CHAPTER 19:
FINDING THE TRAIL
“Horse,” said Alchiq.
Gansukh looked down at the dark brown body. It was indeed a horse.
A single arrow protruded from the carcass at the base of the neck, and black blood stained its neck and withers. The scavenger birds had taken its eyes already and were starting to work on the rest of the head. The belly of the horse bulged slightly.
“Dead two or three days,” Gansukh assessed, and his attention returned to the large rock that they’d been riding toward since mid-morning. He’d heard about the rock from a Cuman trader in the village near the Aksu River. It was a camp site used by smugglers and other merchants who wished to avoid the attention garnered by traveling along the Silk Road. The Skjaldbr?eur would need supplies and fresh horses, and he did not think they would risk showing their faces in any village where they would stand out as foreigners. The Cuman had been reluctant to tell Gansukh the location of the rock, but after making some faces and offering some coin, Gansukh had learned the Cuman wasn’t entirely sure. You can’t miss it, the trader had pleaded with him, once you get close enough.
Gansukh knew how expansive the steppe was, and while he knew such a statement would undoubtedly be true, it was not a very helpful one. It was like being told that a hawk could not hide in a cloudless sky.
And yet, they had managed to find the rock, and, judging from the length of the arrow jutting from the dead horse’s neck, they had found the men from the west as well.
The carrion birds they had driven off the horse had joined others who were circling the rock, drifting on lazy thermals caused by the massive stone blocking the flow of the winds across the steppe. “More horses?” he asked Alchiq.
Alchiq shrugged.
He had been less talkative than normal after recovering from his wounds, as if any conversation should include some mention of gratitude for Gansukh’s ministrations but such acknowledgement was stuck in the older man’s throat. Until the blockage was removed, Alchiq’s ability to speak would be curtailed. Gansukh could have said something himself, but he had realized that to do so would only infuriate Alchiq all the more.
Alchiq nudged his horse forward and let the beast amble toward the rock. Gansukh pulled his bow out of his quiver and ran a hand through the arrows so they would come out more readily if he needed them. He laid one across his bow and clucked at his horse to follow Alchiq. Both animals were well watered and fed, and it was several hours before sunset. He judged it would take them an hour to get to the rock at this pace. Anyone watching them would grow bored, and they would have time to see any activity before they had to act.
But he suspected no one was at the rock, and he suspected Alchiq was thinking the same. The carrion birds only came where there was no danger to them. If anyone was alive at the rock, the birds wouldn’t be floating overhead: they’d all be pecking at the dead horse. But they weren’t. There is enough for all of them, Gansukh thought. Would the corpses they were sure to find be human bodies or would there just be more horses?
Would he recognize any of the bodies?
He’d been thinking about Lian more often than not since they had left the Aksu River, pondering why she had joined the Skjaldbr?eur. He doubted she was a prisoner. There was no reason why they would still be treating her as such after crossing the pass during the winter. The only value she could possibly have for them was her Chinese heritage and they were riding away from China. No, more likely, she was part of their company now, and he had spent hours speculating on what she hoped to find in the West.
In the one instance when he had mentioned Lian to Alchiq, the old hunter had dismissed her outright. It doesn’t matter, he had said. She isn’t Mongol and she rides with those who killed our Khagan. She will die too.
Alchiq preferred simplicity in all things. Thinking too much led to inactivity, and inactivity led to death. It was very simple, after all.
But Gansukh knew that Alchiq’s bluster hid an incredible cunning and determination. They knew the band of Skjaldbr?eur they pursued did not have the Spirit Banner; in fact, the leader of the company—the only one of the Westerners whom Alchiq considered his equal—was not present. But they would know where the old Skjaldbr?eur was; if they didn’t, it was merely because they hadn’t found him yet. He and Alchiq suspected they were looking for him too, and there would be no wholesale slaughter of the company if they caught up with the Skjaldbr?eur. Not until the banner was found. Without it, they couldn’t return to Karakorum. Without it, they were lost.
Three nights earlier, Gansukh had asked Alchiq if he thought about returning to Karakorum. Why? Alchiq had answered. Easier to slit my own throat now.
Karakorum, for all of its glory, had been a prison to Gansukh. The walls of the Khagan’s compound had blocked his view of the steppe and the horizon, and the arcane rules of the court were impossible to fathom. Even with Lian’s help, he had barely managed to bluster his way into the Khagan’s confidence. So why did he want to go back? Was he not a son of the steppe?
But he didn’t want to merely go back. He wanted to turn back the passage of the seasons too. He wanted it to be fall again, and to be at the court of the Khagan, trying to convince him to stop drinking. He wanted to be in the garden where he might chance upon Lian and engage her in some silly excuse for a lesson. He wanted to believe that he could help the empire.
Instead, the Khagan was dead.
If Lian had not run, would he have stayed with her? Would they have gone back to Karakorum with the others and participated in the kuraltai. Maybe Chagatai Khan would understand that he, Gansukh, had not failed, but that the empire itself had failed the Khagan. Gansukh allowed the fantasy to blossom in his mind. He would be pardoned by Chagatai Khan, even congratulated, perhaps, for having accomplished as much as he had, and he would be awarded a place in Chagatai’s retinue. While ?gedei’s brother and the other Khans argued over who would succeed the late Khagan, he and Lian would have their own debate. They could compare their impressions of the contenders. Gansukh would, most likely, advocate for Chagatai Khan, but Lian would deftly predict the actual victor of the kuraltai. She was wise in the ways of court.
He wondered if she had managed to be useful to the Skjaldbr?eur.
Gansukh roused himself from his thoughts and noticed that Alchiq’s horse was missing its rider. He pulled on his reins, scanning the terrain for any sign of the old hunter. Alchiq’s horse was contentedly munching on a bush, and his own horse ambled to a stop and began to crop at the same bush.
He heard a grunt and glanced down, spying a long gully that lay across their path. It was nearly invisible at any distance, and as he watched, Alchiq clambered awkwardly up the slope, a clay pot clutched in his damaged hand. “Smoker,” Alchiq said as he tossed the pot at Gansukh.
Gansukh caught the pot and turned it over in his hands. It was a simple pot, but the insides and the rim were blackened as if something acrid had been burned within. He sniffed it cautiously and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. “Chinese powder,” he said. It smelled like the night the Chinese had attacked the Khagan’s caravan during the journey to Burqan-qaldun. The Chinese alchemists had had a device that hurled iron and fire, and the smoke that had come from it had the same bitter scent.
“The short one,” Alchiq said. He had spotted something to Gansukh’s left and, indicating that Gansukh should bring his horse, he loped along the edge of the gully. Gansukh leaned over and gathered up the reins of the other horse and followed.
When Alchiq leaped over the gully, Gansukh brought the horses to the same spot and dismounted, draping both sets of reins around the center trunk of a bush. He appraised the distance across the gully and took several steps back to get enough of a running start. He landed easily on the other side and jogged over to where Alchiq was standing beside another body.
This one was male, and he had died from an arrow to the belly. Alchiq held up the broken tip of the long arrow, and Gansukh took it from him, curious about the arrowhead used by the Westerners. He had seen a Skjaldbr?eur bowman put an arrow through men in armor and even a man and a horse together. The arrow that had pierced the corpse at their feet had gone nearly all the way through the man’s belly. He shivered slightly, remembering the fight at the great bear’s cave.
“I don’t know him,” Alchiq said.
“Who?” Gansukh asked.
“This one.” Alchiq nudged the corpse with his foot. “And we killed the Skjaldbr?eur archer already so where did these arrows come from?”
They split up, riding away from the rock in opposite directions and then circling around until they were approaching from the other side of the monolith. Gansukh’s horse needed little encouragement to gallop; the steppe-bred horses enjoyed running across the open spaces and he hadn’t let his run free for several days. He crouched low in his saddle, the wind whistling in his ears. His eyes scanned the area around the rock for any sign of movement—any sign that a living person was aware of his approach. As he got close enough to the rock to scan the empty ground, he urged his horse to his left, circling back around to the southern side of the rock.
He spotted signs of human habitation. Strips of cloth tied to wooden stakes fluttered in the afternoon breeze. A sheet of canvas was stretched between an upright rock taller than a man and a pair of wooden poles that might have once been spear shafts. A length of rope hung between other poles, outlining a patch of ground for a horse corral.
Alchiq was already in the camp, off his horse and stalking toward the lean-to with his sword in his hand. Gansukh slowed his horse and raised his bow, nocking an arrow. He spotted a circular ring of stones that was most likely the camp’s fire pit. He circled around the lean-to, his stomach muscles tightening as he passed across the opening that faced south.
He let out the breath he had been holding. The lean-to was empty. He lowered his bow and stood in his stirrups to take one last look around the deserted camp. Nothing. He tugged on the reins, slowing his horse, and as the animal circled around to the back of the lean-to, he threw a leg over his saddle and slid off.
He could smell the dead bodies now, and he lowered his bow as he approached the lean-to. Alchiq was already there, and having seen what they were both smelling, had sheathed his sword. “Three,” Alchiq said as Gansukh came around the side of the lean-to, and he stumped off toward the fire pit.
Gansukh looked anyway, his curiosity pushing him to look on the bodies. He had to know who they were, or who they weren’t.
The three were all men, dark-haired and dark-skinned. It was hard to tell from the condition of the bodies, but Gansukh thought they had all died from multiple arrow wounds. He examined the arrangement of the bodies and then scanned the ground around the lean-to. “They didn’t die there,” he said to Alchiq as he caught up with the old hunter.
“Dragged,” Alchiq said. He pointed at a stretch of open ground where several wooden stakes had been pounded into the ground. They were almost in line, an arrangement that wasn’t conducive to their being tent stakes. As Gansukh was trying to puzzle out the significance of the stakes, he realized what Alchiq was directing his attention to was the confusion of hoof prints on the ground.
“Mongols,” Gansukh said. “They would collect their arrows, but they wouldn’t bother dragging the bodies under cover like that.”
“Someone survived,” Alchiq pointed out.
Gansukh’s horse whinnied, and both men turned back toward the lean-to. A dark-skinned man dressed in a filthy tunic and trousers was attempting to restrain Gansukh’s horse long enough to get into the saddle.
“Don’t kill him,” Alchiq said calmly as Gansukh raised his bow.
“I’m not,” Gansukh replied, a touch of annoyance in his voice. Man and horse were performing an awkward dance, and he was waiting for a clean shot that wouldn’t endanger his horse. The man had gotten hold of the reins and the horse was finally calming down.
“He’s going to steal your horse,” Alchiq said.
“He’s not going to steal my horse,” Gansukh replied.
Alchiq let out a grunt that said he thought otherwise.
The horse was standing still but the man was on the other side of the beast now. In another second, he would get a foot in one of the stirrups and swing himself up into the saddle.
Gansukh held his breath for a second, and then exhaled slowly as the man’s hands appeared on the horn of the saddle. He let go of his bowstring, the arrow flying in a shallow arc, and the man appeared from the other side of the horse, settling into the saddle. Gansukh’s arrow caught him in the shoulder, knocking him askew, and his sudden motion spooked Gansukh’s horse. The animal bolted, and the man fell out of the saddle in an awkward confusion of arms and legs.
Alchiq made another sound that Gansukh interpreted as approval, and they walked toward the lean-to and the stunned man. Gansukh didn’t have another arrow, and so he slung his bow across his back and drew his sword.
The man was on his knees, his face pressed against the ground, whimpering into the dirt. The arrow protruded from the junction of his arm and torso, not quite in his armpit and far enough forward that if he tried to raise his right arm, he would jostle the shaft. Alchiq tapped the wounded man lightly on the head with the flat of his sword, and the man jerked upright. He was Persian, like the dead men in the lean-to, and his face was thin and sallow beneath a scraggly and unkempt beard. His lips were cracked and dry and when he spoke, babbling in a tongue Gansukh did not understand, his voice was not much more than a ragged whisper.
Alchiq said one word and the man stopped. He sagged back on his heels, nearly falling over from exhaustion. The fabric of his tunic beneath his right arm was damp with blood.
“Do you understand what he’s saying?” Gansukh asked.
“Somewhat,” Alchiq said. He spoke again, and the man stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He replied haltingly, and Gansukh sensed that the man knew his death was coming. Alchiq’s questions were the only respite he was going to get. He didn’t have the will to refuse to answer; he barely had the strength to speak at all.
Gansukh sheathed his sword and went to calm his horse. He didn’t have anything to contribute to the interrogation. The sun was getting close to the horizon. They would camp here for the night. He might as well feed the horses and see about finding some water.
There was a mystery about what had happened at the rock. They could try to puzzle it out after Alchiq had learned what he could from the wounded man.
Gansukh was poking at the ashes in the fire pit, thinking about starting a fire, when Alchiq joined him. The sun had fled from the sky, and all that was left of the day was a fading line of orange light on the western horizon.
“They were here,” Alchiq said as he finished wiping his sword clean. Gansukh had piled Alchiq’s saddle and bags on one side of the pit, and Alchiq laid his sword across his saddle and started to rummage through his bags for some dried meat.
“How long ago?” Gansukh asked. He had had time to think about the presence of the Persians and the Western arrow in the dead horse beyond the gully where Alchiq had found sign of the alchemical powders.
“A few days,” Alchiq said.
“But?” Gansukh asked, noting the pause in Alchiq’s reply.
“There’s a war party between us and them. Several arban, maybe even a jaghun.” Alchiq chuckled. “The Persian could not count very well.”
Between twenty and a hundred men, Gansukh thought, not terribly surprised the Persian had had difficulty measuring the number of men who had found him and his three companions. “They were survivors of an attack on the Skjaldbr?eur?” he asked.
Alchiq nodded. “Hay-door,” he said. “They were following someone named Hay-door. A theft of horses, somewhere”—he gestured toward the open steppe to the south—“out there.”
“Several dozen,” Gansukh replied. While scavenging rope to picket their horses, he had discerned the size of the paddock.
Alchiq found what he was looking for in his bag and sat down, his mouth moving slowly and surely about a piece of tough meat. “Horses,” he said after some concerted chewing.
“Yes,” Gansukh said. “They have spares now. They’ll be moving faster.”
“The Mongol war party will have extra horses,” Alchiq said. “And extra men,” he added, smiling wolfishly at Gansukh.