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After Batu was seated, the khahan began a general discussion about
where his armies should attack next. Chanar favored breaking their word and
riding on the Shou capitol. Another officer wanted to invade Tabot, the
mountain kingdom on Shou Lung's southwestern border. One man, clearly a
fool in Batu's opinion, even suggested capturing a fleet and sailing against the
islands of Wa.
After listening patiently to each recommendation, the khahan turned to
Batu. "You know this land better than any of us," he said. "Which option do
you recommend?"
Batu did not even have to consider his answer. "None," he said. "You know
less about sailing than Shou do about horsemanship, so I would not
recommend attacking the Wa Islands. In the high mountains of Tabot, horses
would prove more of a hindrance than an advantage, so attacking there would
be bad judgment."
"And what about the Shou capitol?" the khahan asked, studying Batu with a
raised eyebrow.
"You have made a peace agreement with Shou Lung," Batu responded,
meeting Yamun's gaze with an intentionally blank expression.
"As you have said, in war, there are no rules," the khahan countered.
"True," the Shou replied cautiously. "In war, there are no rules. In personal
conduct, however, there are. You have given your word, and I cannot
recommend that you break it."
Batu paused, studying the khahan. The ruler's expression was unreadable,
but he did not doubt the man was seriously considering riding against Shou
Lung once more.
But to his surprise, the Tuigan ruler said, "What you say is wise, Batu. A
man should keep his word." The khahan studied the faces of his officers for a
moment, then returned to the Shou and asked, "So, where do we go?"
"If you cannot go east, north, or south, there is only one direction left," Batu
answered. "West."
18
To the West
As Batu stepped into the khahan's yurt, the Illustrious Emperor of All
Peoples asked, "Where are the kingdoms you promised?"
Accustomed to the khahan's impatience and no longer concerned by it,
Batu did not respond immediately. Instead, he stamped the snow off his boots
and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. After the brilliance of the
snow-covered wasteland outside, the interior of the yurt was as dark as a
bear's den.
It also smelled like one. The air was heavy with the stringent scent of
unwashed bodies, the acrid smell of burning dung, and the putrid sour-milk
stench of kumiss. For over two months now, Batu had been traveling across
the barren horse plains with the Tuigan. He was still astonished by the
incredible filth of the horse nomads. They never cleaned themselves, or even
changed clothes. The khahan himself still wore the same silk kalat in which he
had been dressed when Batu met him. The renegade could not imagine why
the grimy thing had not rotted away.
Batu removed his del, a heavy robe-like coat given to him by the khahan,
and hung it from a hook on a support post. The khahan had installed the hook
so that Batu would have a place to hang his del. The Tuigan required no such
amenities, for they wore their coats inside as well as outside. In this and a
hundred other things, the renegade Shou remained an outsider to the people
of his ancestors.
When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Batu faced his commander and
kneeled, his gaze taking in the near-empty yurt. Besides himself, the ever-
present Kashik guards, and a slave, the only other person in the room was
one of the khahan's wives. Batu did not know which one, for he no longer had
any interest in women, at least in Tuigan women, and paid them no attention.
"I should have listened to Chanar," the khahan said testily, motioning Batu
to rise. "Perhaps you are leading us into an empty wasteland to protect your
home."
An angry knot formed in Batu's chest and he narrowed his eyes at the
khahan. "My home is where I stand," he said sharply, repeating one of the
Tuigan's favorite mottos. "If I am no longer trusted here, I will find a different
place to stand." He stood and reached for his del.
"Leave your coat on the post," the khahan ordered. "Around Chanar and
the others, it is fine to be arrogant. But I am the khahan, and your pride is
nothing to me. If we cannot speak freely between ourselves, our friendship is
worthless."
Batu returned his coat to the hook, unimpressed by the Yamun's profession
of friendship. He and the khahan had developed a certain rapport, but the
renegade would hardly have described it as friendship. He still felt like a visitor
in the Tuigan camp.
The fault was his, he knew. Batu dutifully spent his evenings drinking sour
kumiss with Yamun and the khans, but he made poor company. Though it had
been close to three months since he had learned of his family's fate, he still
had not accepted the loss. He could not shake the feeling that he was just on
campaign, that he would soon return to his home in Chukei to find Wu waiting
and his children an inch taller than when he had last seen them.
That could never happen, of course, but the realization did not change what
his heart felt. On most nights he was so lonely he could only fall asleep by
pretending that his family still lived, or by drinking so much kumiss that the
slaves had to carry him back to his own yurt. It was a terrible circle: the more
he thought of his family, the more he withdrew from his Tuigan companions.
The more he withdrew from them, the more he thought of Wu and Ji and Yo.
The fighting to which Batu had hoped to dedicate himself, and which had
been his reason for joining the Tuigan, had not materialized. Anxious to reach
the kingdoms of the west, the khahan had led his army through the barren
wastes of the horse plains. After passing the smoking peaks that marked the
end of the territory known to the Tuigan, Yamun had turned the responsibility
for guiding the army over to Batu.
Realizing that he had lost himself in his thoughts and was ignoring his
commander, Batu turned his attention to the khahan. "You wished to see
me?"
Yamun motioned to a nearby pillow. "Come and sit with me, or must I wait
until Chanar's return for lively company?"
The Tuigan ruler was trying to use Chanar's rivalry with Batu to draw the
Shou's thoughts away from his family. It was a trick the khahan had tried
many times before. The tactic would never work, for Chanar's rivalry was one-
sided. Batu did not care to play at politics with the lanky general. It was not a
game he had enjoyed in Shou Lung, and he had no intention of concerning
himself with it now.
Without responding to the khahan's barbed question, Batu took his place.
As the renegade sat, the Tuigan ruler observed, "You are not the man I fought
in Shou Lung."
"How do you mean?" Batu asked, adjusting his cushion.
"The man I fought in Shou Lung did not fear death," the khahan replied.
Batu absentmindedly accepted a cup of kumiss from a quiverbearer. "My
contempt for death has not changed," the Shou responded. "I fear nothing."
"I know," the khahan said. "That is why Chanar is leading the scouts and
you are here with me."
Batu scowled, for the khahan had touched upon a sore point. After two
months of crossing the frozen deserts between Shou Lung and their present
location, the Tuigan armies had reached a range of high mountains that
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