Jungir Khan said nothing but waved his hand. Servants moved into the square and the tables were pulled back to allow the bodies to be dragged from the hall. Sawdust was spread on the blood.
The feast continued for another hour, but Jungir did not speak again to the ambassador from the land of Kiatze.
Towards midnight the feasters began to drift away. Chien stood and bowed to Jungir. ‘With your leave, my lord?’
The Khan nodded. ‘Good fortune follow you on your journey,’ he said.
‘I am sure that if you will it, then it will be so,’ answered Chien. ‘My thanks to you for the feast. May the Gods bring you all the blessings you deserve.’
With Sukai following, Chien-tsu marched from the hall.
Back in his rooms he turned to Sukai.
‘I apologise,’ he said, ‘for the affront to your dignity. It was unseemly to have agreed to the Khan’s request.’
Sukai bowed low, dipping his head three times. ‘No apology is necessary, lord. I live to serve you.’
Chien entered his rooms to find that Oshi had stripped the Nadir linen from the bed and covered the mattress with sheets of fine silk and a coverlet filled with goose down. The servant himself was asleep at the foot of the bed.
Chien removed his clothes and carefully folded them, placing them on the chair by the window. Then he climbed into bed and lay back, wishing that he could enjoy a hot, scented bath.
Oshi rose from the foot of the bed. ‘Is there anything you require, my lord?’
‘Nothing, thank you.’
Oshi settled down on the floor once more, and Chien stared out of the window at the bright stars. In all probability Mai-syn was dead. He could sense no warmth from her spirit. No more would her laughter be heard under Heaven, no more would her sweet singing grace the night. But he could not be sure and therefore would have to begin, at least, his journey to the south. Yet if she was dead, then once away from the city Chien had no doubt the party would be attacked and slaughtered. Jungir Khan would have no wish for news of his daughter’s death to reach the Emperor. No, Chien’s murder would be put down to robbers or bandits, and thus the flow of costly presents would continue for at least one more year.
There had to be a way to thwart the Khan. Honour demanded it.
For several hours he lay awake. At last a smile touched his face.
And he slept.
*
Despite the closeness of the midwinter solstice the warmth of an early spring was in the air as the questors rode down the long hills into the valley of Kiall’s settlement. The young man found his emotions torn as he gazed down on the wooden buildings and the new stockade. He was home – and yet he was not home. All his dreams of childhood were resting here, the ghosts of his youth still playing in the high woods. He knew every bend and turn of the trails, all the secret places, the fallen trees and the hidden caves. Yet the village was changed. The burned-out buildings were no longer in evidence, and twelve new houses stood on the outskirts. Tanai the baker had been killed in the raid, his house and bakery gutted. Now a new bakery stood on the site, and Kiall felt that someone had reached into his memories with a hot knife, cutting and hacking at images dear to him.
Chareos led the small group down into the settlement and on through the unfinished stockade wall to the main square. People stopped their work to watch the riders and a tall, fat man in a tunic of green wool – a wide leather belt straining to hold his bulging belly – marched out to stand before them with brawny arms folded across his chest.
‘What do you want here?’ he asked, his voice deep, his tone pompous.
Chareos stepped down from the saddle and approached him. ‘We are looking for shelter for the night.’
‘Well, there’s no welcome here for strangers.’
Kiall could stand no more; he lifted his leg over the pommel of his saddle and jumped to the ground. Tm no stranger?’ he stormed. ‘But who, in Bar’s name, are you? I don’t know you.’