"A hardier servant would be advised for one who journeys through this harsh land."
"Join us, friend," the head of the household said. Boldbator saw that he too was an old man, but sturdy. He had the wind-blasted face of a lifelong horseman.
Smiling, Boldbator took his place on the Oriental rug, where the rest of the party was pulling bits of meat off a roasted sheep-all but the old man in the sheepskin cloak, who ate cold rice from a wooden bowl with his fingers.
Boldbator pulled off a greasy glob of mutton with his fingers and shoved it into his mouth. As he chewed, he spoke.
"I rode far this night, after seeing a sight I never before thought I would see."
No one said anything. They continued their eating.
"I came upon a bus," Boldbator continued, "deserted on the steppe, and all around it dead Chinese soldiers, as if whelmed by a tremendous wind."
"Perhaps it is the sweet wind that has blown through history," suggested the old mar without looking up from his rice.
Boldbator caught a flash of his clear eyes. They were like agates in the slits of his lids. He was very old, much older than Boldbator had first thought.
"I know of no such wind," said Boldbator.
"Nor I," said the head of the household. "And I, Darum, have lived on the steppe all these fifty years."
"Fifty years is young," the other old man said.
Boldbator grunted through his mutton. Grease dribbled down his chin. He caught some of it in his blunt fingers and sucked there clean with lip-smacking relish.
"The men who did this were Mongols," he said. "True Mongols of the old days. I followed their tracks all night, not caring if I died on the frozen steppe if my last sight was of such warriors."
"You speak like a true son of Genghis," the old one said.
"We are all sons of Ssutu-Bodgo, the Heaven-Sent."
"I have yet to meet any warriors," the old man said flatly.
"What name do you go by, old one?" Boldbator asked suddenly.
"It is not a man's name which speaks loudest, but his deeds."
"Well-spoken, and truly spoken," returned Boldbator, dropping the subject.
The conversation took other directions. The restiveness in Beijing, the wolf problem, which was severe this hungry winter, and the long months untii lambing season. Eventually it came around to the destination of the old man and his Chinese serf.
"I will go to the Gobi next," he said, putting aside his bowl.
"And then?" Boldbator wondered.
"I will know when I have reached the Gobi."
"I see no alien horse tethered outside."
"Horses can be bought, even on the steppe-if one offers enough gold."
Boldbator roared his amusement. The others joined in.
"There is not enough gold in the world to induce a true Mongol to part with his horse in winter!" Darum scoffed.
The old man was silent for a long time.
"I seek the treasure of Temujin," he said in a firm but quiet voice.
Silence greeted his pronouncement.
"It has never been found," Boldbator said eventually. "Even the Khan's true burial site has remained a mystery through the ages."
"I will give ten percent of what I find to any Mongol who rides with me to the place of the treasure and enables me to bear it safely away."
"I would ride with any Mongol who would dare, but not with an old man and a shivering Chinese," Boldbator countered. "Otherwise I would be a fool who throws his life away." "What else are you doing with your life, Mongol who was prepared to die for a glimpse of courage?"
Boldbator pounded his chest. "I ride. That is life itself."
"And when you are old?"
"I will watch my sons ride if I still walk the earth. Perhaps I will live long enough to witness the coming of the next khan. For that is what I truly live for."
"A man who shares in the treasure of Temujin need not settle for waiting."
Boldbator paused. His almond eyes narrowed.
"He could be the Next Khan," the old man said pointedly.
Boldbator toyed with a stringy flap of mutton that hung off the burnt carcass, as if considering whether or not it would be good eating.
At length he spoke. "What are you, old man?"
"I am a Korean."
"I could not follow a Korean, even if you were the Master of Sinanju himself, striding out of the mists of history to stand by the side of the Khan to Come."
"You know of the Master of Sinanju, Mongol?" the Korean asked, interest silvering in his voice.
General laughter greeted the old Korean's question. Even the old woman laughed, exposing strong shovel-shaped teeth in which strands of mutton were caught.
"All Mongols know what the Master of Sinanju was to the khans of the old days. Woe to Mongolia that those days perished," Boldbator muttered darkly.
Darum lifted up a cup of fermented mare's milk and offered a toast.
"May they return again one day," he said solemnly.