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To the north, the land stretched endlessly.
Wind swept across the tall grass, stirring it into rolling green waves.
The waves surged past the horses’ hooves. Herds of wild horses galloped freely across the steppe, chased, strangely enough, by a flood of grey wolves that looked like a moving storm cloud.
But though the wolves pursued, they did not attack.
There was no scent of blood in the air. The wolves weren’t hunting the horses.
The two groups coexisted, an oddity on these plains and a testament to the remarkable skill of the herdsmen here.
In the distance, a middle-aged man came galloping in, urgency written all over him. He dismounted and stormed into a tent pitched near the great golden yurt. Inside, a young man sat reading quietly.
“Huyan Hai!” the man snapped. “Did you kill an envoy from the Central Plains?!”
Huyan Hai looked up calmly....
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