The sun moved overhead as they reached the rocky spur that signified the split between the two ends of the valley. The hunting party paused briefly—some dismounting to piss, others chewing a quick snack of dried meat—and then continued to the left, moving past the outcropping of rock that split the valley into two forks.
The forest thinned out, and the trees gave way to fields of rocks and the scraggly bushes of the steppe. They started to come across piles of bear scat; after the first one, everyone sat up a little straighter in their saddles, and bows were strung and readied. As the hunting party approached the end of the valley, the hillsides forced them to ride closer together, and there was some confusion among the riders as to who would lead.
?gedei finally pushed his horse to the front, silencing Namkhai and the chief hunter’s arguments with a curt shake of his head. The Khagan readied his spear, and the hunting party crept forward.
One of the Darkhat pointed out the dark hole of the bear’s cave, and the hunting party came to a halt. A hushed conference was held, debating the best way to approach the bear’s cave, and Gansukh sat a little ways off. His opinion wasn’t needed, and he would only be in the way of the Khagan’s triumphant kill. It was his job to watch now, to be a party to ?gedei’s triumph.
Alchiq’s horse ambled up to his. The gray-haired hunter was peering intently up at the dark cave. He grunted, catching Gansukh’s attention, and then pointed.
Gansukh looked, shading his eyes from the sun to see what Alchiq was pointing at. There was a clear trail up the slope, the route the bear took time and again, and it looked like there was a flat shelf in front of the cave where something caught his eye.
Gansukh looked at Alchiq, who shrugged as he slid off his horse. Carrying his bow ready, the gray-haired hunter darted forward, leaping from cover to cover as he approached the cave. Swearing under his breath, Gansukh glanced over at the clustered hunting party, wondering if anyone had noticed Alchiq. No one had, and with a final curse, he climbed down from his horse and followed the gray-haired hunter.
They were too far below the cave to see properly, but Gansukh had seen what had caught Alchiq’s attention: a wooden spar, jutting up at an angle that didn’t seem natural.
As he ran after Alchiq he heard Namkhai shout behind him. He ignored the Torguud captain’s cry, and dogged Alchiq’s heels as the gray-haired hunter raced toward the cave. They scrambled up the slope together, no longer caring to move silently. The hunting party was making enough noise now to alert anything that might be waiting for them up at the cave.
Breathing heavily, Gansukh reached the flat shelf at the cave a half step behind Alchiq, and he came to a sudden stop as he saw what was waiting for them.
The body of a Great Bear was crucified upon huge crossed logs driven into the ground in front of the cave. Its front legs splayed out, arrows driven into its paws. Its head was held in place by a length of rope. The beast’s tongue protruded from its mouth in an obscene and unnatural twist.
Alchiq slowly walked up to the dead beast. His head was almost level with the bear’s shoulders; directly in front of him was a long shaft jutting from the bear’s chest. Gansukh stared at the object, uncomprehendingly.
It looked like an arrow, but it was the longest arrow he had ever seen.
Alchiq turned around, his eyes restlessly scanning the hillside around them, searching for something that, judging from the savage grin on his face, he had been expecting.
“They’re here,” he said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
A Binder’s Choice
In the wake of the Cardinal’s departure from the Emperor’s tent, Frederick waved his hands and his guards withdrew. In a few moments, only he and Ocyrhoe remained, and he gestured for her to join him at the narrow table where several plates of food were arrayed. She hesitated, awkwardly aware of the ragged condition of her clothing and the matted tangles of her hair. The Emperor’s clothing was made of silk, and she could only imagine what it was like to wear such opulent clothing. She felt like the city rat she was, transported into an unknown wilderness, a forest so dense with trees and brush she could barely see the sky. So unlike Rome. So unlike anything she had ever known.
The Emperor sat on one of the stools beside the table and began to eat: salted pork, grapes, slivers of sliced fruit, hunks of dark bread. Her mouth watered as she drifted toward the table. “Sit,” Frederick said. “Eat.” He poured water from a jug into a plain cup. Into another cup he poured a measure of wine. “Earlier today I had a meal similar to this one with your friends,” he said, ignoring her reluctance to join him. He indicated the cups on the table with a piece of meat. “We drank from some of my finer tableware, which would normally be completely unremarkable but for an odd bit of roguish sleight of hand.” He stared at her intently as if she should know what he was talking about.
She shook her head.