“The slow death,” Temuchin said, staring fixedly at Jason. “Daei left me to fight with the weasel clans. Each day one joint is cut off each limb. He has been here many days. Now, today’s justice.” He raised his hand.
Soldiers held the man although he made no attempt to struggle. Thin strips of leather were sunk deep into the flesh of his wrists and ankles and knotted tight. His right arm was pressed against the ground and one soldier made a swift chop with an ax. The hand jumped ‘off, spurting blood. The men methodically went to the other arm, then the legs.
“He has two more days to go, as you can see,” Temuchin said. “If he is strong enough to live that long, I may be merciful on the third day. I may not be. I have heard of one man who lived a year before reaching his last day.”
“Very interesting,” Jason said. “I have heard of the custom but it slipped my mind.” He had to do something quickly. He could hear the hammer of moropes’ feet outside, and men’s shouts. “Did you hear that? A whistle?”
“Have you gone mad?” Temuchin asked, annoyed. He waved angrily and the now unconscious man was carried out, the dismembered extremities kicked aside.
“It was a whistle,” Jason said, starting toward the entrance. “I must step outside. I will return at once.”
The officers in the tent, no less than Temuchin, were dumbfounded by this. Men did not leave his presence this way.
“Just a moment will do it.”
“Stop!” Temuchin bellowed, but Jason was already at the entrance.
The guard there barred his way, pulling out his sword. Jason gave him the shoulder, sending him spinning, and stepped outside.
The outer guards ignored him, unaware of what was happening inside. Walking casually but swiftly, Jason turned right and had reached the corner of the large camach before his pursuers burst out behind him. There was a roar and the chase was on. Jason turned the corner and raced full tilt along the side.
Unlike the smaller, circular camachs, this one was rectangular, and Jason reached and dived around the next corner before the angry horde could see where he had gone. Shouts and hoarse cries echoed behind as he raced full tilt around the structure. Only when he reached the front again did he slow to a walk as he turned the last corner.
The pursuit was all streaming off in the opposite direction, bellowing distantly like hounds. The two guards who had been at the entrance were gone and all the other nearby ones were looking in the opposite direction. Walking steadily Jason came to the entrance and went inside. Temuchin, who was pacing angrily, was aware that someone had come in.
“Well!” he shouted. “Did you catch, you!” He stepped back and drew his sword with a lightning slash.
“I am your loyal servant, Temuchin,” Jason said flatly, folding his arms and not retreating. “I have come to report rebellion among your tribes.”
Temuchin did not strike, nor did he lower his sword.
“Speak quickly. Your death is at hand.”
“I know you have forbidden private feuds among those who serve you. There are some who would slay my servant because she killed a man who attacked her. I have been near her ever since this happened until today. Therefore I asked a trusted man to watch and to report to me. I heard his whistle, because he dared not enter the camach of Ternuchin, I have just talked to him. Armed men have attacked my camach in my absence and taken my servants. Yet I have heard that there is one law for all who follow Temuchin. I ask you now to declare about this.”
There was the thud of feet behind Jason as his pursuers caught up and stormed through the entrance. They slid to a stop, piling up behind each other as they saw the two men facing each other, Temuchin with his sword still raised.
He glared at Jason, the sword quivering with the tension in his musdes. In the silence of the camach they could clearly hear his teeth grate together as he brought the sword down, point first into the dirt floor.
“Ahankid” he shouted, and the officer ran forward, slapping his chest. “Take four hands of men and go to the tribe of Shanin of the rat dan—”
“I can show you—” Jason interrupted.
Temuchin wheeled on him, thrust his face so close that Jason could feel his breath on his cheek, and said, “Speak once again without my permission and you are dead.”
Jason nodded, nothing more. He knew he had almost overplayed his hand. After a moment, Temuchin turned back to his officer.
“Ride at once to this Shanin and command him to take you to those who have taken the Pyrran servants. Bring all you find there here, as many alive as possible.”
Ahankk saluted as he ran out: obedience counted before courtesy in Temuchin’s horde.
Temuchin paced back and forth in a vile temper, and the officers and men withdrew silently, from the camach or back against its walls. Only Jason stood firm, even when the angry man stopped and shook his large fist just under Jason’s nose.
“Why do I allow you to do this?” he said with cold fury. “Why?”
“May I answer?” Jason asked quietly.
“Speak!” Temuchin roared, hanging over him like a falling mountain.
“I left Temuchin’s presence because it was the only way I coulcr be sure that justice would be done. What enabled me to do this is a fact I have concealed from you.”
Temuchin did not speak, though his eyes blazed with anger.
“Jongleurs know no tribe and wear no totem. This is the way it should be, for they go from tribe to tribe and should bear no allegiance. But I must tell you that I was born in the Pyrran tribe. They made me leave and that is why I became a jongleur.”
Temuchin would not ask the obvious question and Jason did not allow the expectant silence to become too long.
“I had to leave because, this is very hard to say, compared to the other Pyrrans… I was so weak and cowardly.”
Temuchin swayed slightly and his face suffused with blood. He bent and his mouth opened, and he roared with laughter. Still laughing, he went to his throne and dropped into it. None of the watchers knew what to make of this; therefore they were silent. Jason allowed himself the slightest smile but said nothing. Temuchin waved over the servant with a leathern blackjack of achadh, which he drained at a single swallow. The laughing died away to a chuckle, then to silence. He was his cold, controlled self once more.
“I enjoyed that,” he said. “I find very little to laugh at. I think you are intelligent, perhaps too intelligent for your own good, and you may someday have to die for that. Now you will tell me about your Pyrrans.”
“We live in the mountain valleys to the north and rarely go down to the plains.” Jason had been working on this cover story since he had first joined the nomads; now was the time to put it to the Pest. ‘We believe in the nile of might, but also the rule of law. Therefore we seldom leave our valleys and we kill anyone who trespasses. We are the Pyrrans of the eagle totem, which is our strength, so that even one of our women can kill a plains warrior with her hands. We have heard that Temuchin is bringing law to the plains, so I was sent to find out if this were true. If it is true, the Pyrrans will join Temuchin—”
They both looked up at the sudden interruption, Temuchin because there were shouts and commands as a group of inoropes reined up outside the camach, Jason because a weak voice had very clearly said “Jason” inside his head. He could not tell whether it was Meta or Grif.
Ahankk and his warriors came in through the entrance, half carrying, half pushing their prisoners. One wounded man, drenched with blood, and his unharmed companion, Jason recognized as two of the nomads from Shanin’s tribe. Meta and Grif were brought in and dropped onto the ground, bloody, battered and unmoving. Grif opened his one uninjured eye and said “Jason…,” then slumped unconscious again. Jason. started forward, then had enough self-control to halt, clenching his fists until his nails dug deep into his palms.