Much Fall of Blood: Chapter Sixteen

    “In the 58th year since the Khagan Temujin, the Princess Khutulun wrestled with Khan Ulaghchi. As was the custom, one hundred horses were bet upon the outcome,” sang Bortai, softly, as she gathered berries. “But the great khan bet a thousand horses.”

    She faltered briefly. A thousand horses! She traced her lineage directly to Khan Ulaghchi, the greatest and most powerful of the khans of the Golden Horde, whose dominion had extended across all the Cuman Khanates, the Volga Bulgars, the Bashkir lands — from the Carpathians in the west to the Alatau Mountains in the east, and across the limitless steppe between. He had drawn tribute from the Kievan Rus princes and been visited by delegations from across the world. He had had a thousand horses to gamble. But he too had barely survived fleeing his uncle Berke, with no one but his warrior bride beside him.

    Ulaghchi had survived. Had then conquered. But had he ever had only one horse? There was no doubt that that period of hardship had shaped Ulaghchi and his loyal Khutulun. That was what had made him determined to keep the Mongol people true to their traditions, no matter what other tribes they assimilated. Ulaghchi’s rule had lasted for over half a century, and his influence was still felt now, hundreds of years later. He had set out the rules of conduct that still governed the noble houses, enforcing Chinggis’s rules on drunkenness, drawing back to the shamanistic roots of their faith. Taoism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam were tolerated, but they were for non-Mongols. The Mongols were above these things, true only to the everlasting blue sky, guided by the spirits.

    Ulaghchi’s was a great dream to follow. But with only one horse, and an unconscious brother, the clan scattered and possibly destroyed, it also seemed a very far-off dream. As much of a dream as getting Kildai to Kaltegg Shaman, whom Parki Shaman had recommended before he was killed.

    Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a movement in the shrubbery on the far side of the little stream. She tensed, staying absolutely still herself. Then, after waiting far too many heartbeats, she slowly turned her head, making no sudden movements. There was a roe-deer doe there, barely thirty paces away. A big step from any other game she’d seen so far. There had been a rabbit that she’d bagged yesterday. She had chopped it finely, cooked it into a broth with some millet and salt and herbs. But that deer would be enough food for days… If she could get a clear shot at it. What an idiot she was. A few moments ago she’d been singing, quietly, it was true, but still behaving as if she were safe in clan-lands and not on the run from their enemies.

    She strung the bow and selected an arrow, being careful not to make any sudden movements. She took careful aim. She was not as good a shot as her little brother was, or even as her older brother had been. And missing was not an option. That was enough food to see that they could stay hidden all day for a while, and only move at night.

    She gave thanks both to the spirits of the wood and the deer. And then swore, as the deer crashed forward. She shot anyway, and fought her way forward through the blackberries, knowing that she was tearing her deel, but too angry to care. Now she might lose an arrow as well. And then she stopped dead.

    For there, not forty paces away was someone else, doing exactly the same thing. He had caught sight of her and froze, just like a deer that hopes you have not seen it. Just as she was doing.

    His clothes were more ragged than hers — and that thing could hardly be called a bow. And he was tow-headed, and plainly terrified.

    What was a slave doing here, with a weapon? That was something a slave would be killed for, even now. Realistically, everyone knew that slaves did a little poaching, trapping small game, using a shepherd’s bow or spears that were little more than sharpened sticks. But this slave — with that bow, and having slain a deer…

    He had to be a runaway. No wonder he was so scared. Bortai had instinctively put another arrow to her bowstring, after launching the first. He was going to break and run any moment now. She could see the way his eyes darted, looking for cover, looking for the best way out.

    “Stand,” she said.

    He didn’t. He fell to his knees instead, his eyes wide and wild. A week ago she would hardly have noticed. But now… she could hardly help but be aware of some fellow feeling, if not sympathy. The Vlachs was young and gaunt to the edge of starvation. It was a pity he’d cost her a clean shot at the doe, but perhaps he could be of some use. There was, to be honest, much that a slave would know that she as a Mongol princess did not. Things which would be useful in helping both her and Kildai to survive.

    “Spare me, noble lady,” he said tremulously. “I was just so hungry.”

    “So was I,” she said crossly, “and now you have cost us both our dinner. I suppose the beast is a good league off by now.”

    He shook his head and pointed with a shaking hand. “No, lady. You dropped it.”

    Well, that put a very different complexion on the matter. She felt almost inclined to let him run, as a reward. But she could ill afford him being caught and telling someone about her.

    The best thing would be just to kill him, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. “Well, then, you’d better come and carry it back to the cart.”

    He blinked. Then a lifetime of obedience took over. “Thank you, lady.” He set down his crudely made bow down and began walking into the thicket. For a moment, Bortai wondered if he would bolt. She would have as soon as she had cover. But then, she had not been a slave all her life. The Vlachs seemed to accept that he was back in servitude. Oddly, his face, so terrified a few minutes before, had eased into an expression of relief.

    That made sense, in a way. Slaves did not make decisions. Slaves simply did what they were told. They were fed, and housed, perhaps no better than a dog, but that was the owner’s problem and prerogative. The runaway might have lost his freedom, but he had also been freed from responsibility that he had no idea how to deal with.

    And she might as well be killed for stealing a slave as far stealing a horse. She’d taken the horse in fair combat, but she doubted if the orkhan would accept that.

    The doe had managed to stagger on a little way before it fell, but had not gone too far. Looking at it, honesty forced Bortai to admit that it was the slave’s heavy crude arrow that had pierced its eye and killed the beast. Her arrow was merely lodged in the hind flank.

    “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” she asked suspiciously.

    He looked at her with frightened eyes. “I think I was just lucky, lady.” He hesitated. “I did shoot… when I was a little boy. Before…” his voice trickled off.

    That did explain it, partially. Those born into slavery were more docile than those taken on raids. Raiding deep into the mountains did yield some new slaves. It was not something her clan had had much part in. Ancient law forbade the holding of Mongol slaves, or even those of part Mongol blood. With their territory being in the north, the Hawk clan had mostly clashed with other clans further north, those now under the sway of minor khans who owed allegiance to the Grand Duke of Lithuania.

    Other clans might hold the law in scant regard. But the Hawk clan was rigid about such things. That made them respected, certainly. But Bortai suspected they were also regarded as thinking themselves a little too good for everyone else.

    The slave could be lying about the luck. Slaves did lie. Honor did not have to be their path. Either way, they would need to pick up that bow of his. She might need him to use it again, no matter whether he was supposed to or not.

    It was a good-sized mature doe. “Take the hindquarters,” she said, “we’ll clean it back at the cart.” The carcass would draw flies, but she wanted to be close to Kildai, just in case he woke.

    They carried the doe back to where she had hidden the cart, pausing to collect his makeshift bow. She had to shake her head at the thing. It was just a yew bough with a string, made, by the looks of it, from flax. What could he be able to do with a real composite bow?

    They hung the carcass in a tree to flense it. Then, abruptly, the slave sat down. He tried to stand up again, but failed.

    “When last did you eat?” asked Bortai, looking at him, sitting and swaying.

    “Not for some days, lady,” said the man, trying to rise again.

    “Sit,” she said firmly. “I have one unconscious man on my hands. I do not need a second.” She dug in the captargac. Mixed up some of the grut and ground millet with some water in the bark bowl she had contrived. “Here,” she said. “Eat that.”

    He took it, confusion and gratitude vying for space on his face. He had plainly had the kind of master who would never have given food to his slaves with his own hands. There were some like that. “Thank you, lady,” he said. “I thought you would beat me.”

    “For falling down from hunger? No wonder you ran away.”

    He looked at her with very frightened eyes. So he might, since the penalty for running away was death. But that was likely to be her own reward if Gatu or Nogay and his men caught up with them. Of course they would probably amuse themselves with her first. Try, at least. She would have to see how many of them she could kill. It was more honorable to die in combat.

    “You will not send me back? Please, lady.” His voice was shaking.

    “With whom?” She pointed at the cart. “With my brother?” She knew in a way that she was being foolish, telling him that she was alone. But he was so afraid, and so weak. She took out her knife, and began to cut open the doe’s belly. He staggered to his feet, and began to help to haul the intestines out. “If I am caught…” he said quietly.

    She interrupted. “They will kill you. Do you think they would treat me any differently?”

    “Oh.” He was silent as this sank in. He hauled the liver out. “Can I set this aside, lady?”

    She nodded.

    “It does not keep very well,” he explained. “We can dry some of the meat, but we must eat the organ-meats soon.”

    It appeared that the runaway slave had thrown his lot in with her. In a way, a small way, that was comforting. “I know that much. What is your name?”

    He looked startled anew. “Ion, lady.”

    She had never introduced herself to a slave before. They all just knew who she was. Presumably they found out from other slaves.

    But she saw no reason to go into detail. What he did not know, he could not betray. “I am Bortai.” It was a common enough name.

    He bowed awkwardly, plainly as unfamiliar with this situation as she was. “I know. Princess Bortai of Hawk clan.”

    So much for keeping her identity a secret. “And how do you know so much?”

    He looked warily at her again, as if afraid that she would hit him. “It was my task,” he said. “I was supposed to follow you. To tell my master where you went.”

    She looked at him. He was just such an ordinary looking slave. Of course they weren’t supposed to bring spies to the kurultai. But many people did. Would she have noticed anyone following her? Anyone as unobtrusive as this? Now that she thought about it, she could see where slaves would make excellent spies, if they were capable and bold enough. That was a lesson to be remembered.

    “Who was your master?”

    His terror returned full force. “You will not send me back? I will be a good slave to you.” His eyes were as wild as when she had first encountered him.

    “Don’t be more foolish than you have to be,” she said tersely. “I just want to know by whom and when you were ordered to follow me.”

    “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.