The buck was mad with fear, its hooves tearing up clumps of earth and grass as it tried to escape. The central pathways had been blocked with makeshift fencing, and most of the narrow channels between the groupings of trees and brushes were protected by a soldier with a spear. Its sandy brown hide was dappled with red; it had tried to crash through the brush a few times already, only to be turned back by the metal point of a spear. None of the cuts were fatal; the privilege of the kill was saved for others.
It clattered to a stop in the center of the path, its hooves sliding on the river rock. Its ears flickered, reacting to the unnatural sound of the hunting party.
They were not quiet.
A spray of crossbow bolts ripped the air around the animal, and one jabbed deep into its right foreleg. It brayed with pain and tried to leap away, but the leg didn’t work quite right and the deer stumbled. It shied away from the laughter and shouts that came on quickly in the wake of the crossbow bolts.
Gansukh trailed the main hunting party, bow held at his side. He had an arrow nocked, but he was in no hurry to fire it. The garden had been turned into a fenced arena, and the nobles were hunting captive animals released into the enclosed space. When he had spotted the men setting up the barriers, he had realized how the hunt was going to be held, and at the time, his only concern had been making sure that he would be involved. Now that he was, he found he had no stomach for it. This wasn’t hunting. This was slaughter.
He was uncomfortably aware his attitude mirrored his presence at court these past few weeks: he was on the verge of ?gedei’s inner circle and, at the same time, a step outside it. Lian’s warning kept echoing in his head: it wasn’t just his actions that would be judged, but also what the others said about them. He had to hide his disapproval well, before someone noticed and said something to the Khagan.
“Missed!” ?gedei shouted at his companion as they jogged toward the quarry. Behind the pair, a retinue of red-faced, panting courtiers struggled to keep pace, lifting the hems of their robes as they ran. The Khagan was smiling widely, oblivious to the grass and mud stains on his saffron-gold robes. Clearly he was enjoying the hunt.
“I’ve got him next shot,” Munokhoi said as he slowed to finish loading his weapon. The multi-tiered crossbow—a complicated contraption of springs and levers—seemed to Gansukh to be more trouble than it was worth, but there was no arguing that, once it was loaded, it was a deadly instrument. Munokhoi grunted as he finished cocking the slide and raised it to fire.
Munokhoi kept his hair short to the point of baldness, and combined with the gauntness of his face, this gave Munokhoi a skeletal appearance, despite the youthful length of his facial hair. Thick and muscled, his arms were anything but the thin sticks of a corpse. A pale scar ran from behind his left ear and disappeared into his tunic. There was no shortage of rumors as to how Munokhoi had earned the scar, but Gansukh hadn’t cared enough to figure out which one was true. Every warrior had stories about their scars, and most of them were lies.
From behind them, Gansukh watched as Munokhoi focused on the target. ?gedei was still breathing heavily, but the Day Guard stood like a stone, his chest barely moving. The muscles in Munokhoi’s neck tightened as he put pressure on the wide trigger of the crossbow, and he leaned into the recoil of the weapon as he released all three bolts.
The buck was turning as the bolts hit it, and two of them slammed into its neck and shoulder. The third caught it in the eye, spraying blood and humor as it drove clean into the animal’s skull. Its front legs buckled and it fell into a plot of peonies.
“Just one of a dozen marvelous killing machines the Chinese have invented.” Munokhoi grinned and offered the crossbow to ?gedei. “Clever little bastards,” he laughed as he strode toward the fallen deer.
The hunting party flocked around ?gedei, making noises of pleasure and encouragement at the sight of the weapon in his hands. Gansukh didn’t even bother getting any closer. He could see well enough from where he was.
Beyond the clump of fawning courtiers and nobles, Munokhoi stood over the dead animal and raised his sword. Sunlight caught his blade, turning it into a flash of silver as it came down, and the buck’s head was severed with a wet crunch. He knelt and lifted the head by its antlers, blood running down his hands. “For the Lord of All Under the Blue Sky,” he said, turning the head toward ?gedei, “I humbly present this trophy.”