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?”
“He finds new land.”
“And while he is searching for new land, what of his family, of his horses and cows?”
“He must still provide for them.”
“So, it follows that fertile ground must be found—quickly—and the farmer must continue to plant his seeds, cultivate his tender plants, and reap his harvest as he always does, with as little disruption as possible.”
“With all due respect, Master Chucai, there is no way to remove Munokhoi from his position without some disruption.”
“Of course not,” Chucai snorted impatiently.
“Replacing him with me would be... very disruptive,” Gansukh pointed out. Even if he were a good choice to replace Munokhoi, such a decision would only further enrage the already hotheaded Torguud captain.
Chucai lifted a finger and touched it to his lips. “Would it? Don’t you think the empire would benefit more from advancing you than it would lose by discarding Munokhoi?”
Gansukh didn’t like the way Chucai was twisting his words; and behind his calm facade, there lurked another series of barbed questions, waiting to entrap Gansukh. And then, within the span of a heartbeat, Gansukh realized a way out of this predicament. “There is another who would be more suitable,” he offered. “Brother Namkhai.”
Chucai shrugged slightly, his finger remaining against his lips. Realizing Chucai had already considered Namkhai, Gansukh rushed to explain his thinking. “I’m not suggesting Namkhai because I am trying to shirk my duties to you or the Khagan, Master Chucai. It is not that I feel I am unworthy of the position—I am worthy of it—it is just that...”
Chucai’s expression suggested he was listening intently to Gansukh’s words, but that they weren’t quite enough to convince him.
Gansukh thought rapidly, trying to verbalize key reasons that would support his claim. “Namkhai is a steppes rider too, plus he has been with the men longer. He knows them as well as they know him. I do not know many of the men.”
Chucai gave him a tiny nod. Keep talking.
“I have seen Namkhai stand up to Munokhoi when Munokhoi has been caught up in rage, irrational and unable to command. The men respond to Namkhai’s leadership. They will respect him more quickly.”
“Respect is an important quality to have in a leader,” Chucai offered as encouragement for Gansukh to keep talking.
“And Munokhoi does not resent Namkhai like he resents me. The perceived insult would be less grave and the reaction less severe.”
“Would it be?” Chucai considered Gansukh’s words. “There is some wisdom behind your suggestion, Gansukh. Even as hastily offered as it is.” He smiled fleetingly, and then his expression deadened. “But you speak of Munokhoi’s reaction being less severe...”