But he was, Chucai recalled, when you first became enamored of the spoils of the empire. He was one of those who stood at your side—exhorting you to drink, to enjoy the privileges of being the Khan of Khans.
The dissolution had begun with the desire to build Karakorum. Shortly after vanquishing the Jin Dynasty—one of the last conquests left unfinished by his father—?gedei had decided to build himself an imperial palace, much like those his armies had demolished throughout the Chinese provinces. Chucai could recall the arguments about the foundation of such a fixed camp, and one of the few regrets he had concerning his governance of Genghis’s legacy had been telling ?gedei that Genghis never would have built such a place.
I am not my father, ?gedei had shouted at him, and there had been such finality in those few words, such outrage and such pain, that Chucai knew he had indelibly damaged his relationship with the son of the Great Khan.
And now this man, this gaunt and weather-hardened Mongol, has returned, and in his gaze, Chucai saw an obdurate devotion that had refused to wither. When Alchiq had been exiled from the nascent palace of Karakorum, his only duty—his final duty to his Khagan—had been to go someplace far away, to wander past the edge of the empire and die. Like the decency a dog has when it realizes it is too old to hunt.
While Chucai ruminated on Alchiq’s arrival, ?gedei pushed his way past his sluggish and reluctant Torguud, and warmly clasped Alchiq’s hands in his own. “You have returned at the right time,” the Khagan said, pulling the older man half out of his saddle in an effort to hug him. “You are an omen of good luck, sent by Blue Heaven to bless my hunt.”
“No, my Khan—” Alchiq began. His mouth closed to a narrow line and his nostrils flared as he smelled the wine on the Khagan’s breath.
“Yes!” ?gedei blustered on, ignoring Alchiq’s change of expression. “The hunt!” He turned in his saddle, seeking to make eye contact with Namkhai. “I am done here. I have paid my respects to my father, and the spirits of this place have responded. They have sent me an old friend. They approve of my quest. They approve of me.”
“Of course, my Khan,” Namkhai replied smoothly. He turned in his saddle and, with a quick series of hand gestures, informed the bodyguard of the Khagan’s desire to ride back to the caravan. The riders fanned out into a teardrop formation.
Namkhai is the right choice, Chucai thought, watching the other riders respond to the wrestling champion’s commands. I will inform ?gedei tonight that Namkhai is his new Torguud captain.
“You will dine with me,” ?gedei said to Alchiq. “I will hear of everything that has happened to you in the last few years.”
“There is one thing—” Alchiq started.
“It can wait,” ?gedei said, and with a wild cry, he snapped his reins. His horse leaped to a gallop, and the Torguud followed, smoothly parting around Alchiq, Chucai, and the few Darkhat who had accompanied the Khagan to Genghis’s grave.
Ghaltai, the Darkhat leader, hesitated for a moment, and then he and his men followed the Khagan and his bodyguard, leaving Chucai and Alchiq behind.
Chucai stroked his beard and stared at ?gedei’s old companion, daring Alchiq to lock eyes with him again. The surprise had worn off, and his own mental guard was back up. Exiling Alchiq and the few others who had been a bad influence on the Khagan had been the right decision. They had all been drunks, and he had hoped the shame of the exile would have been enough to give them the requisite excuse to drink themselves to death, but such a supposition had clearly failed in Alchiq’s case.
“He’s still drinking,” Alchiq frowned.
“Yes, he is,” Chucai said. We both failed. He brushed that thought aside as readily—and with the same indifference—as if he was brushing dust from his sleeve. The past is dead; there is only the future of the empire to consider. “Do you recall the penalty for breaking your exile?”
“I do.”
“Then why have you returned?”
“The Khagan is in danger. I—I had to warn him.”
“You could have sent a messenger.”
“Would you have believed a messenger?”
Chucai offered Alchiq a withering smile as his answer.
“That is why I came,” Alchiq said, a fervent finality in his voice. “My duty was clear.”
And so are your eyes, Chucai noted, and the irony of Alchiq finding salvation in exile was not lost on him.