Reincarnated as Genghis Khan's Grandson, I Will Not Let It Fall-Chapter 13: The Rider Before the Riders

Batu found Kirsa at the eastern horse lines before the training camp had fully stirred. The morning was cold, the sky flat and gray, the steppe beyond the camp fence running out in every direction without feature.

He stopped beside Kirsa and looked at the fodder line.

"Your six horses," Batu said. "The horse master moved them to the northern pasture two days ago."

"I know. I watched him do it." Kirsa kept his eyes on the line. "Two of them are already showing the early signs. He caught it before it set in."

A groom moved past them with a fodder bundle, working down the line without looking up. Another followed ten paces behind.

"You gave me part of an answer on the ridge," Kirsa said. "I’ve been thinking about the part I left out."

Batu waited.

"You already know about it," Kirsa said. "Thirty years west of the Ural. The name, the grievance, the story passed down. I used it to bring the Ulus in."

The second groom reached the far end of the line and disappeared around the corral fence.

"But there was something else. Before I made the decision, a rider came."

"He came at night. Spoke to my senior commander directly and left before morning without giving his name or marking his clan. Western steppe breed on his horse." Kirsa’s voice carried the flat precision of someone reporting an observation.

"The message was that the Jochid camp was divided over the Sarat campaign. That there was internal opposition to how you’d handled the Tergesh and the Ulus. If the Khotor moved within the month, that opposition would keep the response fragmented."

"Your senior commander believed him," Batu said.

"My senior commander wanted it to be true. I thought there was enough to it to make the window plausible." Kirsa turned and looked at Batu directly.

"I was wrong about the fragmentation. I wasn’t wrong that the rider had inside knowledge. He knew the Ulus terms. He knew the road passage clause you’d added to the Tergesh penalty. That information wasn’t moving in the western camps yet when he came to us."

The fodder line had gone still. The grooms were at the far end, out of earshot.

Batu thought about who in his camp had known the full Tergesh penalty terms before they were announced. The road passage clause had been added to Torghul’s brief on the morning of the Tergesh operation, discussed in the command tent the night before departure.

A handful of men.

"What direction did he come from," Batu said.

"East. From inside your perimeter. The horse was local bred, not a courier animal." Kirsa held his gaze. "I’m telling you this because it’s information you need."

Batu looked at him for a moment. "It changes some things."

He left Kirsa at the horse lines and walked back through the camp.

The training ground was on the eastern flat beyond the horse corrals. Batu arrived to find the middle element of the day’s exercise stationary, forty riders holding position while two men argued in front of them.

He stopped at the edge and read the situation before either man noticed him.

The argument was between a unit commander named Ulan, who’d held rank over two hundred riders since before the Sarat campaign, and a younger officer named Penk, who’d been assigned to the new staff coordination function three days ago.

Ulan was saying that a coordination call didn’t override a field commander’s read of his own ground. Penk was explaining, with the over-careful manner of someone who knew he was right and was losing, that the coordination call wasn’t an override, it was a timing signal.

Torghul was standing fifteen meters away from both of them, watching.

Batu walked to Torghul’s position.

"How long," Batu said.

"Twelve minutes."

"Have you spoken."

"I was about to."

"Don’t. Let it finish."

Torghul looked at him. Batu kept his eyes on the two men.

"Ulan’s objection is real," Batu said. He watched Penk change his approach mid-argument, stop explaining and start asking. "End it now and the problem goes underground. Let it finish."

Penk was asking Ulan what he’d have needed from the coordination function to make the timing signal workable for his ground read. Ulan, caught by a question instead of an argument, gave a specific answer.

Penk said that was something he could incorporate into the protocol. The argument ended without resolution and without surrender. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Torghul made a short sound that wasn’t quite approval.

"Put them in the same element next exercise," Batu said. "Let them work it out in practice." He started walking back toward the command tent.

Khulgen found him halfway across the central ground.

"The Ulus guests," Khulgen said. "They came through the eastern gate twenty minutes ago. I’ve put them in the outer officer quarters."

Batu looked toward the gate. Three horses were being led toward the eastern corrals by a Jochid handler. The riders themselves were already inside.

"Any problems."

"None."

"Keep them comfortable. They came on the terms they agreed to."

Khulgen went. Batu kept walking.

He worked through the afternoon supply reports without hurrying and didn’t turn to the Kirsa information until the last document was set aside.

Then he thought about it properly.

The road passage clause. Added to Torghul’s brief on the morning of the Tergesh operation and discussed in the command tent the night before departure. The men present that evening had been Torghul, Khulgen, Odun, and two senior council officers who handled the operational security summary.

Five men. Borte-Qol hadn’t been among them. The road passage clause hadn’t gone into the general security summary.

It had been a last-minute tactical addition discussed in a specific room on a specific night.

Batu pulled the operational log from the Tergesh preparation and read through the attendance record. Senior field commanders rotated through the council security function on a monthly cycle.

The council officer who’d handled the security summary the night the clause was discussed was Mersek.

Batu set the log down.

Mersek, who’d sat across from him with flat eyes and no explanation and a forty-minute delay that was long enough to mean something. Who’d held a boundary dispute with the easy confidence of a man who thought his position was stable.

Who’d left a summons without waiting to be dismissed and whom Batu had read as confidence and filed away.

A man who tested absent authority in small ways. Who’d been in that room. Whose eastern boundary put him closer to the Ulus and Khotor territories than any other officer on the council.

The information could have traveled without intent. A passing comment to the wrong contact, a detail mentioned in a context that seemed safe.

That was possible.

Batu marked the log with a single line, replaced it, and sat with the specific of what Mersek had been doing since the column returned.

The boundary dispute. The delayed summons. The watch reform left unimplemented for ten days while Batu was in the field.

Each one small. Each one deniable.

He’d been reading them as confidence.

He looked at the line he’d marked in the log.

He’d been reading them wrong.