?gedei hurt all over. He wanted to lie still beneath the pile of furs on his sleeping platform until the pain went away, but the aches in his body were there even when he was immobile. He groaned, shuffling around beneath the pile of furs, and he felt someone grab his foot. He tried to pull away, but their grip was strong. Dimly, he heard the muffled sound of a woman’s voice, and he gradually realized it belonged to Jachin. She was telling someone that the Khagan was not to be disturbed, a sentiment which he heartily endorsed.
She remained, though, and her hands began working on his foot. She massaged each toe individually, her hands slick with scented oils, and once each toe had been worked on, she moved on to his ankle, and then his calf, and then his thigh, and then...
Her ministrations helped, albeit briefly. For all her efforts, the headache remained, and its pounding rhythm sent aching waves cascading through his body—down his spine, echoing through his chest, into his pelvis, and down his legs to his feet and toes, which started to throb again.
He dug his way out of his bedding, and squinted at both the light and the sight of Jachin hovering nearby. She had a cup in her hand. “Water,” she said.
He groaned and started to burrow under the furs again, but she stopped him. “Drink it,” she said. She did not have the same forceful personality as Toregene, but the concern in her voice was enough to arrest his burrowing. Lifting his head slightly, he accepted the cup and sipped from it. The water was cold, freshly drawn from the nearby river, and his body shivered as he found himself gulping the water. She poured him another cup, and this one he drank more slowly.
“I have sent someone to get your cook, who will make you soup,” she said, and when he started to protest, she shook her head and pressed her hand against his chest. “It will ease your discomfort,” she said. “Lie still. Rest.”
It was all that he wanted to do, anyway. He felt a distant urge to piss, brought about by drinking the water, but he couldn’t imagine getting up right now to do so. He would have to venture outside his ger—into the sunlight—and he feared he would burst into flames.
It was best to stay here, lying very still, as Jachin commanded. The aches would pass. They always did. This was the spirits’ revenge for his drinking. In the past, he simply kept the pain at bay with another cup of wine, but as he sprawled on his bed, covered by a heavy layers of furs, he knew such succor would not be forthcoming. He could smell the fermented stink of his own sweat, a stench that made his stomach rebel.
He was a drunk. He knew his father would not have approved. For the most part, such awareness didn’t disturb him. Those thoughts only came to the forefront of his thinking at times like this, when he was in the aftermath of a bout of heavy drinking, and he knew—like all thoughts of inadequacy and fear—that they would pass. He was the Khan of Khans, ruler of the largest empire the world had ever seen. He was the master of thousands and thousands of fighting men. He was not a slave. He could stop drinking if he wanted to.
In fact, he was going to do just that. As soon as I return to Karakorum, he promised, squeezing his eyes shut. Rainbows danced across the inside of his eyelids as the headache flared again—thum thum—and then relented, releasing its hold as if it had accepted his promise.
He heard voices, the muffled sound of more than one person talking, and his nose encountered a delicious aroma—fish, garlic, ginger, and the sharp tang of a Chinese pepper. He opened his eyes, blinking heavily in the pale light.
The flaps of the ger had been pulled back, enough to allow a single figure to enter and still keep most of the sunlight out. Soup, he thought, somewhat surprised he could even consider eating. He sat up as the man carrying the tray approached his bed. The flaps of the ger were lowered, and as his eyes adjusted to the happy dimness again, he recognized the weathered face and the long gray hair of the man who brought his food.
Alchiq.
“Where is my cook?” ?gedei grumbled.
“He was only too happy to allow me the honor of bringing you your food, my Khan,” Alchiq said, a touch of a smile twisting his lips.
?gedei grumbled some more, but kept the words to himself.
“Master Chucai said I should attend to your needs,” Alchiq said.
“Why?”
Alchiq shrugged. “He did not say, though when has he ever explained his commands?”