"They weren’t going to stop being a problem on their own."
Varok considered this.Looked at the young man riding beside him—the Ameachi prince, he assumed."And him?"
"He goes where I go," Borji said."For now."
Varok grunted.He had not survived thirty years of campaigning by asking unnecessary questions."The Great Khan is in the city.We should move."
"Yes."Borji looked at the kneeling survivors; his expression was unreadable."We should."
"Seriously?Just like that?”
“I couldn’t believe it either; she’s spending a night with the General.”
“Maybe I should join a warlord’s party; who knows what gifts I’ll receive?"
“He must be enjoying a night of bliss.She’s a vixen for a reason; her skill must be better than the women of the red-light district."
Two guards stood before the reinforced door that led to the lowest level of the cells—the level where they stored the dead—chattering about a woman they should’ve kept out of their mouths.It was dreadfully cold, and their breaths fogged in the air.
"What was that?"one whispered.
The other frowned."What was what?"
"That sound.Like—" He stopped, listening."Like something moving."
"Probably rats.Place is full of them."
"No, it's—"
The thumping came again.Coming from behind the door.
The guards exchanged glances.Then, slowly, the senior one pulled out his keys.
"Open it," he ordered.
The junior guard didn't move immediately."It's the dead level," he said."Nothing down there but the box and the cold."
"I know what's down there."
"Then you know nothing should be making that sound."
The senior guard's jaw tightened."Open it.Unless you'd like to explain to the commander why we stood at our post and did nothing?"
The junior guard relented and stepped aside to let him unlock the door.
The door swung open.
The smell hit them.Damp stone and rot.The torchlight from the corridor barely reached the far wall.The junior guard lingered in the doorway.
"Go on then," the senior guard muttered, more to himself than anyone.
They stepped inside.
The cell beyond was small, damp, and lit only by a guttering torch.At its centre sat the wooden box—the coffin, the prize, and the body of the Great Khan delivered for Altansarnai's pleasure.
The lid was closed.
Neither of them spoke.The junior guard became aware of his own breathing, it was too loud in the silence.He told himself it was the cold making his hands unsteady, that the box had always sat at that slight angle, that the scratch marks on the floor beneath it were old.
