Until the Sun Falls (67 page)

Authors: Cecelia Holland

BOOK: Until the Sun Falls

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“Trouble. I don’t like fighting those knights. It makes me nervous.”

Kadan came in, and Tshant shouted to him. When Kadan turned his face toward them the words stuck in Tshant’s throat. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m sober, that’s all. I hate being sober.” Kadan sat down and put his face in his hands.

“Hangover,” Tshant said softly.

Mongke twitched. “Did you bring your wife?”

“Yes. I—”

Baidar walked in through the back and sat down beside Kadan. He spoke some soft words to him, looked over at Tshant, and jerked a smile onto his face. Baidar was pale as birch.

Something’s wrong, Tshant thought. He stood up. “What is it?”

Kadan lifted his head and stared back. In the silence Tshant heard men approaching the front door. He looked at Mongke, whose eyes were slits, whose mouth was twisted into a bad smile. Suspicion beat at him. The door opened, and his father and Batu and Sabotai came in. Immediately after, Batu’s brothers and Kaidu entered; they ranged themselves around the yurt. Kadan had lowered his face to his hands again. Kaidu and Tshant made routine threatening moves at each other.

Batu said, “Let you all know, now, that we are to mourn. The Kha-Khan is dead.”

Very softly, Mongke said, “O God.”

Nobody said anything. Psin sank down on his heels, staring at the floor. Tshant felt nothing but bewilderment. He looked at Kadan, tore his eyes away, and turned back toward his father. Outside, women began to wail, and men. The walls of the yurt blurred the growing sound of weeping.

Who will take care of us? Tshant thought. His hands were clammy and he rubbed them together. Quyuk?

Mongke said, “Sabotai, is the campaign done?”

“It’s done.”

Mongke got up and rushed out of the yurt. Noise swept in through the door. Before the flap fell closed they heard him calling in a strong high voice to his men. Baidar rose and helped Kadan get onto his feet, and Kadan took a deep breath. He said, “Batu Khan, thank you for the nice war.” He started for the door and with each step grew more steady. Baidar followed him.

Psin got up and spoke to Sabotai. He caught Tshant’s eye and bobbed his head toward the door, and Tshant went outside.

The camp was roiled up like a pond. Women sat in clumps before their yurts, sobbing and beating themselves on the breasts with their fists. Their children stared at them; some of the small children were beginning to cry. Three separate strings of horses trotted past Tshant—two of chestnuts, one of sorrels. He ducked around the last and thrust through a swelling crowd to his yurt.

Most kuriltais lasted for days. This one had gone on for two sentences. He looked for Kerulu and could not find her.

Djela ran up. “Is it true? Is it true?”

“Yes. Go find Arcut. And tell him to get horses for twenty men. Go on.”

“But—but—”

“Go on!”

Kerulu came out of the back, her eyes sleek with tears. “Am I going?”

“Not with a baby coming.”

“But my father—”

Psin came in behind Tshant and drew him aside. “Jagatai is dying too. I’ll bring her. One of us should go straight to Karakorum. Look after our interests.”

“I’ll go.”

Kerulu sank down. Tshant sat beside her and put his arms around her, and she turned her face against his shoulder and wept. Tshant said, “When did he die?”

“Over three months ago. They kept it secret, damn them.”

“Siremon is still under age.”

“Yes.” Psin chewed his mustaches. “It has to be Quyuk. You know how he is. Don’t bargain with him, just tell him that we vote for him.”

Kerulu said, “Can’t I go? Please?”

Tshant hugged her. “If you could, I wouldn’t leave here without you.” He shut his eyes and leaned his head against hers. “You know that.” When he looked up again Psin was gone. As soon as he could, he left Kerulu and went out.

Psin was on his own doorstep, and Tshant went quickly over to him. Mongke rode up, leading twenty-five men of his guard; his banner, stowed all through the campaign, floated wrinkled over his head. “I’ll see you in Karakorum,” he said. “Batu is coming this way. Tshant, are you leaving now?”

“As soon as my men are together.”

“I can’t wait. Try to catch up with me.” Mongke galloped away.

“Can we hold Hungary?” Tshant said.

Psin shook his head. “The Altun will pull their tumans back to the Gobi. Without them Batu won’t have the men.”

Batu trotted up and turned his horse sideways so that he had to twist to face Psin. He looked hard at Tshant, frowned, and said, “Psin Khan, stay here. Stay with me—I’ll make you a prince.”

Psin shook his head. “I have my own people, Batu.”

Batu’s face contorted. “Damn you.” He whirled his horse and rode off. Tshant shifted from foot to foot.

“We won’t be home before the late summer,” Psin said. “When I get the clan settled I’ll come to Karakorum.”

Across the camp a banner streamed, decked with black horse tails, and beneath it rode Kadan. Tshant bellowed to him, and Kadan waved. He charged away to the east.

“I’m going,” Tshant said. “There’s Arcut with my horses. I’ll see you in Karakorum.”

Psin nodded. Tshant rushed off across the dusty, pulsating camp. Baidar cantered by, waved, and called, “Until the Gobi.” Psin waved back. He saw his own banner through the dust: Tshant was riding out.

Artai said, “Are we going home?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She went back inside.

The camp was almost empty. The dust began to settle into a patina over everything. Across the way from Psin one of Chan’s cats clung mewling to the side of a yurt. In his mind’s eye Psin saw the deep forests around Lake Baikal, the grass under the wind in the meadows.

Sabotai said, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing much.”

“We could have taken Europe, you know.”

Psin shrugged. “I doubt we could have held it.” He wasn’t interested anymore. He went across and got Chan’s cat off the yurt and started back. Sabotai was smiling at him, and together they went inside.

Table of Contents

Ye Lui met Psin at the door…

The Black Merkits wintered at…

Psin and Mongke reached Bulgar…

They wont’t come to us…