by Alex Archer
"What did you say?" he asked patiently in his excellent English.
Annja took a deep breath and then said it again, "I claim the Right of Challenge."
She said it confidently, almost regally, as if knowing he couldn't deny her. She just hoped history had it right, that such a thing had indeed existed under the Khan.
Holuin was silent for a moment, thinking, and then replied in a cold, angry voice, "Only the People of the Felt Walls may claim the Right."
He turned around, preparing to return to his place in the line, but Annja had heard the slight hesitation as he had answered her and wasn't about to let him off that easily.
"You lie," she said, and then repeated it louder so that everyone else could hear.
Apparently a few of the warriors spoke English, for her words sent a ripple through the crowd.
"The Great Law was for all men, not just members of the clan. It applied to Mongols and foreigners alike. Otherwise, it would not have prevailed. No man was above the law and no man was beneath it!" Annja shouted.
"What do you know of Chinggis's laws?" he replied haughtily.
Belatedly, Annja realized that she had trapped herself. If she admitted to leafing through the Great Yasa, then she would effectively be admitting her guilt with regard to several of the charges against her, such as grave robbing and disturbing the dead. But she quickly came to the conclusion that the charges no longer mattered; they were about to execute her, anyway. What did she have to lose?
"I've read the Great Yasa. I know the truth. I demand the Right of Challenge!"
Holuin stared at her silently for a long time. Was that respect she saw in his eyes? A grudging recognition of her bravery? She didn't know, didn't care. Just as long as he granted her request.
The leader turned and spoke to the crowd for a long time in Mongolian. They listened to him respectfully and then began cheering when he finished. Annja had no idea what was said, but the tightness in her chest eased somewhat when she saw the archers lower their bows.
He turned back to face her. "Very well. You shall have your challenge. It will take us an afternoon of hard riding to reach the Wolf's den. There you shall face your opponent. If you win, you and your companion will be set free."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her guards to help her to her feet.
"Are they going to kill us?" Davenport asked, from where he stood several feet away, flanked by his own set of guards.
Annja stared at Holuin's departing back.
"Not just yet," she replied.
But considering what was ahead for her, she wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not.
41
The next several hours seemed to pass slowly, something for which Annja was grateful. She knew that the longer she had to recover, the better off she would be. Her head had started to hurt less, but she knew she was a long way from being healed. At least the dizziness and nausea had subsided. She just hoped she could keep them at bay long enough to defeat whoever it was she was going to have to face in combat when they arrived at the Mongol's permanent camp. If she couldn't, well, she wasn't going to have to worry about a headache anytime after that, that was for sure.
After being returned to their ger and having their hands and feet untied, Davenport demanded an explanation for what had just happened. Annja did her best to help him understand.
"Genghis built his empire not on the basis of bloodlines, as the old clans had done, but on the basis of ability. Those who performed well rose to the top. Those who didn't, regardless of their heritage, fell to the bottom.
"Over time, as his empire grew and he couldn't personally handle every single issue that arose, he began to codify a set of laws that would govern as much of societal conduct as possible. He let regional and clan rulers still govern by local custom only if that custom did not violate his overarching laws, which would become known as the Great Yasa, the Great Law."
"Sort of like the difference between state and federal laws," Davenport remarked.
"Right. But remember, war was a fact of life for the people of the steppes and there were certain customs that reinforced their martial heritage, customs Genghis rightfully knew he couldn't do without. One of the older customs that he kept intact was the right of the accused to challenge his accuser in front of the court."
Davenport nodded. "Just about every civilized culture has discovered that this makes sense. It's why we have both a prosecution and a defense in our courts today."
Annja smiled gently. "Yeah, well, despite all their advances, this particular custom isn't going to win any awards for being at the front of the civil rights movement. When you challenge someone in the Mongol culture, it is a fight to the death. If you win, you get to go free. If you don't…"
Her companion stared at her with horror on his face. "My God, Annja," he said. "What have you done?"
"What I had to do to get us out of this mess," she said.
In hindsight, though, she was starting to have doubts. It had bought them some time, that was for sure, but would it be enough to save them?
Fully healed and with a decent meal in her gut, she was confident she could handle the best the Mongol leader could produce to face her. But she was far from any of those things and that sent more than a few shudders rippling down her spine.
She'd just have to take it a few hours at a time and hope for the best.
After being allowed to rest for a short time, Annja and Davenport were given a hot meal and a change of clothes to keep them warm on the journey deeper into the mountains. The leggings, shirt and jacket Annja was given stank of sweat and unwashed male flesh, but she didn't care. It kept out the cold and would provide some cushioning for her bruised body on the long ride.
The guards came for them shortly after that.
Holuin was waiting just outside the ger. He was mounted on one of the short, stocky horses so common to the Mongolian steppes, and there were two other horses next to him for Annja and Davenport.
"The trail is rough and dangerous at this time of year. You are going to need your hands to navigate the trip. Do I have your word you won't try to run?" he asked.
At first it seemed a strange request, but then Annja remembered that honesty and forthrightness were praised as virtues among the Mongol people. If a Mongol warrior gave his word, he would rather die than break it. Annja had exhibited knowledge of the Great Yasa and as a consequence Holuin was treating her as he would any other member of the clan. If she gave her word and broke it, her life would be immediately forfeit. If she gave her word and Davenport broke it, the same would hold true. It was not a simple request.
Nonetheless, Annja answered for both of them. "You have our word," she said.
* * *
T HEIR JOURNEY TOOK THEM about an hour and ended at the far end of a long series of switchback canyons. A sea of gers greeted them as they rounded the final turn and entered a deep alpine valley complete with its own renewable water source in the form of a magnificent waterfall that spilled into a narrow lake along the valley's southern edge.
The men in their company were greeted warmly by wives and children who came out to meet them and they, in turn, were clearly glad to be home. Annja and Davenport were treated to what seemed to be a never-ending series of curious stares.
"Don't get out much, do they?" Davenport asked, and Annja had to laugh at his attempt at bravado. They'd have enough to be serious about shortly.
Holuin rode back down the line and spoke to their guards for several minutes before turning to them.
"It will be dark soon. I've instructed my men to see to it that you are given shelter for the night and a hot meal," he said, indicating the two warriors who stood nearby. "You will be given the opportunity to train in the morning, if you like. Unless the Wolf says otherwise, the challenge will take place after midday tomorrow."
They were taken to an empty ger and ushered inside. A local woman, probably the wife of one of their guards, brought them food and showe
d them how to use the stove and where to get water. With hand gestures she showed them where the latrine area could be found and then left them alone.
Davenport waited until the woman left and then said, "Okay, what's the plan?"
Annja frowned. "Plan for what?"
"To get out of here, of course."
"The only plan I have is to eat some food and get a good night's sleep."
"What?" Davenport stared at her in disbelief. "You can't be serious. We've got to put our heads together and figure out a way to escape."
Annja dropped down on one of the beds and began to take off her boots. "And go where? Last time I checked, we were surrounded by a couple of hundred Mongols in the middle of heaven knows where. Even if we managed to get out of camp unseen, we'd still be lost on the mountain in the dark with no idea of where we were going. We'd be lucky not to stumble into a crevasse and die."
"But we can't just sit here, Annja!"
She nodded. "You're absolutely right. We won't." She lay back on the bed, her eyes closing. "We'll lie here instead."
And with that, she fell asleep.
* * *
S HE WOKE THE NEXT MORNING to find the same Mongolian woman bustling around their stove preparing breakfast. Annja excused herself to use the latrine, making sure to give Davenport a nudge as she went out.
Thankfully her head had stopped pounding and she was able to move without it feeling as if someone was using a sledgehammer inside her brain. Good thing, too, for unless a miracle occurred she'd be in for the fight of her life later that day.
When she returned, she found Davenport sitting at the small table in the center of the ger being given a language lesson by their host. She pointed at a food product, said the name, then waited until Davenport repeated it back to her. If he didn't get it right, she went through it all again. Kruurshuur were fried little pancakes stuffed with mutton. A dish that was basically chunks of barbecued mutton was called shorlog. There were bowls of noodles and chunks of a soft white cheese known as byaslag. Finally there was the ever-present suutei tsai, milk tea with a pinch of salt. Annja enjoyed listening to Davenport trying to wrap his tongue around the foreign words almost as much as she enjoyed the breakfast dishes themselves.
When they were finished they were taken to a wide area on the north edge of the camp where a group of warriors had gathered to practice their martial skills. By way of hand signals and pantomime, the guards indicated to Annja that she was free to use any of the weapons set out on the nearby tables to practice if she chose to do so. Not wanting to be surprised by any limitations the blow to her head might unexpectedly have left her with, Annja decided to do just that.
She picked up a thick-bladed sword from the nearest table and, heading out to a clear area, began to move through her kata, testing her limits, looking for areas of weakness, things that she couldn't do or should avoid doing if she wanted the fight to go on as long as necessary.
After thirty minutes of hard work, she paused to rest and noticed a commotion going on to one side of the training ground. From where she stood she could see one man being attacked by five, maybe six, others. All of them held wooden practice staffs and, as she watched, the man fended off attack after attack without apparent effort. The only sound was the clack of the staves and the occasional grunt of pain as the man in the center took down his opponents one by one. It was like watching a master at work; first he played with them, to give them a chance to test their own skills, then he showed them what a true warrior could do. It was an astounding example of martial prowess and Annja felt the urge to share her appreciation with the fighter.
As she drew closer, she realized that the man who had defended himself so successfully was none other than Holuin. She shouldn't have been so surprised; who else but the best fighter in the group would be the Wolf's right hand man?
She waited while he spoke to the younger men surrounding him, no doubt offering encouragement and pointers for improving their own skills. As the others drifted off, she moved closer.
"You fought well," she said to him.
He grunted an acknowledgment of her statement but didn't say anything more.
Irritated by his seeming dismissal, Annja opened her mouth to say something about his attitude when a horn sounded over the encampment and echoed eerily off the surrounding cliffs. To Annja, it sounded like the voice of the whippoorwill, mourning its lost love.
But to Holuin, it had an entirely different meaning.
He waited for the sound to die away and then turned to face her.
"Come," he said. "It is time for your challenge."
Davenport, who until now had been standing to one side, avoiding Holuin, shot her an anxious look. She did her best to return a reassuring one. She couldn't blame him for being nervous, but he wasn't the one having to face a fight to the death.
Then again, she didn't have to face the archers if she lost, the way he would.
In her mind, she was getting the better part of the bargain, despite the fact that she'd already be dead.
42
Holuin led them across the camp to where a large circular ring had been laid out on the ground in front of an oversize wooden platform. The sides of the circle were made of piled stone that came up to about midthigh. The center was packed dirt that was frozen rock solid this time of year. Atop the platform stood a large ger fashioned of blue felt; it wasn't quite as big as the one they'd discovered inside the Tomb of the Virgins, but it was close.
Annja guessed that it belonged to the Wolf, the mysterious clan leader they'd been hearing about but had yet to see or meet.
Holuin crossed the circle, climbed the steps to the platform and then disappeared inside the ger, leaving her to wait with Davenport and her two guards at the edge of the circle.
After several long, anxious moments, the horn sounded again. This time it blew three long notes, which was a signal for the clan to gather together. They began to arrive shortly thereafter in twos and threes, finding places along the edges of the circle.
The door on the blue ger opened and Holuin stepped back out. Behind him, Annja caught a glimpse of an older Mongolian man seated in a chair by the doorway, looking out through the thin silk inner door.
The guards indicated that Annja should enter the circle, so she climbed over the wall and walked into the center.
Holuin pinned back the heavy door of the ger, leaving only a thin semitransparent covering over the entrance. When he was finished he came down off the platform and explained the rules to her, of which there were few.
"This is a fight to the death. The winner proves their worth to the clan and walks away. The loser joins his ancestors. Each fighter may use one weapon. As challenger you have first choice, though your opponent may choose the same blade if he desires."
He paused, as if to wait for questions.
"Who am I fighting?" she asked, looking around for her opponent.
Holuin waited until she turned her attention back to him and then grinned. "Me."
It was not the answer Annja had been expecting, nor was it a welcome one. She had seen him take on six opponents earlier as easily as if he'd been facing only one, and she knew she was going to need every ounce of her talent and skill to come out of this alive.
For the first time, she doubted her strategy was a smart one.
Too late now.
A table had been set up to one side of the ring and it held a series of weapons. Annja walked over to inspect them. Holuin kept back a respectful distance, not wanting her to use any of the weapons on him in some misguided attempt to escape probably, but that was fine with her as it gave her the opportunity she needed.
If I'm going to fight, I'm going to do it with my own sword, thank you very much.
Pretending to be examining the various blades, she picked them up and put them down again, piling them up to one side. When the pile was large enough to hide what she intended to do, she reached into it while at the same time summoning her own blade from the otherw
here, hoping the tangled mess would hide the sudden appearance of her sword from their eyes.
When she turned to face the group, no one said anything about it.
She carried Joan's sword, her sword, with her into the center of the circle and waited while Holuin chose his own blade.
He selected a bejeweled weapon with a long narrow blade. It was slightly shorter than her own, but probably lighter, as well, which, when combined with his speed, eliminated any advantage she might have from her longer blade. It was a good choice and Annja's respect for his ability went up a notch.
Holuin took up position in one half of the circle and Annja did the same in the other. From where she stood she could see over Holuin's shoulder and noted the figure standing just inside the entrance of the ger, watching them through the gossamer curtain.