Burunda paced back and forth in the encampment examining the trenches and reviewing the guards set by them, calling together all the officers, giving instructions how they should guard themselves against an attack in the middle of the night.
It was nearly midnight before the encampment finally quieted down. Only the shouts of the guards and the roar of the waterfall broke through the reigning calm. However, in one spot within the Mongolian entrenchment there shone a light. This was the flickering flame of a torch in the tent of Tuhar Wolf. A whitish flame glimmered, crackled and smoked, devouring the melting tar, throwing an uncertain light over the interior of the tent. Empty and desolate it was in the tent, just as now in the heart of Tuhar Wolf. He paced back and forth absorbed in meditation. Burunda’s bitter reproaches burned in his proud soul. They were like a slap in the face, opening his eyes and making him realize on to what a slippery path he had blundered.
“Peta promised me a gracious reward from Jinghis Khan,” he grumbled, “and this barbarian treats me like a dog. Am I then the lowliest of their servants, comparable to a mere slave? Peta promised me all the cities and the entire territory of Carpatho-Rus, a great kingdom, while Burunda here, is threatening me with what I know not, without cause. And he could fulfill that threat, too, the damned devil! Should I give in to him, try to please him? I must! I’m in his hands! I’m a prisoner, a slave, as that lout Maxim said.”
“That reminds me, where is that Maxim? Could I not do what Burunda desires with his help? Could I not, for instance, exchange him for a way out of this hole? That’s a good idea!”
He called two Mongols to him who lay not far from his tent and ordered them to find and bring to him the prisoner Maxim.
Unwillingly, muttering something, the Mongols obeyed
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