The Mongoliad Book Three

“I regret not, my Khan.”

 

 

He is fearless, ?gedei thought. He does not shirk from telling me the truth, even though it might displease me. He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the rest of the hunting party, and his gaze lingered on Alchiq and Gansukh. Would that I had a tumen of men like him, there would be no stopping the Mongol Empire. He casually laid his hand on the shaft of the Spirit Banner, the tall pole stuck into a leather boot attached to his saddle. In his mind, he saw a sea of horses spanning from horizon to horizon, their manes flowing like waves. His hand tightened on the banner as the horsehair tassels whispered gently in the slight breeze.

 

 

 

 

 

By midafternoon, the hunting party had ascended into the forest that lay heavily about the shoulders of the mountain. Sunlight trickled in solid streams through the branches of the trees, and swarms of golden motes danced in the radiance. The hunting master and his dogs ranged in front of the main party, keeping company with the trio of Darkhat scouts. Chucai and Namkhai flanked ?gedei, and the remainder of the Torguud followed them in a clump. The other scouts were arranged in wide arcs on either side. There had been no sign of the bear yet, but ?gedei wasn’t terribly concerned.

 

His mount’s steady gait echoed throughout his body, knocking loose memories that had lain covered for many years. He had forgotten the pleasure of the hunt—his senses awake and marveling at the proliferation of details that his mind, taut like a bowstring, was readily processing. He was ready, quivering like one of the hunting master’s hounds, waiting for some sign of his quarry.

 

“It has been too long,” ?gedei remarked to Chucai. “I should hunt like this more often. Too much time has passed, and this,” he poked his stout belly, “has grown too large.”

 

“You are still a better hunter than most,” said Chucai, perfectly composed upon his black steed. “I, for one, have not hunted since before your father elevated me to my position at court.”

 

“Father!” ?gedei laughed jovially. “No one could match my father. I remember a time when he provided for the entire army. A buck, each and every night. He hunted alone and always brought one back.”

 

“Bashkiria, my Khan,” Chucai said. “Yes, I recall that campaign. There was more food than we could possibly eat. I gorged myself on venison on more than one occasion.”

 

“Life was simpler then, wasn’t it?” ?gedei said. “When we got hungry, we would hunt; when we were tired, we slept; when we wanted something...” He sighed and his hand idly patted his belly again.

 

“The empire has grown mighty, my Khan,” Chucai said silkily. “It has done so under your guidance, and many are thankful every day. The spirits are pleased with your efforts.”

 

?gedei stretched in the saddle, working out the tension that had settled in the middle of his back from the ride. “The spirits stir slowly in this disused body,” he said.

 

Chucai hesitated, and then swallowed his words with a quiet “mmm.” He turned his attention to the forest around them, taking particular note of the lichens that mottled the bark of many trees.

 

?gedei considered insisting that Master Chucai reveal what was on his mind, but the Khagan could guess what words had been repressed. He knew he was rotund and out of shape, just as he knew where he had hidden a pair of wineskins in his saddlebags. Chucai would speak in the obsequious language of the court for only so long before his tongue would get the better of him, and in this case, he would be speaking the truth. All he had to do was stretch out his right hand, dig around in the saddlebag on that side of his horse, and he could lay his hand on that disappointment. He hadn’t been able to abandon his thirst entirely. His strength of will had improved immeasurably, but it was still nothing more than a newborn babe. Easily smothered.

 

There was too much silence in the air for the Khagan’s comfort, and he turned to Namkhai and said, by way of changing the subject, “Have you ever brought down a beast as mighty as this?”

 

Namkhai shook his head. “The great bear is going to be a mighty challenge, my Khan,” he said. “Arrows alone might not be enough to penetrate its hide.”

 

“The dogs will weary it.” ?gedei waved a hand in the direction of the snapping pack who yearned to be freed of their yokes. “When they are done, when they have blooded it, then it will be my turn.”

 

“It may take down one of our hunters before then,” said Namkhai. “A wounded beast is dangerous. Perhaps we could set a trap for it with spears. Harass it until we can drive it into impaling itself.”

 

?gedei shook his head. “Where is the honor in that?”

 

Namkhai looked at him with heavily lidded eyes and only shrugged.

 

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