The Mongoliad: Book Three Read online

  He had been planning on using the weapon on the man anyway.

  He examined the string hanging from its back, and determined that it was a fuse. He retrieved the discarded lantern, checked on the tiny stub of a candle that provided its illumination, and looked about for a suitable target.

  The first alchemist was still alive. He was hunched over on his knees, choking and struggling to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. Munokhoi held the candle up to the end of the fuse until the tiny string caught fire. Sparking and hissing, the fuse crinkled, rolling itself up into the back of the tube.

  Munokhoi pointed the tube at the choking man, and whistled lightly, catching his attention. The alchemist looked up, startled by the noise, and his eyes focused on the mouth of the tube. He dropped his hands from his bloody throat, and started to curse Munokhoi. One of those long Chinese curses that went on forever.

  Fortunately, the man’s last breath was cut short by the detonation of the weapon. It jerked in Munokhoi’s hands, belching a tongue of blue flame with a mighty roar, and the alchemist was smashed against the ground as if he had been swatted by the hand of a giant. The air was filled with the reeking stench of the fire powder, and the tube was so hot in his hands that he almost dropped it.

  The alchemist’s body looked as if it had been set upon by wolves, hungry beasts that had stolen its head and part of an arm, shredding the rest to a mess of bloody strips.

  Cackling with delight, Munokhoi set the tube down on the ground and began to investigate the pots and leather bags.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Orphan’s Tale

  Ocyrhoe thought the watchful eyes of the Holy Roman Empire would be closer to the walls of Rome. As they trudged away from the city, she tried to explain to Ferenc what she expected to find. Those leaving Rome would move freely, most likely, and it would only be city-bound travelers who would attract attention. The soldiers of the Holy Roman Empire had been charged with detaining men of the cloth—ecclesiastical officials, presumably Cardinals—who were traveling to Rome in order to participate in the Papal conclave. After a lengthy session of Rankalba she thought he understood the what of the empire’s obstruction, though she was not sure he understood the why.

  In her imagination, the road would be blocked by a gate, much like the gates in the Aurelian Wall, and soldiers of the empire would be checking all pilgrims bound for Rome, seeking some sign or symbol of their Papal importance. Such was the imagination of a city-bound child; she realized her ignorance as soon as they were outside the city, for the roads were lightly traveled and surrounded by open countryside.

  She understood Ferenc’s confusion as she realized the approach to Rome was not as well guarded as she had anticipated. Ferenc had tried to tell her something about how the priest’s vision had protected them on their approach to the city, but he wasn’t fluent enough with Rankalba—the secret language of knots and finger touching—to express himself plainly. And was such protection even necessary? she wondered.

  He was frustrated with their lack of a truly common language, as was she, and she tried to reassure him. I will teach you more, she told him. He had shrugged—When?—and since she had no answer, they let their hands drop. They walked in silence, and her fingers ached to reach out and try to soothe him.

  It took them until the early afternoon to find men who wore the colors of the Holy Roman Empire. A brace of them stood at either side of the road, watching for Rome-bound traffic, and they were able to get within shouting distance before the men noticed their approach. Ocyrhoe squeezed Ferenc’s arm one last time, and then presented herself to the ruddy-faced, pale-haired soldier who seemed to be in charge of the group. She put her curled fist over her heart and bowed, wishing she knew the precise ritual address for seeking audience. Cardinal Somercotes had known more about Binder etiquette than she did...

  The soldier’s disdainful expression softened when she began to speak in slow, clear Italian. “I am bound with a message to the Emperor,” she began. “Robert of Somercotes, Cardinal of the Church, sends greetings and words.” Beyond that, she had no idea what to do next.

  Neither did the soldier. He blinked at her a few times. “Do you want money?” he finally asked. His accent was thick, and Ocyrhoe thought for a moment that he was speaking Latin, but then she understood the emphasis he was putting on his vowels and realized he was speaking a dialect so estranged from her Roman Italian that it was almost a different language.

  Despite her best effort, she could not hide her righteous indignation at being mistaken for a wandering orphan, and her expression was so intense that the ruddy-faced soldier jerked back in surprise.

  “I do not want money,” she retorted. “I am bound with a message to the Emperor. A Cardinal has sent me. I must speak with your officer. Now.”

  The other men clustered around them, and the ruddy-faced soldier, not quite sure what to do with this strange and intense girl, glanced back and forth between Ocyrhoe and Ferenc. Ferenc stared back at him for a moment, then smiled wanly. Ocyrhoe checked the urge to stamp on his foot; he was not helping her credibility.

  Resolute in her need, she remained standing in front of the soldier, staring at him, until he turned to one of the other soldiers and sent him running to fetch someone who would know what to do. Ocyrhoe knew she did not have exactly the right salute, or exactly the right greeting, but she was sure the words bound and message—especially in conjunction with the words Emperor and Cardinal—would catch someone’s attention.

  It was a hot, sticky afternoon, and she and Ferenc wandered over to the shade of a nearby tree. Several of the other soldiers were amused by her indifference to them, and they took it upon themselves to join her and Ferenc in the shade. They remained standing, while she and Ferenc sat, maintaining the illusion that the pair were under guard.

  Ocyrhoe didn’t much care what they thought, as long as they left her alone. She found a comfortable crook in the roots of the tree. Someone would come from the soldiers’ camp soon enough. And as Ferenc and the soldiers watched over her, she fell into a light slumber. What else could she do at this point?

  The sun had softened, and the shade of the tree was much longer when she woke. There were more people gathered around the tree—additional soldiers and a young man no older than Ferenc who, in much better Italian, asked them to follow him. Accompanied by a group of soldiers, she and Ferenc let themselves be led across the sparse countryside to a covert village of canvas tents that were hidden behind a narrow wood of dense trees.

  A full-fledged Binder would not stare. A full-fledged Binder would not even appear to be interested in what was around her, Ocyrhoe told herself, so focused would she be on completing her task. But the tent village of the Holy Roman Empire was the strangest environment she had ever seen.

  She saw almost no women; most of the men and boys were coiffed, shod, and dressed alike; and although the village appeared to be a mobile community—with livestock, ovens, latrines, even a chapel—the sounds and sights were all wrong: there were no cries of street peddlers, no shouting children, no banners advertising wares, no open stalls of a marketplace. It was a stolid, unfriendly place.

  But she did not ogle. And neither, she was pleased to see, did Ferenc. The moment they’d gotten out of the city, he had relaxed in a way she had not seen before, and even now, he seemed far more at home than she felt.

  The two youths to whom they had been entrusted—one before them, one behind—marched them between two rows of low-slung sleeping tents, and then turned left directly into a much larger, higher tent. Ocyrhoe squinted in the diminished light.

  Despite the heat, the walls of the tent were pegged down, preventing any breeze from cooling the stuffy air within. There were three-legged stools scattered at one end of the enclosed space, around a low table with an unlit lamp on it. The soldier behind them tied back the tent flap, which let in sunlight but very little air. He saluted his fellow soldier and then departed.

  Ocyrhoe and Ferenc exchanged l
ooks. Ferenc, probably intending to show her that he trusted her, smiled again and shrugged. She wished he would not do that; it made him look doltish in front of the soldiers.

  His smile faded suddenly and his head moved slightly toward the open tent flap. He held up three fingers, and then he imitated the stance of the young man guarding them. Reflexively, Ocyrhoe did likewise.

  A moment later, three silhouettes appeared at the tent flap. Ocyrhoe tried to look at them with respectful casual confidence—but then she saw one of them was a slender dark-haired woman with familiar knots tied into one lock of her hair. Ocyrhoe felt her eyes open wide and her jaw drop, despite herself. Stop that, she ordered her facial muscles, refusing to let them break out into a smile of relief.

  A Binder.

  The woman was older than any of the kin-sisters Ocyrhoe knew, maybe older, even, than Auntie. She was with two men—the second youth who had led them here, and a man who must be the commander of the soldiers’ unit. The commander’s face looked chiseled out of marble; his eyes were so pale Ocyrhoe wondered how he could bear the Roman sunlight. He stared at her unblinkingly. “Yes?” he said, expectantly.

  The woman made a subtle noise, which immediately commanded his attention. She had a stateliness to her that suggested a noble upbringing, but she was dressed almost like a servant, and she was barefoot. “We understand you are bound to us with a message,” she said, directing the words at the man as much as to Ocyrhoe. She spoke Italian with a lilting accent, as if her own tongue was much more fluid. She looked concerned, though, and almost as humorless as the commander.

  Of course: most people in power, or who served power, knew about the Binders, but few ever had occasion to interact with them directly; they were not common messengers for hire. It made sense that the Emperor would have Binders in his service, but of course not all of his military commanders would know what to do with them.

  “We understand... you are bound to us with a message,” she repeated, more forcefully.

  Ocyrhoe gaped at the woman, then not knowing what else to do, put her fist over her heart. “I am bound to you with a message,” she echoed hurriedly. “From Robert of Somercotes, Cardinal of the Church, to His Imperial Majesty Frederick.”

  The Binder gave her a strange, perhaps even an accusing look, and Ocyrhoe felt her face flushing. “I am the only sister left in the city,” she added. “This message would have come sooner, and... more correctly, if there were anyone else... more experienced... to bring it.”

  The woman’s dark eyes opened wide, briefly, like a cat just before it pounces. Then they narrowed, and the woman turned with barely hidden disdain to the commander, then back to Ocyrhoe. Her expression softened. “Our mother receives one of her children most gladly. You may give your message to this man, and he will carry it to its final destination. Then, relieved of your burden, you and I may talk.”

  Ocyrhoe felt her entire body sag with relief. “Thank you,” she said, her throat tight.

  She turned her attention back to the man. The words tumbled out: “Robert of Somercotes, Catholic Cardinal, greets His Imperial Majesty Frederick and summons him or his men to the Septizodium within the walls of Rome, where all of the Cardinals are being held against their will by Senator Orsini until they have selected the new Pope. I will lead your men to the Septizodium.”

  She glanced nervously at the woman. There was a pause.

  The woman closed her right hand and moved it slightly toward her heart. Ocyrhoe picked up on the hint and slammed her fist against her sternum, eyes still on the Binder.

  “Thus delivered of your message, you are as the fox, unbound and unencumbered,” the woman said. Ocyrhoe sucked in a breath and almost recited the confirming phrase after her, then realized this would only make her look more foolish. Instead she nodded, once.

  During this exchange, the commander and both soldiers had exchanged concerned looks, and now the commander spoke rapidly to the woman in that same dialect spoken by the ruddy-faced soldier. She could not quite follow what was being said, and she could sense Ferenc’s frustration as well.

  The woman replied briefly, and Ocyrhoe heard the Cardinal’s name and a reference to the Emperor; the commander responded with a brusque nod and left, the two young guards following him.

  Left alone with the newcomers, the Binder cast a questioning eye at Ferenc—who returned her look just as quizzically as before.

  “He is with me,” Ocyrhoe said quickly. “He knows Rankalba.”

  The woman blinked and pursed her lips. “You have taught him?” she demanded accusingly.

  “No,” Ocyrhoe said quickly. She tried to think how best to explain their strange fellowship, but the Binder had already turned her attention to Ferenc. She moved to him swiftly, took his arm, and signed something onto it. He glanced, startled, at Ocyrhoe, then made the sign for Mother on the woman’s arm.

  The woman shook her head angrily and pushed his fingers from her arm.

  “He is from Buda. I think his mother was a Binder,” Ocyrhoe interjected, trying to mediate between the woman’s anger and Ferenc’s confusion. “He does not sign quickly and we have not had time for long explanations. He must be completely confused by what is happening.”

  The woman searched Ferenc’s face for a long moment before answering. “There may be men in this camp who speak his language. I will have someone explain everything to him,” she said.

  Ocyrhoe let slip a tired laugh. “Everything? You do not know how long that will take,” she said. The woman turned her attention to Ocyrhoe, and under the brunt of that gaze, Ocyrhoe wondered how much the woman actually knew.

  “I am Léna,” the Binder said as she gestured toward the camp stools at the other end of the tent. “Please, let us sit and talk.”

  Her name alone revealed nothing of who she might be or from where she may have come. Were they not kin-sisters? Ocyrhoe wondered. Why did she not share more of her identity? The delight she had been relishing at meeting another Binder threatened to slip away, and she hid her panic beneath the stoic mask she had worn when they had first reached the camp. “I am Ocyrhoe,” she replied guardedly, and with a gesture toward her companion, “He is Ferenc.”

  “Tell me what is happening in Rome,” Léna directed as they sat down on the stools.

  “Did you send the dove?” Ocyrhoe asked.

  “What dove?”

  “The dove on the statue of Minerva,” Ocyrhoe said, and as the panic threatened to overwhelm her, she let her tongue go. “Are you the Bind-Mother?”

  Léna gave her another long, questioning stare. “I see,” she sighed at last. “You are an orba matre.”

  Ocyrhoe didn’t know what to do with her hands, and so she clutched the rim of the stool. Holding tight. “I am... I don’t understand.”

  “A child, born of a Binder mother”—Léna glanced at Ferenc—“a girl child, would know more than you do, for your age.”

  “I was chosen,” Ocyrhoe said, a little hotly.

  Léna smiled reassuringly. “Do not be insulted by my words, child. I am trying to determine what you are. We both know you are not a Binder, not fully.”

  With nothing but their expressions and body language to read, Ferenc had stiffened when Ocyrhoe got defensive, and now he reached out a protective hand toward her. She took a deep breath and stroked his forearm without looking at him. In this tent, in this company, she realized she was treating the boy like a dog... a faithful dog. He did not seem to notice, or to care.

  “About three months ago, a messenger came from Rome with word that Senator Orsini was moving against our sisters,” Léna explained. “Since then, we have had no other news from the city. And then, with the death of the Pope, and this sede vacante, it has been a most troubling—”

  “The Emperor is here, in this camp?” Ocyrhoe interrupted.

  Léna inclined her head and stared over her long nose at Ocyrhoe. “No, I did not say—”

  “He is,” Ocyrhoe offered a tiny smile. Léna’s explanation a
nd Ferenc’s reassurance had calmed her, dispelling the desire for flight, and in its wake, her awareness was coming back. It wasn’t the same as the way the city spoke to her, but other subtle suggestions were there, if she simply took the time to read them. “A Binder’s duty is to deliver her message,” she said. “If the commander had to leave this camp in order to relay my message, then I would not have truly delivered it and you would not have released me from that duty. If you are discharging your duty properly, then wherever you are, he must be as well.”

  Léna looked strangely satisfied at Ocyrhoe’s response. “Your arrival is timely, child; he has stayed overlong away from his court in Palermo and had planned to return soon. Your message will, I suspect, change his mind. There is more afoot, however. Why have our kin-sisters been taken? It would be helpful if you could tell me everything you can about what has transpired in Rome.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Seeking Revenge

  The change that came over Luo Xi was as dramatic as if a mask had been removed, revealing a face pitted and harsh beneath a delicately painted facade. Lines appeared in his face, deep striations etched in his forehead and cheeks. Such lines were not unusual—every Chinese person who had suffered under the yoke of Mongolian oppression was similarly burdened—but he secretly cultivated his suffering. His grip on Lian’s arm was tight, his fingers digging into her flesh as if he would squeeze down to her bones.

  “These dogs ravage our homeland,” he snarled at her, all pretense of geniality gone. “They loot our cities. Kill our children.” He shoved her again, driving her ahead of him. “They rape our women.”

  She wanted to run, wanted to flee the lash of his words. Moments ago, she had wanted his eyes on her, wanted him to be distracted from his surroundings, but now she didn’t want his attention.