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.”
Jachin dropped her hands to her lap, fussed with them for a moment as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Does he love you in return?”
“I… I think so,” Lian replied.
Jachin nodded. She gestured for Lian to give her the comb. “Turn around,” she said. “I want to brush your hair.” Jachin’s face was composed, her lips firm. Lian complied, and she sat quietly as Second Wife took out the ornamental sticks in her hair and began to brush it. “Tell me about him,” Jachin said.
Lian did-haltingly at first, but the words came more easily after a while. Jachin even laughed lightly when she told the story about the dancer in the market and the bells.
“Ogedei loved me,” Jachin said quietly when Lian finished. “Once.” She gave a tiny laugh, choking back some other emotion.
“I know, my Lady,” Lian said. She glanced down and noticed two dots of moisture darkening her robe. She carefully wiped her cheek so no more tears would fall.
On the other side of the river, a long meadow sloped down to a sparse wood of alder and cedar. The Torguud had set up a series of targets-small shields lashed to spears that were rammed into the ground-ranging across the field to the edge of the wood, and as Gansukh peered at the tree line, he noted more targets within with shelter of the trees. Each of the targets had a slash of red paint across it, signifying the heart of the imaginary enemy.
A handful of Torguud were already practicing, and Gansukh and Tarbagatai milled about somewhat aimlessly while they waited. Gansukh kept scanning the forest below them as well as the line of scattered ger on the other side of the river, keeping an eye out for Munokhoi.
“That is a very nice bow,” Tarbagatai said, breaking their silence.
Gansukh unslung the weapon in question and offered it to Tarbagatai, who ran his hands along the smooth shape of the bow. “Is this goat horn?” the younger man asked after his examination.
Gansukh nodded. “My grandfather killed it so that my father could have its horns. This is the first bow he ever made, and when I…” he paused, recalling the story he had told Lian about his first kill. “When I came of age, it became mine.”
“I made this one,” Tarbagatai said, offering Gansukh his bow. “It took much longer than it should have.”
Gansukh admired the shape of Tarbagatai’s bow. It was darker than his, made from some wood other than birch, though the siyah were light, like the tips of antelope ears. The string was looser than he preferred, and he wondered if Tarbagatai had switched his string yet. The air, while warm in the sun, was generally colder than it had been in Karakorum. He would need to use a tighter string. Or maybe he just likes a little more play. Gansukh toyed with the tension in the bowstring a little longer, and then handed the weapon back to its owner. “The product of your own hard work. It is an excellent bow. I hope that it serves you well.”
“Is there going to be shooting or talking here today?” The new speaker was a stocky man, wide in the neck and gregarious in his expressions. He and a half dozen other Torguud had wandered up while Gansukh and Tarbagatai had been admiring each other’s bow. The newcomer planted his feet wide and put his hands on his hips as he voiced his jovial query. He looked like nothing more than a smaller version of Namkhai, and Gansukh realized the similarity was not accidental. Namkhai had a cousin in the Torguud. What is his name?
Tarbagatai came to his rescue. “There will be more talking than shooting now that you are here, Subegei.”
“Is that so?” Subegei laughed. “Someone has to bore your enemies so they will stand still long enough for you to hit them.” He gestured toward the archery targets. “Come on, you two. We heard there was going to be a contest.”
“Still have some money from last night, eh?” Gansukh asked.
“I understand you have forty-nine more cows than you know what to do with,” Subegei said. “Maybe we can help you part with some of them.”
“What makes you think I know what to do with the first one?” Gansukh said, and the group laughed uproariously. He grinned at Tarbagatai and motioned the younger man toward the crooked line of dark rocks that marked the edge of archery field. “How shall we do this?” he asked.