Much Fall of Blood-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  "Lord Nogay. He showed you to me at the start of the kurultai, High Lady."

  Nogay was one of Okagu's followers. "And where did you lose track of me?"

  "At the ger of Parki Shaman. I saw Lord Nogay's men go inside. I heard . . . But when I dared look you had gone. There were only the dead. I was very much afraid. I ran to Lord Nogay. It took me too long to find him. I did not know he was with the soldiers watching the Hawk clan's gers. He was very angry. He took most of the men from the watch and went looking for you. When he and his Jaghun came back from looking for you, the fight with Hawk clan had already broken out, and they had fled."

  That meant that at least some of her clan had escaped.

  "Lord Nogay began to beat me. I knew that he would not stop until I died. But he did stop, when someone brought him news that a sentry had been found dead. He let go of me, and I ran."

  No wonder he had looked at her with such terror.

  "I did not know where to run, but the camp was in uproar. There was much fighting. Many clans fleeing. Much chaos in the dark. Some fires had broken out. I ran. I hid. The next night, I ran again."

  "Where did you think you were going?"

  "To the mountains. I came from there."

  He should have been going west, then, not south. Bortai suspected that the direction that he had been traveling in was merely away. Her own decision had been slightly more logical, at least in the short term. She'd gone the opposite direction from that which any logical person would have thought: toward the lands of the Hawk Clan. That was direction in which the greatest search would have been instituted.

  The direction she'd taken instead would hopefully throw off the pursuit, at least for a short time. It was also the shortest distance to the security of the Bulgar hills.

  Dubious security, to be sure. She had a good chance of being enslaved, just like Ion, or merely raped and killed by the Bulgars. Relations varied. In some places, border clans had peaceful arrangements. In others, more commonly, raiding continued both ways.

  She might be lucky, she might not. But at least there would be no systematic search for her and Kildai in Bulgar tribal lands.

  Between her and Ion they lifted Kildai up a little, and gently spooned small quantities of broth into his mouth. The quantities had to be very small, or he simply coughed and spluttered. Bortai was not too sure how much of it was actually getting into him., but he did seem to be swallowing something.

  Looking at him, Bortai felt very alone and very afraid. A warrior Princess like Khutulun should be ready to deal with usurping orkhans. But the clans of Golden Horde always insisted on a male khan, except as a temporary regent for an underage heir. Ulaghchi the Great had left a legacy of deep reverence for Mongol tradition. That could work both for and against them. Many of the clans would support Kildai because of that tradition. Though young, he was still of age. But they would not support her, while he was unconscious.

  She refused to let her mind even think about her little brother being dead.

  That night they moved on again. Of course, any decent herdsman could have tracked them. But the land hereabouts was riven with tracks, mostly recent. It was, Bortai admitted to herself, very much easier to break camp and to yolk the ox with help. And now she could ride and scout while Ion drove the cart. That was a great deal better and safer than driving the cart blindly.

  They still traveled only a league or so that night, but she was able to find a good patch of woodland to hide in. In this area the wooded steppe was more wood than steppe. That was good for hiding, and bad for traveling fast.

  This was a better sited hiding place, and there were two of them. That still should not have meant that she could sleep so deeply. But two nights of fear and stress and traveling, compounded by wary and uneasy sleep during the day, had taken their toll.

  She had not even realized that she had fallen asleep. She had just meant to lie down for a few minutes in the shade under the cart. She was awakened by the sound of voices. Unfamiliar voices, and harsh ones.

  Her first thought was that the runaway slave must have betrayed her.

  Chapter 17

  "The complexities of the situation," said Eberhart of Brunswick, "are such that I wish you had brought me into it earlier. Yes, Benito Valdosta, I accept the point that you're making about the vulnerability of a fleet in the Black Sea without control of the Dardanelles and Bosphorus. In my youth, I too served with the knights of the Holy Trinity, in the Swedish campaigns. I have some grasp of military matters, even if I admit that I lack the depth of perception that you seem to have. But it is of enormous diplomatic importance to use the leverage that we now have with the Ilkhan, especially when it comes to the opportunity to visit and treat with the Golden Horde. Prince Manfred is in the unusual—and, I might say, unprecedented—position of being accredited as part of a Mongol diplomatic mission." He sighed. "I had hoped to prevail on his Imperial Majesty to let the Prince and the Mongol party be part of the fleet. It's not a negotiating position we are likely to be in again. The Mongols have some strong ideas about the necessary status of envoys."

  Manfred sat down with complete unconcern about the effect that his bulk might have on the spindly furniture in Eberhart's cabin. He put his hands together, steeling fingers. "Of course," he said, "there is one simple possibility. I am empowered to act in my uncle's name. I carry his seal. Instead of trying to hold on to the Mongol envoy and his party so that we can accompany them on what will be the sort of naval engagement that delights Benito, we could simply accompany them across the Balkans. That way, we could very possibly achieve Benito's end and what you say would be my uncle's purpose."

  "That is an entirely ridiculous suggestion, my Lord Prince!" exclaimed Eberhart, for once shocked out of his normal diplomatic speech. "Uh, with all due respect. The risks to your person . . ."

  "Are considerably less than the risks I faced in Venice, Telemark and later in Corfu," said Manfred bluntly. "Not only do the Mongols have rather demanding requirements as to the status of envoys from non-Mongols, they are also famous for the courtesy and sanctity they require others to accord to their envoys. I am in the enviable position where the Ilkhan would be obliged to go to war against the Golden Horde if anyone touched a hair on my little head."

  "It is only so little," said Erik, "because it contains so little of the stuff required to think inside it. There is the small matter of the Balkans. We are down to fewer than two hundred knights. One hundred and seventy-four, to be precise. That is insufficient even by their own delusions of prowess to cross those mountains."

  Benito coughed. "If you think you are safe in Mongol hands . . . well, I think the one thing no one will argue about is that Iskander Beg is also a man of his word. True, the word—short phrase, rather—is usually 'I will kill you if you cross my lands.' If he decided that you would not cross the mountains of his kingdom, you would not. But it isn't. He has agreed to let at least one convoy take the old Roman Road. If that works out, there will be more. The Illyrian was honest enough to say that there might still be trouble from bandits or a chieftain who decided to do his own independent raid. But even fifty of the knights would be more than a match for that."

  Erik frowned and said thoughtfully: "And we are as much honor bound to see that the Ilkhan envoy gets to the lands of Golden Horde, as they are to treat us as diplomatic envoys. We promised to get them there. There are only ten of them. Not enough for the crossing without us."

  "They did rather trick us into it, didn't they?" said Manfred, grinning at Eberhart.

  "I concede that it is possible that the compliment that they paid us by giving us such status could have been for an ulterior motive," said Eberhart. "But we stood to benefit so much from the status in any dealings that we had with the Golden Horde . . ."

  "I see this as a way of turning it to our benefit, now," said Manfred.

  "I still think the idea is fraught with danger," said Eberhart. "Erik, tell him it would be folly."

  Erik stood ther
e sucking his cheek. Eventually he shook his head. "No, Ritter." He looked at Benito. "You forget that I have been involved in several of this young madman's crazy solutions. He has a way of seeing solutions, solutions that will work, where other people would charge in blindly and lose. I see a great deal of danger in a sea assault on Constantinople. I see even more danger in getting Manfred back from the Black Sea, if Constantinople is reinforced. I also see no benefit to the Empire in this envoy arriving after the election of a new Khan. It seems to me that that is very likely to happen."

  "Besides," said Manfred quietly, "this has the potential to seriously damage two of our greatest foes. I think there is little else that I could do which would help the Empire as much. I have decided."

  Once Manfred had actually taken that kind of decision, Benito knew that there was little point in anyone arguing. And no one did. Discussion then moved to practicalities—how to feed and provision the expedition, and how to pay for it. After listening for a while, Benito cleared his throat. "If you will all excuse me," he said, "I had better go and see about contacting Iskander Beg. Of course, it is entirely possible that the man whose mother is a tortoise may decide that it's a bad idea."

  Erik scowled. "I'd forgotten about that horseboy."

  Benito grinned. "I may tell you, as the acting governor of the island, that the murder of horseboys is not permitted. It was a damn fine trick. It's just a pity that he had to catch me with it instead of you."

  "Death would be far too fast," said Erik. "In fact, I think that I will go and look for him right now. As Benito has just pointed out, our planning is premature."

  He stood up, blonde, lean and very deadly looking. Benito wondered if he would ever have tried playing such a practical joke on the man. Possibly—when he'd been thirteen and convinced that he would live forever. He had to feel some sympathy for the horseboy.

  * * *

  The horseboy was not there.

  David was already making his way through the streets of Corfu town. He had had no intention of being anywhere close to the blonde foreigner when he found out that he had been taught some choice Mongol insults and not the useful phrases he'd thought he was learning. As luck would have it, David had been lazing and listening in to talk of the tarkhan and his Mongol guards when it had happened. If he had not realized just how serious the trouble was that would result, it would have been one of the finest bits of revenge of his life. And now . . .

  Now he was back in familiar territory, even if this was a town still scarred by the battle they had apparently had here over the last winter. He only wished that it was a larger town. But a town was still better than all the miles of emptiness—both of water and on land—that he had come to discover the world outside Jerusalem held. That was a lot of emptiness, and he wanted none of it. He would have to somehow get on a boat and go back home. Jerusalem must be missing him.

  As he walked through the streets, his sharp eyes taking in the details of the shops and stalls, he wondered what the local penalties for theft were. From what he had heard, there was nowhere in the world that was strict as the Ilkhan. Well, it was said that the Golden Horde were even more traditionalist. If there was anywhere in the world that David did not want to end up, it was in their backyard. Thieving was a dangerous enough way of living in Jerusalem, where he and his family had many contacts and knew the local scene very well. Pilgrims and foreigners could be preyed on, provided one was careful.

  What he really needed was a local informant. He picked on a likely looking ragged boy, greeting him. And was rewarded by a high speed stream of incomprehensible gibberish.

  Maybe life was going to be a lot more complicated than he'd thought. He felt a bitter sense of resentment and betrayal. Why hadn't anyone told him foreigners didn't all speak Frankish?

  It was only after the foreign urchin had run off that he realized that his pouch was missing. He swore and ran after the boy, but the boy knew where he was going and David did not. Soon, he was forced to give up the pursuit.

  Well, he had wanted to know just what sort of penalties for theft they had here. At a guess, he had just been shown—the hard way. If he ever found the little brat again somebody else would be learning the hard way. Grumpily, he set off to acquire some lunch. To a sharp Jerusalem boy that could hardly be much of a challenge.

  * * *

  Benito was back at his desk in the Castel a Terra when Erik came to see him several hours later. "It's too soon for me to have word back from Illyria," he said. "And thanks to you I now can't find two essential pieces of paper, and my secretary is a gibbering wreck. Besides that, I haven't heard a word from your Mongol friend."

  "It's not that," said the Icelander. "I've got Kari out scouring the streets. But if that horseboy has run off into the countryside it might take us weeks to find him."

  "Ah!" Benito leaned back in his chair, and managed not to smile. "I did warn you about killing him, Erik."

  "Neither Kari nor I have laid a finger on him," protested Erik. "And it's not because we didn't want to. But apparently he ran off before we'd even finished talking to the Mongol. Several of the Knots saw him go. None of them had the brains to stop him."

  If Erik was calling the knights of the Holy Trinity by the derisive term "Knots" he was genuinely furious—and by his expression, worried also.

  Benito had long since given up deliberately baiting the likes of Erik Hakkonsen. Danger seemed to seek Benito out, without him going looking for it. "Relax, Erik."

  "I'll need some help, Benito. A word with some of your Schiopettieri, and possibly the loan of some of your troops."

  "I said, relax. I already sent a messenger down to your vessel. You must have missed him by a few moments. I have your runaway horseboy. He will need to be a little faster and sharper, if he's going to cope with being a thief in the big city. He can't even cope with swiping bread and squid on Corfu. I'm tempted to give him a few lessons myself. In the meantime, I'm just doing for him what you and Petro Dorma did for me. He's enjoying a little bit of a frightener in my cells. I have a few of the lads yelling at him in Greek."

  Erik shook his head as if to clear it. "Yelling in Greek? Why?"

  "I figure that I owe him something for nearly causing an international diplomatic incident. And if you think I'm being too harsh, the boy can count himself lucky to still have his fingers and face intact. Stealing anything from Mamma Kasagolis is just plain stupid. If a patrol hadn't been passing by at the time he'd have been beaten half to death. As it was, he did acquire a few lumps before they figured out that he really wasn't able to understand Greek. They brought him here, because as the Podesta I deal with foreigners. I figured out that he was your horseboy, but I pretended not to understand a word he said. So what do you want to do with him? You can collect him now, if you like."

  Erik began to laugh. He laughed until he had to sit down. When eventually he got his breath back, he shook his head. "The Mongols virtually stamped out crime when they conquered Outremer a couple of hundred years back. This brat is undoubtedly what passes for a thief in Jerusalem. He might even be quite good at it by the standards of a city without much crime. I think he's experiencing some culture shock. Can you have your men lead him out and show him the gallows?"

  Benito raised his eyebrows. "Don't you think that's a bit much?"

  "No, I don't. It's going to be a while before he gets back to Jerusalem. There are a good few places where he could get himself into just that much trouble, or get us into it. I don't have the skills to teach him to be a thief who can survive, and you don't have the time. So I will have to frighten him into a bit of honesty, at least for a while."

  Benito smothered a smile. "And this has nothing to do with him teaching you that a respectful greeting is 'your mother is a tortoise'. You know, it could have been much worse. He could have had you—or in this case me—proposing some form of interesting sexual liaison."

  "Then I would not just have had you show him the gallows. He could have tried on the noose for size," s
aid Erik grimly. "I think you can let him spend the night ornamenting your cells. Kari and I will come and fetch him early in the morning."

  "I'll temper justice with mercy," said Benito, nodding. "I'll have someone explain to him that the gallows will be where he's heading, unless someone from the ship is prepared to come and take him away. That'll give him some reason to be grateful when you do turn up. It's more than he would have gotten in most port cities."

  Erik snorted. "He'd be lucky not to have ended up dead in an alley in quite a lot of them. At the very least someone would have knocked him on the head, and slit his pouch."

  "I gather," said Benito with a laugh, "by his plaintive complaints and protestations, all of which I pretended not to understand, that someone did relieve him of his pouch. He is taken aback by the dishonesty of us foreigners and how we victimize visitors."

  "Isn't it strange," said Erik, with a smile, "how the biter seldom likes to be bitten?"

  "It does give you a different perspective on it," admitted Benito. "Not that it works as a perfect cure for everyone. People are inclined to see things from their own point of view, regardless."

  "It worked on you," said Erik. "But then, you always were almost too smart for your own good, Benito." He smiled as he said it.

  Benito shrugged. "Anyway, you'd better take this, if you're going to take that horseboy with you." He held out a slim book.

  "What is it?" asked Erik, a little suspiciously.

  Benito did his best to look aggrieved, in a saintly sort of way. "Why does everyone always think the worst of me? It is a book of Mongol-Frankish translations from old Belmondo's library. Some common words and phrases. And the same in their script."

  "I'll show it to the boy and tell him he has to be a bit more careful now," said Erik, taking the book.

  Benito sighed. "Erik, the time you've spent with the knights of the Holy Trinity is affecting your thinking. Don't even think of showing him the book. You let him go on teaching you. But you check the words yourself, with the book he doesn't know you have. And then you make him say them to one of the Mongols, if they don't quite match the book."