Until the Sun Falls

by Cecelia Holland

  “Quyuk.”

  Quyuk spun. He stared at Psin, jerked his eyes around toward the gate into the garden, and strode over to the door next to Psin’s window. The front of his blue tunic was wet. He let himself in and slammed the door behind him.

  A slave caught Quyuk’s horse; Psin turned away from the window, leaving the shutter open. Quyuk came into the room, took two steps forward, and said, “Batu is an old woman and I’ll see him bastinadoed.”

  “Really? What is it now?”

  Quyuk pitched himself into a chair, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and leapt up again. “He drank before me. He’s been careful before this. We’ve always drunk together. But he drank the first cup. Before me. I am the son of the Kha-Khan—what is he but the son of a bastard?”

  “The eldest of the Altun,” Psin said.

  “Depending on whether you believe Juji was Temujin’s son.”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  “My honor is in this.” Quyuk walked swiftly around the room, his hands tugging aimlessly at his belt. “You see?”

  Psin nodded.

  Quyuk reached out for the shutter and drew it closed. “Before the rest of the Altun and the Russians from Novgorod. I won’t let him get away with it. Before—”

  He sat down again. “Before you came I could have overthrown him there. In his own palace. They would have supported me. Baidar and Mongke. They were afraid of me before you came. It’s your fault I had to run.”

  “Buri didn’t—”

  “Buri. What is he but a loudmouth?”

  Psin sat down on the chest, his hands between his knees. Quyuk’s face was working.

  “They all stand in my way. My father puts up Siremon like a wooden doll and won’t give me my due. They block me, everywhere I go they are blocking me. Psin, I am the Successor. Not Siremon. No one but me has the right to be my father’s heir.”

  Psin said nothing.

  “Whether I am good or bad does not matter. Only the blood matters.”

  “And the will of Heaven.”

  “Psin, I am the Successor.”

  Quyuk’s eyes blazed, and under the steady strong glare Psin grew uncomfortable. The eyes were Temujin’s eyes. He turned his face away.

  “Let me stay here,” Quyuk said. “Batu will throw me into prison if he can get hold of me. You owe me this, Psin.”

  “I do not.”

  Quyuk’s eyes half-closed. Before he could speak, other horses galloped into the garden. Psin went quickly out of the room and through the door just beyond it. Mongke and Tshant were there, sliding down from their saddles, and behind them, just outside the gate, rode Batu’s personal guards.

  Tshant said, “Has Quyuk come here?”

  “He has.”

  “Did he tell you—”

  “He told me. He stays here, under my protection.”

  Tshant came three steps forward. “He cursed Batu to his face. In his own ulus Batu is supreme, and Batu has ordered him taken.”

  “I will not permit it.”

  Mongke called, “Buri is in Baidar’s custody. Let Batu say that Quyuk is in yours.”

  “Quyuk comes and goes as he pleases,” Psin said. “He is a guest under my roof and he has my word for his safety, but he is not my prisoner and never will be.”

  Tshant came up beside him. His eyes darted toward the house. Swiftly, he said, “Batu has sent a messenger to Karakorum. Let me tell him that you hold Quyuk for him. Quyuk doesn’t have to know. Batu forgets easily—it will all be mended before the autumn.”

  “Tell him Quyuk is my guest.” Psin backed up a little. “Tell him what I told you.”

  Tshant frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Who are you to question me? Go on.”

  Mongke shouted something, and Tshant turned and jogged back to his horse. The guards in a mob backed away from the gate. Tshant and Mongke rode through. Psin heard a high, questioning call, and the horses galloped off.

  Quyuk was in the room where Psin had left him; the window was open. He said, “I will cause you no trouble.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Stay away from my women and don’t mistreat my slaves, and you’ll keep my good will.”

  Quyuk nodded. “You’ll enjoy this, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll try,” Psin said.

  Chan came back, and he tried to work up his anger at her, but he could not. She stood in the midst of her purchases and listened to him yell and smiled and without a word went into her room. The night before he had spent with Artai, so he consoled himself he would take some revenge on Chan when they went to bed.

  But Sabotai arrived shortly before the sun went down, right after he had taken Ana to Tshant’s house, and they spent the evening arguing about Quyuk and the night talking over Kiev. When Psin finally went to bed the light spilled blue over the windowsill and he was too tired to do anything but lie next to Chan and wish that sleep were not so long in coming.

  “My father is ruining us all,” Tshant said.

  “What has he done now?” Ana poured wine for him, and he took it, absently.

  “You know that he has Quyuk under his roof. Batu is furious. He says that Psin of all men should know Quyuk is treacherous.”

  “Is he?”

  “Quyuk? No, of course not. Batu doesn’t care what he calls his enemies, so long as it’s bad. But we’re fighting again soon, and Batu could decide to interfere with everything my father says or does.”

  “Fighting? Am I going with you?”

  “No. You’ll stay here. God. I hope—”

  He broke off and stared, and she waited for him to go on. He was sprawled across the couch; lying down he looked as long as a whip.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Go on, go do something.”

  She got up and left the room. In this strange house she found herself by habit turning left to go to her room—she had turned left in Psin’s house—but the room was to the right. She passed Qo’a on the stairs, Tshant’s Alan girl, and Qo’a sent her for some oil. She knew she shouldn’t go after it; Qo’a was only a slave. But it was easier to obey, more familiar, and she was almost glad to do it.

  Chan settled down in the shade and took out her box of paints. Psin’s garden made a little leg off to the south in one corner, full of trees, and in the heat of the noon it was a good place to sketch. She rolled out paper and poked through her box after a brush. The heat shimmered in the full sunlight in the middle of the garden, but here it was almost cool. She sketched a clump of trees in the middle distance of her paper.

  She shouldn’t have told Artai about the incident beside the river. He was still angry over that. But Artai had been upset because Chan’s orange cat had eaten up the stew meat, and Chan had had to appease her in some way. She didn’t like Psin to be angry with her.

  The gold lace on her collar itched, and she undid the hooks down the front so that she could pull the robe off her shoulders. She looked down at herself. The upper halves of her breasts showed over the taut line of the displaced robe. She looked out toward the center of the garden, but there was no one there, and the low shrubs shielded her from a casual glance. She dipped her brush in ink and carefully drew Psin’s face on the smooth curve of her left breast. The brush’s soft touch made her hot. She drew long mustaches, like Psin’s, down toward her nipple.

  Somebody moved behind her. She looked back and saw Quyuk, leaning against a tree, watching her. His eyes were slitted; the curve of his mouth trembled.

  She clenched her teeth. He was in her part of the garden. He was in her favorite place. She stared back at him. “Go away.”

  He moved his feet, but he stayed leaning up against the tree. She shrugged her robe back up. “Go away. This is my place.”

  He said nothing, and she threw the paintbox at him. Ink splashed across his face, but he did not move. He was staring as if he could see straight through the heavy cloth of her robe.

  Abruptly, he looked past her, and his face changed. She k
new by the mixed guilt and fright on his face what he saw. She hooked up the front of her robe as fast as she could. Her mouth was dry. She was afraid to look up.

  Psin said gently, “Get out of here, Quyuk.”

  She glanced toward him through the corner of her eye. He was standing right beside her. His fist opened and closed.

  “I went in under the trees. When I came out she was here,” Quyuk said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Go wash your face.”

  He didn’t sound angry. His fist was still opening and closing. She looked down at the ground. Her hands felt cold. Quyuk almost ran past them.

  “He did nothing,” she said. She licked her stiff lips.

  “The way he looked at you, you might have twins.”

  His soft voice chilled her to the soles of her feet. He crouched and jerked her around to face him. She shut her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “Don’t come in here again. Do you hear me? Don’t come here again.”

  “I like it here,” she said. Her voice quivered, and she fought against it.

  His hands on her shoulders softened. He stroked her hair, so roughly she almost cried out. “I know,” he said. “I know. But he’s dangerous. Obey me. Don’t come here again.”

  He hugged her, crushing her against his chest. She put her arms around his neck. She was still frightened, and she began to cry. He gathered her up and carried her into the house.

  “I didn’t mean it,” Quyuk said. “I came out of the trees and she was there.”

  Psin rammed the maps into his bowcase and put on the top. “How much did she have on when you saw her?”

  Quyuk flushed. Psin could feel the hot bile in his throat. He said, “If you were any but the Kha-Khan’s son, I would kill you for looking at her like that.”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  There were still ink stains on his face. Psin slung the bowcase over his shoulder. Quyuk looked up. “I’m sorry. I… Let Batu take me.”

  “Don’t whimper. We’re late for the council.”

  He went out, and Quyuk trailed behind him. In the twilight, their horses stood waiting. Psin said, “If you couldn’t help it, perhaps Batu should.”

  “I know. That’s what I mean. Being the Kha-Khan’s son is bad training, in ways.”

  “Ask Kadan. He’ll tell you how bad.” Psin mounted. “I know it was a shattering experience, being put off by a woman, but you’re not taking it well. If I were a gambler I’d bet you four good horses that the next time you see her you’ll look at her just the way you did today. Get on that horse. We’re late.”

  When they came to the door into Batu’s council hall, Kaidu was there; he took a long look at Quyuk and said, “This is an insult.”

  Psin threw out one arm to keep Quyuk back. “Let us by.”

  “No. This man abused my grandfather to his face.”

  “This is a war kuriltai, not a camp.” Psin took Kaidu by the arm and threw him against the wall. Kaidu rebounded, sputtering, and ran shoulder first into Psin; Psin did not move, but Kaidu bounced off and tripped and fell. Psin shoved Quyuk through the door into the hall and followed him before Kaidu was back on his feet.

  The hall was dead quiet. All along the table, the Altun sat in their gold and silver splendor, staring at Quyuk. Batu’s brothers, down for the kuriltai from their posts in the north, got to their feet in unison. Quyuk walked steadily to a chair at the foot of the table and sat down.

  “You dare,” Batu said.

  Psin dragged over a chair, stood it behind Quyuk’s, and sat down. The veins in Batu’s neck swelled into ropes. Mongke, Tshant, Baidar and Kadan were looking anywhere but at Psin and Quyuk.

  “Stop fighting,” Sabotai said. “We have much to do. Buri, sit down.”

  Buri, halfway to Quyuk, turned and went back to his chair. Sabotai stood beside Batu, and Batu seemed to relax. Mongke leaned forward to get his winecup and grinned down at Psin. Kaidu had come in. The silence droned on, until Batu cleared his throat and said, “We are here to talk of the plans for the next season’s war.”

  Psin exhaled and put his hand to his face to shield his relief. Before him, Quyuk’s shoulders twitched.

  “We are to take Kiev and gain control of the grasslands west of the Dnepr,” Batu said. “This should require no more than a few months. Already all the princes of the Slavs east of the Dnepr have sworn allegiance to the Kha-Khan, and they are sending us men. The Kipchaks have been trained. Two clans of the Kipchaks fled across the Dnepr and have taken refuge in Hungary.”

  “Enough of that,” Sabotai said. “The problem is Kiev, not the lands west of it.” He sat down again. “The land we will fight on is mostly steppe. North of Kiev is a great series of marshes. At Kiev another river joins the Dnepr, and up river from the juncture, on the tributary, in marsh, is a city called Chernigov, which we shall take. Downriver from Kiev is Pereislav, which we shall also take.”

  He looked at Psin and nodded. Psin rose.

  “In those cities the people don’t want to fight us. I talked three days ago with a man from Pereislav who told me if we attack them before the autumn the people will probably open the gates as soon as we appear. Chernigov he said is the same. The cities are like the ones we burnt last winter. They will have to be destroyed.”

  He pulled his chair a little forward and sat again. “They have few knights. In the fall last year, when Tshant raided there, a large number of knights ambushed him, but these seem to have come from Kiev. Kiev will not surrender to us; we sent an envoy and he hasn’t returned yet. They’ve probably killed him and his escort. We can lay siege to Kiev until the Gobi turns to ocean.”

  “We won’t have to,” Sabotai said. “I believe we can storm it.”

  “The steppe west of the Dnepr is rich, and Kiev will be full of plunder. The city is part of the trade route from the south. When we have cut her off from the south we should have no trouble with her, as Sabotai says. But we must cut her off. The army that takes Pereislav will continue on west into the farm country beyond the river, as far as the next major river, the Dniester, and hold the line against that river until the main army catches up.”

  Mongke said, “How likely is it that they will have help from the west?”

  “Extremely unlikely.” Psin put his forearms on the table. “We are sending a small embassy to the court of the Hungarians, beyond the mountains west of the Dniester.”

  “They killed the last envoy we sent,” Tshant said. “I hope your ambassadors are expendable.”

  Psin said, “We have reason to believe that they will be more friendly this year. Not enough to surrender to us, but willing to talk. The ambassador will be Rijart the White, whom some of you probably met in Karakorum. I’ll ride in his escort.”

  Tshant slouched back and looked at Sabotai. Sabotai said, “Psin will travel under another name, as a common soldier. Due to the nature of the Hungarian steppe, we can’t make the usual reconnaissance raids. It’s important that we find out what we’re likely to meet.”

  “Nonetheless,” Mongke said. “Rijart they might kill, for all I care, and welcome to him. If they kill Psin, the army suffers.”

  Psin said, “The Hungarian King knows that we mean to attack him. He’s been crying for help from all the other khans in Europe. Would he provoke us further by killing envoys? No.”

  “Kiev did,” Tshant said.

  “Certain men governing Kiev believe that they can withstand us. They killed our people in a deliberate attempt to bring us down on them, and it was against the wishes of their overlord, the khan of the Galicians. The sentiment in Hungary is much different from the sentiment in Kiev. This we are sure of.”

  “The point is settled,” Sabotai said. “Now. The attack on Pereislav will be under Baidar’s and Mongke’s command. The attack on Chernigov is Batu’s. I will ride with Batu. Quyuk goes with Baidar and Mongke, and Kadan with Batu and me. Buri with Quyuk. Tshant goes with Batu, Kaidu with Baidar and Mongke. After the two cities
have fallen, one half of the southern army, under Quyuk’s command—”

  Batu squawked. Sabotai kicked him in the shin.

  “—Under Quyuk’s command, will turn north and meet with Batu and me across the river from Kiev. When the ice freezes we will cross and take the city.”

  Baidar and Mongke leaned back; Mongke’s eyes flew from face to face. Buri leaned forward and whispered something to Quyuk, and Quyuk shook his head. Baidar rose.

  “In the southern army. Do Mongke and I take our own tumans, and Quyuk his?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how can Quyuk not share in the command?”

  Sabotai grunted. He poured kumiss into a bowl, took a little jar from his coat, unstopped it, and let honey drip into the kumiss. Half the table yowled. Sabotai mixed the honey in with his little finger and said, “You and Mongke are the commanders, named in this kuriltai. Quyuk is subordinate to you. Is that clear?”

  Baidar swung toward Quyuk. “Is that clear?”

  “Cousin,” Quyuk said. “It’s murky only to you.”

  Psin could tell by the tone of his voice that he had recovered from the experience in the garden. Baidar sat down. “Mongke and I stay with the southern wing, then, after Quyuk leaves.”

  “Unless something develops. Batu’s brothers will of course be with him.”

  Batu’s brothers scowled, all together.

  Kaidu said, “Quyuk is under disfavor.”

  Somebody laughed at the wording, and Kaidu bristled; Sabotai said, “This is an army, not a khanate.”

  Psin said, “The army camped along the Dniester will scout the land between the river and the western mountains. When I come back from Hungary I’ll meet the army there.”

  “If you come back,” Tshant said.

  Psin glared at him. Mongke said, “Ah, we’ll welcome you, Psin, like the cream on the fresh milk.”

  Psin made a face. Mongke put his hands behind his head and grinned. Tshant called in a slave with wine and began talking about the defenses of Pereislav, and from the high end of the table Sabotai looked down at Psin, nodded, and sat quietly to listen.