by Alex Archer
Hello, Wolf.
On impulse, she raised her sword and saluted him.
She was just turning her attention back to her opponent when the horn sounded for a third time that afternoon, signaling the start of the fight.
Holuin didn't waste any time; the moment the horn sounded he moved in swiftly, perhaps hoping his larger size and years of experience would allow him to end things sooner rather than later.
Annja, however, wouldn't be so cooperative.
As he swung at her midsection, she dropped the point of her sword and met Holuin's blade with the edge of her own, channeling the energy of her attacker's strike away from her and toward the ground instead. She twisted and brought her own weapon up in a semicircular motion that sent it swinging back toward Holuin's neck, hoping for a lucky strike to end it all before it had barely begun.
But her opponent was too good to be taken out that quickly and he easily blocked her strike, in turn.
He went low suddenly, his blade flashing out in a strike intended to cut her off at the knees, but Annja easily leaped over the blade, slashing with a strike of her own even before her feet were back on the ground.
Houlin was forced to step back, out of the reach of her blade, in order to avoid it but came back at her quickly in a flurry of blows, trying to overwhelm her with his strength and brutality.
Annja, however, had been in more than her fair share of sword fights lately and she recognized what he was trying to do. She gave ground before him, letting him think he was driving her backward, and then, when he was committed to his next blow, she sidestepped suddenly, letting his momentum carry him past her. She struck out with her right foot in a near-perfectly executed side kick, catching him in the small of the back and sending him stumbling forward.
As she moved to take advantage of her opportunity, he turned his stumble into a shoulder roll, twisting around as he went so that he came back up on his feet to meet her attack without looking the worse for wear.
This was not going to be an easy fight, Annja thought.
The strikingly similar look he gave her let her know that he was thinking the very same thing.
So be it.
Back and forth they went, blow after blow, twisting and turning, moving about inside the confines of the circle, each one striving to gain the upper hand and deliver the winning blow.
Holuin drew first blood, catching Annja with the tip of his sword as she spun away from him and carving a thin line across her left hip.
The crowd around them cheered to see their champion wound his opponent.
It wasn't long before she returned the favor, however, catching him with a slashing blow that cut through the meat of his shoulder, and they cheered just as loudly for her.
Apparently, all the spectators wanted was a good fight.
Houlin and she were well matched. Every time she thought she'd found a chink in his armor, he managed to get away. Every time he thought he was about to deliver a killing strike, she was no longer where he expected her to be. It went around and around like that for some time.
Annja knew a longer conquest would favor her opponent. She could feel herself getting tired already, her muscles not responding as quickly to the commands her brain was giving them as they had at the start of the battle. Despite the difference in their ages, he fought and trained in this weather and altitude every single day, which gave him a distinct advantage. If it came down to a battle of sheer stamina, he would win. Annja had no doubt about that.
She, of course, had to do something to prevent that from happening.
Her life, and Davenport's, depended on it.
She began to favor her left side, keeping it back slightly and being just a hair slower when turning in that direction. She knew he would see: what she wanted him to see; a tired opponent with an injury she was trying to favor.
Most fighters would shield that region, trying to protect it. The savvy fighter knew that was exactly the wrong strategy to use, however, as it telegraphed your problem to your opponent and left you vulnerable in other areas as you devoted all your energy to defending your injury.
Annja hoped Holuin's ego would get the better of him, that he would think of her as inexperienced and take the bait.
Thankfully, he did.
He came in with determination, trying to make her fall back on her injured limb, probably hoping she would stumble and drop to the ground if he pressured her hard enough.
Their blades flashed in the sun and rang against each other with every blow.
Annja's world narrowed down to just her and her opponent. No one else mattered.
She bided her time, waiting for just the right moment, all the while allowing Holuin to force her backward, letting him think she was growing even more tired and weak.
Then, when the moment was right, she stumbled, making it look as if her leg had just failed her.
As expected, Holuin came in with a horizontal strike designed to slice her throat wide open, or force her to put weight on her injured leg in the hope that she would fall over backward when it failed to support her.
Annja leaned back at the waist, letting Holuin's blade pass by her face before meeting it one-handed with her own, forcing it farther forward and down, preventing him from doing a quick reversal. At the same time she pushed off her "bad" leg, using it to propel her forward with much more force than Holuin expected.
She had a moment to catch the surprise on his face as he realized she'd suckered him and then her left elbow was coming around with all of her body weight behind it. She struck him in the head, felt the shock of the blow reverberate back up her arm, knew even before he began to stumble backward that it had been a good, clean strike.
But Annja wasn't done yet.
She kept moving, left foot planted hard against the dirt, using the momentum of her strike to whip her body around in a full circle that brought her right leg up and over in a vicious strike that connected with her opponent's exposed throat.
Holuin's sword went flying as he was flung to the ground by the force of the blow.
Annja was on him in a second, the point of her sword held against the tender flesh of his throat.
Point. Set. Match.
He looked up at her without fear.
"Go ahead," he said calmly, through his bruised and battered throat. "You have no choice. You must end it. The law of the Challenge will not let them release you while we both still live."
For just a moment, she was tempted. The anger and frustration she felt over all that had happened since she'd left the dig in Mexico needed an outlet and, just seconds before, this man had been doing his best to try and kill her. Now he lay beneath her blade, unarmed and helpless. It would be so easy, too; just a few extra ounces of pressure against the hilt and that would be that.
She raised her gaze and looked out over the crowd.
They were completely silent, watching her, waiting to see what she would do. Even Davenport was spellbound. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting, wondering, watching.
In the end, though, she had no choice but to disappoint them. Killing a man who is trying to kill you is one thing. Killing a man who was at your mercy was another. It wasn't right and her conscience wouldn't let her do it.
She pulled her sword away from his throat and stepped away.
"No," she said. "There's been enough killing."
The crowd erupted, shouting and yelling, though she had no idea what they were saying. Holuin hadn't moved. He stayed flat on the ground, watching her with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe he was still alive.
Annja turned to face the crowd. "I will not kill him," she yelled in English, then followed it with one of the few Mongolian words she knew. "Ugui," she said. "No."
She turned around and started walking toward Davenport. If they wanted to kill her they would. There wasn't anything she could do about it. But she wouldn't be a party to any more killing.
She was halfway across the circle, suddenly
exhausted now that all the adrenaline had left her system, and she was doing all she could to stay on her feet, when Davenport's eyes popped open wide and he shouted at her.
"Look out!"
Annja whirled around, her sword coming back up, knowing she was already too late.
She found her opponent just a few feet away, his weapon already raised over his head in preparation for the downward strike, his muscles tensing as he brought his arms forward.
His blade fell toward her face as her own swung upward.
From the look in his eyes and the smile of triumph on his face she knew she wasn't going to be in time.
"Ugui!"
The shout was loud, jarring, and with the unmistakable force of command.
Holuin froze in midmotion, his muscles straining at the force needed to stop his killing blow.
Annja gazed at him in stunned disbelief, amazed that she wasn't already dead as her own sword swept harmlessly through the space between them.
A long stream of angry Mongolian filled the air. It was coming from the old but fit-looking man who now stood in front of the entrance to the blue ger, the same one she had seen looking out earlier during the challenge.
Holuin's response was immediate. He put his weapon down and bowed to her. He held that position, his neck exposed to her blade.
Confused, she looked over at the Wolf, wondering just what on earth was going on.
The leader of the Mongols drew a finger across his throat.
That was one symbol that didn't need interpretation; he was offering her Holuin's life for his attempt at striking her when she had already won the duel.
Annja kept her sword where it was and shook her head.
The Wolf gestured at her again, this time with more emphasis, as if he thought she hadn't understood.
Again, she shook her head. To show she knew what he was telling her, she jabbed her sword into the ground and then stepped forward. With a hand on Holuin's shoulder, she drew him upright.
For just a moment she could see the cold sense of relief in Holuin's eyes and then the mask he typically wore fell back over his emotions, hiding his true feelings once more.
Again, the Wolf stared at her. Annja decided the Mongol leader was well named—she felt like a rabbit caught in the stare of a predator determined to make her its dinner.
Much to her surprise, the Wolf blinked first, turning away and shouting something over his shoulder as he reentered his ger.
"He wants you to join him."
Annja stared at Holuin, incredulous. "You can't be serious?"
For some reason, the defeated Mongol found that amusing. Through his laughter, he assured her that he had never been more serious.
The Wolf wanted her company. Now.
Holuin had just been ordered to see to it that she joined the Wolf in his tent.
"What about my companion?" she asked, casting a fearful look at Davenport who stood still flanked by several guards.
"You have my word he will not be injured."
Oddly enough, Annja trusted him, despite his having just tried to kill her.
Annja reclaimed her sword and handed it to Holuin. She knew he would never allow her to take it into the tent with her. Besides, it wouldn't help her in any way once she was inside. If any harm befell their leader, the Mongols would never let her leave. Nor could she just make the weapon vanish in front of everyone without being branded a witch or worse. So she handed it over without concern, knowing she could make it vanish back into the otherwhere at any time.
So with what could only be described as a sense of utter surrealism, Annja crossed to the base of the platform with Holuin at her side and then climbed the steps.
At the top of the platform she cast one last glance at Davenport, gave him a shrug and then stepped forward into the Wolf's den.
43
Annja cautiously entered the ger, remembering to step across the threshold with her right foot first as was the custom, not wanting to insult the Wolf before she knew what he wanted.
What she saw took her breath away.
The interior was richly decorated with all types of artifacts—from Chinese teak cabinets to Ming vases, from a complete suit of Japanese armor to what looked to be the hood ornament of a Mercedes hanging on the wall in a glass case. There was a Greek statue of Aphrodite standing in front of a Monet painting hanging on the wall. A ship's astrolabe sat next to an ancient text that she could see was written in Latin and included hand-drawn images in the margins. The variety in the objects themselves and the places they came from was astounding and she had a hard time taking it all in on first glance. She was reminded of how both Garin and Roux collected objects in a similar fashion. What was it about such things that made men hoard them so?
A light, crisp scent filled the air, though she couldn't find the incense burner amid all the other items that occupied every square inch of display space in the ger.
The man who had invited her to join him stood in the middle of the ger, on the far side of the little table that formed the traditional eating area.
"Sain Bainu uu," he said to her. "Minii nerig Temujin."
She shook her head. She'd only understood one word.
Temujin.
Genghis Khan's birth name.
Not all that surprising, she reasoned. Who better to name a male child after than the man who had put their culture on the map?
Aloud she said, "I'm sorry. I don't speak Mongolian." She said it in English, without much hope that he would understand her.
Much to her surprise, he replied in kind.
"Well, then, we will talk in the language of your fathers instead of mine. Please, sit." He indicated the pile of cushions arranged on the opposite side of the table from where he stood.
Seeing no reason why she shouldn't, Annja did.
Once she was seated, he followed suit.
They studied each other for a few minutes, neither of them saying anything.
He was one of those people whose age she had a hard time determining; he could have been forty just as easily as seventy. He looked fit and healthy, though his skin had that leathery look common to those who spend so much time in the wind and sun. His face was creased with age lines but there was a light in his eyes that suggested a personality that had yet to be weighted down by the demands of the world. His hair had probably once been dark, but now it was gray-white and worn long, as was the thin mustache that drooped down either side of his lips.
Yet he felt far older than he looked. That was the only way Annja could describe it to herself. He had an air of age about him, a sense that he had seen it all and heard it all, that he had been around since the world was young. She felt the way she had on her first dig, when ruins that hadn't seen the light of day for thousands of years had been unearthed. Just being in the same room with him made her feel that same air of wonder and awe.
It was a strange reaction to have to an individual and it made her uncomfortable.
She kept looking at him, trying to put her finger on what caused her to feel that way but with no luck.
He watched her watching him and smiled in response. She was reminded of a hawk, the keen eyes missing nothing.
"Would you like some tea?" he asked.
"No, thank you."
"Perhaps some airag instead?"
She'd heard of the drink made from fermented camel's milk and decided that having anything alcoholic at this point was not a good idea. Politely, she declined, but did accept a glass of water.
"You fought well. Like a true Mongol. Your clan must value you highly."
For a moment the comment stung. Having been raised in a Catholic orphanage in New Orleans, Annja didn't have a clan to be proud of her. The Wolf had no way of knowing that, however, and so she knew it was not meant as an insult.
"Thank you," she said.
He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then smiled at her. "Tell me. Do you know how the camel lost his tail and his antlers?"
&nb
sp; The question caught her off guard. She'd been expecting questions about why she was here or what her expedition had hoped to find, and instead she's asked about a camel's antlers?
"Camels don't have antlers," she said, before her brain caught up with her mouth.
"Not after losing them, they don't. But do you know how they lost them?"
Annja shook her head.
"It's quite an interesting tale. You see, long ago the camel had a magnificent pair of antlers, as well as a lush, gorgeous tail. The camel was known as a generous animal and sometimes others took advantage of him."