The Mongoliad Book Three

Her hand dropped to her side, and she let out a tiny cry as his hand smashed on top of her right hand, pinning her fingers against the hilt of the knife she kept hidden in her skirts. “Do you think to stab me with your lover’s knife?” He pulled her hand back, twisting it behind her back. Out of sight of the crowd. “Here?” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “With all these people watching?”

 

 

She struggled briefly, but it only made him hold her more tightly, and the proximity of his body—and the oily stench of his breath—made her shudder and stop.

 

“I can kill you any time I want,” Munokhoi whispered. “Your protector is leaving, and Second Wife will be too busy pining for the man who doesn’t truly care for her to notice how frightened you have become.” He inhaled deeply, smelling her hair. “I like the way you smell when you are scared. I can only imagine what you are going to smell like when you know you are going to die.”

 

Lian tried to calm her breathing, tried to remember the lessons Gansukh had taught her, but her mind was like a cloud of wild butterflies. All she wanted to do was run, but Munokhoi’s grip on her arm was too tight.

 

“I am going to kill your lover,” Munokhoi sighed, “and then I am going to kill you. Maybe I will bring back his head so that he can watch you die.” He chuckled, and she couldn’t stop the shiver of revulsion that ran through her body.

 

She felt his leg against hers, and she finally remembered what Gansukh had taught her. Gathering her courage—a tiny spark of defiance that bloomed as soon as she reached for it—she stomped down with her heel, trying to catch Munokhoi’s foot. Simultaneously, she grabbed for his groping hand. If she could get a hold on his thumb...

 

His hand vanished as she was pushed from behind. Stumbling forward, she caught herself before she fell down, and still moving away from where she had been standing, she looked over her shoulder.

 

Munokhoi was gone.

 

The Khagan had finished his speech, and his horse—a magnificent white stallion—was being led through the crowd to the edge of the ger’s platform. The crowd continued to cheer, swords, spears, and bows rising and falling as they chanted the Khagan’s name.

 

Lian scuttled toward the crowd, trying to look every direction at once—hoping to find Gansukh, dreading that she might catch a glimpse of Munokhoi.

 

 

 

 

 

Gansukh tried to find Lian. When the Khagan had appeared, the crowd had become chaotic. More people had suddenly surrounded the Khagan’s ger, every one hoping to bask in his glory as he set out on this momentous hunt. He and Alchiq had joined the other hunters, waiting for the Khagan to finish his speech. Gansukh had started to fret with his horse’s tack. The last part of his conversation with Lian had been interrupted; he had wanted to tell her about the contents of the box. But he couldn’t find her in the crowd, even from the height afforded him by sitting astride his horse.

 

The Khagan had descended the stairs from his ger and was fussing with his horse’s bridle. The rest of his entourage had already mounted, and their horses were becoming restless. It was clear to most of the riders that there was nothing wrong with the Khagan’s tack, but no one dared say anything. They all waited, patiently; so did the crowd, but Gansukh could read an undercurrent of boredom creeping into some of the faces around him.

 

Where is she? He felt fairly certain that Munokhoi would come after him first, a certainty that had only increased in the days since the Chinese attack. The ex–Torguud captain liked to cause others pain, especially those who could not fight back as effectively, and so he knew Munokhoi would wait to deal with Lian. But now, scanning the crowd, he wasn’t so sure. And he was leaving the camp for at least a day. What would Munokhoi do while he was gone?

 

The Khagan swung himself up in his saddle, finally satisfied that the straps of his reins were not frayed or twisted. ?gedei adjusted his position in his saddle, and raising one arm over his head, he tried to stir the audience’s fervor again. But a little too much time had passed and some of the initial excitement of the Khagan’s hunt had waned; now the crowd’s enthusiasm felt a little forced.

 

?gedei brought his hand down sharply and snapped his reins. His white stallion leaped forward with a snort, scattering courtiers who hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Namkhai gave a shout to his Torguud, and the honor guard followed the Khagan in a thunder of hooves. Master Chucai and the trackers followed, the shaman on his tiny pony bringing up the rear.

 

“Hai!” Alchiq shouted, slapping his reins against his horse’s neck. The gray-haired hunter galloped after the hunting party, leaving Gansukh as the last.

 

His horse snorted, eager to join the rest, and Gansukh searched for sight of Lian one last time.

 

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