The fighting erupted. It broke out across the whole room, all at once, as if somebody had given a signal. Suddenly there were struggling figures everywhere, screams, and blood splashed on the rich carpets.

And a warrior took a measured stride towards Bolghai, swung an axe, and beheaded the scholar with a single stroke.

‘No!’ Pyxeas rushed forward, but Avatak held him back. ‘No, no! That such a scholar, such a mind, should be destroyed like this—’

Uzzia held his shoulder. ‘He was a Mongol, and he died a warrior’s death. His children will laud him for it. Come now, we must go—’ She grunted, staggered, her eyes wide.

Avatak said, ‘Uzzia? Are you all right?’

She straightened up, determined. ‘Go, go! Get Pyxeas out of here.’

So they hurried for the door, Avatak using his broad shoulders to push through the crowd. Once out, Uzzia led them through the network of corridors and rooms. Warriors and courtiers ran both ways in the corridors, drawn by the clamour of the battle in the great hall, or fleeing from it. And Avatak started to hear the rumour, spread in a dozen languages, some of which he understood: ‘He is dead! The Great Khan is dead! Buyantu slain, and so is the she-wolf who challenged him . . .’

They reached the gate in the palace wall. Already small battles were breaking out in the city beyond. And now they were out in the open air, Avatak noticed for the first time the short Mongol arrow that stuck out of Uzzia’s shoulder.

55

The travellers left Daido almost as lightly equipped as when they had arrived. They used some of Uzzia’s money, Mongol scrip acquired by selling her own gems and gifts from the court, to purchase a small cart and three horses. Even Pyxeas had sensed trouble coming; he had already packed up the essentials of his work with Bolghai in a trunk, along with personal effects.

Before noon on the day of the rebellion they were already out of the city and heading down along the road they had just travelled, south towards the Khan’s hunting grounds once more. Uzzia drove the cart behind two of the horses, with Pyxeas and their gear. Avatak rode the spare horse. He wondered what would become of the mule, and wished he had had time to say goodbye.

Only when they were well clear of the city would Uzzia permit a stop so Avatak could treat her wounded shoulder. Pyxeas remained in the cart, sipping sullenly on a skin of wine. He had barely spoken since the death of Bolghai; he seemed in deep shock.