As Norjin traveled farther east beyond the area settled by Zaya’s tribe, the tents grew fewer, and sheep outnumbered people. An ulus had no walls. Where the tents thinned, borders dissolved into open land. A few trees stood in the distance.

  Horse and rider appeared ahead. When Norjin turned his mount toward them, a man wearing a brown cap, its nap worn thin in places, gave a brief nod. This must be the local official assigned to the eastern sector, the one meant to guide him to the raided settlement.

  Without a word, the man turned his horse and set off, as if to say follow me. Norjin followed.

  Before long, the smell of scorched felt reached Norjin’s nose. It was closer to the ulus—closer to Zaya’s tribal lands—than he had expected. As they approached, he saw tents burned in patches, others half-collapsed and blackened. The sheep pens had been destroyed; no animals remained.

  Some people sat where they were, unmoving, as if stunned. Women moved slowly among the wreckage, beginning to clear what little could be salvaged.

  Norjin dismounted and approached them.

  A sunburned woman turned sharply toward him. A child clutching the hem of her deel ducked behind her, and she instinctively shifted to shield the child with her body.

  Norjin frowned and spoke quietly.

  “You’ve been through hell.”

  The woman eyed him warily, taking in his fine clothes and warm cloak. Then she glanced past him to the official still mounted nearby.

  “Did you see who did it?” Norjin asked.

  She did not answer. The villagers had stopped what they were doing and were watching him intently. Her gaze was vacant.

  Norjin reached into his cloak and drew out a wrapped bundle, holding it out to her.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she reached for it. It was still warm.

  She burst into tears.

  She must have been in shock—unable to cry, unable to eat, until now. She hurriedly unwrapped the bundle, took out a single buuz, handed it to the child, and then bit into one herself. Others began to gather around them.

  “Could someone boil some water?” Norjin called out. “Let’s rest and have some tea.”

  “Then come to my tent,” a man said, stepping forward.

  He seemed to be the leader of the settlement. As Norjin followed him, the woman watched his retreating back, food forgotten in her hands.

  The tent they entered was orderly. It had escaped the fire.

  Norjin was guided to a low table set along the right side.

  “This is my wife’s family’s place,” the man said, gesturing vaguely. “My own ger—” He waved his hand.

  Norjin knew at once which half-burned tent outside had been his.

  He noticed the cloth wrapped around the man’s right arm.

  “Well done,” Norjin said. “You managed to protect what you could.”

  For an instant, the man straightened with pride. Then the words spilled out of him.

  “It was sudden. The sheep started panicking all at once. I ran outside, and the tents were already on fire.”

  Other men gathered.

  “The sheep—”“The fire—”

  Everyone began talking at once, all of it circling back to sheep and flames. Norjin listened with a grave expression, offering murmured responses—That’s terrible. Unbelievable.

  Women brought tea and food. Though they were poor, they did not neglect hospitality. Norjin accepted the food without hesitation. To refuse would have been an insult.

  After about an hour, a small boy had climbed onto Norjin’s lap, and the men had relaxed noticeably. Norjin declined the alcohol but advised them to move closer to the ulus—this place was too dangerous.

  They hesitated, whispering among themselves, then agreed.

  They also consented to entrust two young men to Norjin, to help recover their stolen sheep.

  Guided by the youths, Norjin pressed farther east, following the trail where the sheep had been driven.

  From a distance, the young men pointed out settlements they traded with as they followed the sheep’s path.

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  The next day, one of the youths suddenly reined in his horse. Seeing that, the other clicked his tongue sharply. “Our sheep aren’t coming back,” he said bitterly.

  “There. That settlement.”

  Norjin followed the direction of the pointing finger. It was clearly larger than any they had seen so far. He had them lead him to a vantage point where the entire settlement was visible.

  He counted the tents. Ten households, at least. A considerable number.

  Three sheep pens stood packed full.

  “Have they always been here?” Norjin asked.

  “They weren’t this many before,” one of the youths replied. “I didn’t know there were so many.”

  “I see.”

  Looking more closely, Norjin noticed differences in the patterns of the tents. Several tribes, perhaps allied. A settlement of this size would not have escaped Batu’s notice.

  Norjin intended to verify Zaya’s theory—that her enemies were hiding among friendly tribes. He decided to continue eastward.

  He gestured for the young men to move on.

  In the queen’s tent of the Jochid ulus, Batu sat at table with his wife for the first time in some while.

  Lately, Boraqchin had noticed that her husband wore a troubled expression more often than not as she attended to his meals. Working alongside him in logistics and rear support, she understood all too well the scale of the western campaign.

  In this empire-wide undertaking, her husband would lead the young men of the great houses—the next generation of the Mongol Empire—into war.

  There was another burden as well: the lingering doubt that his late father, Jochi, had not been Chinggis Khan’s true son. Batu intended to erase that suspicion through his own achievements.

  Boraqchin believed he had already proven himself, ruling and developing these western steppes successfully. But it seemed Batu did not share her certainty.

  Among the Mongols, the year followed a rhythm: men lived with their herds in summer, prepared for the coming year in winter, and fought during the quieter seasons of spring and autumn to expand their lands. Boraqchin herself led the herds on their twice-yearly migrations while Batu was away.

  This western campaign followed that same pattern—yet its meaning was different.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when a maid announced that Zaya had arrived.

  Zaya appeared wearing her tribe’s armor, donning the light leather gear she favored. Tall as she was, she looked entirely at ease among men dressed for war.

  Even Batu seemed surprised.

  She smiled.

  “I wanted to show you that I’m fully recovered.”

  Batu burst into laughter. This was what made Zaya so endearing—her way of lightening the hearts of those around her.

  “You look splendid,” he said warmly. “Strong and dependable.”

  Boraqchin was relieved to see Zaya recovered, but less pleased at the prospect of further recklessness.

  “What are you saying?” she scolded. “You’ll never make a proper bride like that.”

  “Well, who knows,” Batu replied lightly. “She seems to have no shortage of suitors.”

  Boraqchin shot him a look as servants carried in the dishes.

  “Sit down, dear” she said to Zaya. “Eat with us.”

  “I have a favor to ask,” Zaya said the moment she took her seat.

  Batu was still smiling.

  “I know what you’re going to ask,” Batu said.

  Boraqchin removed his bowl. “Enough.”

  She shot him a warning look: don’t encourage Zaya.

  “I want to join Dogon’s force,” Zaya said plainly.

  “Absolutely not!” Boraqchin said sharply.

  “You were injured. I won’t go through that again.”

  Zaya answered calmly, but she did not look away.

  “That happened because I was careless.”

  She kept her expression steady, careful not to turn this into an argument.

  “Dogon will do his job. I’m not saying I want to fight. I just want to confirm that I’m all right.”

  Batu studied her face.

  She was a princess of the Jochid ulus, yes—but she was also the leader of her own people. A tribe that had traveled from lands even Batu had never seen.

  Perhaps it was a people who could not afford to appear weak. If so, keeping her confined would not be enough.

  “Very well,” Batu said at last. “But don’t interfere with Dogon.”

  “Thank you,” Zaya replied, beaming, and left at once.

  After she was gone, Boraqchin clapped her hands to summon the servants. Batu, meanwhile, was unhurriedly dipping fried bread into his soup.

  “The king has had quite enough,” Boraqchin said coolly. “Clear the table.”

  “Wait—” Batu protested.

  Boraqchin pressed her lips together and fixed him with a glare.

  Winter was steadily approaching.

  Norjin’s fingers grew numb in the cold. East of the Volga, tall grass still grew thick, and the land remained a chilling expanse of half-frozen mud.

  When he found dry ground, Norjin made camp and lit a fire. The young men worked efficiently. The three of them had grown easy in one another’s company.

  Of the two Kipchak youths, Arik and Torgun, Arik—the elder—was ambitious and spoke of wanting to serve Batu. Torgun dreamed simply of owning his own tent. When Arik teased him about a girl he liked, Torgun flushed red.

  Just as Zaya had said, the local peoples moved in small groups—two or three families at most. Both Arik and Torgun remarked that they had never seen several families gathered together like the large settlement they had found.

  After that discovery, guided by the two youths, Norjin located several more settlements and judged whether they were friendly. Not all of them, but perhaps two more, appeared to be refusing to pay taxes to the Jochid ulus.

  “We can’t leave this alone,” Norjin said. “They didn’t just attack you. They injured one of Jochi’s tax officials.”

  The two nodded. If you stayed silent, you were taken lightly. That was a logic they understood well.

  “This entire area will likely be wiped clean,” Norjin went on. “Warn the settlements that are friendly to you. If possible, tell them to move closer to the ulus—and soon.”

  Torgun nodded. They had heard it said that Batu did not hesitate.

  “We want our sheep back,” Arik insisted.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t tell which sheep are yours,” Norjin replied.

  “We can,” Arik said confidently. “We know every one of our sheep by sight. If you open the pens and let them loose, our sheep will recognize us and follow.”

  Norjin smiled—not at the bargain itself, but at their certainty.

  “Well?”

  “Fine,” he said. “When the time comes, I’ll let you know.”

  After all, he would have to guide Dogon there himself. Amid the chaos, opening the pens would not be difficult.

  That was Norjin’s plan.