She kissed him lightly. “I’m sorry, Raphael,” she whispered, her breath light on his cheek. “I wish there was more room in my heart.” Her lips brushed his cheek as she squeezed his arm, and then she was gone.
He would have preferred an opportunity to play with the ratios of the various powders that he had found in the satchel, but Feronantus had been disinclined to let him go off and conduct explosive experiments on innocent trees. Time was limited; the resolution of their quest was upon them. He had one chance to get the mixture right.
He would have thrown his hands up at such an impossible challenge six months ago, but as a companion to the Shield-Brethren who looked upon the impossible as a noble challenge, he had become inured to the insurmountable. Creating an explosive reagent from an untested oddment of powders, tinctures, and salts was exactly the sort of conundrum God would put before him.
Especially after he had complained-somewhat incessantly, he was now willing to admit-about that damned Livonian stealing his horse back in Kiev. He had stumbled upon a veritable treasure hoard of alchemical ingredients in the ruined city. He had collected an entire bag of smooth stones that were nearly all the same shape and size, not too small and not too large-nearly perfect, in fact, for a balneum cineritium. The large grains of sand would have retained their heat so evenly. The idea of a portable balneum had been so tempting.
The jugs of aqua ardens had been an unexpected blessing. The two bottles weren’t as volatile as a recipe he had made several years ago, but, as evidenced in the tunnels, the fiery water burned readily enough. The other jug could have been distilled further-he was certain he could have done it-and having several vials of purified aqua ardens would alleviate his current dilemma.
“Attend to your mind,” he whispered to himself. The aqua ardens was gone; the treasure trove he had collected during the early days of their journey was gone. Dwelling on the materials he had lost was to engage in wistful daydreaming like an ale-addled simpleton. He had to keep his mind focused. The company was depending on him.
They had stumbled upon the location of the bear’s cave late in the day after they had said good-bye to Cnan, and Feronantus had kept them busy, exploring the two-pronged valley, until well after moonrise. They had argued for several hours around a meager fire about the best way to entrap the Khagan. In the end, the simplest stratagem won out: let the Khagan’s party enter the valley, but don’t let it leave.
The last part fell squarely upon Yasper’s shoulders, and shortly after sunrise, he had surveyed the rocky terrain on either side of the western entrance of the valley. An avalanche was clearly the best solution, but how to move all those rocks? After an hour of clambering about less sure-footedly than a mountain goat, he thought it was possible to bring down a number of rocks.
However, he would need a few supplies.
Feronantus had been loath to let him go wandering off into the forest, especially when they expected the Khagan’s hunting party late in the day. All the more reason Yasper had to find his alchemical ingredients sooner than later. Without these ingredients, he had argued, I can’t bring the hillside down. You’ll have to come up with a different plan.
Early the following morning, Yasper, Istvan, and Raphael went scouting again with two goals in mind: finding Yasper’s alchemical ingredients and discerning the location of the Khagan’s hunting party. Consensus among the companions was that the Khagan had simply waited a day before leaving, but they needed to be sure.
Shortly after midday they found the hunting party and Yasper found his alchemical supplies, albeit in an unexpected fashion.
They heard a booming noise, and Yasper thought it was too singular and too close to be thunder, especially given the lack of cloud cover in the sky. Keenly aware that they were not alone in the woods, they dismounted and carefully led their horses through the trees. After the second rumbling echo, Yasper was sure the source of the sound was an alchemical explosion.
They nearly interrupted the duel between the two Mongol hunters, and had the pair not been so intent on killing one another they would have surely spotted the trio of Westerners. Istvan had wanted to kill them both, but Raphael had held him back, and after one had dashed off and the other followed, Yasper had been able to creep into the clearing and retrieve the dropped satchel.
He had nearly wept with joy when he opened it and examined its contents.
By nightfall, his joy had withered to consternation. Some of the powders were foreign to him, and he had no time for practical research. He woke often during the night, shivering with a sensation nearing panic, and in the morning when the rest of the company departed for their hidden positions within the valley, he was left alone. Just Yasper and the mystery of the powders and God, who wasn’t offering any insight.
The white crystals, sweet to the taste, were a salt of some kind. The metal shards had no function as part of the alchemical explosive. It was only after catching his finger on a rough burr and drawing blood that he had realized their purpose. They were tiny projectiles, meant to be packed in with the powders. When the incendiary device ignited, the alchemical energies released would hurl the shards in every direction.
He shuddered, imagining the effect they would have on unarmored flesh, and then shuddered even more as he divined how the Chinese used these powders. Feeling befouled, like he had just accepted a deal with some infernal demon to allow these thoughts into his head, he laid the ingredients out in a line, seeing their arrangement in a different light.
The dark powder tasted bitter, not unlike the calcinate that a sand bath would draw out of a cow’s urine, and the red crystals turned to blue flame when he had tossed a pinch into the campfire. He recognized the ash readily enough, though it came from a pleasantly fragrant wood.
As he was wrestling with the ratios, the Khagan and his hunting party passed below his hiding place.
Yasper pressed himself flat against the rocks, and with an oath, he kicked sand over his tiny fire, trying to put it out. He inched to the edge of the rock and peered down, desperately hoping no one noticed the thin line of smoke.
He counted heads, and was taken aback when he passed forty. He figured the one on the black horse, wearing the gaudy plum-colored outfit, was Ogedei, the Khan of Khans. Yasper stifled a grin. R?dwulf will be so jealous, he thought, when he learns how close I was. He was not a very skilled bowman, but he thought he could hit the Khagan with an arrow from his position.
As he watched, one of the honor guard-a tall muscular Mongol-gave orders to the men, splitting the group into two. More than half were to stay at the mouth of the valley. A rearguard, Yasper surmised, to ensure the bear did not accidentally escape. Little chance of that, he thought, recalling the display that Percival and R?dwulf had erected. Shooting the arrow into the bear’s chest after it had been strung up had been a masterful idea on Feronantus’s part. A taunting flourish on top of an already arrogant display of defiance. It was bound to enrage the Khagan.
“Oh, shit!” The words hissed out of Yasper’s mouth before he could stop them. He had recognized one of the riders in the group that was continuing on with the Khagan.
Graymane.
There was nothing he could do but watch as the Khagan and his much smaller hunting party-including the gray-haired rider who had plagued them so incessantly during their journey-rode into valley. The twenty or so left behind milled about for a while, uncertain of the best way to prevent a charging bear from leaving the valley. After a half hour or so, they settled down. As Yasper kept his vigil, his heart continuing to pound in his chest, they fell into the same routine as bored soldiers anywhere. They ate and drank, sharing among themselves, and eventually someone produced a bag containing some manner of marked bones. While three of them remained mounted, keeping a bored watch, the others passed the time by betting on the bones.