Prosperous Eternity Chapter 1

Hulunbuir Grasslands – Khorchin Territory – Spring 1462

“Disgraceful,” Lord Bolunai sneered, looming over Bayan who cowered on the floor of the sparring chamber, shaking violently.

Lord Bolunai’s breath reeked of airag—fermented mare’s milk—and the sour stench washed over Bayan as he dug his bleeding fingertips into the tiled floor. One of Bayan’s eyes had swollen shut, forcing him to squint at the red and black tiles.

“How could the Mongol nation be left with you?” Lord Bolunai spit on the tiles.

Bayan flinched away, prepared for another blow. Bolunai seemed to enjoy teaching Bayan how to be stronger by beating him bloody. For years, Bolunai marched Bayan to this chamber to toughen him up in a match of fists and feet meant to teach Bayan strength. The one time Bayan had gained an advantage over the man, the boy swiftly learned his lesson. Bolunai’s men had severely punished him for breaking the khan’s arm. The concussion Bayan earned had taken longer to recover from than the broken arm he gave Bolunai. In the end, all Bayan learned was survival.

“You will be Great Khan one day, as the last true heir of the Yuan Dynasty, and others will hunt you for it,” Lord Bolunai said, straightening and accepting a cloth from one of his guards to clean his hands. “If they find you before you are ready to take your rightful place, they will kill you. You are too weak to fight back. It’s as if I’ve taught you nothing.” He tossed the bloody rag on the ground beside Bayan’s face, causing the boy to flinch again. “Take him to his room.”

Relief rushed through Bayan as Lord Bolunai’s booted feet retreated toward the door. All the tension the man’s presence caused in Bayan’s body melted away and he collapsed on the floor, pressing his cheek to the cold tile and wincing as a jolt of pain hammered from his cheekbone through his skull.

The khan’s guards tugged Bayan to his feet, grasping under his arms and hauling him along the floor so his boots dragged on the tiles behind him. Bayan had no strength left to lift his head. They tossed his body unceremoniously onto Bayan’s bed and stomped off as a team of servants began cleaning and treating his wounds.

Lord Bolunai would never kill him. Three years ago, when he was nearly eleven and mastering the corridors of the Lord’s palace to seek potential points for escape, he overheard Lord Bolunai grumbling to an advisor about the oath he made to Bayan’s great-great-grandmother—a sacred vow to protect Bayan until he came of age and found his rightful place as Great Khan. Breaking such a vow could invoke the wrath of the sky father and earth mother—a risk no man would dare take.

But this was not protection. Bayan felt anything but safe.

Bayan had loathed nothing as much as his lineage. Not even Lord Bolunai. His grandfather, Esen, had been a crazed man, resentful and paranoid of any who could claim direct Borjigin lineage—descendants of the great Genghis Khan—and usurp his unrightful stranglehold on the Mongols. The obsession turned him into a murderous man. Under the guise of fellowship, Esen had invited Borjigin men to his ger for drinks and celebration. Instead, he butchered them—a clear breach of Guest Rights etiquette protecting them from harm. Bayan’s mother, a Borjigin princess married to Esen’s son, was pregnant with Bayan at the time. Fearing for her son’s life, she went to Esen’s grandmother, Samur, and begged for her help. Together, the two conspired to lie to Esen, convincing him that Bayan was a girl and not a boy.

Eventually, Esen learned the truth when Bayan was three, nearly four. By that time, his grip on the Mongol Nation had slipped. His men revolted against him. At the same time, Samur arranged for Bayan to be sent to the far eastern edges of the nation, as far from Esen’s grasp as possible.

Unfortunately, those arrangements had placed Bayan in a lifetime of physical and emotional abuse at the hands of Lord Bolunai of the Khorchin clan.

Bayan Mongke—whose name meant Prosperous Eternity—was the son of Princess Tsetseg, grandson of Taisun Khan, a true Great Khan of the Mongol Nation until his murder before Bayan’s birth. Bayan did not want to be from this line. He did not want to be destined to become Great Khan—a destiny that would cause ambitious and envious men to target him. He simply wanted to live in peace. He wanted the promise of his name. A prosperous eternity.

And I am nearly fourteen now, old enough to marry. Old enough to strike out on my own, he thought bitterly. But that could never happen. Not unless he escaped this place without Lord Bolunai’s watchful eye noticing.

One servant placed packed snow from the nearby Khingan Mountains over Bayan’s swollen eye. The cleaning process was but a pinprick compared to the pain of receiving the injuries. A girl only a few years older than himself brought a cup of herbal tea to his lips, supporting his aching head. He sipped, noting her slender wrist and long, thin fingers. A longing stirred deep within him and his cheeks heated as she pulled the cup back and eased his head onto the pillow once more.

Other boys his age had already lain with a girl. Lord Bolunai had one son close to Bayan’s age who often boasted of his exploits. None of that had been allowed for him. Simply being caught kissing a girl had earned Bayan a beating he would never forget. You cannot spread your seed without a proper marriage, Bolunai had raged. A bastard claim to the khanship will destroy what Lady Samur worked so hard for.

But Bayan didn’t understand why it mattered so much. Nor did he care. He was nearly fourteen, after all, and eager to experience both girls and adventures.

Commotion in the corridor startled Bayan awake, causing him to sit up far too quickly. For a moment, his vision darkened as blood rushed to his head. Panicked, he gripped the blankets in bandaged fists and tensed to flee. But could he if someone came for him? Would there be another lesson today?

The conversation between the servants last night resurfaced. Lord Bolunai would be distracted with business today. There was also mention of a hunt. Perhaps, if he timed it just right, he could unearth an opportunity to escape.

Bayan whipped off the blankets, wincing as throbbing pain shot through his ribs. He placed his bare feet against the tiled floor, testing his strength and wiggling his toes. His legs did not ache nearly as much as his chest, arms, or face. He would be strong enough to ride.

Cautiously, Bayan rose and padded across the small chamber to his wardrobe. Sometimes for overnight hunts, men would pack an extra set of clothing. Packing light would not raise any eyebrows. After slipping into a sturdy brown deel and belting it at the waist, Bayan wrapped a few of the light valuables he owned—light silver and jade jewelry, some gemstones of various colors—bound into the creases and pockets of two extra changes of clothing. It wasn’t much.

Once he had on his boots, Bayan grabbed his bow and sword off their stands near the door and slipped out of his room.

A handful of servants bustled about on urgent business as Bayan crept along. He hoped his behavior wasn’t suspicious.

Bayan turned a corner and nearly collided with Lord Bolunai’s oldest son. Tengghar was nearly ten years his elder, with hair pulled back in a long braid at the back and shaved clean on the sides. Just the sight of Tengghar often made Bayan yearn for running away. Bayan preferred the company of Bolunai's youngest—and most empathetic—son, Ganzorig.

“Going somewhere, Bayan?” Tengghar asked, glancing at the hunting pack slung over Bayan’s shoulder.

“I heard there would be a hunting party today,” Bayan said, flashing an innocent smile. “I was hoping to join them.”

“You should be resting.”

“I rested all night,” Bayan whined.

Two of Tengghar’s friends joined him, examining Bayan in a way that made his skin crawl.

“He wants to join the hunting party,” Tengghar told his friends.

They laughed in such a condescending way Bayan wanted to lunge at them and claw off their faces, but he knew better than to pick a fight. They would destroy him, and Lord Bolunai would blame Bayan for the entire fight.

“Let him come,” one of the men said. “I could use the target practice.”

Tengghar chuckled and slapped a hand on Bayan’s shoulder hard enough to make the bag slip. Bayan jumped, hoping he didn’t wince in pain. Showing them weakness was not an option.

“Come along then, little brother,” Tengghar said, eyeing him like a wolf eyed its prey. “We will see how good you are.”

Bayan had no opportunity to respond before Tengghar’s firm grip pulled him along with them. “Will we be gone overnight?”

“That depends on our fortune,” Tengghar said.

High Heavens help me. This could be my chance.