The progress of their plan had been slow. Onghwe was sharp-eyed as a tiger, and evading his notice took meticulous care. Each person they approached was carefully considered beforehand. If the group was sufficiently large, they could tip the Circus into chaos and rouse the complacent to fight with them. If the conspirators were few, they would be put down like dogs before the others even noticed. The fighters of the Circus were a varied lot, and some of them were more comfortable in their captivity than others. Worse, some had learned long ago that being spies for their master was a quick way to gain extra comforts.
So far, their judgment had held; their choices were solid. None of the fighters they approached languished in the comforts of the Khan’s graces. Every one of them longed for freedom—better yet, for revenge.
Leaning against the post, Kim averted his eyes from the conversation, not to be seen paying too much attention to the exchange. Tegusgal had expressed his displeasure once again in the aftermath of the fight on the First Field, and Kim knew it was a lucky thing he was still able to fight at all. Silently, and not for the first time, Kim vowed that he would live to see Onghwe’s henchman scream and squirm in a muck of dirt and his own blood. Few men so deserved a miserable death as that one.
Deep down, he knew that the plan was itself a sign of madness; they would all be killed. But if their defiance was great enough, their sacrifice might mean something. At least, it might bring the arena crashing down on Onghwe’s sick games of murder and slavery.
Letting his eyes flicker back to where Zug and Madhukar talked, Kim wondered if Two Dogs’s own enthusiasm hadn’t infected him at last. Or perhaps we have all been asleep, our souls driven into slumber by the oppression of our slavery, Kim thought, and only now are we awakening.
But unlike a first breath drawn at dawn, this waking would not be pleasant. It would be bloody and horrific, and likely their last. Somehow that realization did not sadden him. Far better to die on your feet than waste away on your knees.
Zug rose from where he sat, and the other man waved him off. First glances often lied, but their parting looked congenial enough. Straightening, Kim waited for Zug to walk past his tent and remained there for several moments before taking a different route back to where they had agreed to meet.
In the shadow of the camp wall, they sat and shared a jug of water.
“Success?” Kim asked.
“I understood his barbarian tongue as well as any here,” Zug said. “He is eager to fight the Mongols, and if we rise up, he will join us.” He paused, snorted, and then looked aside, smirking. “Or he thinks I am a gardener and wishes to share my love for this land’s exotic spices.” Kim was often unable to tell when the fighter was joking. “But I think it went well. Who is next?”
“There are many,” Kim answered. “Nearly all are discouraged. They may not believe what we plan is even possible.”
“They lack courage,” Zug spat. “When the day comes, if a man has no bravery, I will give him some of mine.”
“They’ll only join us if they think we can win,” Kim said. He took up the waterskin and drank deep. His arms still ached from the exercises he’d made himself do after his fight.
Cheers rose from the arena as two fighters threw themselves at one another in a wrestling match. The prowess of the Rose Knights had intrigued the Khan, and now the proving fights were again underway. The arena’s gates were open, attracting crowds, and the blood sports had once again commenced.
Any one of the plotters might die out there before they could act against Onghwe. The victories that had made all this possible had also doubled the risk.
They watched the gray clouds roll on, struggling to hold back their rain. Kim’s eyes were drawn to where a small cluster of flowers grew wild, not yet trampled by the many feet that trod paths between the tents of the camp.
“You’re certain we can trust Madhukar to stand with us?” he asked.
“I am certain,” Zug said, as if addressing the gloomy heavens.
“I didn’t understand everything he said, but the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. He is like us—glad to die fighting.”
A gleam appeared in Two Dogs’s eyes, a faint stirring of the courage absent or deeply hidden in the man when they had first met. Perhaps a warrior still dwelled within, waiting for the right moment. Kim wondered if any of them would live long enough to see what that inner spirit was now capable of.
And what of me? he wondered. Living so close to death for so long, forcibly made aware that each day might be their last...strange to see how, given sufficient leisure to dwell on things, to imagine over and over what he could lose in any attempt to be free, fear could corrode great holes inside a man.
It was not the thought of this world and the people he might be leaving behind that unnerved him. Kim had known he was living on borrowed time since the death of his brothers. But once the possibility of the Khan’s death became real to him, all the old pain of his buried longing for freedom rushed forward—even while he had to maintain total control, keep his accustomed demeanor, or risk arousing suspicion.
Watch the birds take wing, he thought. Let that be enough. Perhaps some will survive and live new lives out there, away from this hell.
He stood and walked over to the cluster of flowers. Reaching with a callused hand, he plucked one from the dirt and held it high to the slate-gray clouds, like an offering, but the storm did not listen.
The hot grayness continued.
*
Dietrich von Grüningen stood beneath the barn’s thatched roof and fumed at the insult he had been forced to endure. He certainly knew mockery when he saw it—in his own way, he was a master of that art—and the kindness of leaving the horses for his men to run after like fools sent a message worse in its own way even than the humiliation he had endured outside The Frogs.
We give back what is yours, out of charity, since you are obviously too weak to take it back by force or guile.