldbr??ur. They will not yield to us. They will never stop fighting us.”
“You’ve fought them,” Gansukh said, realizing Alchiq had answered his previous question in a roundabout way.
Alchiq nodded. “Ten of them took on an entire jaghun. They lost one man. I killed him. I snuck up on him and broke him when he was collecting water.” He let out a short laugh that was void of any humor. “And then I ran.”
“There is no shame in that,” Gansukh said.
“I was not seeking your approval, boy.” Alchiq poked Gansukh in the chest again.
Gansukh caught Alchiq’s finger and pushed his hand away. “I wasn’t offering any,” he snapped.
Alchiq brayed with laughter, and he slapped Gansukh with good humor on the arm. “Try not to confuse your enemies with your friends, young pony,” he said. “I spent many years being angry at the wrong people, and now those years are gone. What do I have to show for it?”
Gansukh recalled the disarray in his ger, and his irritation subsided. “My apologies, venerable goat,” he said, his tone only slightly mocking.
“The Khagan begins his hunt in the morning,” Alchiq said. “You and I will be joining him. We must be wary of being hunted ourselves.”
“Of course,” Gansukh nodded. “It would be an honor to join you.” Internally, his guts tightened. Hunted. If he hadn’t dealt with Munokhoi by then, he would be leaving Lian unprotected. He had to warn her.
It was only some time later that he realized Alchiq had been talking about something else entirely.