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because only his death can ensure the life of humankind.
But still I was troubled. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, it still boiled down to what
Ormazd had told me so long ago in the future: my mission is to find Ahriman and kill him.
How many times? I suddenly wondered. When is a man finally, unquestionably dead? Ahriman had
killed Aretha in the twentieth century, and yet Agla lived here beside me. I myself had died, but still
breathed and moved and loved. Is the cycle endless?
I sank onto the soft mattress of our bed, too soul-weary to contemplate an eternity of hunting Ahriman,
of death after death, murder after murder. Agla, sensing my despair, tried to comfort me.
Then someone knocked at our door. A polite but firm tapping, three distinct raps.
I went to the door and opened it. It was night now, and the whole inner compound of the ordu was lit by
the crackling flames of the twin bonfires. Ogotai's silken tent swayed in a breeze that was not interrupted
by hill or tree for hundreds of miles.
Standing in front of me was an elderly, slender Chinese in exquisite robes of sky blue and silver. In his
high, peaked hat he was almost my height. With the bonfires at his back, it was difficult for me to make
out the features of his face.
"I am Ye Liu Chutsai, advisor to the High Khan," he said in the soft, high voice of an old man. "May I
enter?"
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CHAPTER 14
The mandarin stood patiently at the doorway. The two Mongol guards were squatting on the bare
ground a few yards from the door, gobbling their supper from wooden bowls. Their lances and bows
were on the ground next to them, their swords at their sides.
"Yes, of course," I said to the mandarin. "Please come in."
He had the trick of walking so smoothly that it looked as if he was standing on a small rolling cart, under
his floor-length robes, and was actually being wheeled across the threshold. I introduced him to Agla,
who bowed very low to him, then busied herself building the fire higher in the hearth.
Ye Liu Chutsai looked older than any man I had seen among the Mongols. His wispy beard and
mustache were completely white, as was the long queue that hung down his back. He stood in the middle
of the bare little room, hands tucked inside his wide sleeves.
I gestured to the only chair in the room, a heavy, stiff thing of wood. "Please sit down, sir."
He sat. Agla ducked into the bedroom and brought out two cushions. She offered them to the mandarin,
who refused them with a slight shake of his head and a small smile. She and I sat on them, at the feet of
the elderly Chinese.
"I should begin by explaining who I am," he said so softly that I had to strain slightly to hear him over the
crackle of our fire. Its warmth felt good on my back.
Agla said, "Your name is known as the right hand of the High Khan."
He bowed his head again in acknowledgment.
"Since the original High Khan was still called by his birth name, Timujin, I have served the Mongols. I
was only a youth when they swept through the Great Wall and ravaged Yan-king, the city where I was
born. I was taken into slavery by the Mongols because I was a scribe. I could read and write. Although
the Mongol warriors did not appreciate that, Timujin did."
"It was he who became Genghis Khan?" I asked.
"Yes, but to use either of these names before the Mongols is not wise. He is called the High Khan. He
was the father of Ogotai, the current High Khan. He was the man who directed the Mongol conquest of
China, of High Asia, of the hosts of Islam. He was the greatest man the world has known."
It was not my place to contradict him. The elderly mandarin did not seem like the kind who would
bestow praise foolishly or insincerely. He believed what he said, and for all I knew he may have been
right.
"Today the empire of the Mongols stretches from theChina SeatoPersia. Hulagu is preparing to conquer
Baghdad. Subotai is already on the march against the Russians and Poles. Kubilai, in Yan-king, dreams
of subduing the Japanese on their islands."
"He should forego that dream," I said, recalling that Kubilai's invasion fleet was wrecked by a storm that
the Japanese called The Divine Wind,Kamikaze .
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Ye Liu Chutsai looked sharply at me. "Why do you say that?" he demanded. "What do you prophesy?
Agla gave me a warning glance. Prophets trod a dangerous path among these people.
"I prophesy nothing," I replied, as offhandedly as I could manage. "I merely made a comment. After all,
the Mongols are horse warriors, not sailors. The sea is not their element."
The mandarin studied my face for long moments. At last he replied, "The Mongols are indeed the fiercest
warriors in the world. They are not sailors, true. But neither are they administrators, or scribes, or
artisans. They use captives for those tasks. They will find sailors enough among the Chinese."
I bowed my head to his superior wisdom.
"The empire must continue to expand," he went on. "That was the true genius of the original High Khan.
He saw clearly that these barbarian tribes must continue to move outward, to find enemies that must be
conquered, or else their empire will collapse. These horse warriors are utterly brave; they live for war. If
there were no enemies beyond their borders, they would fall back to their old ways and begin fighting
among themselves. That was the way they lived before Timujin welded the warring tribes of theGobiinto
the mightiest conquering army the world has ever seen."
"That is why the empire continues to expand," I said.
"Itmust expand. Or collapse. There is no middle way. Not yet."
"And as the empire expands, the Mongols slaughter helpless people by the tens of thousands and burn
cities to the ground."
He nodded his head.
"And you help them to do it? Why? You are a civilized man. Why do you help the people who invaded
your land?"
Ye Liu Chutsai closed his eyes for a moment. It made his old, lined face look like a death's mask in the
flickering firelight.
When he opened his eyes again, he said, "There is but one true civilization in the world, the civilization of
the land that you callCathay, orChina. I am a son of the Chin, the Chinese. I serve the Mongol High
Khan so that civilization may be extended to the four corners of the world."
I felt confused. "But the Mongols have conqueredCathay. Kubilai Khan rules in Yan-king now."
The old man smiled. "Yes, and already Kubilai who was born in a felt yurt on the grasslands not far
from this very spot already he is more Chinese than Mongol. He wears silk robes and paints beautiful
landscapes and deals with the intrigues of the court as delicately as any grandson of a mandarin."
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