At the city gate, the soldiers gathered around the Khan as he was lifted down from his litter, and formed a tight party around him as he was hurried through the outer wall. Behind him, the great column broke up into smaller parties, each noble with his own little band of warriors.

‘Stay close to the Khan,’ Uzzia said to Avatak.

‘Why?’

‘Because each of these nobles has his or her little pack of retainers. We have none. Best we are protected by the Khan’s own men, if we can manage it. I have this.’ She pulled Pyxeas’ golden paiza, his safe-conduct pass, from the neck of her tunic; she wore it tied to a thread. ‘It ought to get us inside the palace.’

‘And then?’

‘We find Pyxeas.’

‘Yes, and then?’

‘I’m making this up as I go along, boy. Wait and see.’

They hurried after the Khan, through the city. Even inside the palace compound there was pandemonium, courtiers and warriors running everywhere. In the palace itself, one of the Khan’s senior advisers was waiting for him at the door, a slender Cathay who trembled with fatigue and terror as he prostrated himself before the ruler. The Khan kicked the man to his feet and stalked on into the heart of his palace, with the guard from the hunting party following. Maybe the Khan trusted them more than his palace guard at this moment, Avatak thought. The Khan was unmistakable in his brilliantly coloured silk hunting gown, and the soldiers, grimy from the march, were dark, lumpen figures in the palace’s brightly lit opulence. Avatak noticed racks of the soft white slippers you were supposed to wear to protect the carpets; now they were ignored, and trails of muddy, dusty footprints were everywhere.

All the way the adviser jabbered to the Khan in rapid Mongolian.

Uzzia murmured, ‘I can’t hear it all. He’s talking very softly, very fast, and these warriors around us aren’t exactly keeping quiet. It sounds as if it’s all falling apart. The smoke we saw to the north, the flames—’

‘Yes?’

‘Warriors from the steppe. More nomadic horsemen. I can’t make out if they are Mongol or not. I don’t suppose it matters. They got through the border walls, and here they are at the gates of Daidu. Some of the men are muttering that the city walls have already been breached.’

‘No wonder the people are running away.’

‘Yes. Those that aren’t rising up. That’s the other thing. The Cathay are taking the opportunity to rebel. The Mongols are marauding conquerors, after all. Some of the soldiers around us are muttering about conspiracies, maybe the Cathay rebel leaders have been in touch with the nomads. But there are more unpleasant surprises for the Khan to come, I think. I keep hearing a name: Kokachin, who they call the Wind-Rider.’

‘Kokachin’s a woman’s name. A Mongol woman’s.’