Djela went over to sit next to Psin, and Tshant paced up and down. “I thought perhaps I could depend on my own father to—”
“What’s going on?”
“If you were capable, I’d say that you should wait and see.” Tshant sank down on his heels. “I’m fighting Quyuk.”
“You’re fighting Quyuk.”
“Yes. I don’t know why. I don’t know when it started. Since you came through here, from Hungary.”
“How?”
Tshant shrugged. “Whenever we’re all together, he manages to set me up against him. Anything I say he denies, everything he says I have to deny. Then he chops at me, so that all the others have to admit that I’m wrong.”
Psin wondered quickly if Tshant were imagining all this. He went to the masterpole and took down the skin hanging there and poured kumiss. Djela said, “Maybe we can live out here with Grandfather.”
“Be quiet,” Tshant said.
Psin handed him one of the bowls, gave another to Djela, and sat down again with the third in his hands. “When the fighting starts again there won’t be time for—”
Tshant’s head jerked toward the door. “Horses coming.”
“Djela, go see who they are.”
Djela got up. Through the open yurt door they could hear the frantic beating of several horses’ hoofs, and somebody called out sharply—Mongke. Psin rose.
“It’s my cousins,” Djela called. He leaned out the door. “Have you been hunting? What are you doing out here?”
Quyuk, bending to get through the door, swept Djela up and set him down again to one side. “We came to see your illustrious ancestor.” He was drunk. Behind him, crowding into the yurt, Buri, Kadan, Mongke and Kaidu were all drunk as well. They bellowed and clapped Psin on the back and made remarks about people who stayed around when other people were known to be dying; Buri with a skin of wine under one arm went around filling cups for them all. Tshant sat like a rock in the middle of a rushing stream.
“In-law,” Buri cried, and embraced Tshant noisily. “Dear husband of my father’s sister, glory of our clan.” Tshant shoved him hard, and Buri tripped backward and fell.
Quyuk was smiling with one side of his mouth. He presented his cap to Psin and drank. “How can we express the joy of having you back with us, Khan? Especially since you know and will surely tell us what Sabotai means to do, after we hold Kiev. Where do we go next, hmmmm?”
“You’ll hear at the kuriltai,” Tshant said.
Kadan slumped down to sit with his back against Psin’s couch. “We are the kuriltai, we here.” He held out his cup to Buri to refill.
“With the exception of Sabotai, Batu, Batu’s brothers, and the tuman commanders,” Psin said, “you are the kuriltai.”
“We.” Quyuk draped one arm across Psin’s shoulders and squeezed. His hand flopped beside Psin’s cheek. “We. You are part of us, Psin. Altun Uruk.”
Kadan cheered, and the rest joined in. Djela said, “So am I. So am I.”
“Right,” Kadan said, and dragged the boy into his lap. Tshant stiffened.
“So,” Quyuk said. He breathed in Psin’s face. “Tell us what will be said at the kuriltai.”
Psin looked past Buri, toward the door. Mongke was rolling his cup gently between his palms. For once he was not smiling. He looked steadily at Psin; Psin cocked his eyebrows. Mongke said nothing, did nothing, only stared back.
“No,” Psin said.
“No?” Quyuk squeezed the arm that lay around Psin’s neck. “No what?”
“I will not tell you what Sabotai will say at the kuriltai.”
“Ooooh.”
Buri and Kadan growled and made faces. Psin thought them so drunk they didn’t understand anything said. Quyuk’s arm was tight around his neck.
“Tshant,” Quyuk said. “Tell him to tell us.”
“No,” Tshant said.
“What a family this is. They all say no. Kadan.”
Kadan was rocking back and forth, sightless, murmuring to himself. His arms lay loose over Djela’s shoulders. Djela looked as if he were getting ready to bolt.
“Kadan. Hey. Brother. Listen to me.”
“Uh?”
“They say no, Kadan.”
Buri roared. Behind him Mongke’s face was blank, but whenever Psin looked over, Mongke was staring straight back at him. Kaidu had said nothing. His eyes shifted from Quyuk to Psin to Tshant and back to Psin again.
Kadan had wrapped his arms around Djela and was rocking him. “They can’t say no. Not to us.”
Tshant put one hand on the ground, ready to spring up, but Psin shook his head at him. He thought Kadan didn’t know what he was doing. Djela’s face was white, and he was looking beseechingly at Tshant.
Quyuk said, “Tell us. What harm will it do?”
“No harm,” Psin said.
Kaidu’s voice rose, higher than usual. “Then tell us.”
“No.”
Djela said, “Ada, make him let me go.”
Psin spun around. “Kadan.”
Kadan’s face turned toward him, and his arms loosened. Djela slid free and ran to Tshant.
Quyuk said, “Tshant, ask if he will tell you, when we have gone.”
“He won’t,” Tshant said. He had Djela by the arm, and he made him sit down.
“Ask him.”
“No.”
“Is that all you two can say? It must be the Merkit blood. They do say that the first Merkit was a snake hatched in the dung heap of—”
Tshant leapt for him, hauled him up onto his feet, and hit Quyuk in the face. Quyuk’s head snapped back, but Tshant still held him by the front of his tunic. Tshant looked over at Psin, surprised, and with great precision hit Quyuk again. He dropped him and went back to his place and sat down.
The others were all staring, open-mouthed. Buri swung toward Psin. “Why did you let him do that?”
Quyuk sat up, rubbing his jaw. He blinked rapidly several times. Psin put one hand to his mouth to hide his grin. He watched the surprise wash over Quyuk’s face, and Quyuk wheeled toward him.
“You didn’t stop him.”
Psin laughed. “No. Why, should I have?”
“I was… expecting you to.” Quyuk glared around. “Or I would have hit him first.”
Mongke laughed. “Tell us, Quyuk. Tell us how you would have trampled him into fishbait.”
Psin said, “You were discoursing on the origins of Merkits, Quyuk Noyon. Would you care to continue?”
Quyuk’s mouth tightened. Psin expected him to walk out. Buri was already on his feet; Quyuk rose, and Buri started toward the door.
“There are no Merkits,” Quyuk said. “There are only Mongols. Buri, where are you going?”
“No place,” Buri mumbled, and sat down again.
“Yes, you are,” Psin said. “You’re leaving. Now.”
Quyuk sank down on his heels. “I think we’ll stay.”
“Get out or I’ll throw you out.”
“No. Now I say it. It’s not just a Merkit word.”
Tshant lunged; Buri shot to his feet, a dagger in his hand. Psin grabbed him by the wrist and whipped him around and jammed Buri’s wrist up between his shoulderblades. He could see the sweat start out all along Buri’s neck. Tshant was circling Quyuk, who had his own knife out. Psin started to yell to Tshant to stop, but Djela dodged in behind Quyuk and tripped him.
Quyuk sprawled backward. Tshant took a step to one side, astonished, and Kadan hooted. “The whole family’s poisonous.”
Mongke said, “I’m leaving, and so is Buri. Aren’t you?”
Psin shoved Buri out the door. Mongke and Kaidu followed him.
Quyuk, rising, looked over at Djela, and Djela brought both fists up. Quyuk laughed.
“First blood. He should be blooded. Am I bleeding anywhere?” He bounced up and started across the yurt, still laughing. Kadan staggered after him. At the door, Quyuk whirled.
“I made a mistake.” His eyes moved from Psin to Tshan
t. “I should never contest the strength of oxen.” He wasn’t laughing anymore. He turned and left.
Kadan, weaving, got himself stuck in the small doorway and blocked it, so that Tshant couldn’t go after Quyuk. Psin decided Kadan wasn’t as drunk as he seemed. When they finally got him straightened out, Quyuk was riding off on his spotted horse.
Tshant said, “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“You’re full grown. You’ve got to learn when to stop yourself. Besides, he wouldn’t have provoked you unless he thought I’d protect him. He knows you can beat him.”
Djela said, “Did I do well?”
Tshant said, “I’m not sure. You gave him a way to get out of it. Didn’t he?” He looked at Psin.
Psin nodded. “He’d worked himself into a trap, this time. I think he’ll be more careful with us.”
“I thought awhile ago that he was after you, but he’s not.”
“After me? You mean, to finish me?”
“Yes. But he’s not.”
“No.” Psin went back into the middle of the yurt. “He’s got reason to be after me but he’s not that kind of man.”
“What?”
“Chan.”
Tshant sank down. “Has he… gone sniffing after her?”
“Yes.”
“What is he trying to do, then?”
“I don’t know. He won’t have the leisure before we start fighting again to work out a new means of attack, anyway. Sometimes I think he’s just playing some kind of game. Shall I tell you what’s happening at the kuriltai?”
Tshant’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t tell them.”
For a moment Tshant thought about that. Finally he nodded.
“Yes.” He grinned. “And I’ll see that they know I know, of course.”
Psin smiled. “Of course.”
Sabotai said, “The ice is hard. We’ll cross tomorrow night—the moon will rise early.”
Psin nodded. He went around behind Sabotai to look over his shoulder at the map on the table. Sabotai’s forefinger moved swiftly over the paper. “Here, and here. And here. By dawn we should have the city surrounded. I have burning lights to signal with.”
“It might not be clear,” Psin said. “Just because it snowed yesterday—”
“If it’s snowing we’ll have to change plans. The point is that we can expect Kiev to be ready for us. Their army will probably be waiting outside the city. How many men?”
“Up to one half our strength.”
“Hmmm. And we have to consider an attack from within the city as well. Mongke led the vanguard at Chernigov, and he did surprisingly well. He can do so again.”
“Let Quyuk lead the vanguard.”
“Quyuk? Why?”
Psin sat down on the couch. “There was a courier today from Karakorum. I heard the bells. What did he say?”
“That’s… secret.”
“That Quyuk is to return to Karakorum? As soon as any war operations he’s involved in are over?”
“Yes.” Sabotai leaned on the table.
“And you’re using three flying columns with a detached vanguard. So the vanguard will see the heaviest action.”
“God’s holy name,” Sabotai murmured. “Are you trying to get him killed?”
Psin laughed. “No. But he does well in heavy fighting. I want him to go home leaving the Altun with a good impression of him.”
“Why?”
Psin shrugged. “I like him.”
“The rumor is that he and Tshant fought, and Tshant messed him up a little.”
“Rumor.”
“Well.” Sabotai looked down; he made a mark on the edge of the paper with his grease pencil. “Yes. You’re probably right. No one should be permitted to laugh at the Kha-Khan’s son the way Mongke and Kaidu are currently laughing at the Kha-Khan’s son.”
“Especially when he’s liable to be the next Kha-Khan.”
Sabotai shook his head. “It would be much simpler just to tell him you support him.”
There were horses coming. Psin rose. “Dmitri, go see who that is.” To Sabotai, he said, “If I support him now he’ll take it as a sign of weakness. I plan to bargain with him for my vote, when it comes to that. Dmitri?”
“It’s Mongke and Buri,” Dmitri called. He went back to the slaves’ quarter of the yurt.
Sabotai said, “What do they want?”
“Not the same thing.”
Buri came in. “Sabotai, it’s all over the camp that Quyuk has been called back to Karakorum.”
Sabotai said, “The dispatches are secret.”
“He told me himself. I want to go with him.”
Psin shut his eyes and sighed. “Back straight as a lance, he rides off into exile.”
Sabotai made a small shushing noise. “Yes. If you want to, Buri.”
Psin opened his eyes and stood up. Buri looked at him over his shoulder. “He has no friend but me.”
“And it’s all my fault. I know.”
“No,” Buri said. “He’s… changed, a lot. But he still doesn’t have any friends.” He turned back to Sabotai. “Thank you.” He went out the door. Mongke came in immediately after.
Sabotai said, “I suppose you want to go too.”
“I? Hardly.” Mongke looked around for a chair and sat. “Psin, are you going to let him fight at Kiev?”
With a snort, Sabotai rolled up the map. “I’m going. Clearly I’m not wanted for this discussion. Psin, we’ll hold the kuriltai out here tonight.”
“Bring some kumiss with you.”
“I will.” Sabotai went out the door.
Mongke said, “You can’t let him fight. He might win too much. You have to keep him where he is now.”
Psin cased the map.
“Why, where is he now, Mongke?”
Mongke got up. “Psin, listen.”
“No. You listen. The batch of you should have been drowned the day you were born. I’m sick of you. Stop entangling me and my son in your little family feuds. The next time I see a member of the Altun who isn’t related to me by blood, I may knock him down and stamp on him.”
Mongke went sheepishly to the door. “I only wanted—”
“I know. You only wanted to keep Quyuk looking silly. Get out.”
Mongke left.
Tshant said, “He what?”
Mongke nodded. “He told the rationers to give Quyuk’s tuman and two others grain for their horses.”
“But that means—”
“That Quyuk’s tuman is to ride vanguard.”
Tshant gnawed on the inside of his lower lip. “How did you find this out?”
“Oh, I happened to be down by the commissary when Quyuk’s men went in for their war rations.”
“Just happened. You aren’t supposed to do that.”
“No, I’m not. But I thought it wise. He wouldn’t tell me if Quyuk was to fight, and I thought if I went down there I’d find out.”
“His tuman is staying here through the fighting for Kiev. He may not be leading them.”
“His slaves took his ration for him. I know his slaves well enough to recognize them.”
“He can’t do that.”
“He is. They are, I mean. Psin and Sabotai.”
“And Batu.”
“Two hawks to your bay horse Batu had nothing to do with it.”
Tshant turned his head and called to a passing slave to get his horse ready. “Two hawks to your grandmother Sabotai had nothing to do with it.”
Mongke nodded. “Psin, of course. Where are you going?”
“To tell him not to.”
“Don’t. It won’t accomplish anything.”
“Why did you come here to tell me if you didn’t want me to go face him over it?”
“Because I thought you might know what he’s doing.”
Tshant settled back. “He’s proving that when he snaps his fingers Quyuk jumps. What else?”
“More than that.”
&n
bsp; Tshant spat out the door. “Name it.”
“He likes Quyuk.”
“He hates Quyuk.”
“Does he? Why did he keep him from Batu, that time in the Volga camp?”
“Quyuk went asking his protection. Psin’s just. He does what he thinks fit, no matter who it is.”
“I don’t think he thought it fit. Batu was right. The justice lay with Batu, and Psin should have let him take him. I say that Psin likes Quyuk. If Psin does, I shall make it a point to like Quyuk.”
Tshant studied him. Mongke was the shrewdest of the Altun; he was probably right. “Psin would be a fool to try to brace up Quyuk now.”
“Now is the best time. Quyuk is leaving right after we take Kiev.”
“In disgrace.”
“Or with the glory of having led the vanguard that crushed the Russians. Take your choice. Psin chose.”
Tshant stood up. Mongke snatched at him. “Don’t try to talk him out of it. You’ll just get into a fight.”
“Let go of me.” Tshant backed away from him. Mongke sat down again. His mouth twisted.
“Who’s the fool? At least wait until after the kuriltai, when it’s common knowledge, or you’ll get me into trouble.”
“You should have thought of that yourself.” Tshant left the yurt.
Psin’s yurt stood to the east of the camp; horsetracks cut through the new snow toward it, like strings tying it into the other yurts. Tshant rode out at a canter. Dmitri was shaking out wet laundry, in the lee side of the yurt, and looked up when he heard Tshant coming. Tshant kicked his horse, but before he could get to the yurt door Dmitri had gone in.
Psin came out before Tshant had dismounted. He squinted against the sun and said, “What’s happened now?”
“What do you mean?” Tshant pulled the reins over his horse’s head.
“You look like a storm thinking about thundering.”
“I’ve heard Quyuk’s tuman got grain rations for their horses.”
“Do we have talkative quartermasters?”
“Mongke told me.”
“Just talkative Altun. Yes. What of it?”
“Is Quyuk commanding them?”
“Yes.”
“You told me yesterday that Mongke would probably command the vanguard.”
“Sabotai changed his mind.”
“Sabotai, or you?”
“Sabotai is the commander.”
Until the Sun Falls Page 36
