Now his mind kicked in. This was not a rhinoceros, whose hide was cut into real armor for royalty, but something like… Its great nose horn softened and lengthened to an obscenely grasping member…and yet that hazel-brown eye, fixing him as it rushed by, deep sunk and frantic, yet intelligent, like the measuring eye of a giant warrior…
And then it was past him, and Gansukh fell away from the wall, sucking in breath. Now the gray beast’s handlers ran and pranced by, pointing at him and laughing, but lagging at a safe distance as the warrior bull with the swaying nose pounded and rumbled toward the palace gate. The gate guards, laughing like maniacs, but not at all willing to stand in the way of this living battering ram, hurriedly swung the gate wide to let it pass. The massive animal galloped through, unimpeded in its flight toward the open steppe, and shouts of derision and delight followed. Better to let it run free until its anger was spent rather than try to stop it. Gansukh smiled at the thought of such a strange creature roaming free on the plains. There was no doubt in his mind that it would be recaptured eventually, if not hunted down and slaughtered, but for now, it was free to run under the open sky.
As all things should be.
?gedei could never speak of his secret terror. The knot of fear wound tighter and tighter in his gut every year as this day of memory approached. It wasn’t remembering Tolui, the youngest of Genghis’s four children, that caused him such pain; it was clear to everyone how dear his brother’s memory was to the Khagan. Nor was it the endless processionals or the interminable ceremonial dinners held in his dead brother’s honor throughout the week of the festival. No, what made his guts spasm and ache was the fact that he had to address the court; he had to stand before them and speak of the importance of Tolui’s sacrifice.
?gedei paced the length of his chamber like a caged tiger. The great cup stood on a nearby table, half filled. He could not stand to look at it. The smell of the wine followed him. More than once he had wrapped his hands around the cup’s stem as if it were a neck he could throttle; if he couldn’t snap it in half then at least he could hurl it from his sight. But each time, he would raise the brim to his trembling lips and pour more of its contents into his gasping mouth.
Oh, how he wished the cup were even larger, like a tub, that he might drown in the pool of wine and be released from his burden, freed from the weight of the empire. Each gulp was bitter, but then he only drank more to banish the taste of the previous draught.
?gedei cursed and slammed the cup down on the table, once more unable to throw it out the window. The young warrior, Gansukh, had stood up to him, in front of all his guests. He should have had him dragged from the room and flogged.
The Khagan sneered at his quivering reflection in the surface of the wine. He should have drawn his knife and killed the insolent pup himself. But the fierce expression on the whelp’s face had reminded him of Tolui…as had the large cup.
Chagatai, his older brother, had chosen this envoy well.
A light knock sounded at the door, and before he could shout at whoever was foolish enough to disturb him, his wife, Toregene, opened the door and entered.
“You should see how many there are,” she said, gliding across the floor. She was heavily made up—dressed in layers of yellow and orange silk, her hair freshly braided. “They are all waiting for their glorious and exalted leader.” She touched his arm lightly, and he could smell the jasmine and lemongrass oils in her hair.
?gedei exhaled noisily, his shoulders and chest slumping. He wanted to lie down on one of the couches. Take a short nap. “They should come back tomorrow,” he sighed. “Or not at all.” His hand edged toward the cup. Even though he refused to look at it, he knew exactly how far away it was. Just one more gulp, he thought. Perhaps that will numb me enough…
She leaned against him, slipping her arm through his. Her voice floated up to his ear. “They don’t want much. Show them your face. Tell them to begin their revels.”
“What are they celebrating?” ?gedei snapped. “Master Chucai said this feast would be like nothing seen before under Heaven, but why? To honor my dead brother? To honor…” He stumbled to one side, wrenching her arm loose, and his hand snapped out and grabbed up the cup. He peered over the rim at her as he thrust it against his lips. Wine sloshed and spilled into his beard. “To honor his sacrifice? My brother doesn’t care. He’s dead. He is gone. His bones are gone. A worthless sacrifice to foreign gods.”
Toregene kissed him on the cheek, swiping away drips of wine with her thumb. Her soft smile hurt him more than memory. “He died for the glory of the empire,” she said, neither chiding nor blaming—merely reminding. “He died for your father’s dream. He knew his sacrifice was necessary so the empire would live on.”