Reincarnated as Genghis Khan's Grandson, I Will Not Let It Fall-Chapter 62: What Karakorum Receives

The camp had a different quality in winter than it had in the weeks before the column went south.

The fires burned longer and lower. The horse lines were fuller, the animals packed tighter against the cold, the handlers working longer shifts. The outer perimeter posts ran in pairs instead of singles, the two-man rotation established for the season.

The supply depot on the camp’s eastern side had been reorganized since Batu left, the stores arranged under new covers against the weather. Khulgen’s work.

Batu’s right arm was in a sling that the physician had fitted before the march back. The shoulder muscle moved within limits the physician had named and not beyond them.

The left forearm had healed enough that the wrap had been reduced to a single layer. Two real costs from the campaign, both present and both managed.

He had filed them in the correct part of his attention on the second day of the march north and had not taken them out again.

Khulgen set the felt on the table.

Batu picked it up with his left hand and read it from the beginning.

It ran three paragraphs in Khulgen’s hand.

The first established the Berke situation as a matter of Jochid internal authority, a branch of the line that had operated outside sanctioned arrangements and had been brought back in line by the senior prince.

The second named the ground recovered as rightful Jochid territory, administered under the wolf’s track seal and assigned to a tumen commander for consolidation.

The third offered that the matter was closed and the Jochid western position was stable.

He read it a second time.

The second paragraph had one line that moved too much.

The phrase about the tumen commander and his assigned territory named a scale of administrative scope that a reader with Karakorum’s information would convert correctly into a deployment figure.

The rest of the notice named nothing that couldn’t belong to a routine internal dispute. That line named something else.

"Second paragraph," Batu said. "The assignment language. Cut it to the territory recovered. Leave the tumen commander out of it."

Khulgen took the felt back, read the line, and nodded once.

He revised it at the table’s edge with the small stylus he kept on his person. It took him less than a minute.

Batu read the revision.

The paragraph now named the territory as a function of boundary restoration. The tumen commander was gone. No figure that could be converted.

He set it down and picked up the seal.

The wolf’s track seal on a notice addressed to Karakorum. Every prior use had been inward, covering ground and arrangements within the western territory.

This was the first time the mark went outward.

Batu held the seal for a moment and then pressed it.

He set the sealed notice to the side of the table.

"Send Borte-Qol."

Khulgen went.

Batu sat with the sealed notice and the cold air of the winter camp around him and thought through what Arslan needed to carry and why.

Guyuk’s network had been building its read of the western situation from partial information for months.

The southern campaign had produced a result that would eventually reach Karakorum through other routes. Clan riders, merchant circuit traffic, the kind of ambient information that moved through the steppe whether or not anyone intended it to.

What reached him through those routes would be fragmentary and delayed and would carry the outlines of a won engagement.

What Arslan carried was the instrument that shaped what those outlines meant.

If Arslan’s content arrived before the fragments, Guyuk would assemble both together and produce the conclusion the content invited.

If Arslan was silent, Guyuk would read the fragments on their own and assemble them more accurately.

The content needed to be specific enough to be believed and calibrated enough to be wrong in the direction that mattered.

Borte-Qol arrived without ceremony and sat across the table.

His hands went flat on either side of the space between them. He had been doing this for years and Batu had seen those hands go flat at every meeting since the channel opened.

"Arslan’s next window," Batu said.

"Four days. He passed through the eastern circuit on his last run and left word he’d have a receiving point on the lower road in ten days from that pass. That was six days ago."

"Then we have four days."

"Yes."

Batu looked at the felt in front of him.

He had assembled the content on the march north and had held it through the settlement at the main camp without committing it to anything.

He had wanted to see the camp, see the shoulder’s trajectory, see the supply state. All of that informed what Arslan carried.

"The campaign ran longer than planned," Batu said, "the engagement at the streambed cost us more than the first river fight. That’s true and Arslan can verify the outline through other sources."

He paused.

"What he carries beyond the outline is this. The commander took a shaft in the field that has restricted his sword arm. The physician has named a longer recovery than expected, running into spring. Make it longer than the physician named."

Borte-Qol said nothing. He was listening.

"The force’s supply state is strained from the extended campaign. The additional territory costs men and provisions to hold through winter. A garrison south with no replacement supply chain built yet, drawing from stores assembled for a shorter operation. The camp is managing but the margin is thin."

He looked at Borte-Qol.

"Arslan carries a picture of a commander who won his internal dispute and is paying for it through winter. Who will not be in a position to act decisively before spring and possibly not then."

Borte-Qol’s eyes moved briefly across the sealed notice beside Batu’s left hand. He did not ask what it was.

"You’ll have the content before Arslan’s window," Batu said. "I’ll give it to you written."

"He prefers oral. Written material is a risk if he’s stopped on the road."

"Oral then."

Batu leaned back.

"One more thing. The supply strain I named. There’s a figure attached to it. The number of men wintering south on the garrison assignment. Don’t give Arslan a number. Give him the impression of a number. Something that reads as larger than what the account we’ve built would support."

Borte-Qol nodded.

He picked up nothing from the table because there was nothing for him to pick up.

At the tent entrance he paused with his back to Batu.

"Two cycles," he said. "The same window as last time."

"Same window," Batu confirmed.

Borte-Qol left.

Batu sat with the sealed notice and the lamp’s light and the winter cold pressing in around the tent’s edges.

Both messages were moving east now. The official notice through Karakorum’s formal channels, the calibrated account through Arslan’s hands.

They would arrive in different hands at different moments. Guyuk would receive both and assemble them.

What he assembled from them, and how long it held before something contradicted it, was the variable Batu could not account for from here.

The account was constructed from true elements. The risk was that Guyuk’s network found a route to the field that delivered better information before the account had time to set.

He had no way to know if that route existed.

He looked at the sealed notice.

The column was settled. The shoulder was managing. Dorbei was south in the territory.

Arslan would carry what he needed to carry.

What reached Karakorum was out of his hands now.