The tent was smaller than a proper ger. Canvas stretched over a frame of trimmed poles, and whenever the wind outside eased, the sound of the river slipped through the walls, a steady current beneath every word spoken inside. Thick, dark furs covered the ground, the sort that came from a successful hunting season. Somewhere beyond the tent, a horse stamped once against the earth before falling quiet again.
Neither man waited to be shown where to sit.
Batu crossed to the far side and lowered himself onto the furs with the same measured pace Mindaugas used to reach his own place. Neither adjusted for the other, yet they arrived together all the same.
Suuqai and Siban stopped behind Batu's shoulder, with Buqa a pace farther back. Across the space between them, Mindaugas's two retainers and the gray-robed priest took their places behind him.
No one spoke.
Batu let the silence linger. Waiting cost him nothing, and the first man to break it would reveal who wanted this meeting more.
