The outer line understood before Batu had moved. The challenge had been public enough that every man within thirty paces had heard it, and the men within thirty paces of the archery ground were those who understood what mounted archery at full gallop against a bird at two hundred meters meant. The noise around the line changed before Batu's feet changed direction.
He looked at Suuqai.
"Horse."
Suuqai was already moving. He crossed to the nearest Khar Kheshig steppe rider and took the animal's lead from him and brought it to Batu's position in the time it took Batu to hand the competition bow back to the equipment line and take his own from the rider who had it.
His own bow. The one from the Jochid camp's string, that had come through the mountain passes and the plateau and the whole eastern march in its case. He checked the string with two fingers at the center and found it in order.
He mounted.
