“Oh yes, of course. And Lian hasn’t…?”
“Taught me Chinese?” Gansukh shook his head. “You may certainly ask her, Master Chucai, but I believe she will tell you she was having enough trouble teaching me the proper way of speaking Mongolian.”
Chucai laughed. “Well spoken,” he said. “What of their tactics, then? What of the Torguud response?”
Gansukh sensed that Chucai had changed his mind about his line of questioning. He wasn’t sure what he had said-or not said-but Chucai appeared to be mollified on some topic. Or perhaps he is simply setting it aside for now, he thought, admonishing himself to listen carefully to Chucai’s questions. “I am not a member of the Torguud,” Gansukh said carefully. “It would be presumptuous of me to speculate on their martial response.”
“Oh, very tactful,” Chucai said. “Lian’s instruction, I suspect.”
Bristling, Gansukh held his tongue and bowed his head slightly in return.
“The reason I ask,” Chucai continued, “is that there may be a strategic advantage gained by soliciting your opinion in a certain matter rather than simply giving you an order,” Chucai continued.
“I can only hope to be of service, Master Chucai,” Gansukh offered.
Chucai raised an eyebrow in response to Gansukh’s obsequious response. “I am going to ask Munokhoi to relinquish his position as captain of the Khagan’s private guard,” he said.
Gansukh’s heart thudded loudly in his chest, and his cheeks and forehead were suddenly hot in the sun. His knees trembled, and the landscape wavered slightly as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He had no idea what sort of expression was on his face, though he was certain Chucai could tell the statement had caught him off guard. Was this what he was referring to when he talked about men failing to follow the Khagan? he wondered. Had Chucai’s question had nothing to do with him after all?
In a moment of rare talkativeness, Chucai explained himself. “Munokhoi is unfit to lead the men out on the steppes”-he indicated the land spread out below them with a sweep of his arm-“or here in the mountains. Did he send you here to watch over the caravan? No. That was your decision. You saw the need to look over the terrain before the Khagan crossed it. Munokhoi thinks like a man who has spent his life behind walls.”
Gansukh scratched behind his right ear. “You need someone who has fought beyond the Khagan’s walls,” he said slowly, belaboring Chucai’s point.
Gansukh waited a moment for Chucai to continue, but he wasn’t terribly surprised when the Khagan’s advisor said nothing. This was a not uncommon gambit on Chucai’s part: to start a conversation, and then let it peter into silence. He had infinite patience: as a hunter, he could probably outwait even the most cautious deer; as a veteran of the Khagan’s courts, there was no one more skilled than he at making silence excruciating. The more he learned from Lian, the more Gansukh had understood the merits of Chucai’s techniques. People were more likely to believe something they felt like they had a hand in creating. Order a man, and he will dutifully comply; let him possess an idea as his own, will he not leap to implement it with great enthusiasm?
Gansukh couldn’t help but think of Ogedei’s decision to leave Karakorum for Burqan-qaldun. Had he not, in some small way, manipulated the Khagan into believing the idea was his?
“Master Chucai…” he began.
“Hmmm?” Chucai seemed to have forgotten he was there.
“This is an unusual circumstance that I find myself in,” Gansukh said. “As you say, typically you would simply inform me of your decision, and I would carry it out. Yet, you come to me now and appear to want my input on a certain matter.”
Chucai nodded absently, his attention still on the landscape below.
“Yet, I doubt that you haven’t thought through every consequence of every possible decision already. Do you expect me to have better insight on this matter than you? Or am I supposed to change your mind?”
“Change my mind?” Chucai raised an eyebrow. “What choice do you think I have made?”
Gansukh regarded the Khagan’s advisor warily, a response to Chucai’s question hanging in his throat. Why else would he have come all the way up here to tell me this? Does he want me to ask for the position? Gansukh rejected that idea almost as soon as it came into his head, but it wouldn’t go away. Me, a Torguud captain. There would be certain benefits, of course. And while there were many in the Khagan’s service who wouldn’t trust him, much like he had earned Tarbagatai’s admiration, he could win them over. All he had to do was demonstrate the depth of his allegiance to the Khagan-and wasn’t this entire hunting expedition the result of his efforts to show his devotion to the Khagan? The men would drift toward him. He had led men before; he could do it again.
But what of Munokhoi? Awkwardly, Gansukh felt a pang of empathy for the man. Cruel and self-serving as he was, he had served the Khagan well for many years, otherwise he never would have been promoted to his current position. It was unnerving to see how easily he could be pushed aside, and for someone who was such an outsider. What would stop Chucai from doing the same to me? Gansukh wondered.
And Lian? What would her reaction be? Would she see it as Gansukh choosing the Khagan over her? It is what I would be doing, he admitted to himself. Would she attempt to escape again, and would he be forced to go after her? Would he be ordered to put her to death for disobedience?
Gansukh took a deep breath to calm his addled nerves. His mind was twisting itself into knots, trying to examine all the possible outcomes. He felt like he was playing that Chinese game that Lian had told him about-black and white pebbles on a wooden board; rules she explained in less than two minutes; followed by an hour-long conversation about strategy that had numbed his mind. Chucai was clearly a master at weiqi, and Gansukh felt as if he was playing his first game, already on the defensive.
Don’t think of it like a game you don’t understand, he realized. Think of it in terms of something you are good at. What are the options for a warrior who feels he is cornered and on the defensive? Think more strategically. What is the best defense?
Shifting roles. Becoming the attacker. Fighting back.
“What is your goal, Master Chucai?” Gansukh asked.
For a moment Chucai’s expression remained blank, and Gansukh flushed, his guts tightening with dread that he had spoken too bluntly. But then Chucai’s eyebrows crept up, and the corners of a bemused smile peeked through his beard. Though he didn’t understand Chucai’s reaction, it was better than the one he had anticipated.
“That is a very direct and astute question, Gansukh,” Chucai said. “Mistress Lian has told me-on numerous occasions, in fact-that you are prone to speaking your mind. Even with all of her efforts to obscure that tendency beneath layers of courtly civility.”
Gansukh felt his face redden even more, but he didn’t break the other man’s gaze. Do not lessen your assault.
“Sun and rain and good seed will not produce a crop from fallow ground.” Chucai’s smile broadened. “I know you are a warrior and a hunter, but surely you understand that basic tenet of farming, yes?”
“Yes, Master Chucai.” Gansukh kept his annoyance out of his voice.
“Does a farmer give up if his land is bad, or does he find new land?”