by Barry Sadler
The Mongols had little time for courtly ceremonies and kept things as basic as possible. The furnishings were spare but rich. Now, when Ghengiz had the wealth of a dozen nations to call his own, he still dressed much the same as his guards. Plainly but rich, nothing but the best, as always.
His surcoat was of silk of Chin, embroidered with designs of gold dragons and lions rampant upon a field of blue. Beneath this, he wore a simple wool tunic of pure white, tucked into trousers that had seen better days. Casca smiled as he saw the knee of one had a patch on it. But they were comfortable. These and red boots of the finest leather of Samarkand and the master was as he always was.
He was not interested in the trappings of wealth for himself. Only power and the influence that wealth could give him was of any import. His lowest house guard normally wore more costly robes than he, except on the occasions of state when the master received the kings and nobles of other nations.
He was alone. A bared yatagah and curved, laminated Tatar bow lay close at hand. Other than those two weapons, he was unprotected. But Ghengiz had been a warrior before he was the master. The sword near his hand would still cut deep and certain.
Lowering his head a fraction to acknowledge the entrance of Casca and Qubulai, with a slight movement of his fingers he signaled for Qubulai to leave them alone.
Qubulai would now send messengers to the other khans and sons of Ghengiz that they would be ready when he finished with the Old One. The great khan bid Casca to sit, motioning him close. His voice was as dry as sun-whipped salt grass, but behind the dryness there was a touch of humor. Casca set aside his sword to be more comfortable and sat cross-legged by Ghengiz Khan.
The baragah was lit on by the flickering flames of lamps fueled by yak butter. He could have had perfumed oils from Persia, but Ghengiz liked the smell. The aroma of rancid yak butter always reminded him of his youth and the days of poverty. It was good to keep those things that kept life in perspective close to hand in case one forgot his reality and became lost, or drugged by riches.
Ghengiz, half closing his pale eyes as though a dream had fleetingly washed over him, departed to ride the evening winds. "We march again in the morning." He opened his eyes to lock them on the gray-blue ones of his guest, friend, and mentor.
Casca nodded his head wearily. "Yes, I know. This time to the city of Otrar and the lands of Sultan Muhammad."
The Ghengiz nodded his head slowly up and down. A smile touched the corner of his thin lips, set in a face blown into leather by the winds of the desert and mountains. "Yes, Old Young One, to Otrar and beyond. You have always been able to read my plans in advance, ofttimes even before I knew of them myself." He poured cha from a battered brass pot, dropping a lump of the rancid yak butter into the steaming brew.
"Yes, but then you should be able to, for it was you who set me upon my path. You were my first friend. Perhaps even now you are my only true friend. Oh, to be certain, I have those who would gladly die at my command to honor me. But that is not a friend. And I am not certain that you would die for me, or even that you could. You and I are what destiny has made of us."
He passed the thin, lacquered cup held between the fingertips of both hands to his guest, as a sign of honor. Casca bowed his head, accepting the brew. The Master of the World sipped with relish at the cha, smacking his lips in appreciation over its taste. Casca did likewise, though in truth he could hardly stand the taste of the scummy-looking brew. He waited for Ghengiz to continue.
Setting the cup aside, Ghengiz leaned closer to him, as if he did not wish the winds outside his baragah to hear his words. "I fear that you will not be long with me, my friend. There is something about you that tells me that you are going to leave my side very soon. Is this true?"
The words were spoken but not as threats, for Ghengiz knew this was perhaps the only man he had ever met he could not, and truly would not, threaten. The words were said only as a matter of concern.
Casca leaned forward, rocking on his haunches. "Yes, I, too, have felt that it is time for me to go on. I have been with you these many years, Temujin, and it is best if I continue my travels, for I weary of the slaughter. It serves me not,"
The Master of the World smiled gently at Casca's use of his boyhood name. Temujin the ironworker – for when he had made blades and stirrups at the forge of his uncle. A childhood name. Now he wore the one which, in truth, Casca, not Teb-Tengri, had given him the right to bear. Ghengiz Khan, Oceanic Khan, Universal Khan, Khan of all Khans, the Master.
Ghengiz sipped at his cup, continuing with, "That is what I thought. The qams have read this to me from the signs in the heavens. You will go, but it may be that we shall meet again. That was not clear. For the sake of our long friendship, may I ask of you one more thing, Casca-bahadur?"
Grinning, Casca responded, "You may always ask, my lord."
Ghengiz grinned as well, for he had never been able to give Casca an order, except those that he knew he would obey. "Will you stay at my side in the battle against Sultan Muhammad? It is not a great thing, but I would like for us to campaign together one last time before you depart from my eyes. Also, I have learned that the biruni, auxiliary arm of the sultan, is commanded by one who calls him Kok Khan. Kok Khan is Jemuga. Perhaps this time we can end the game once and for all."
Slowly Casca shook his head from side to side. "No, I think it is best if I leave this night. I have no desire to see more dead people or burned cities. And when you kill Jemuga, what will you do? You wanted him the way most men would lust after gold or women. Once he is gone, you will have lost much of your reasons to continue.
"Your trail is firm. Your brothers and sons are loyal and capable. You don't truly need me anymore. You have gone far beyond what I was able to teach you. Now you are the master and I the student. But most of all, Temujin, you know that the killing is not to my liking, even when necessary."
Nodding his head very slowly, Ghengiz, picked his words carefully. "Yes, I know. But we are a barbaric people, a hard people who have lived like animals for centuries. To change will take time, more time than I will have under these skies. But my sons, and their sons, will continue the work we have begun.
"For remember, it was you who taught me the conduct of war, the tactics and strategies. I have only adapted them to suit my people. And we have one thing now that was not there before. We have the book of laws. The Yasa.
"As you say, there has been much killing but that, too, is part of us. I do not deny that sometimes in moments of pique I have lost my temper and acted overly harsh to some. But then, I am only an ignorant and savage Mongol, am I not?"
Casca thought that perhaps Ghengiz had taken his teaching to the extreme. But the Mongol khan was a man of honor who respected loyalty and courage above all else. He had sometimes pardoned and ennobled those who had fought against him with honor. For he believed that one who has resisted you with courage and not broken his vows, then comes to you honestly, has greater value than those born to you who have no honor.
And he did reward and promote equally among the subject peoples. Only ability was the criteria. Tatar, Persian, or Black Khitan – all could achieve wealth and power. Christians, Moslems – or idolaters, as they called followers of Buddha. Serve him well and prosper. Resist and perish.
They spent a few more minutes together. Then, with a sigh of reluctance, Ghengiz asked Casca to excuse him, for he had to meet with his commanders and prepare for the morrow. "As you have chosen not to go with us, there is no need for you to tire yourself with this meeting."
He rose, escorting Casca to the entrance of the tent. "Leave now, Casca-bahadur. But remember this: you have been my true friend these many years. All that I have achieved and won upon the path of my destiny has come from your words and, I think, perhaps even love. If ever there is anything that you wish or need while in the domains of the Mongol, it shall be yours.
"You know that all I have is yours. Even before the seed of my own loins, my own sons. I would make you a king
of any land you wished. Gold and slaves, power and glory can all be yours if you will but nod your head, not as a subject but as a friend. No more than that. Anything you want you have but to ask.
"That, too, is my word and my law. Before this night is done, a yarligh with the al-tamgha, the vermilion seal of my house, shall be sent to all corners of the empire carrying that message. None in my lands may do you ill, Old Young One."
Casca bowed his head at his friend's words, then for the first time in private, he performed a kowtow. Not as an act of subservience but as one of respect, for he knew that Ghengiz was greater than he could ever be, even with all his years behind him. He backed his way out of the presence of the master and into the dark.
Qubulai was waiting with those Ghengiz had summoned to him. For a second he thought he saw a strange thing on the scarred face of the Old One – a drip of crystal at the corner of one eye. But no! That could not be. Warriors do not cry.
Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 25 Halls of Montezuma
Casca returns to the United States to escape from British justice, and becomes involved in saving a family of Irish immigrants from the clutches of an evil brothel owner. Hunted by the Brotherhood as well as the criminal’s associates, Casca opts for the safety of the American army just as war with Mexico breaks out. And Case Lonnergan – as Casca calls himself – soon finds he is fighting in a war where every attack is directed against well defended positions. Teaming up with a unit of Marines, Case becomes part of the birth of a legend, and in front of the forbidding Chapultepec Castle he leads them in a suicidal head-on assault!
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