My eyes went out the window once more. It seemed miraculous that men on horseback could travel from so far away as Mongolia let alone conquer. In my era, we had planes and ships to transport people and machines. The amount of time and effort and sheer willpower it would take in this time to defeat entire nations …
It was incredible, horrifying and mind blowing.
"Come, Moonbeam," Mahmood said and hurried to the wooden door.
I went. My gaze was a bit blurry from the spell, my step not as certain or quick as it usually was. As if sensing this, Mahmood kept his pace slow and led me through narrow halls to a winding stairwell that twisted several floors down until we reached a basement.
Or maybe a … dungeon. It was dark and smelly. I couldn't imagine people voluntarily being down here.
"All we know of him is his name, Batu. He has said nothing else that we can understand," Mahmood said.
We continued down a hallway with an uneven stone floor that smelled of rot, must and men. My nose wrinkled.
"But he's speaking to you?" I asked, a little nervous about confronting one of the men Mahmood feared.
"I wouldn't call it speaking."
The odd sound, the one that woke me originally, filled the air. It didn't sound human: a low, bass hum combined with higher pitched staccato notes that fluctuated in a quick-paced rhythm. The near-growl penetrated the walls and emanated from behind a closed door.
"What kind of instrument is that?" I asked.
"It is no instrument," Mahmood said, amused. "It is the singing Mongol."
"Singing?"
"The song of the steppe. They call it throat singing. He does it all day."
That can't be singing. I frowned, not understanding how anyone could sing two notes at once let alone growl that deep.
Mahmood paused in front of the door from which the sound came. "Do not speak," he cautioned. "Let us observe first."
I nodded.
He opened the door, and we stepped into a large room. Heavily armed guards in chainmail were stationed every ten feet around the perimeter for a total of twelve. Torchlight illuminated the plain, stone room void of furniture or any other comfort items. In the center was a man, hooded and bound, seated on a low stool.
The sound came from him and reverberated in the enclosed space.
I'd never heard anything so peculiar in my life, and I definitely didn't consider it singing.
Mahmood motioned for me to follow him. We circled the captured warrior at a safe distance.
He was much larger than those I'd seen in the army of Ghoajin's husband. He resembled the bodyguards they assigned me the night I arrived: over six feet tall and thickly muscled with biceps larger than my thighs. I immediately understood why there were so many guards. This warrior was simply dressed in a tunic with ties open at the throat and baggy pants. He was barefoot, and I saw no braids or hair from under the hood.