Until the Sun Falls Read Online Free PDF Page A

to Russia, too.”
    For a moment her face didn’t change. Abruptly all the fine wrinkles and the deep lines around her mouth creased into a smile. “He can take me, then.”
    “Psin said that he should. And my mother.”
    “Good.” She patted his hand, rising. “Go see her.” She walked back into her own yurt.
    A very young boy on a spotted pony galloped up and skidded to a halt in front of Sidacai. “Who are you?”
    Sidacai looked him up and down. The boy had flamboyant hair and hazel eyes. He wore a brocade coat with gold hooks. “I’m your uncle Sidacai.”
    “How do you know who I am?”
    “You’re Djela.”
    “Yes.” The boy grinned. “I know all about you. You’re in the Kha-Khan’s guard and you drink too much. And you’ve not married because my grandfather won’t let you marry anybody but a princess and nobody’s offered him a good enough princess yet for you. I fell off my pony last summer and knocked all my front teeth out.”
    “That’s good.” Sidacai started toward the next yurt, and Djela trotted along beside him.
    “My father says when he goes fighting again he’ll take me with him. When I grow up I’ll speak as many different languages as my grandfather does, maybe even more. I already know how to say horse in Chinese.”
    “Useful.” Sidacai bent to crawl into his mother’s yurt.
    “I have a friend named Dekko, but nobody can see him except me. Muko had twin kids and I was the first one to find them, they have spots and they were awfully little. They’re grown up now, almost.”
    “Good.”
    Sidacai stood up inside his mother’s yurt; Djela had come with him. On the other side of the front room two slaves were fixing a broken chair. One looked up and spoke softly into the back room. Sidacai looked around and sat. The silks and brocades here were as rich as any in Karakorum, including those in the Kha-Khan’s antechamber. The fire burnt in a big iron pot so that no coals or soot got onto the carpet.
    The veil across the door into the front room trembled, and Sidacai’s mother moved into the room. She bowed to Djela, put her cheek gently against Sidacai’s, and settled herself next to him. Her robe was so stiff with gold thread that it bent in sharp angles. Her black hair hung over one shoulder, and the clasp at the nape of her neck held a jewel the size of Sidacai’s thumb. She smelled of regal lilies. Sidacai had never seen a regal lily, but he knew what they smelled like because she had told him. Her hands like ivory leaves lay in her lap before her, soft as a newborn’s, the nails faintly pink. Djela had stopped talking and was staring meekly at her.
    “You come unexpectedly,” Chan said.
    “My father sent me.”
    She nodded, lowering her eyes. Sidacai was always astonished, seeing her after long absences, that she had borne him. She seemed younger than he. “He is well, your father?”
    “Yes. The Kha-Khan has sent him to the west—to Russia.”
    The long eyes regarded him, expressionlessly, before she turned to call one of the slaves. “Bring rice wine for my son.”
    The slave crept out. Chan turned back to Sidacai. “You must be in disfavor, to be sent back here.”
    At the base of her long throat another jewel flashed. Sidacai stared at it. He could not believe that she could cross the northern route to Russia in the winter, that she could endure the snow and the cold. Her wrist was so slender he could have snapped it between thumb and forefinger. “No,” he said. “I am to play khan. Tshant is going to Russia too.”
    The slave returned with the wine. Sidacai hated it but drank it for her sake. She took the jug and the cup and poured it for him.
    “Artai will go, then,” she said, handing him the cup.
    “Yes.”
    “Tell me of Karakorum.”
    “Oh, the winds blow, the sands bite.”
    Djela’s mouth was slightly open; he was staring at Chan. Sidacai glanced at him, amused. Chan said, “Djela, surely there are more interesting things