The Spirit Banner (23 page)

* * *

I
T TOOK BOTH MEN
a long time to die.
At last there was silence and Annja looked up to find her former enemies impaled by scores of arrows, so many that it was hard to recognize which man was which.
Next to her, Davenport was praying under his breath.
No way was she going out like that. No freakin' way! Think, Annja, think! she told herself.
Her hands were bound in front of her, allowing her to draw her sword, but what good would it do against so many? She'd be cut down by those archers before she took two steps.
Better to die with your sword in hand than as a human pincushion, though.
But she wasn't ready to die, not if she could find a way out of this.
Nothing came to her.
She was still trying to come up with something, anything, when Holuin spoke again.
"Bring the other captives forward."
As the guards closed in toward her, Annja surged to her feet, and stumbled forward, drawing her sword as she did so.
Hope surged. She would get out of this or die trying!
The exertion was too much, though. She was suffering from a concussion, possibly even a skull fracture, and she'd been kneeling in the cold for who knew how long? The strength had slowly leeched from her body, her legs cramping into immobility, and the combination finally took its toll. The sword flashed into being in front of her at the same time her legs decided they no longer wanted to cooperate and down she went.
The impact with the frozen earth knocked the sword from her grasp and it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Hands grabbed her, dragged her unceremoniously to her feet and hustled her toward the other end of the clearing where the bodies of Santiago and Ransom still hung against the trees.
"Help! Somebody help us!" Davenport was yelling, as if there was someone to hear him in the middle of the Mongolian wilderness.
Think, Annja, think!
In an attempt to gain more time, Annja let her whole body go limp. Her guards weren't expecting the sudden increase in weight as she toppled forward into the snow.
They were relaxed as they bent to pick her up, probably believing she had fainted with fear, and that was all the edge she needed.
She waited, knowing timing was the key, and when the one on her left was close enough she reared backward as hard as she could, striking the bridge of his nose with the back of her head. There was an audible crunch as his nose broke and the guard toppled to the side, howling in pain.
Annja barely noticed. She was already moving again, swinging both hands like a club toward the guard on her right. He was staring at his partner in surprise and never saw it coming; he caught the blow right across his temple.
His eyes rolled up in his head and he dropped to the ground like a felled tree.
Dazed and nauseous from the blow to her head, Annja stumbled to her feet, using both hands to draw her sword as she did so.
She had a split second to see the surprised look on Davenport's face as she drew her sword out of thin air and then she was turning around to face her enemies, stumbling a few steps to the side as dizziness threatened to overwhelm her.
There was a loud rustle as the archers fitted their arrows and drew back on their bows.
In that split second, the solution came to her like a bolt of lightning from the eternal blue heaven.
"I claim the Right of Challenge!" she called out, in as loud a voice as she could manage. She staggered again and only the fear that she would be dead before she hit the ground kept her on her feet.
Her shout hadn't sounded very loud to her, and she was getting ready to call out a second time, when she realized the clearing around her had gone eerily silent.
Wearily, she raised her head.
The crowd was staring, but not at her. Following their gaze she saw that the archers were still standing in their staggered line, still facing her with drawn bows, but their leader stood with one clenched fist in the air above his head.
Everyone was watching him expectantly.
He made sure the archers knew they were to hold their fire and then he walked toward her, his boots crunching through the snow.
To Annja, it seemed to take forever for him to reach her.
"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.

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 showed 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.