“Gansukh and Lian are surrounded by the entire caravan. They know they are under scrutiny,” Chucai explained, knowing that Munokhoi was actually listening to him now. “They know you are watching them. Whatever Gansukh and Lian may be, they are not fools. Even if Gansukh wanted to leave the Khagan’s service—and I don’t believe he does—he’s too smart to attempt it on this pilgrimage to Burqan-qaldun. And even if Lian wants to escape—which I grant you is something she desperately wants to do—she’s too smart to attempt it without Gansukh’s help. Now, consider the needs of someone other than yourself.”
Munokhoi blinked, and then slowly nodded as he realized Chucai was not going to continue until he had physically acknowledged Chucai’s words.
“What drives the empire? Is it not an awareness of a grander destiny for all Mongol people? And in whom does this awareness reside?” Chucai paused, as if to give Munokhoi a moment to realize the answer to his question—a moment both he and the Torguud captain knew was unnecessary. “You live to serve the Khagan, Captain, just as I do. As do Gansukh and Lian, in their own ways. The empire is too vast for one man to handle. It has a singular vision, yes, but managing the myriad of people and clans and resources is well beyond the ability of one man. The Khagan, then, has to rely on people he can trust. People he knows will act as he would act if he were doing the job he has given them.
“Now, consider recent events. The Khagan has fallen into a malaise—which happens every year at this time. In the past, he drank to excess so as to forget the pain of his brother’s death. This year, however, he has been convinced to make a spiritual pilgrimage to Burqan-qaldun.”
Convinced, in no small part, by Gansukh, which Chucai decided to not say aloud.
“During his journey, the Khagan has been attacked by a motley force of disgruntled Chinese rebels,” Chucai continued, “of which there are thousands and thousands scattered across his magnificent empire. This attack has been ably repulsed by his hand-picked Torguud captain. Your swift and decisive martial response not only ensures his safety, but validates his decision to make you the commander of the whole of his escort.”
Chucai leaned forward. “Think carefully, Munokhoi. Do you really want to disturb the Khagan’s goodwill by whining to him about Gansukh and Lian? Especially when all that you are really talking about is the relationship between a warrior the Khagan admires and a Chinese whore?”
Munokhoi lowered his eyes. “No, Master Chucai.” The muscles in his jaw flexed.
Chucai nodded and sank back into the embrace of his chair. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, stressing Munokhoi’s title to remind him how new it was—and still so easy to remove. “As I said earlier, I have heard your concerns. I will let you know if there is any assistance I might require.”
Munokhoi bowed, albeit shortly and stiffly, and retired from the ger. One of Chucai’s attendants poked his head into the tent as Chucai returned his attention to the scattered documents on his desk. “Master?” the man inquired.
“Find out where Master Gansukh is,” Chucai said without looking up. “Do not disturb him. I simply want to know what he is doing.”
The attendant nodded his understanding and vanished from the entrance of the ger, leaving Chucai to some long overdue privacy. He pressed the palms of both hands against his eyes. His head was pounding and he realized he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since before the Chinese attack.
He was still waiting to hear reports from the war parties that had been sent out to ensure that the Chinese force had been decimated and that there was no sign of another group waiting to strike. It would be dawn soon, and the caravan needed to move, despite the fire damage and those incapacitated. He didn’t want to present too opportune a target, and as long as the caravan was moving he didn’t have to consider the more troubling issue.
Munokhoi’s patrols had failed to anticipate the Chinese attack. For all that he had just said to Munokhoi, the Torguud should have been better prepared.
He could insist that Munokhoi double the size of the patrols, but that was a game that the Chinese could play as well. At Karakorum, they had had the advantage of the walls and the city as well as the entirety of the Imperial Guard to provide adequate protection for the Khagan. But the Imperial Guard was not used to being mobile, nor did its leadership have the right experience.
Chucai drummed his fingers on the desk. What of the young pony? he reflected. Would Gansukh be a better choice to lead the Khagan’s guards?
An attendant pushed his way into the ger, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. Without a word, he placed it on the desk and backed out of the tent. The cup was warm and the tea was a pale yellow color, with tiny white streaks that reflected back the light. Chucai held the cup, inhaling the aroma of the white tea and letting his mind go blank. Letting all the tumbling concerns in his head slip free.