Until the Sun Falls Read Online Free PDF

outside?”
    “Can’t I—”
    “No. You talk too much.”
    Djela’s shoulders sagged. He left the yurt.
    “He’s a very annoying child,” Chan said. “They treat him as if he were the son of a god.”
    “He doesn’t seem spoiled to me.”
    “Tshant worships him.” Her teeth pressed against her lower lip. “Did he say anything of me?”
    “He wants you to go to Russia with Artai.”
    She scowled. “That will be tedious.”
    “Where is Malekai?”
    “Up the river. He has a new child. I wish you would marry.”
    “My nephew tells me my father wants me to marry a princess, but they’re in short supply.”
    “Your brother married no princess.”
    Sidacai laughed. Malekai had married a Mangghut. “Perhaps I’ll find a Chinese wife.”
    “No. Would you bring another woman to suffer in this barbaric captivity?” She put her hands to her hair, smoothing it down. “I don’t want to go to Russia.”
    “He said—”
    “I know what he said. He said I am to be packed up like a chest and carted off across the steppes and when I get there all my clothes will be filthy and wrinkled.” She undid the clasp in her hair, pulled a long black hair out of the hinge, and did her hair up again.
    “Sidacai.” Tshant thrust his head and shoulders through the door. “Coward.”
    Sidacai jumped. Tshant crawled all the way in and stood up. “I think he built that door small so that no one could come in here without bowing to her.” He jerked his chin at Chan. “You couldn’t tell me to my face that I have to go to Russia. You had to get it to me roundabout.”
    “I never had the chance.”
    Tshant was taller than Psin, taller than Sidacai, but while Psin was massive Tshant was lanky, with ropy muscles and long bones. He sat on his heels and glared. Chan ignored him as if he had never come in.
    “And besides all that I am to escort a troop of women and slaves,” Tshant said. “Still, it may be worth the trouble to see what knots you can tie yourself into, trying to be khan.”
    “You stink,” Chan said. “Get out.” She snapped her fingers at one of the slaves, who handed her a mirror. She turned her level eyes on Tshant until he flushed, looked at herself in the mirror, and ran one forefinger over her cheekbone.
    “I ask your pardon,” Tshant said. “I’m angry.”
    “I dislike you. You remind me of your father. Leave.”
    Tshant backed out, jerking his head at Sidacai to follow him. Sidacai did so. Outside, Tshant said, “I wish I reminded her even more of the old ox.”
    “I shouldn’t try to.”
    “No. Come to my yurt. Between him and Kerulu I don’t dare look at Chan twice in one day. What do you know of the western campaigns?”
    “Mongke’s there.”
    Tshant halted in midstep, settled back slowly onto both feet, and smiled. “Mongke. How enjoyable. Of course. The Kha-Khan’s sent them all to Batu, hasn’t he? To keep them from tearing Karakorum up by the roots. Psin will be gnawing his mustaches.”
    He swung around to look back at Chan’s yurt. Every time he moved, Sidacai jumped, alert to the strength in Tshant’s arms and shoulders. It was like standing next to a stallion. Tshant said, “I’m taking Djela. We’ll ride on ahead. Malekai can escort the women and their baggage. Come inside. I can’t remember much about Russia.”
    He started off again, and Sidacai hopped to catch up. Tshant swore pleasantly under his breath and said, “Mongke. How interesting.”
     
    Psin cursed steadily. They had ridden all day long under lowering skies, and in the early evening the first storm of the steppes autumn had broken over them. Sleet lay crusted on his horse’s mane, and his mustaches were frozen so that they crackled. He could barely see Sabotai through the driving rain and snow. But the horses were walking quickly, their heads high. Psin shivered. When they had left the last waystation the captain had told them that the Volga camp was only a day’s ride north.
    “Stop out