The Tiger-Headed Horseman (30 page)

With his mother gone, Tengis felt alone. He knew that this was one of the less pleasant trappings of success and he didn't really relish the prospect. Even Odval was somewhat distant since he had chopped off her father's head. Tengis thought she was being petty. Searching his mind, he instead sought out the voice in his head – Khad.

‘Aren't we doing well?’ asked Khad. The voice sounded particularly jovial.

‘It depends how you define “well”,’ said Tengis. ‘If you define it as having no friends, no family, a mild sense of guilt for having beheaded your potential father-in-law, and a fear of the people that are supposed to be frightened of you then, yes, I guess you can say things are going well.’

‘Don't you worry,’ said Khad, ‘you'll soon find out that being
on your own has its merits. It gives you a certain improved sense of mobility with regards to decision making. You watch. Being alone will make you even more powerful. People will fear you to an even greater degree. Baatar Tiger? Love it!’

‘What now?’ asked Tengis. ‘Things could not be better but I know that times are not always the same; the grass is not always green.’

‘I think we should ramp up our plans,’ said Khad. ‘If my memory serves me – though after eight hundred years it does get a little foggy – then the next step is all about fear.’

‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ asked Tengis. ‘After all, your legend . . .’

‘My legend was built on poppycock,’ said Khad. ‘If we are to rule this country with a rod of iron, then we need more than just the mined material. We need to have control and power over everyone, including those close to us.’

‘But,’ said Tengis, ‘the legend says-’

‘I know what the legend says,’ interrupted Khad. ‘I did write it. From what I recall it was meant merely as a means of keeping people away. I didn't need other foreign minds interjecting their points of view. So long as they stayed away I could hold sway over the Ongolians. Did you receive a response to your letters?’

‘Yes,’ said Tengis. He was acting a little sheepishly. He was about to take a step that even he thought was possibly one too far. ‘As we speak there are five thousand troops crossing the frontier. We will have an army of privateers at the city gates by the day after tomorrow. The Outsiders are coming to Baatarulaan.’

Far away, just as Tengis spoke those words, there was a large cracking noise. Somewhere deep within a cavern, far underground in an icy grotto, the glacial rock began to splinter. Shards of frozen rock fell from around the glistening chamber,
crashing into the rushing torrent that flowed beneath. From within the rock a figure that had been entombed in ice for centuries slowly began to lift its arm and reach for its sword.

29

It had been exactly what Chinggis had been waiting for. As he walked hand in hand with his beloved Tsara, a rush of cold air began to embrace him, seemingly pulling from within his abdomen. He barely had time to explain what was happening before he was sucked from the spirit world. With an earsplitting
crack
Chinggis abruptly opened his eyes widely. He was no longer walking in the spirit world, or even in limbo. For the first time in eight hundred years he was in the real world. It felt good. He felt alive. He felt an enormous feeling of rage course through his body. His muscles clenched and, as they did, the ice that had been so tightly frozen around him exploded into the grotto. He fell on to an icy outcrop and let out a blood-curdling cry of anger.

As Chinggis looked around him for someone to kill, he felt something move behind him. Turning swiftly, in one movement he spun and drew both of the sabres from the scabbards that were tied to his back.

‘Stop!’ cried a voice.

Chinggis did not know where the voice came from and, although he hesitated, he remained fully alert.

‘Stop. Breathe. It's me. It is Tsara.’

Chinggis looked around for the voice. His brain and brawn struggled to catch up with the thoughts his newly reacquired soul were sending them. As he scanned the icy expanse, he could see no living creature – neither human nor animal. The
only life that shared the cavern with him was a sleek falcon. It flew close to him. As he was about to strike the bird, it spoke. ‘Chinggis, it is I, it is Tsara. Remember me. Wake up.’

Chinggis hesitated and then his tension began to subside. He sat on the ice. Confusion flooded his defrosting mind. He was finding it especially difficult to think clearly after eight hundred years in the deep freeze.

Tsara rested nearby and began to inform her lover why he was there; why she was there. She explained that as his soul had been sucked back into the real world he had urged her to find a means of following. He knew that when he awoke he would be ready for battle. That had always been the way for Chinggis. Tsara recalled several embarrassing instances when they had been staying with friends and Chinggis had gone sleepwalking with his sword. Trying to explain why a pack of well-trained and much loved guard dogs had all been decapitated had been a challenge. That was not important now, though. She had to concentrate on resetting Chinggis's mind. She needed to reunite his soul with his physical body. As she focused on his body, she remembered just how good it felt and was guilty at once upon a time having been so childish in the presence of a Roman general.

In time Chinggis returned to himself. His body had been saved from the ravages of time thanks to being incarcerated in ice by his vile cousin. His thinking returned to its previous sharpened heights. The only thing that was unsettling Chinggis was that he was in love with a falcon. No matter how hard he tried to find a reason, he kept thinking about how difficult it would be to kiss a bird of prey.

‘My love,’ said Tsara. Chinggis blanched slightly at hearing this from a falcon. ‘We must move quickly. Your being released from your icy tomb means that Outsiders have crossed into Ongolium. Tengis and Khad must be moving ahead with their
plan to strike fear into the people in order to keep the peace and maintain control. They must be stopped!’

Chinggis backed away slightly from the bird but the icy outcrop he was sitting on wasn't wide. It looked as though it had once been a bridge and he considered trying to jump across until he remembered he was trying to evade a bird – such a plan would be futile. Although he was uncomfortable talking to the bird, some small part of him did understand that somewhere inside the beast was the soul of his beloved Tsara. It was just a little unappealing.

‘What is that you would have me do?’ asked Chinggis. He was finding it difficult speaking to a bird. Tsara could tell and hopped on to his shoulder just to see how he would react. Of course, Chinggis was an emperor so he barely flinched. When she moved closer for a light peck on the cheek that was a different matter.

‘We must gather our troops,’ said Tsara. ‘When the herder communities hear that you have returned they will come out in force.’

‘Is that not what you tried with Lily?’ asked Chinggis. ‘That didn't seem to go too well.’

‘We only managed to get a fraction of the communities to join us,’ said Tsara. ‘People are too scared of Tengis and Khad, but with you back they will stand up against them. We also lacked a clear strategic military mind. A sleepwalking troublemaker you may be but you are also the greatest military tactician ever born, or even reborn.’

‘What about you?’ asked Chinggis.

‘I have a favour to return,’ said Tsara. ‘Lily willingly helped me when she had no need to. The least I can do is to pay back that favour by finding her father.’

‘How do I get out of here?’ asked Chinggis. ‘I can't tell you how much I long to see the Steppe, to feel fresh air against my
skin. This icy prison has been a hell. But how do I get out?’

‘That's easy,’ replied Tsara. She jumped to the ground and began scraping at a narrow fissure on the ice ledge with her talons. Before Chinggis was able to understand what was happening, and long before he was able to do anything about it, the protrusion began to give way. Large sections of ice fell all around him. Chinggis remained momentarily suspended in the air before gravity took control. He fell backwards towards the water.

‘No, please no!’ said Chinggis, ‘I can't swiiiiimmmmm . . .’

Tsara flew around the cavern until she was quite sure that her lover had safely escaped his confinement and then followed his route along the icy torrent, which was not easy for a feathered creature. Fortunately she had pre-empted this need and coated her wings accordingly with a waxy substance to prevent freezing. By the time she reached the Steppe and had flown for a few moments she was fully recovered. Enjoying the use of especially acute vision, Tsara scoured the desert plain for her mate. She could see him hauling himself out of the water a kilometre or two away. She knew he would be fine so long as he used his head. He always had been; it was only when he had followed his heart that Khad had been able to assassinate him. Leaving him to find the nomadic herders, Tsara flew off towards Baatarulaan.

The city was no more attractive from the air than it was from the ground. A thick smog hung above the myriad of cramped and insalubrious buildings, making it impossible even for a falcon to see clearly. Soaring between gaudy apartment towers, Tsara scanned the buildings for signs of Lily's father. She knew that the group formally known as the Fun Brigade had once established something called the House of Fun, so she hunted for signs of a prison. As she circled one of the darker quarters of the city, she spied a solid tower set behind fortified walls.
There seemed to be no streets leading up to the walls while behind them an area of open scrubland formed a further barrier for anyone foolhardy enough to try to reach – or escape – the ominous-looking tower. If he was held here, it was no wonder that Lily had been unable to track her father down. Tsara, though, had an advantage; she could simply glide in and land somewhere near the tower.

Landing on the ledge of a barred window, Tsara took stock of her position. There were Khadist guards patrolling the outer wall but none seemed to be watching the courtyard around the tower. The walls were twenty metres high and had only one gateway which was manned by four sentries. The enormous portcullis gate was operated from a room nearby. Those on the wall concentrated their efforts outside the wall, so confident were they that nobody could ever get that far. Tsara knew that men were fallible, though; she just needed to figure out how to take advantage of this when the time came.

Turning her attentions back to the tower Tsara easily fitted between the bars and entered the dungeon within. There were five floors with one large open room on each. Inmates seemed to be able to move easily between floors using large stone staircases. From what Tsara could make out there were no doors in the tower. The only door was the exit on the ground floor which was made of thick wood and bolted from the outside.

Tsara flew from floor to floor. Decrepit-looking individuals caked in filth cowered in corners. Some played games with chicken bones. Others sat in circles silently. Others talked. There was no light and no warmth. The tower was a bitter place. Tsara felt her soul being corroded with every second she spent there. On the top floor Tsara found three people and immediately recognised the soul she was seeking. It had the same glow she had come to love while she had been alive within Lily. The man she was looking at was almost as much a father to her as
he had been to Lily. He sat with two companions quietly contemplating their fate. Tsara flew between them and came to rest beside Lily's father.

‘I have news of Lily,’ said Tsara. She hadn't been at all sure how to open this discussion, what with her being a bird.

The three men turned to stare at her calmly. They had all been in the tower so long that their sense of wonder had all but disappeared. Tsara could empathise. After a mere five minutes she could understand how that could happen in the tower. ‘Are you the father of Lily?’

‘I am Baatar,’ said the man. ‘I am Lily's father. What do you know about my daughter?’

Tsara was a little surprised by his lack of emotion but had come to appreciate that nomadic herders could little spare time for emotion as they eked out an existence on the Steppe.

‘I am sorry to have to tell you,’ said Tsara, ‘but Lily is dead.’

Tsara felt guilty at saying this. Lily had never really existed in the greater scheme of things but her father had not known that. Again Baatar remained emotionless.

‘That is indeed sad news,’ said Baatar, ‘but why have you come to tell me? Are you a shawoman?’

‘No,’ said Tsara, ‘I am from the spirit world. How can you manage to live here?’ Tsara knew the stupidity of her question the moment it escaped her lips but her understanding of life and eternity was founded upon emotion; none of the people in the tower had any.

‘What choice do we have?’ answered Baatar. ‘Anyway, once you have locked your door, you are the emperor in your own domain. It is how we cope.’

‘My name is Tsara,’ she said. ‘I was the lover of Chinggis Khaan.’ The two other inmates stirred at this mention.

‘I see,’ said Baatar, ‘you were the mother to Chinggis's children, at least to the two he bestowed his name upon?’

‘Indeed,’ said Tsara. She was beginning to discover that birds were able to shed tears. ‘Sukh and Bolorerdene were my children.’ The two inmates shifted closer to her.

‘Sometimes from bad news there comes good,’ said Baatar.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Tsara.

‘You have informed me of my daughter's death, tragic but part of life's pattern,’ said Baatar. ‘I can now reunite you with the offspring that were so cruelly taken from you by Khad. Please come closer.’

The circle moved towards Baatar. The two inmates who had remained silent so far came into Tsara's sights – they had noble faces.

‘Tsara, may I present to you Sukh and and his sister Bolorerdene. They are from a long line of Khaans who have been kept prisoner in this tower. Indeed, you may find many other relatives in this hellish place. The true blood children have retained the same name throughout time awaiting the return of their mother.’