one playing at being Joseph. Besides, piety is a state of the mind, not of the feet."
There was a snort of unwilling laughter. "You do have quite a knack of putting men in their place, Francesca De Chevreuse."
"They get so lost otherwise," she said placidly.
Chapter 6
"His suns soul roams the lands of Erleg Khan, my daughter," said the shaman, calmly. "I must call it back to join his other souls here under the bowl of heaven."
Wherever Kildai's soul was, it was nowhere pleasant. Bortai's younger brother muttered, but his eyes did not open. If you opened them, the pupils remained wide, even if you took him out into the brightness of mother-sun.
The shaman of the White Horde smiled comfortingly. "The windhorse of this boy is strong. His souls are strong too. It will return. It may take time. Erleg Khan's world below is wide, far wider than this."
Bortai sighed and looked at the doorway. "Parki Shaman, you know as well as I do that the one thing that we do not have is time. Gatu calls for the election of a new khan now."
The shaman shrugged. "It may take greater skills than mine. My master Kaltegg, who was your father's shaman, had more—"
Two warriors bundled in through the door. The blade of the leader's sword embedded itself into Parki's neck. The target was in itself more shocking than the deed. Once, no-one would have dared to raise a hand to the shaman of the White Horde. Now, with the old ways dying, someone had killed him. But Bortai had no time for horror.
She had time for a knife instead. The killer had no opportunity to free his blade before she cut his throat. Her father had believed that it was time the people returned to the path set by Chinggis Khan. To the traditions of the Mongol. That meant that she knew how to use a knife, a lot better than some low half-Vlachs scum.
Her father's insistence on a return to the secret history and the Yasa had gotten him killed. Her, it had kept alive.
Alive for the moment, at least. She was still armed only with a knife, and dressed in a deel, facing a foe with a sword and wearing a leather and steel mailcoat. He swung, the blade passing through the flames. She could not restrain her gasp of horror. Even those who had given up the old faith for Islam or Nestorian Christianity would not do something like that. A Mongol knew that it would mean their death.
Belatedly, that occurred to her attacker also. He looked at the fire, and that instant of distraction was enough for her. He died, as she'd intended, quietly. She cut the felt at the back of the tent, and, picking up her unconscious brother, slipped out into the darkness.
Already the kurultai encampment was noisy with the sound of drunkenness. Kildai was only fourteen, but he was a solidly built boy. She knew that she could not carry him far or fast—but that now was time to follow the ancient maxim of Chinggis Khan to the letter. She must flee, and survive. There would be time to gather others to their standard if they lived. But Gatu had obviously decided that they would be better quietly dead.
Kildai was a problem in his unconscious state, though. He would have to travel in a cart, and that would be difficult. There were of course many carts in the section of the kurultai that was devoted to her Hawk clan. But, by the action taken, getting back there was unlikely. Even if they did, if they broke camp now it would be noticed and would lead to a confrontation that they could not afford at this point. Gatu's men would be waiting, patiently, for the last of the White horde, the clan of the hawk, to flee the boundary markers of the kurultai. The guard-duty for the camp worked according to a strict rota, and the clan on guard tonight were no friends to the Hawk clan. She could not go back. They would be waiting, she was sure.
Instead, she made her way across the camp, keeping in the darkness between the gers, until she came to the Fox people. They were Blue horde, but their grazing was poor, and they had a
There was a snort of unwilling laughter. "You do have quite a knack of putting men in their place, Francesca De Chevreuse."
"They get so lost otherwise," she said placidly.
Chapter 6
"His suns soul roams the lands of Erleg Khan, my daughter," said the shaman, calmly. "I must call it back to join his other souls here under the bowl of heaven."
Wherever Kildai's soul was, it was nowhere pleasant. Bortai's younger brother muttered, but his eyes did not open. If you opened them, the pupils remained wide, even if you took him out into the brightness of mother-sun.
The shaman of the White Horde smiled comfortingly. "The windhorse of this boy is strong. His souls are strong too. It will return. It may take time. Erleg Khan's world below is wide, far wider than this."
Bortai sighed and looked at the doorway. "Parki Shaman, you know as well as I do that the one thing that we do not have is time. Gatu calls for the election of a new khan now."
The shaman shrugged. "It may take greater skills than mine. My master Kaltegg, who was your father's shaman, had more—"
Two warriors bundled in through the door. The blade of the leader's sword embedded itself into Parki's neck. The target was in itself more shocking than the deed. Once, no-one would have dared to raise a hand to the shaman of the White Horde. Now, with the old ways dying, someone had killed him. But Bortai had no time for horror.
She had time for a knife instead. The killer had no opportunity to free his blade before she cut his throat. Her father had believed that it was time the people returned to the path set by Chinggis Khan. To the traditions of the Mongol. That meant that she knew how to use a knife, a lot better than some low half-Vlachs scum.
Her father's insistence on a return to the secret history and the Yasa had gotten him killed. Her, it had kept alive.
Alive for the moment, at least. She was still armed only with a knife, and dressed in a deel, facing a foe with a sword and wearing a leather and steel mailcoat. He swung, the blade passing through the flames. She could not restrain her gasp of horror. Even those who had given up the old faith for Islam or Nestorian Christianity would not do something like that. A Mongol knew that it would mean their death.
Belatedly, that occurred to her attacker also. He looked at the fire, and that instant of distraction was enough for her. He died, as she'd intended, quietly. She cut the felt at the back of the tent, and, picking up her unconscious brother, slipped out into the darkness.
Already the kurultai encampment was noisy with the sound of drunkenness. Kildai was only fourteen, but he was a solidly built boy. She knew that she could not carry him far or fast—but that now was time to follow the ancient maxim of Chinggis Khan to the letter. She must flee, and survive. There would be time to gather others to their standard if they lived. But Gatu had obviously decided that they would be better quietly dead.
Kildai was a problem in his unconscious state, though. He would have to travel in a cart, and that would be difficult. There were of course many carts in the section of the kurultai that was devoted to her Hawk clan. But, by the action taken, getting back there was unlikely. Even if they did, if they broke camp now it would be noticed and would lead to a confrontation that they could not afford at this point. Gatu's men would be waiting, patiently, for the last of the White horde, the clan of the hawk, to flee the boundary markers of the kurultai. The guard-duty for the camp worked according to a strict rota, and the clan on guard tonight were no friends to the Hawk clan. She could not go back. They would be waiting, she was sure.
Instead, she made her way across the camp, keeping in the darkness between the gers, until she came to the Fox people. They were Blue horde, but their grazing was poor, and they had a
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