The Mongoliad: Book One

Gansukh had. It was hard to miss it. Especially when there was wine and honeyed drink and Blue Wolf knew what else pouring from the spouts. He rose, one hand straying to his sash, where he had tucked the tiny lacquered box. “The woman who tried to enter the palace last night,” he started. “Do you know what she was after?” Did you watch her being tortured? was the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

 

The Khagan’s face remained expressionless, giving Gansukh no sign he understood the subtext of what the young man was asking. “Secrets,” he slurred. “Chucai said she was a spy, gathering information. She ran off before she could learn anything useful.”

 

Gansukh swallowed heavily, forcing his stomach to hold still. “Did she tell you this or did Master Chucai?” he asked, still unable to speak plainly.

 

?gedei drank from his cup as he wandered closer to Gansukh, staring intently at the young man’s face. “Master Chucai did,” he said.

 

Gansukh felt his knees tremble—a sudden terror colliding with an unwarranted joy in his guts. “You weren’t there,” he whispered.

 

?gedei leaned toward Gansukh and put his finger to his slack lips. His breath stank of sour wine. “Shhh,” he whispered back. “I am rarely where I am supposed to be, and that’s a secret.” He laughed suddenly, spraying spittle on Gansukh’s face. “I know many secrets, young pony.” He clapped Gansukh on the shoulder. “Is that what you need to know? Is Chagatai concerned that I will become such a drunk that my lips cannot remain shut? That one of my enemies will send someone in to steal them while I sleep?”

 

“No,” Gansukh countered, flustered by the sudden change in ?gedei’s mood. “It’s Master Chucai—”

 

“Chucai.” ?gedei spit out the name like it was something caught in his throat. “He’s an old goat herder who thinks the hills are full of wolves.” He drew himself up to his full height and thrust out his chest. Some of the liquid in his cup slopped out, darkening his already stained sleeve. “I am not a goat.”

 

“No,” Gansukh replied. “Of course not.”

 

Something caught ?gedei’s attention and he beckoned Gansukh to follow him. He staggered out onto the balcony and pointed at the great war banner mounted at the edge of the balcony. It was a gigantic spear, much too long to be wielded easily from a horse; beneath the iron blade hung thick strands of black horsehair, the tails of an entire herd, and they streamed and twisted in the embrace of the night air.

 

“The Great Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan,” ?gedei said. “Do you know the story, young pony? My father’s spirit is still alive, inside that pole, making sure his empire expands until it covers all the lands.”

 

Gansukh nodded. “I’ve heard the story.”

 

“It’s just a story,” ?gedei slurred. He leaned against Gansukh, who staggered, trying to support the Khagan’s sudden weight. “It’s superstition,” ?gedei hissed. “There’s a secret…” He became entranced with his cup. When he drank, some of the wine spilled down his chin. “It’s older than my father,” ?gedei continued, oblivious to the wine dripping off his face. “He did not make it. It was given to him, long before he became Khagan. He never told me where…” ?gedei stared at the banner for a while before continuing.

 

“He told me how to listen to it, though. He told me how to see things in the way the hair moves. It’s more than a banner…I can look at it, and it tells me of battles I have never seen, battles that have not happened, and even some that I know never will. I can put my hands in the hair of a thousand horses and feel the rhythm of their movement. How to attack, how to feint, how to retreat—I can feel how every battle can be won.”

 

Gansukh gazed at the banner, trying to see what the Khagan saw, but all he saw was black horsehair vanishing into the approaching night. “My Khan, with all due respect, you are drunk.”

 

?gedei’s attention snapped to Gansukh’s face and then to the cup in his hands. He drank greedily from it, as if there were answers to be found in its dregs. His eyes were even more glazed when he lowered the cup, and he stared out at the horizon, not seeing anything, not even the fact that the sun was gone and night had fallen. “You don’t understand, pony,” he said. “I am Khagan, and I do as I like. And the empire depends on that. My father’s empire. It must continue on. For the memory of all those who sacrificed themselves. For the memory of Tolui.” Tears started to form in the corners of ?gedei’s eyes.

 

“You don’t understand,” the Khagan shrieked suddenly, pushing Gansukh away. He threw his cup too, and Gansukh ducked, letting it sail past him and into the room. “None of you do. Not Chucai. Not Chagatai. Not any of my generals. None of you understand what is truly important. You all want to tell me what to do, but you don’t know. You don’t know what to do!”

 

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