"At Kabul we will turn north through the mountains toward Samarkand; after the long journey through the mountains, we will once again see the city of blue and gold that Timur-i has built," Djerat said over her shoulder to Sanat Ji Mani as they waited in the line of wagons to be ferried across the River Sutlej, a fast-running tributary of the Indus. It was a blustery day, and although the sun was warm, the wind, coming from the north, was cold from its passage over distant mountain snows. "There we will have rewards for our work, and we will join in the feasting."

The soldiers had rigged a pair of huge pulleys from two enormous tree-trunks set into the banks opposite one another; the pulleys were strung with ropes as thick as a man's forearm which the soldiers used to tug the wide barge across the swift-running river. The ferry-line ran through the barge and kept it rigorously on course in the treacherous current; fully loaded, the barge could carry three wagons and up to a dozen horsemen at a time, and it had been in continual use for more than two days.

"It is a long way to Samarkand," said Tulsi, sitting on the edge of the driving-seat next to Djerat, her expression more thoughtful than the older woman's.

"We have made the journey before, and will again-without the foreigner for company, I hope." She intended that Sanat Ji Mani hear this; she raised her voice enough for it to carry into the tent on the wagon. "You cannot want to be with the jugglers and tumblers and fools, can you, foreigner?"

"No doubt Timur-i will arrange something before you travel again," said Sanat Ji Mani with every appearance of good humor.

"Once we are there, in Samarkand, we will see what becomes of you; Timur-i will have had time to test your value and your abilities," Djerat continued. "If you have not proved your worth, Timur-i will be done with you: you will be killed and your bones given to kites."

Sanat Ji Mani thought of those birds with an inward shudder, but he maintained his aplomb. "We cannot know what Timur-i will do."

Djerart laughed. "He will make short work of you-of that I have no doubt. Unless you fulfill your promise, he will be rid of you."

"And that would make you happy," said Sanat Ji Mani, rising to the challenge at last.

Djerat sloughed around on the driving-seat and looked directly at him through the tent-lap, her eyes like shards of obsidian in her hairy face. "Yes. It would make me happy." Then she turned back to face her team, showing no interest in anything he might say in response.

It was Tulsi who was shocked. "You cannot mean that," she protested.

"Yes, I can," said Djerat.

At the same instant, Sanat Ji Mani said, "Yes, she does."

Tulsi held up her hands, appalled at this. "You are both disgusting," she said in a low voice, as if her quiet would lessen their reaction.

"He is the one who is disgusting," said Djerat. "You are blinded to his faults because you think he is smitten with you. He is no different than any other man, who seeks only to have his pleasure and has no thought beyond the end of his member."

Sanat Ji Mani said nothing, sitting back in the wagon in the shelter of the tent; he looked down at his small, well-shaped hands, noticing that they were almost free of burns now, but that the skin still had that stretched, tender look about it. Another two weeks and he should be fully recovered. He did not want to argue with Djerat, not because of her accusations, but because of the dismay they caused Tulsi; Djerat was right: he was attracted to the young tumbler.

A sudden cry erupted from the front of the line, and immediately shouts and howls went up as consternation spread through those waiting to cross the river.

Djerat stood up, her hand shading her eyes as she squinted down at the excitement below. "A man is caught in the pulley-cable," she said at last. "The ropes are cutting him in half. They may have to kill him to get him free."

This brought Sanat Ji Mani to full attention. "How badly is he hurt? Can you see?" He reached for his bag of supplies and went to the rear of the tent, climbing out of it with difficulty as his stapled foot compelled him to limp. As he reached the ground he called out, "Stop the cable. Stop the cable!"

Watching him try to hurry, Djerat laughed. "Save him if you can, foreigner. See if they will let you."

The people in other wagons made way for him as he stumbled down the bank to the tree-trunk supporting the pulley and cable. A few of them jeered as he passed, but most stared at him with the horrified fascination of developing tragedy.

An officer stood at the foot of the tree-trunk, staring up at the huge pulley overhead; the ropes were taut and quivering, and other soldiers milled on the bank, staring toward the barge now halted at mid-stream, with the injured man flailing against the side of the craft; below him the river carried a smear of red.

"He is dead anyway," said the officer when Sanat Ji Mani asked him to stop the cable. "We will kill him quickly, and that will be the end of it."

"Can no one swim out to him?" Sanat Ji Mani asked. "He needn't be made to suffer any more hurt if someone will swim out to him."

"He is caught in the rope. It will have his arm off, and then he will be cut through the chest. Why risk another man to save one who is already dead?" The officer shook his head.

"He may be, but not yet," said Sanat Ji Mani. "So he may also be saved."

The officer stared at Sanat Ji Mani, then recognition came into his face. "You are the foreign healer, are you not?"

"I am," said Sanat Ji Mani; the sun was already leaching the strength from him; he could feel his face redden and his body begin to shiver.

"If you wish to try to save him, I will stop the cable, but the rest is up to you." He favored Sanat Ji Mani with an ironic nod, then bawled out orders to stop the cable. "There. Do as you must."

Sanat Ji Mani glanced at the swirling waters of the river, feeling already the first twinges of vertigo running water always evoked in him. He steeled himself against the ordeal that was to come; he handed his bag to the officer. "Keep this for me, if you would."

The officer took it. "If you like. I would rather give it back to the tumbler." There was an amused glint in his eyes as he watched Sanat Ji Mani start toward the river. "That stirrup makes for poor swimming," he remarked.

People fell silent as Sanat Ji Mani reached the edge of the river and bent down to take hold of the ferry-line where it entered the water; more than a thousand eyes were fixed on him as he entered the water, his arm wrapped around the ferry-line. Almost at once nausea hit him as the water surged around him. Grimly he began to pull himself forward on the ferry-line, his hands straining, his body aching; the barge seemed leagues away. He concentrated on reaching the barge, focusing on the man whose blood flamed in the river.

"Watch out!" someone on the barge called out as a large branch came sweeping down on him.

Sanat Ji Mani wrapped both arms around the ferry-line and held on with all his waning strength; the branch brushed against him, trying to snag his clothing: he felt the fabric at his shoulder give way, leaving a rent in his short, black kandalys that reached all the way down his back. Gasping, he continued along the ferry-line, the stirrup as heavy as a boulder on his right foot. For a moment he vividly recalled his afternoon in the Flavian Circus, fighting crocodiles in an aquatic venation; he used the memory to drive himself forward. After what seemed an eternity, he touched the rough-sawn logs of the barge; he took a firmer grip and began to pull himself around toward the trapped and bleeding man while those on the barge shouted to him.

The man was still half-conscious and trying to shout. Immense, bleeding welts scored his arms and shoulder. At least, thought Sanat Ji Mani as he made his way toward the man, the cable had not cut him across the abdomen, for then nothing would save him from an agonized death; the kindest thing would be to kill him quickly, had that been the case. But as the rope lay against the man's shoulder and back, he had a chance to survive. Sanat Ji Mani felt a renewal of purpose as he thrashed along the length of the barge, the river pulling at him as he strove to reach the injured man. He struggled nearer, reaching out to take the man's nearest arm.

"Get away!" the man shouted, trying to kick out at Sanat Ji Mani.

"I can help you," Sanat Ji Mani called back.

"They'll chop me to bits in a moment. Get back!" He coughed as he swallowed more of the river.

"Not yet. I have a little time to try to get you free," Sanat Ji Mani said loudly; he was an arm's-length away from the man, and could see the panic and agony in his eyes. "If you will let me help you-"

The man howled, anger and anguish giving the sound an undeniable urgency. "Let them kill me and be done with it!"

"Not quite yet," Sanat Ji Mani said, as much to himself as the trapped man. "I am going to try to hold the cable out from your body. I will not be able to do it for very long. Do you think you can slip out from under it?"

The man shook his head violently but said, "I can try." He watched Sanat Ji Mani with disbelief as the foreigner closed the gap between them. "You'll be caught," he warned.

"I doubt it," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I think we can slip away together."

"They will kill us both if you do not succeed," the man told him over the noise of the river and the shouts of those watching from the barge above.

"Then we had best not fail," Sanat Ji Mani sputtered as the barge swung, sloshing water over him.

"The river is very fast," the man said, panic in his voice.

"Then keep hold of me," Sanat Ji Mani recommended. "I will hold on to the ferry-line." There was grim determination in this promise, for he knew that once in the grip of the current, he was too weak to fight the river, and would be swept away.

"I will," said the man, desperation turning his vow to a shriek.

Sanat Ji Mani nodded. "Be ready," he ordered, angling his body away from the barge and slipping under the cable so that his shoulder took the tension; the hemp cut his clothing and chafed his shoulder, and the stresses thrummed in the fibers of the cable but there was room enough for the trapped man to break away. "Now!"

The man let go of the barge and wrapped his bloody arm around Sanat Ji Mani's waist, holding on with such purpose that he nearly dragged them both underwater. As the barge bobbed and rocked with the release of the cable, the man clawed his way up Sanat Ji Mani's torn garments to thrust his head out of the water, breathing emphatically and shouting he was alive, all the while forcing Sanat Ji Mani underwater, where his strength was sapped by the running water. Slowly the barge began to move again. Sanat Ji Mani kept hold of the ferry-line, letting the cable pull him and his charge to the far bank.

As they reached the shallows, the man let go, staggering to his feet, blood running down his body lending his bronze clothing an encarmined glow; Sanat Ji Mani swallowed hard and forced his thought to other matters. The man kept moving, leaving a bright trail behind him, raising his arms with an effort, shouting he was alive, and only then gave his attention to Sanat Ji Mani, who was on his knees in the rough-pebbled sand. "You did it!" he exclaimed, waving his hands as if to restore feeling in them. "You did it!"

Sanat Ji Mani got slowly to his feet, the stirrup feeling as if it were made of lead instead of steel and wood. "Your wounds must be treated," he said. "You are still not beyond danger."

"Why say that?" the man demanded. "I am alive. You are alive. What more can happen? The rest is nothing."

"You will not think so if the abrasions become putrid," Sanat Ji Mani warned him. "Better to treat the hurts now. You will have bruises and other pain as well. As soon as the wagon in which I ride is over the river ..." He glanced at the barge which was almost unloaded. "Will you bring the wagon of Djerat, the hairy woman, over in your next load? They have my medicaments, and I can tend to this man's hurts."

The man commanding the barge nodded. "I will do it."

"Thank you," Sanat Ji Mani said; he could feel his skin burning, and he looked about for shade. He did not want to use any of the wagons, for he did not think he would be safe lying in their shadows. Finally, he saw a small overhang where a rocky promontory made a bit of shade over the River Sutlej, and he pointed toward it. "I will rest there until Djerat is across."

"As you wish," said the barge commander; he pointed to the man Sanat Ji Mani had pulled from the river. "What about him?"

"He should lie down and be given tea to drink," said Sanat Ji Mani. "If one of the wagons that have come across will let him rest in the interior, I will tend to him when my supplies arrive." He felt tired to the bone; that shadow was tantalizing and he longed to lie in it. "I will be over there. Under the rock."

The barge commander shrugged. "Do you want tea?"

"No, thank you; nothing," he said, knowing it was not the truth: his esurience was burning within him as furiously as the sun burned without. Limping heavily on account of the stirrup, he trudged away into the shade and lay back against the jumbled boulders, finding them as restful as any soft bed he had ever known. He settled himself and closed his eyes, grateful for even a short respite from the sun.

He woke a short while later, alerted by the chittering of river otters gathered farther down the bank that something was amiss. He stretched and discovered that sunburn had stiffened his skin once again. Slowly he sat up and looked about.

On the river the barge was once again in trouble: the ferry-line had apparently been frayed by the stresses of being caught in mid-stream while Sanat Ji Mani helped the trapped man. Now the barge swung about in the river, no longer held on course by anything more than the cable. The drivers of the wagons aboard had to wrestle with their teams to keep their mules and horses from panicking. Men began to shout as the barge started to break away from the heavy cable, tipping dangerously, flinging two men and their horses into the water.

Sanat Ji Mani scrambled to his feet and limped to the edge of the river, watching the men and horses carried away downstream, the screams of animals and men shredding the afternoon. He stared back at the barge and saw it pitching as the commander strove to steady it using only the cable; for a short while, it seemed he would do it, but then the barge teetered, and the right rear jutted suddenly upward, dumping all but a few men into the river. Djerat's wagon came down amid a tangle of harness and tent; the mules brayed their terror and Djerat cursed as they were caught by the current. Sanat Ji Mani moved thigh-deep into the water, hoping for a chance to help guide the wagon to safety. As he watched, Tulsi climbed out of the rear of the toppled tent, his bag of supplies over her arm; she saw him, and waved to him, shouting something he could not hear. On impulse, he went another step into the river and was in water above his waist. Memories of another river, nearly three centuries ago, in Spain, were powerful, but not enough to keep him from going deeper: Tulsi and Djerat were struggling with the wagon and might soon be pulled underwater. He had no strength left to fight the water; with the curious otters observing from the bank, he slid away after the wagon.

The Sutlej carried them some distance into ever more desolate territory as the hills gave way to the first spread of arid flatlands where the wind lost its chill. Finally, when the first streamers of approaching sundown were beginning to color the western sky, the wagon was snagged on a sandbar; two of the mules were dead, the other four were battered and spent by their ordeal, and could only be got out of the river by cutting them out of their harnesses and being led to the shore where they remained on shaky legs, their heads down and long ears drooping.

Djerat had not fared much better: her thick hair was heavy and her shoulder gave her pain from striving to keep her team alive in the river. She cursed long and thoroughly, blaming Sanat Ji Mani for every misfortune that had been visited upon her since her family sold her to the man who offered them enough gold to buy a bigger mill until the present. She then turned on Tulsi. "You. You are an ungrateful wretch. Your mother was a scorpion and your father was a viper. You are nothing but pain and trouble." She slapped Tulsi across the face. "Everything is ruined because of him and you."

Sanat Ji Mani stepped up to her. "All that may be true, but it does not get us through the night, which is coming soon. If we move away from the river-"

"And why should we do that?" Djerat rounded on him, prepared to belabor him with her fists.

"Because animals come to the river to drink at night. All kinds of animals." He said it gently. "Those two dead mules will be fought over. It is wiser to move ourselves than be rid of the mules."

"And you believe we can get far enough to be safe?" Her question was incredulous. "How are we to do that?"

"We can lead the mules still alive and pull the wagon ourselves. There is still time before sunset. We need not go very far: perhaps half a league." He pointed to a single tree some distance away. "That far."

"And you think we will not be in danger there?" Djerat jeered.

"No, but I think our danger will be less, especially if we build a fire," he said pointedly.

"But you will not pull the wagon, not with your foot in Timur-i's stirrup," said Djerat.

"I will pull, and I will lead a mule," he said, and started away to right the wagon.

"You think he is right," Djerat accused Tulsi. "You want to do this thing."

"I think he may be right," Tulsi replied cautiously. "And right or not, I think we would be safer away from the river."

"Do you suppose a campfire will keep hungry lions at bay?" Djerat asked. "We have four living mules that are weak from the river. Look at them. How can they fight off anything larger than a mongoose?"

"They will stand a better chance away from the riverbank than at it," Tulsi said. "I am going to help him pull the wagon. You can lead the mules. They know you."

Djerat flung up her hands in disgust. "Very well. But if either of you slacks, I will not take up your burdens."

Tulsi smiled bleakly. "I would not expect you to." She paused. "I will fill a bucket with water so the mules will not be thirsty during the night."

There was a groaning and a crash as the wagon was set on all four wheels again; its tent sagged, dripping, clearly revealing that one of the support rods for it had broken, giving the wagon a raffish, lopsided look. "You can pull and I will push," said Sanat Ji Mani, going to the rear of the wagon and leaning against it; the vehicle rolled forward over the uneven ground. "You can guide it." He looked around at the mules. "There are halters in the wagon, I hope?"

"Under the driver's seat," said Djerat, frowning as she spoke. "I will give you one. You will have to deal with the mule yourself." She trudged up to the wagon and reached under the seat to pull out a handful of rope halters. "Here."

He caught the halter she tossed in his direction. "Very good." Sorting out the halter, he started toward the worn-out mules, trying to decide which to lead.

"Take the jenny with the notched ear," Tulsi recommended from behind him. "She is the most sensible."

He nodded. "Very well," and was relieved when the mule proved tractable, resisting only a bit when Sanat Ji Mani led her toward the wagon. "We are ready to begin," he said as he took his place at the back of the wagon once more.

"Oh, all right," said Djerat, and handed a halter to Tulsi, holding two for herself. "We'll bring the mules, and head for that tree."

Tulsi said nothing more as she caught one of the jack-mules and led him back to the front of the wagon. "There is nothing for them to eat," she called out to Sanat Ji Mani.

"I will find something before morning, when the land is most still. In the meantime, you are right to bring water." He gave the wagon another gentle push, and this time it rolled more easily, being away from the uneven ground carved by the river. He was keenly aware that he would have to find food for the mules and for himself before dawn, for once the sun rose, his strength would be gone.

"Where will we go? Timur-i is bound for Lahore and Kabul, and we cannot catch up with him," Djerat complained as she haltered the two remaining mules. "We cannot stay here on the edge of this dry plain. We will die of thirst or starve."

"Do you want to stay with Timur-i?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, doing his best to keep the incredulity from his voice.

"Why not?" Djerat countered; she led the mules up to the wagon and took her place on the other side of the wagon-tongue from Tulsi and prepared to pull. The slanting rays of sunset cast long shadows across the hard-packed earth, showing they were moving north by north-west.

"He is a capricious ruler, and he has had men executed for laughing," Tulsi said. "You know he is not safe." She grabbed the hitch-ring on the wagon-tongue and began to pull as well; the wagon trundled along at a steady pace. "This works," she said in some astonishment.

"So long as the ground is flat," said Djerat. "And there is not too much scrub."

"By the time we reach hills or mountains, the mules will be ready to pull again," Tulsi said, trying to be encouraging; they were a third of the way to the tree.

From some distance away a first roar sounded the end of day; the mules danced on their leads, suddenly alert and nervous. Other animals set up howls and cries as if in answer to the lion.

"Save your breath for work," Sanat Ji Mani recommended as he shoved harder on the rear panel of the wagon; he was growing lightheaded as he pushed, and he knew he would not be able to keep up his efforts for much longer. The mule he led minced along, ears moving to catch every sound, aware that creatures were gathering, anticipating dusk.

Both women were willing to abide by his order, husbanding their strength and making for the tree. By the time they reached it, the sky was much darker in the east, and the brilliance in the west was giving way; a few night-flying birds were headed into the sky, and occasionally a bat fluttered by.

"What do we do now?" Djerat asked as she dropped the wagon-tongue. "We are at the tree and it is almost dark."

Sanat Ji Mani led the mule forward and set down an armload of dried scrub and dung he had picked up as they went from the riverbank to the tree. "First I build a fire. Once we have that, we will be protected." He had felt in his wallet for Hint-and-steel and had been glad to find them still in place. "Then we can consider what is next to be done." He did not wait for any response, but began to lay a fire not far from the wagon. "You will want to tie the mules where they will be in the light."

"I suppose you think this solves everything," said Djerat. "You have only to light the fire and we will have nothing to fear."

"No," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I believe we all have good reason to fear."

As if to punctuate his words, a second roar blared in the night as the afterglow continued to fade from the sky. Tulsi pulled the mules nearer to the wagon while Sanat Ji Mani made a pile of twigs and strove for a spark from flint-and-steel.

"Then you are planning to use our gratitude to compel us to obey your wishes." Djerat cocked her head. "You do not assume I am unaware of your intentions."

Sanat Ji Mani continued his work. "No, I do not think that, as well you would know if you took a moment to reflect." He heard her shocked intake of air; he went on, "You and Tulsi may decide on a course I cannot agree to, and if that is the case, I will not try to persuade you against your will to accept what I plan." A bit of flame had started; he fed it with kindling and blew on it gently to set it burning.

"You are a dangerous man," said Djerat.

"But I have made us a fire, so, for the night, accept that I have my uses," he said with an ironic smile as he stood up, shuffling a little to accommodate the stirrup. "I will keep watch while you sleep," he went on. "In the morning, I will rest." He would need to get out of the sun, for his new burn was already painful and a second day of exposure would be excruciating.

"Indeed you shall," said Tulsi before Djerat could speak. "I, for one, will be happy to have a night to rest."

"And in the morning, when he is gone and the mules with him, what will you say then?" Djerat asked spitefully.

"I will say it is a poor sport who does not leave two mules to pull the wagon for us," Tulsi answered sharply.

Sanat Ji Mani stared into the fire, his ears attuned to the sounds in the night; back at the riverbank a fight had begun, possibly for the dead mules, and on the broad plains many creatures were moving. One of them, he was certain, would feed him before sunrise, and provide a meal for the two women; it would get them all through the following night and for the moment, he hoped that would be enough to maintain their antipathetic alliance long enough for them to find a haven.

Transcription of an oral report made by Ariq Sati, company commander, to Timur-i Lenkh.

Most Esteemed Lord, favored by Allah and beloved of the Prophet, I come to you to fulfill my duty as your company commander of mounted archers called the Bronzes, to report on an incident that occurred during the crossing of the Sutlej two days since.

While the various wagons were being ferried-most of the troops having already crossed-a man of my company, attempting to keep a crate of food from overbalancing into the river, was instead himself thrown off the barge. He was wedged between the barge and the pull-cable, which was giving him severe injuries-later inspection showed he had been cut to the bone on his shoulder and upper arm-and causing the barge to be stalled at mid-stream.

The order was given to cut the man out of the pull-cable so that the barge could continue to move when the foreigner Sanat Ji Mani volunteered to release the man-one Jahan Baidu, a distant member of your clan, most exalted Lord-and attempt to save his life. He was allowed to do this only because the trapped man was a relative of yours and therefore deserved the chance to live. It seemed an impossible task for anyone, but it was best to try to save Jahan Baidu, and so the foreigner went into the river in spite of your stirrup on his right foot. The current was strong and swift, which hampered the rescue, but in spite of everything, Sanat Ji Mani was able to free your relative, who made it to the shore, Sanat Ji Mani behind him. I, myself saw both men on the northern shore immediately after the rescue, so I have no doubt that it was entirely successful.

The ferry continued its work, but the stay-line had been damaged, and at the next laden crossing, it broke, leaving the barge at the mercy of the river. All three wagons on it washed away, as did the eleven men and four women making the crossing; most watching were afraid of the swiftness of the river and would do nothing but go to the bank and thrust poles out for the unfortunates to grab. As you are aware, there is a bend through rocks just below the ferry-crossing, so the opportunity to pull those flung into it out of the river was brief. Only two were brought safely to shore; the rest were swept downstream and I dispatched two riders to search for any survivors. The barge itself suffered damage when it careened into the rocks a short distance downstream. It took most of the afternoon and evening to repair the barge and replace the ferry-line before we could continue with the crossing. The riders I had sent out returned with two bodies and a third man who was badly injured but still alive; he was put in the care of the farriers to set his bones and then into the hands of the herbalist. I do not know if he will live, but there is some hope for him.

The crossing of the remainder of the wagons and men was almost complete when I came away to make this report, and it has proceeded without any other disruption. All but five wagons had been taken over the river by the time I rode out, and by now all must be across.

All in all, we lost very few persons, animals, wagons, and supplies as a result of this mishap. I can state that no significant amount of food was washed away, and that only two horses were. There were upward of twelve asses and mules lost, and three wagons swept away, which is unfortunate, but at least it was only jugglers, fools, and tumblers who died. The jugglers who toss flaming arrows were in one of the missing wagons, and the woman covered in hair and the tumbler with grey eyes were in the other; they are not so great a loss as would be the men from the Inland Sea with the four trained tigers, or the jugglers who perform while standing on galloping horses. I will not go so far as to say we were lucky, but I am convinced it could have been much worse. In a situation such as this, I must point out that we might have endured much less tolerable expirations.

Most puzzling of all is that the foreigner, Sanat Ji Mani, cannot be found. I have done my best to discover what has become of him. Two men report that he went into the river a second time, when the barge overturned, in an attempt to save those who were on it. It may be that he did. I did not see this myself, so I cannot say for sure he did it, but given what he did before, I cannot think it would be unlike him to make such an attempt. If he did go into the river, it carried him away, and it is likely he has drowned or been killed against the rocks. I know he did not try to escape, for we searched the country for some distance around, and a man with a stirrup on his foot could not go far, or fast. I must conclude that my two men have given a good account of the foreigner, and that he did indeed do his utmost to pull the unfortunates from the river. It is likely his body may wash up far downstream where it cannot be recovered. I am satisfied that he is gone, and unless you order a search made for him, I am going to count him among the casualties of the ferry-crossing.

As regards your relative, Jahan Baidu, I wish I could report that all that was done to save him was sufficient, but I fear it was not: Jahan Baidu had bled a great deal, which took the heat from his body. He soon became cold, and his skin went pale. By nightfall, he was shaking as if lying in mountain snows. My own physician did his best to treat him, but it was in vain. The rope had sawn too far into his flesh and his bleeding could not be stopped. Any movement brought about a welling of blood, and eventually, he fell into a swoon, and passed from that into death before the night was half-spent. Prayers for him were offered with sunrise prayers, and he was put into a grave with a marker showing his lineage.

That is as much as I can tell you. You may question me further or question my men and you will be told the same thing. I regret that any misfortune should come to one of your family while under my command and I beseech you not to hold this against me when you decide what is to be done, for the sake of my father and brothers, who serve you with devotion as I do; no one knows better than you, Exalted Lord, the hazards of campaigning, and as regrettable as these losses are, they must be counted among the misfortunes of marching an army, and not the lapse of anyone under your banner and command.

Copied by the scribe Yesun Toq and signed by

Ariq Sati

Commander

Bronze Company

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