The shaman nodded. "Yes. I believe it will be a magical attack, and a strong one. I believe it will be directed at Kildai Khan. I believe that the force that will provide the spell, does not know Kildai Khan. They must have got hold, somehow, of some of his essences. Blood. Skin. Hair. Maybe even clothes. Thus it was that the force was able to be released at him, while he rode in the great game." He looked at Kildai, sternly. "You were lucky to survive, Kildai Khan. But this could work. The spell will be directed at the wrong person—if they require that it should be by direct indication of the victim. I think this is true. They must point you out—focus the ill-wishing on you. Otherwise Kildai Khan would have died, even though he was hidden from them."
David nodded. "So, until we have dealt with Gatu Orkhan, I will be you. And you be me—wearing steel and riding with the Knights. And the two of us will have to keep apart."
The shaman nodded. "I will do what I can to protect you both."
* * *
The kurultai must have had ten thousand tents.
"A small gathering," said General Pakai. "People are wary. But every clan has sent some representatives."
"And a lot more wait, and watch, just a few hours away," said Bortai.
They rode on.
The huge camp was very edgy. Clan representatives and soldiers had gone ahead, setting up gers, preparing the sections of the kurultai. The camp was a large ring, allowing access to the open steppe beyond, without crossing the camp of any other clan. White Horde was on the northern and eastern side, Blue on the southern and western. In the middle was a large open area, with a dais for the clan heads. The subclans would be obliged to settle for the grass. But the camp had been chosen well: it was set about a low dell, which had been cleared of snow, making a natural amphitheater.
The Mongols, who normally dressed in rather plain clothing, making it hard to tell a khan from a commoner, had broken out their finery. Erik hardly even recognized Bortai, in the rose colored and patterned deel of embroidered fine cloth and doeskin boots. The clan must be making sure that their prize witness looked the part.
The knights rode in the rear of the column. There was a disturbance up ahead and Bortai rode on to see what it was.
* * *
David lay on the ground and fitted epileptically. The Khesig had formed a defensive circle around him. The shaman Kaltegg had already made a circle in the snow and was beating his drum, chanting.
As Bortai pushed her way through, David sat up. By the time she got there he was being helped onto his horse.
"Are you all right?" she demanded.
"No," he said, crossly. "I feel like I have just run fifty miles, and been pounded with rocks."
"Magical attack," said the shaman. "I have the flavor of the attacker now."
"Oh, good," said David, clinging to the saddle."That makes me feel better. Why didn't you stop them?"
"I did not know who it was, or what form it would take," said Kaltegg. "I do now, boy from Jerusalem. And if you had been Kildai, the attack would have killed him. Now, it will rebound."
Bortai rode back and evaded Erik, to make sure that Ritter Von Stael's "squire" in peaked helmet and high-collared cloak was all right. And to reassure Kildai that David too was fine. They managed a swap around later in the Hawk camp, and a little later Kildai, looking as fit as a young colt, rode off to the first session of the kurultai.
"You will be called," Bortai explained to Erik. "A little after me, I think."
"What happened earlier?"
"The horseboy transferred his debt to you, to us," said Bortai with a twinkle. "He will be all right. And he is a brave boy."
"Better than he was, anyway," said Erik.
A messenger came looking for Bortai, and she went to face the clan-heads.
"There was some consternation at seeing Kildai there," said her escort, grinning.
"You have noted carefully who did not expect him to be?"
"Of course. But we already knew."
Bortai stood and spoke to the crowd. She had a good, strong carrying voice. She told her story well. She had been taught to do so, since story-telling was a skill of great value. The audience responded appreciatively, with suitable laughter, and appropriate gasps of horror in the right places. Pointed looks were cast at the orkhan.
Afterward one of Gatu's pets got up. "It's a good story," he said, "if hard to believe."
The audience hissed. They wanted to believe. "But tell me," he went on. "The effects of a fall onto one's head, as we all know, can weaken the souls of the body causing fits. Is it not true that the young khan of the Hawk has had such fits since then? Making this tissue of silly lies a necessity? The clans cannot have a leader who will fall from his horse."
Bortai drew herself up for her reply—and Nogay, he who had been Tarkhan to the north—suddenly began gibbering and shrieking, and then, with foam on his lips, began to spasm and jerk uncontrollably. He rolled down the slope, his back arched with a peculiar choking, gurgling and screaming as he thrashed about, fighting unseen demons. Eventually he lay still, his head at an odd angle.
"No," said Bortai, smiling sweetly. "You must have confused Kildai with General Nogay," she pointed. "That was no fit, though. That was a curse. A spell cast by Nogay—which has come echoing back on him." She sniffed disdainfully. "His souls do not have the strength of my brother Khan Kildai. His ancestors do not watch over him. They have turned away from him in shame. Some people will do anything for gold. But it does not go well with the spirits if they do so."
The lifeless corpse of Nogay bore mute witness to what she'd said. That and the fact that Nogay had indeed come from relative obscurity to become very rich. The advisor who had raised what he had hoped would be a clinching point, supported by a fit from Kildai which never came . . . shrank down again, close to his master.
"It has been said, though, that the clan Hawk gave shelter to truce breakers and, worse, those who take hostage an honorable Tarkhan of the Ilkhan of the Red Horde."
"Many things have been said. Not all of them are true," said Bortai calmly, although she raged at the implications. "We say that the clans were deceived into truce breaking, into attacking those who came honorably acting within the writ of safe conduct they had been given. If there is dishonor, it is to those who told such lies." She walked over and kicked the corpse of Nogay. "Here is one. The other traitor to both the Red Horde of Ilkhan and those whom he was supposed to be the emissary to . . . is the tarkhan Borshar." There was a gasp of horror at this. A Tarkhan was immune to any form of punishment. It made things complicated. "I have here," she held up the documents, "bearing the great seal of the Ilkhan Hotai, a writ of safe conduct to the Khan Manfred of Brittany and his retinue of Knights of the order that is called 'the Holy Trinity' as escorts of the tarkhan Borshar. I call the warrior Tulkun of the bear clan of the Red Horde to be our next witness to this."
Tulkun had been fetched. As he strode in the escorts left to fetch Erik. They had decided to let it be Erik, because he spoke—badly, it was true—the tongue of the people.
Tulkun was a good fighter. He was not a particularly good speaker.
The tarkhan himself rose, lazily. "What you have here is a case of double-tongued speaking. A traitor himself, accusing me of treachery. Yes, they had a safe conduct, but planned treachery and used me as a hostage. This Tulkun is a traitor and without honor, who has sold his clan and his people to the foreigners. I say the honor of the Golden Horde demands his head."
There was a growl of assent from a lot of throats.
Bortai held up another piece of paper. "There is one more thing. A document that has come to our hands. It was given to Captain Feldu for the late General Nogay. Written by the tarkhan."
Bortai read it out.
And was aware of a group of armed men who had entered the central area of the natural arena.
"A forgery," said the tarkhan, waving a dismissive hand.
Bortai was aware of the fact that the nine men who had accompanied
Tulkun and the tarkhan Borshar were closing on them.
"You know that this is the kurultai. That the spilling of blood is forbidden," said Bortai, turning toward them.
They bowed. "We know that. We have not come to spill blood," said the leader of the small group, Matu. "We escorted the tarkhan from Jerusalem. We have come to bear witness that the warrior Tulkun speaks the truth. He is an honorable man."
"I carried the message to the Captain from the tarkhan Borshar," said another.
There was an audible hiss of indrawn breath from the watching crowd. You could see the red rage-lights in their eyes.
The tarkhan shrugged. "Politics. There is nothing you can do about it. I am a tarkhan of the Ilkhan, with all the rights granted between the fellow people of the Hordes. Send me home, if you can."
"There is something I can do about it."
Bortai turned to see that Erik had entered the amphitheater.
"Who are you, foreigner, that you dare to raise your voice at the kurultai," said Gatu Orkhan. "There is no limit on the spilling of blood of non-Mongol."
"He is protected by the same writ of safe conduct. He is a Knight of the Holy Trinity," said Bortai.
"None-the-less. Borshar Tarkhan may be unwelcome in the lands of the Golden Horde, but no one can raise a hand against him," said the orkhan.
There was an outcry at this. "He has shamed us. He has brought us to the brink of war with the Ilkhan." The crowd seethed like angry bees.
Erik held up his hand. Someone in the watching crowd said "He is the tortoise Orkhan!"
There was ripple of interest and amusement through the crowd.
"Let him speak!" called several voices.
Erik bowed. "My thanks and my respect to the Clan heads of the Golden Horde." He pointed to Borshar. "There is a man who has tried to engineer war between the Golden Horde and his supposed master the Ilkhan. He has tried to engineer war between the Holy Roman Empire and Golden Horde—for, and he knew this well, had his plot succeeded, and had my Khan, Manfred of Brittany, been treacherously murdered, it would have meant war. Probably war with the Ilkhan too. He does not serve the Ilkhan. He serves the Khan Jagiellon. The source of much gold."
"I serve only God," said Borshar, above the hubbub.
"And anyway," said Bortai. "He is protected by his status. No matter what he has done, no matter what he has been accused of, no Mongol may raise a hand to him, let alone cut him down."
"I am not a Mongol. And if you read the words of our writ of safe conduct carefully, you will see that it says we are to defend the tarkhan from outside threats. Those words are specifically used."
"So?" said the Gatu Orkhan.
"So it does not say that I am obliged to defend him from myself," said Erik, throwing down a gauntlet. He didn't know if this gesture meant anything to the Golden Horde. But it was the traditional way of issuing a challenge. By the cheers they understood.
"If no one was holding me back," said Tulkun, looking around, "his bodyguard would have to defend him. Although we despise the son of Dishmaq."
The Ilkhan's men suddenly found themselves being held by grinning Golden Horde men."You cannot spill blood at the kurultai," said Bortai. "And a foreigner spilling the blood of one of our blood . . ."
"We'll wrestle," said Erik.
The crowd cheered deafeningly. Erik had gathered it was an even more popular entertainment here than in Iceland.
The tarkhan came forward. "You son of Iblis. Your death will be a suitable lesson. And our Lord has desired it my dreams. Besides, you insulted me."
Tulkun said "Erik. He trained at Alamut."
An assassin.
Bortai felt her blood run cold.
Erik was a great fighter. She'd seen that. But no foreigner had skills at the noble art compared to the Mongol. And this Borshar would have been taught to kill in many ways.
Erik loosened his sword belt. "Can some of you help me out of my armor?"
***
Erik knew enough about Alamut, the assassins castle, to be wary. But Borshar was not equally wary about the Knights of the Holy Trinity, or Icelandic wrestlers.
Erik changed that quite quickly. He threw Borshar hard over his shoulder. The man from Alamut rolled with practiced ease. But he did not come forward with such unwariness the second time. And Erik noticed he was flexing his fingers and that each nail had been sharpened. Borshar plainly wanted him to notice. "There is a death on each nail, dog. The peacock angel waits for you."
As Erik expected, he tried to kick Erik in the crotch. Erik helped his foot in a neat arc upwards. And then the fight was on.
Erik smelled the sudden stench of magic and slapped the assassin, with cupped hands, simultaneously on both ears. Erik didn't quite know why he'd chosen to do that, but the miasma of magic-use cleared.
Erik was limited in that Borshar's nails really might have a poison on them. And he did not want to make the man bleed.
Within two minutes, though, he knew how it would end—and by the growing look on his face, first of surprise and then of desperation, so did Borshar.
The Alamut assassin was very skilled at unarmed fighting, true. Probably even more skilled than Erik, in terms of sheer technique.
But skill and technique are not all there was to fighting—fighting of any kind, much less wrestling. There was also strength, stamina, and most of all the near-instant reactions of a body that trained constantly.
Borshar was good. But he had done little exercise since leaving Jerusalem. Erik trained every day, for several hours, and had for many years now. There was probably no man alive who was in better fighting condition than he was—and if there was such a man, it certainly wasn't Borshar.
There could only be one end. Again, Borshar was just that little bit too slow in his reactions, and again Erik slammed him to the ground. When he came up, the Alamut assassin drew a hidden knife from his boot.
The audience hissed. Bortai cried out a warning. But Erik had been expecting something like this. He evaded the knife thrust, seized Borshar under the arm and threw him over his shoulder. Then, followed the half-stunned Borshar to the ground and slid both arms under the assassin's armpits. In an instant, Erik had his hands clasped behind Borshar's neck and heaved him to his feet.
The huge audience was silent. That was a deadly hold and they all knew it—provided the man using it was strong enough.
Erik was immensely strong. Much stronger that he looked, with his lean frame. Not quite as strong as Manfred, true. But quite strong enough.
His muscles heaved. Borshar's eyes seemed as wide as saucers. The assassin's arms flailed about uselessly, the knife slipped out of his grasp.
There came an audible crack. Erik heaved again, just to make sure the spine was severed, and then let Borshar's lifeless body fall to the ground.
There was no blood. Not a drop.
The other thing there was none of was Gatu and his inner circle. They too had realized soon enough how the match must end, and had used the distraction of the fight to make an escape.
As soon as someone realized this the meeting broke up in chaos. Men ran for their horses.
Erik, standing panting a little, asked Tulkun just what was happening. "They fear that he will try to mobilize his personal guard into an attack. They are all that is available to him, because most clan heads are here. Even from the Blue Horde. And he will have almost no support now."
Erik sighed. "It never ends. Give me a hand with my armor, would you?"
Erik was about two-thirds re-armored, when Manfred and the knights came riding up. "We're invited to join the hunt, Erik. According to Bortai, that's a signal honor. We brought your horse."
So, tired or not, Erik found himself riding out that afternoon as part of the Mongol hunt.
Only the prey, it seemed, had kept a river-barge on standby.
* * *
With only one candidate the election of the new khan was rapidly accomplished. Also, even if the Knights had been included in the hunt, it
was not an affair for non-Mongols.
By midmorning the next day, a summons came for Manfred and Eberhart. Erik stood up to accompany Manfred, but the guard-captain of the escort arban respectfully shook his head. "No Tortoise Orkhan," he said. "It is only an invitation to Manfred Khan and his advisor. They say that he can take only one knight—a Ritter Von Stael—with him as a bodyguard."
"They think you're dangerous, Erik," said Manfred, grinning. "Serves you right for killing notorious assassins."
"Who is going to translate for you?"
"Lady Bortai will be there," said the Mongol guard-captain.
Erik had to be happy with that. He rather wished she was here with him instead.
He had to wait several hours before Manfred and Eberhart came back. In a roaring good humor. A little drunk, both of them. "You didn't miss much, Erik," said Manfred in a voice that said exactly the opposite. "The new Great Khan's a crusty old devil, but very generous with his wine. Real wine, especially for us."
Eberhart sat down on the three-legged stool. "The emperor will be very pleased with the outcome of this adventure, anyway. We have powerful new allies, flanking Lithuania."
But Manfred seemed oddly lugubrious, all of a sudden. He shook his head. "I'm not so sure how well this is turning out. Erik is in real trouble."
"Me?" said Erik.
"Yes, you," said Manfred. "The Great Khan of the Golden Horde thinks you're a fine fellow. At least three clans want to adopt you for doing the Golden Horde a favor with the tarkhan Borshar. But the Great Khan has heard that you're trifling with the affections of an innocent, poor young Mongol maiden. He thinks you should approach her kin to ask for her hand or back off."
Erik blushed to the roots of his hair. "Does everyone know my business? I suppose going to see Kildai would be a start. Although, Manfred, I don't know how these things are done among the Golden Horde. I've done something wrong. They all seem to have heard the story of my first greeting to her. And every single one I meet, from grandmothers to generals, seems to be smirking and sniggering."
Manfred's attempt at keeping a straight face failed. "Well, I thought the innocent poor young Mongol maiden was going to tear the new Great Khan of the Golden Horde's head off."
Much Fall of Blood-ARC Page 59
