Rogue Angel - The Spirit Banner Part 46

In the end, though, she had no choice but to disappoint them. Killing a man who is trying to kill you is one thing. Killing a man who was at your mercy was another. It wasn't right and her conscience wouldn't let her do it.

She pulled her sword away from his throat and stepped away.

"No," she said. "There's been enough killing."

The crowd erupted, shouting and yelling, though she had no idea what they were saying. Holuin hadn't moved. He stayed flat on the ground, watching her with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe he was still alive.

Annja turned to face the crowd. "I will not kill him," she yelled in English, then followed it with one of the few Mongolian words she knew. "Ugui," "Ugui," she said. "No." she said. "No."

She turned around and started walking toward Davenport. If they wanted to kill her they would. There wasn't anything she could do about it. But she wouldn't be a party to any more killing.

She was halfway across the circle, suddenly exhausted now that all the adrenaline had left her system, and she was doing all she could to stay on her feet, when Davenport's eyes popped open wide and he shouted at her.

"Look out!"

Annja whirled around, her sword coming back up, knowing she was already too late.

She found her opponent just a few feet away, his weapon already raised over his head in preparation for the downward strike, his muscles tensing as he brought his arms forward.

His blade fell toward her face as her own swung upward.

From the look in his eyes and the smile of triumph on his face she knew she wasn't going to be in time.

"Ugui!"

The shout was loud, jarring, and with the unmistakable force of command.

Holuin froze in midmotion, his muscles straining at the force needed to stop his killing blow.

Annja gazed at him in stunned disbelief, amazed that she wasn't already dead as her own sword swept harmlessly through the s.p.a.ce between them.

A long stream of angry Mongolian filled the air. It was coming from the old but fit-looking man who now stood in front of the entrance to the blue ger ger, the same one she had seen looking out earlier during the challenge.

Holuin's response was immediate. He put his weapon down and bowed to her. He held that position, his neck exposed to her blade.

Confused, she looked over at the Wolf, wondering just what on earth was going on.

The leader of the Mongols drew a finger across his throat.

That was one symbol that didn't need interpretation; he was offering her Holuin's life for his attempt at striking her when she had already won the duel.

Annja kept her sword where it was and shook her head.

The Wolf gestured at her again, this time with more emphasis, as if he thought she hadn't understood.

Again, she shook her head. To show she knew what he was telling her, she jabbed her sword into the ground and then stepped forward. With a hand on Holuin's shoulder, she drew him upright.

For just a moment she could see the cold sense of relief in Holuin's eyes and then the mask he typically wore fell back over his emotions, hiding his true feelings once more.

Again, the Wolf stared at her. Annja decided the Mongol leader was well named-she felt like a rabbit caught in the stare of a predator determined to make her its dinner.

Much to her surprise, the Wolf blinked first, turning away and shouting something over his shoulder as he reentered his ger. ger.

"He wants you to join him."

Annja stared at Holuin, incredulous. "You can't be serious?"

For some reason, the defeated Mongol found that amusing. Through his laughter, he a.s.sured her that he had never been more serious.

The Wolf wanted her company. Now.

Holuin had just been ordered to see to it that she joined the Wolf in his tent.

"What about my companion?" she asked, casting a fearful look at Davenport who stood still flanked by several guards.

"You have my word he will not be injured."

Oddly enough, Annja trusted him, despite his having just tried to kill her.

Annja reclaimed her sword and handed it to Holuin. She knew he would never allow her to take it into the tent with her. Besides, it wouldn't help her in any way once she was inside. If any harm befell their leader, the Mongols would never let her leave. Nor could she just make the weapon vanish in front of everyone without being branded a witch or worse. So she handed it over without concern, knowing she could make it vanish back into the otherwhere at any time.

So with what could only be described as a sense of utter surrealism, Annja crossed to the base of the platform with Holuin at her side and then climbed the steps.

At the top of the platform she cast one last glance at Davenport, gave him a shrug and then stepped forward into the Wolf's den.

43.

Annja cautiously entered the ger ger, remembering to step across the threshold with her right foot first as was the custom, not wanting to insult the Wolf before she knew what he wanted.

What she saw took her breath away.

The interior was richly decorated with all types of artifacts-from Chinese teak cabinets to Ming vases, from a complete suit of j.a.panese armor to what looked to be the hood ornament of a Mercedes hanging on the wall in a gla.s.s case. There was a Greek statue of Aphrodite standing in front of a Monet painting hanging on the wall. A ship's astrolabe sat next to an ancient text that she could see was written in Latin and included hand-drawn images in the margins. The variety in the objects themselves and the places they came from was astounding and she had a hard time taking it all in on first glance. She was reminded of how both Garin and Roux collected objects in a similar fashion. What was it about such things that made men h.o.a.rd them so?

A light, crisp scent filled the air, though she couldn't find the incense burner amid all the other items that occupied every square inch of display s.p.a.ce in the ger ger.

The man who had invited her to join him stood in the middle of the ger ger, on the far side of the little table that formed the traditional eating area.

"Sain Bainu uu," he said to her. he said to her. "Minii nerig Temujin." "Minii nerig Temujin."

She shook her head. She'd only understood one word.

Temujin.

Genghis Khan's birth name.

Not all that surprising, she reasoned. Who better to name a male child after than the man who had put their culture on the map?

Aloud she said, "I'm sorry. I don't speak Mongolian." She said it in English, without much hope that he would understand her.