The Great Khan Ch. 03

He saw movement and drew his bow back to aim, but then cursed as the brown fox he'd spied dashed into a hole before he could take the shot. He looked around in anger, searching for another target. He would not be denied, even if he was surrounded on all sides by horsemen.

A flash of fur and a skittering motion. He twisted and shot before turning about and slowing his horse down as he rode to claim his kill...

***

Khorijin rode her horse hard, her eyes locked on her target. She had been following it, to the exclusion of all other possibilities, for nearly three minutes now. Every time the wily sable tried to evade her, she had keenly anticipated its movement and banked in the direction it was going to head, causing it to panic and change course or keep running straight.

She had flushed the beast out of the tall brush and was forcing it toward flat, arid ground where cover was sparse. There we not many horsemen by, but it still took all her considerable skill to keep her focus and also keep her quarry in sight. Ululating cries all around her made it hard to concentrate, but that was one of the difficulties of the gorugen.

She let out an ear-pircing screech that the sable could hear as it tried to turn left before she was ready to bring about her horse and the animal, frightened by the noise, dashed straight ahead, running faster than ever, desperate to escape. He'd run in a straight line for nearly five seconds when Khorijin brought her bow up, her panting making it difficult to aim, even more than the gallop of her horse.

She steeled herself and took a deep breath, thinking only of her arrow in flight, predicting the sable's movement, waiting for that split instant where all four of her horse's hooves were on the ground.

The wooden and horn bow sang, the arrow streaking forward, even as another missile hissed by her shoulder.

The sable flipped in the air as it was struck and then tumbled to earth, dead before it hit the ground.

Khorijin whooped in triumph, riding up to her prize and dismounting. She was breathing heavily but with great exhilaration as she strode up to the rodent's corpse and knelt to claim it.

"Hold, Tengger woman!"

Her head snapped about and she saw three men approaching on horseback, one of whom still had his bow in his hand. He looked down at her almost disdainfully as he rode up.

"I am Tserleg, of clan Oronar," he said haughtily. "Do not stand between me and my kill."

She turned and looked at him steadily, her hand on her hip, her general body language indicating her skepticism. "I beg to differ, Tserleg, the kill was mine. I've been hounding this animal for many ald now."

"You expect me to believe that you made that kill whereas I, the best hunter in our clan, missed that shot?" he demanded.

"Yes, I do."

"Insolent!" he snarled, pointing at her in fury while his companions drew their swords. "I should kill you for your lies!"

"You're welcome to try, if you feel like playing the fool." Khorijin said quietly, her eyes hardening and her hand coming to rest on her sword. She cursed herself for leaving her bow on her saddle. "But keep in mind that I'm the one who slew Dogar of the Sukh in single combat and I regularly survive sparring matching with both my brothers. This wouldn't end well for you and your girls."

All three men coloured in rage at her taunt.

"Or," she continued, stepping aside and gesturing to the dead sable. "You could come and see for yourself that the arrow is indeed mine. It carries a unique inscription on the shaft to mark it as my own."

The man glared at her for a moment.

"Well, come on," she urged. "Whichever one of us is right, the other has less and less time to recover and find a kill. Are you done hunting either way?"

The man jumped off his pony and brushed past her, while his companions remained mounted, watching quietly. He knelt down next to the sable, turning it over to examine the arrow intently. Seconds later, his head snapped up and he glared at her. Clearly what he had seen was not to his liking.

"Let me guess," Khorijin said, her voice little more than a taunt. "My arrow knocked yours off-target and robbed you of a rightful kill, yes?"

He did not reply but stood up and stamped back to his pony, yelling loudly as he galloped off, followed by his men. Khorijin shook her head, strangely thankful it had not come to violence. She did not want to be involved in the breaking of the gorugen's sanctity.

"Not bad at all," she said to her prize as she held it in place and drew forth her arrow from its chest. "If this doesn't earn me a spot in the battle to come, or a command, nothing will."

***

Toragana had known the thrill of the hunt before, having accompanied her father on several within the boundaries of the Sukh lands. This was her first gorugen, however, and she found it enthralling. Sounded by thundering hooves and the hunting-cries of hundreds of men, just being a part of it was almost too much to imagine. But she steeled herself and pulled her steed about, knowing that she probably lacked the strength and skill to keep up with the press. She would seek her prey in less likely grounds, those they had already passed over.

She had taken one of the Tengger family's ponies, albeit not one of the ones any of the siblings regularly used. She was not skilled enough to keep the horse moving at great speed for extended periods, unable to exhort the beast in the proper way. In time, this skill would come if chance allowed, but for now, she determined to conserve her mount's strength while she looked for a target. Allowing the pony to move at a solid canter, she cast her gaze about the plain around her, remembering her father Delger's words.

"Do not focus so narrowly that you cannot see movement. The hunter sees everything in front of him. Sensing movement is best done by not focusing on one thing or one area. That type of vision serves only once the prey has been spied. More often than not, it is on the periphery of your vision that you will see movement, sense it and react most quickly to it. Look outwards, daughter, if you wish to be any sort of a hunter."

She'd done her best to always follow that advice, though not always successfully. She'd even tried to use it during the battle against the Tengger clan, but that had proven a fatal mistake, since she was already surrounded by the enemy and should have simply moved from one problem or enemy to the next methodically. Boldbator had made her pay for it.

Indeed, she had fatally wounded one man in that bitter fight before she herself was so thoroughly beaten by the Tengger khan, the first and only man she'd ever killed. It was, in her little life, a triumph of sorts, one that no tale would remember, for all it would mention was the girl who led her clan to disaster.

But she would never allow herself to forget it. She could fight, she could kill. And now she was hunting in the gorugen and she would return with her prey. She would not embarrass herself or her husband.

Movement.

She twisted in her saddle and let fly an arrow quickly, but the shot was dismally wide of the target, some sort of fox. She muttered as she brought her horse around, the animal snorted in annoyance as she slowed down, looking around for a target.

She could see none. There had to be something in the area.

Toragana closed her eyes and thought of her lessons, sparse though they may have been. Her father had humoured her and indulged her flights of fancy concerning these hunts, as had Dogar, who had been the one to teach her how to use a bow and a sword. But there was never any particular interest on her father's part in her martial upbringing.

The lessons. What had he said?

The pony was the key to the hunt!

Animals would always be aware of her. They could see her and even if they couldn't they would smell her and conceal themselves beyond discovery. But the pony had to be thundering around, causing noise and general chaos. The animals would panic, their fright heightened by her screeching hunting-cries. Animals that panicked became easy targets.

The sheer mayhem and noise of the gorugen stampede was what flushed the animals out. If she had found it almost overwhelming, how much more so would a simple beast of the steppe?

Her heels jabbed into the pony's flanks and it whinnied and broke into a run. She began yelling, exhorting it to make as much noise as possible. She kept her bow ready and thundered about, seemingly at random, trying to flush out her quarry.

Nothing.

She sighed in exasperation, thinking she must have looked a right fool, guiding her pony about in seemingly random directions and screeching like a lunatic. The urge to quit rose high in her.

"No. You're a Tengger now. You will not quit or surrender ever again. Once was enough. If you fail, then fail having given it your all. Not a single arrow will remain in that quiver before you turn back and the hunt ends."

Having resolved herself, she exhorted the pony again, moving it faster around the field. She whooped and hollered and cried out, determined to find anything that she could shoot.

A blur of movement overhead and she pointed up and shot. But the crane was far too high above her to be threatened by her arrow and came nowhere near striking its target. She yelled in frustration at her lack of judgement, trying hard to stay focused on her task and not berate herself. Her pony whinnied as it felt her legs go lax, no longer directing it while she fought with her emotions.

Then the beast jinked right and she saw a juddering flash of brown, just below eye height. Not even thinking about her actions, she drew back her bow and released the arrow, leading her target which was not more than fifty ald away.

There was an explosion of feathers and Toragana cried out in exaltation as the pheasant tumbled out of the air and bounced along the ground.

***

Boldbator had chosen his lightest and fastest pony for this hunt, knowing that it did not have the greatest endurance of his choices, but he wouldn't need it for very long, either. What mattered was how fleet the steed was. The prey swept into the vast ring offered endless choices and he just needed one. While any good Mongol was eager to show his skill in the gorugen, the Tengger khan felt no particular need to show up thousands of warriors.

His powerful bow was in his hand and he guided his pony exclusively with his knees, using pressure to control its pace and direction. The beast snorted as it galloped now, flecks of foam at the corners of its mouth. It banked left at his command as he saw a flash of movement in a sward of tall grass. The steppe had been surprisingly fertile this year, not only proving a boon to the life-sustaining herds of yaks and the ponies, but also providing ample hiding spots from the beasts he now hunted.

There was no one nearby him currently and he held no doubt he would have his trophy easily in the near future. Just what it was remained to be seen. He did not doubt his skill and subtly allowed it to be known that he'd brought only three arrows. Some would see this as confidence, others arrogance. The latter would be proven wrong when he demonstrated he needed no more.

Fear the loping wolf, they hunt with cold confidence; deer should flee in haste.

While there was some merit in remaining with the larger groups, since they tended to easily flush out prey with their numbers and she noise, he preferred to hunt alone, allowing his predator instincts to guide him. This was his third gorugen and he had always succeeded in this method. He saw no reason to change it now.

The land around him was quiet as he rode, all noise of the Great Hunt having fallen away. He was acutely aware of the wind's song, playing through the tough steppe grasses, imperceptibly whistling over ancient rocks and the silent majesty of the ground below him. Overhead, Great Father Sky was an blue vault that stretched beyond the world, endless and inscrutable.

But for his pony's hooves and his own heart, the world was silent. Chimes of the wind now seemed to tinkle in his consciousness. There was something different about this moment.

He only eventually realized he had stopped. His pony waited patiently below him. Looking around, he recognized everything he could see, but it all seemed different somehow- closer to his being and yet remote, as if seeing it for the first time. Blades of hardy grass lived defiantly. The dust of the earth formed unknown patters as it swirled across the ground. White, weathered rocks, bleached by the sun, yearned to tell the mysteries of what they had witnessed since time began.

This was strange. What were the gods trying to tell him?

He sensed them before he saw them, feeling no fear but maybe a sense of trepidation. Not far away, taking no notice of him, a great red deer walked across the landscape, its nose pressed to the ground as it searched for grass. He could not be sure of its size, whether it was merely a large deer or encompassed the whole horizon. Size seemed to have no meaning.

The chime of the winds and the near silent footfalls of those graceful hooves was all he could hear.

A deeper breathing then, and a somewhat heavier footfall, more assured and dominant, but still aetherial to him. He didn't know if he'd turned his head, because he could see in all directions, seemingly. He was certain he was looking in a different direction that Red Deer had been, but he could still see that mighty spirit.

He now also saw a great, grey-blue wolf lumber by slowly, its amber eyes acute and needing to look nowhere to see everything. A true master of one's domain needed no such thing as mortal sight. The wolf's powerful legs covered vast distances and yet remained in front of Boldbator.

It was then that he understood that he was in the presence of the ancestors of the Mongol peoples.

He bowed his head and closed his eyes, both as an expression of humility and also to truly listen, to see if these divinities said anything to him, if they could even notice him, insect of a mortal that he was. There was no time to consider, this was eternity.

Red Deer stopped grazing and raised its regal head to look at him, observing intently. There was nothing of the prey in its nature, only an inherent calm and acceptance of all things. Every line of its body was perfection beyond mortal understanding. If he were still breathing, Boldbator's breath would have been taken away.

Blue Wolf now gazed upon him too, not eyeing him as prey, but merely as a curiosity, a flashing moment of interest. Those amber eyes saw inside him, through him, understanding everything about him with no discernible effort. It simply was. Both great spirits understood him completely, but maybe in different ways. Without words, they were giving him a greater understanding of himself.

He could see his family- red, angry Kula, a spirit of war and untamed violence; Khorijin, a bright and eager star over his head, calling over for him to notice its glory; Sarantuya, possessed of a cold but undeniable dignity that commanded respect; Turkina, his mother, so like Sarantuya in her regal nature but with a warmth and great cunning; Mai, his beloved concubine, a blossom of steel that would survive any storm; and Toragana, his newest bride, and perhaps his greatest ally and advantage.

Red Deer was looking into his soul, but Blue Wolf now looked beyond and behind him, at some unfathomably distant thing. Without turning around, Boldbator could see through the deity's eyes, knowing that it looked south, beyond the steppe, beyond the rivers and even beyond the Wall, to the ancient and fertile vales that lay beyond. China.

One eye turned inward, the other out.

And then they were gone.

There was a screech from Boldbator's pony and he whirled about and shot an arrow from his bow with blinding speed...

***

The gorugen had ended, with the many clans gathered celebrating one another's achievements. Hunters had brought back foxes, ermines, grouse and cranes. Kula and Khorijin were lauded for their skill with the bow. The khan's younger brother had cleanly killed a muskrat, demonstrating great marksmanship, while Khorijin's sable drew admiration.

Derisive mutterings rippled around the throngs, however, at the sight of Toragana displaying her pheasant. Expressions of disbelief grew loud.

"You would have us believe that this woman, who led her clan to annihilation, in an accomplished hunter?" growled one man, clearly offended by the notion.

"You dispute my kill?" Toragana demanded, her eyes narrowing as she sat astride her horse.

"What skill can you possibly have?" snapped the man, not backing down.

"It is unwise to make such accusations about the Tengger khan's wife." Khorijin said, now standing beside Toragana. "What reason do you have to doubt her, Ondar of the Juyin?"

"Who your brother takes to wife is his own business," Ondar replied. "But there should be no demands made of us to believe that this failure deserves to stand amongst men. She no doubt found the dead bird on the ground and claimed it."

"Then why is it fresh and how did she shoot it under the wing?" Khorijin asked, her voice icy as she held the bird aloft to display the wound. Her sister-wife's arrow had indeed pierced the pheasant between the breast and the wing, skewering it with precision. Ondar flushed and looked away, unable to counter the point. The arrow was clearly the cause of death.

Another horn call caught everyone's attention. The assembled warriors turned to look as a lone horseman approached slowly. Everyone waited quietly while Boldbator rode into the throng, saying nothing. Slung across the back of his mount was an imposing snow leopard, eyes wide and unseeing. An arrow stuck out of its mouth and protruded from the back of its head. Warriors whispered to one another in astonishment as he rode by them.

"Brother," Kula said as he pushed through the waiting men to address his sibling. "Though you are the last back, it is now obvious why. A kill for the ages, I think."

Boldbator did not respond to the statement, but slipped off his pony, slapping it on the rump and sending it trotting away with a snort. He turned and looked at the assembled Mongols, his expression distant. He seemed to be thinking about what to say next.

"Yes, I have the treasure of Targetai, and you all know the purpose of the gorugen," he said rather bluntly. "Your achievements here will be lauded across the steppes. But now is the time to leave if you are not willing to rally to my horsetail banner."

There was silence for several moments but then some groups of families turned and rode away. Most, however, stayed, to hear what he had to say. All eyes were on him, but he felt not their weight. Their scrutiny did not bother him. He would say his piece and then allow the Heavens to work their will.

"I will need commanders, brave and decisive men," he called loudly now. "For too long, the tribes have simply fought one another over petty ancestral disputes. Our forebears drink koumiss together in the halls of the Blue Vault, caring nothing for our attempts to avenge them. I wish to turn our attentions beyond the steppes, to once again show the world why Mongol people are to be feared."

Kula and Khorijin both subtly watched the reactions of those listening, looking for any signs of treachery against their brother at this important but vulnerable moment. He was drawing battle lines and needed to show strength they could not refute. They both stayed close to their bows, ready to shoot anyone who made a move against the khan.