Bones of the Hills Read Online Free PDF

straightened, once more aware of how he stood. The king would be on his way and his torment would come to an end. He could stand an itch a little longer: just the thought of relief made it seem bearable.
    The bell boomed again and servants slid back screens, opening the hall to the scent of pines from the surrounding hills. Despite himself, Chagatai let out a sigh as the intense heat began to lessen. The crowd moved subtly as they strained to see the king, and Chagatai used the distraction to dig two fingers into his armpit and scratch vigorously. He sensed Jelme’s gaze flicker to him and resumed his impassive expression as the king of the Koryon people entered at last.
    None of them were tall, Chagatai thought, as he saw the diminutive monarch waft through a carved doorway. He supposed the man’s name was Wang, after his family, but who knew or cared how these wiry little people named each other? Chagatai looked instead at a pair of serving girls in the king’s retinue. With their delicate golden skin, they were far more interesting than the man they served. The young warrior stared as the women fussed around their master, arranging his robes as he seated himself.
    The king did not seem aware of the watching Mongols as he waited for his attendants to finish. His eyes were almost the same dark yellow as Genghis’s, though they lacked his father’s ability to inspire terror. Compared to the khan, the Koryon king was just a lamb.
    The servants finished their tasks at last and the king’s gaze finally focused on the arban of ten warriors Jelme had brought. Chagatai wondered how the man could bear such thick cloth on a summer’s day.
    When the king spoke, Chagatai could not understand a word. Like Jelme, he had to wait for the translation into the Chin language he had struggled to master. Even then he could hardly catch the meaning and listened in growing frustration. He disliked foreign languages. Once a man knew the word for a horse, why use another? Obviously Chagatai understood that men from far lands might not know the right way of speaking, but he felt they owed it to themselves to learn and not continue their gibberish, as if all tongues were of equal value.
    “You have kept your promises,” the translator said solemnly, interrupting Chagatai’s thoughts. “The Khara-Kitai fortresses have burned for many days, and that foul people have gone from the high and beautiful land.”
    Silence fell again and Chagatai shifted uncomfortably. The court of the Koryo seemed to delight in slowness. He recalled his experience of the drink they called
nok cha.
Jelme had frowned at the way Chagatai emptied his cup in a gulp and held it out for another. Apparently, the pale green liquid was too valuable to be drunk like water. As if one warrior should care how another ate or drank! Chagatai ate when he was hungry and often forgot to attend the elaborate meals of the court. He could not understand Jelme’s interest in pointless rituals, but he had not spoken his thoughts aloud. When he ruled the Mongol nation, he would not allow pretension, he vowed to himself. Food was not something to linger over, or prepare in a thousand flavors. It was no wonder that the Koryon people had come so close to being conquered. They would be required to speak one language and eat perhaps no more than two or three different dishes, prepared quickly and without fuss. It would leave more time for training with weapons and exercise to make the body strong.
    Chagatai’s wandering thoughts stilled as Jelme spoke at last, apparently having weighed every word.
    “It is fortunate that the Khara-Kitai chose to attack my scouts. Our needs met in their destruction. I speak now for the Great Khan, whose warriors have saved your country from a terrible enemy. Where is the tribute promised by your ministers?”
    As the translation droned, the king stiffened slightly in his seat. Chagatai wondered if the fool took some insult from the words. Perhaps he had