CHAPTER 6:
WOLVES
Alchiq brought his horse to a stop, raised his right arm, and curled his fingers several times. His wispy beard was as pale as his hair, and his skin was dark and weathered from many years spent in the saddle. He was old enough to remember Genghis Khan’s rise to power and was a much better hunter than Gansukh, who was no slouch himself when it came to tracking prey, even though he had spent the last six months ensconced at the Khagan’s court in Karakorum.
Gansukh gently pulled on the reins of his own horse, drifting behind the older man. Alchiq wasn’t stretching his arm; he was sending Gansukh a signal. The curling motion of the fingers mimicked the way Alchiq laid his fingers around the end of his arrow when he laid it across his bow. However, the signal didn’t distinguish between whether they were being hunted or there was an opportunity for game. Either way, the response was the same.
Gansukh pulled the mitten off his right hand and pushed it into the front of his fur-lined coat. With his left hand he slid his bow out of the leather sheath that hung from his saddle. Alchiq leaned forward in his saddle, his head cocked to the side. Whatever he was hearing was getting closer.
More than a dozen paces separated the two of them—an old habit of Mongol riding parties—and Gansukh was far enough back that he couldn’t hear what was commanding Alchiq’s attention. Which also meant that whatever was out there in the mist most likely wouldn’t hear him either as he slipped his bow out of his quiver and leaned forward, stroking the neck of his horse to calm it.
The weather had improved since they had crossed the gap in the Heavenly Mountains: the afternoons were normally clear and dry, but the nights and morning were still bone-numbingly cold and shrouded with fog. They rarely spoke to each other, a silence that was neither uneasy nor uncomfortable, and when they did, it was usually in short sentences.
Three nights ago, Alchiq had pointed out a line of tracks in the snow and had said a single word. Wolves.
The fingers of his right hand now warm from having stroked his horse’s neck, Gansukh drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He tapped his horse’s barrel lightly with his heels, nudging the animal forward, as he strained to hear. The fog muffled all but the sound of his horse’s exhalations.
Two mornings ago, the wolves had come into their camp. They had known the beasts were out there; they had seen the glint of their eyes beyond the light of their fire each night. The wolves were wary of the light and heat of the blaze, and the first night the men had fed the fire throughout the night, which meant neither of them slept well. The second night, Gansukh had fallen asleep almost instantly after brushing down his horse, and when Alchiq woke him hours later, he had been dreaming of Lian.
An hour later, when the fire was nothing more than a bed of fading coals, the wolves came. He killed two with his bow, and chased off the rest with a pair of freshly lit torches, but not before the gaunt beasts had killed one of their three horses.
Gansukh had hoped it would be enough. With two dead and a fresh kill, the pack could gorge themselves.
But hunger was a cruel spirit that always returned.
Gansukh glanced at Alchiq’s raised right hand. The index finger didn’t bend like the others. There had been an altercation several weeks ago with a party of Oirat riders. Alchiq had wanted their extra horses and they hadn’t been terribly eager to sell them. In the subsequent fracas, one of the Oirats had pulled Alchiq out of his saddle, and while the pair had been fighting on the ground, the Oirat had latched onto Alchiq’s fingers. Alchiq had killed the man before losing any digits and, no stranger to battlefield injuries, he had kept his fingers clean and wrapped. The skin was healing on both fingers, but there was something wrong with the knuckle on his index finger.
Alchiq could still pull his bow, but the motion was slow and Gansukh could tell the crooked finger pained him.
Gansukh’s horse exhaled noisily, setting to the left and then reversing course to the right. Gansukh heard the wolves too, a whisper of paws against the hardened crust of the snow. Alchiq dropped his arm and drew his short sword. They’re coming from the sides, Gansukh thought, and he caught a flash of motion at the edge of his vision.
He loosed an arrow and reached for another before he was consciously aware of what was coming at them. He heard a yelp of pain as he tracked another target. His horse pranced sideways, whinnying in fear, and his second arrow went wide. As he reached for his third, Alchiq’s horse reared, hooves flailing.
Alchiq was out of his saddle before his horse could fall and pin him, and as the older man got his feet under him, a gray and white shape darted out of the fog and slammed into him. Gansukh heard Alchiq grunt as man and wolf went down on the snow-slick ground. He didn’t bother trying to put an arrow into the wolf. It would be a difficult shot as the two wrestled on the ground; besides, Alchiq had a sword.
Gansukh loosed another arrow at a wolf that was snarling and snapping at Alchiq’s horse, and the beast spun away, the shaft of the arrow protruding from its neck.
Alchiq was shouting now, the wolf answering with short yelps and growls. Gansukh could smell fresh blood, and when he glanced down at the ground, there was crimson spatter staining the snow. Alchiq’s horse snorted and stamped, its eyes wide with fear, and Gansukh’s horse was no less afraid. They wanted to run, but they didn’t know which way to go, which meant there were still more wolves surrounding them.
Gansukh slid off the left side of his horse, hoping to reduce the directions from which he could be attacked. After checking to his left, he peered under his horse’s belly. He saw nothing but brush and snow. And fog. It was too thick. The wolves’ ambush had been exposed; now they were keeping their distance.
Alchiq swore loudly, and Gansukh glanced over, peering around the withers of his horse. The older man stood, a bloody wolf corpse at his feet. There was blood on his chest and arm, but it didn’t look like his.
Something grabbed at his left foot, and Gansukh lost his balance, leaning against his horse for support. Instinctively, he pulled his foot in, and whatever held it let go. He swept his bow around in a wide arc as he turned, and he caught sight of an all-white wolf darting out of reach. The beast lunged at him, and he jammed his bow between his body and the animal. The wolf snapped its jaw shut, its teeth closing a mere finger’s width from his arm, and he smacked it across the snout with his bow.
The white wolf retreated but not very far. It crouched low to the ground, its teeth bared, a low growl rising from its throat. Alchiq yelled behind him, issuing a challenge to the wolves, who answered with angry calls of their own. Gansukh’s horse stamped its hooves and he kept his back pressed against its flank to prevent another wolf from flanking him.
Gansukh watched the white wolf carefully, and when its front shoulders bunched, he raised his bow and drew the string back in a fluid motion. The wolf jumped as his bowstring sang, and he dropped his bow, reaching for the knife in his belt. The wolf slammed into him. Gansukh pulled his head back to avoid the sharp teeth as he fumbled for the hilt of his knife. He shoved his left forearm under the beast’s chin, and he could feel the wolf’s hot breath on his cheek as the beast tried to bite his face. His knife came free from his belt and he stabbed upward. The blade went deep, and the wolf barked in pain and wiggled away. He lost his grip on his knife.
His horse, spotting the blood on the snow, tried to bludgeon the injured wolf with its hooves, but the wolf darted beneath the horse, threading its way through the stomping hooves. Gansukh tried to dodge his angry horse while keeping an eye on the fleeing wolf. A bloody smear indicated in which direction the animal had fled, and Gansukh lumbered after it. He caught sight of it, struggling to get through a line of brush. The hilt of his knife, protruding from its chest, caught on the bare branches. The wolf twisted and flexed, snapping at the knife hilt, and Gansukh fell upon it heavily, reaching easily for the slippery hilt. He shoved the blade further into the beast and twisted the blade, getting a good grip on the hilt. He yanked the knife free and blood flew in wild arcs, painting the snow with thin crimson lines. The wolf collapsed.
It was only then that he realized his arrow had not struck the wolf. Slightly puzzled by how he had missed—the wolf had been less than three paces from him—he pushed up from the dead animal and staggered back toward the pair of horses and Alchiq.
The horses stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, still unsure which way to run, and Gansukh gave them a wide berth. He was sticky with wolf blood, and he didn’t want to spook them any more than they already were. He found Alchiq standing near two wolf corpses, his short sword in his left hand, his right covered with blood that trickled steadily onto the snow.
Alchiq sensed his presence and spun around, his sword raised, but he lowered it when he recognized Gansukh. He was breathing heavily, and there were several deep scratches on his left cheek. “Wolves,” he said, gesturing with his sword to the two dead on the ground.
Gansukh nodded as he cast about for signs of any remaining wolves, but he saw and heard none. The horses were still spooked, but their eyes were no longer wide.
“It’s over,” he said.
Alchiq was looking at his right hand, seemingly entranced by the flow of blood from it. “Finger,” he said, waving the bloody hand at Gansukh.
“What?” Gansukh said, trying to focus on what Alchiq was showing him.
“Wolf got it,” Alchiq said as he rotated his wrist so that Gansukh could more easily see what was missing. The index finger was gone. There was nothing left but a ragged flap of skin hanging over a shard of bone. “Was only getting in the way,” Alchiq said, his eyes glittering.
Gansukh crouched and cleaned his blade in the snow. By the time he finished, the excitement of the fight had started to drain away and his hands shook slightly as he slipped his knife back into his belt. Deep in his throat, something like a cough started, but by the time it rose into his mouth, it had become a hiccupping laugh.
Alchiq’s face split with a wide grin. “They’re going to have to try harder,” he said, holding up his other hand and wiggling all of his remaining fingers. “I still have nine more.”
Gansukh started to bellow with laughter and Alchiq joined him. The horses stared at the two men, their ears twitching. They don’t understand, Gansukh thought, wiping at his eyes. It’s not the sound of fear.
Gansukh had a glimmer of insight into what drove Alchiq, and while the other man’s bravado was worthy of recognition in the best Mongol fashion, the rest troubled him. They were chasing a band of Western knights who had crept into the heart of the Mongol empire. As long as he can ride a horse and wield a sword, he won’t stop, Gansukh thought.
Was he willing to go that far as well?