Palace of the Golden Phoenix
Chandmani-Ondor
Sabaristan
The summer capital of the Sabari Khans, Chandmani-Ondor was several hundred years older than Yangikent and in these latter days had retained an archaic, relaxed air that even the inner city of the capital lacked. In the days before trains and cars it had taken five to six days for the full princely train to make its procession from the capital to the northern palaces at the beginning of the summer, then back to Yangikent, and then returning for the autumnal hunts. The length of the progress of the Khan’s household, his full court retinue with baggage trains, the women's households, and ceremonial stops along the way had shortened considerably since them with the innovation of a special train line that ran directly from Yangikent, with special stops at the temples, holy sites, and pleasure gardens that the old Sobornoyans and Khans going back to Oqtonbayaar Khan had used. The early 20th century train carriages, exquisite examples of Sabari craftsmanship in lacquered wood and golden-silver accents, were still kept in use and a cottage industry of trainwatchers had grown up around the northern progress (kept far enough away by security, of course). And, in an even greater concession to modernity, an airfield had been installed so that international guests, busy court officials, high nobles, and other invited guests of distinction could be flown in. The rhythms of the old processions were still there, but the requirements of the modern world had forced them to adapt.
The Palace of the Golden Phoenix at Chandmani-Ondor, despite being the oldest palace in the country, had never been built to impress a bureaucrat. Where Yangikent's palace complex unfolded in disciplined courtyards and axial avenues after Han geomantic fashion, the Golden Phoenix sprawled outward from a central hall in loose, overlapping wings, each one seemingly added to answer some prince's whim rather than any surveyor's plan. Felt-lined pavilions stood beside carved stone halls, and the whole compound smelled faintly of horse and leather even now, fine horses still kept stabled as was expected of the Sabaristankhan. Banners bearing the tamga of a dozen extinct or absorbed clans hung from the rafters of the main hall alongside newer Sabaristani state devices. All of the ancient splendor masked the modern amenities: lamps that had once burned wax or oil were subtle electric lights that flickered, but sweet incense still wafted from charcoal braziers in the hall.
Chamberlain Esen, the aged courtier who headed the Imperial Household Agency, had spent the better part of three weeks arranging the entire hunt. This was not the first time that foreign royalty and aristocrats had been present at the hunt, but it was not a regular occurrence and never in these quantities. Foreign courts expected ceremony from Sabaristan, and ceremony they would have, though the shape of it would owe more to the steppe than to Yangikent's careful choreography of rank and precedence. Long tables of black lacquer and pale wood had been set along the hall's perimeter rather than arranged in strict processional order, and the customary bowls of airag and salted tea stood ready beside them, alongside wine for guests who preferred it. Esen had argued for a full week over whether the foreign delegations should be seated by treaty precedence or by the order of their arrival, an argument lost when the Khan said simply he found the question tiring.
The Sabaristankhan, Tayisung Golgatai Bunyashiri Timur, had opted for a hybrid reception. There was a formal entry and greeting for the Khan while he was enthroned, and there would be a more private, less formal reception for the foreign guests. Esen had nearly choked at this impropriety but in the end he had no choice. Around him the household had gathered in a loose half circle rather than a formal line, along with a scattering of falconers, huntsmen, and court women whose presence at a state reception would have been unthinkable at Yangikent. The summer palace was a place where a foreign prince might find himself drinking fermented mare's milk from the same bowl as a stable groom's son who happened to have the Khan's ear.
The state hall itself was full to bursting. Officials of the Eight Ministries stood ranked by grade along one wall in their brocade and rank badges, exchanging the low, practiced murmur of men who had done this a hundred times and would do it a hundred more, while opposite them the aristocracy of the otogs and banners clustered in family groupings dense enough that a newcomer could not always tell where one house's retinue ended and the next began. Above and behind the Khan, on a raised gallery half-screened by carved wooden lattice, sat the women of the rear palace, close enough to see everything and be seen by anyone who cared to look up, their presence at a state affair itself a mark of how rarely this particular assembly convened. Princes of the Golden Lineage stood nearer the Khan than anyone.
Above and behind the Khan on a raised gallery half-screened by carved wooden lattice sat the women of the rear palace, close enough to see everything and be seen by anyone who cared to look up, their presence at a state affair itself a mark of how rarely this particular assembly convened. Foremost among them by right of generation sat the Grand Dowager Khatun Dolgorsuren, the Khan's own mother, a small still figure in silk state robes and the large head-dress of a Mongol woman, done up finely not in dyed black hair but in silver grey, a stark statement about her age. Beside her sat the Dowager Khatun Tserengetsal, the widow of the Sobornoyan Nuruumtash who had ruled Sabaristan before Tayisung, her brother. The reigning Khatun herself, Erdenechimeg, was seated on the left-hand side of her husband. Curious guests might inquire about the politics of the wife of a former sovereign ruler being seated in precedence as equal to her own mother, but Esen had carefully instructed staff to smile and pretend they did not understand the question.
In addition to the Khan’s two sons (those still in favor) and their families, many of the Imperial Princesses were present, as well as the young adult children of his other sisters, the Princesses of Chimgi-Tura and Xunmalin, who were both married to high nobles of Sabaristan. An astounding array of Noyans, Beises, Beiles, and other ranked nobles were present as the whole affair formally began.
The doors of the Golden Phoenix stood open to the autumn light, and beyond them the first of the season's guests could already be heard approaching along the gravel path from the outer gate. Huge drums sounded, gongs crashed, and the brassy notes of horns sounded in the courtyard as the ceremonial open began. The Khan himself began by reading a formal announcement, slowly but in a strong, loud English voice that was fluent but still somewhat accented:
“Honored guests of foreign lands to Our court. These festivities are the ancient tradition of the Sabari peoples, who trust in this court and Our throne – “ he said, using an archaic distancing pronoun – “to govern righteously, to ensure the harmony of society, and that peace and good order is spread on earth. Therefore We have called forth Our court and Our men of rank and honor who owe service and allegiance to Us to once more take part in feats of skill, of archery and horsemanship, of hunting prowess and the command of birds of prey that our ancestors from time immemorial have guarded and mastered. Therefore in the name of our ancestors We bid you welcome.”
When he had finished, the officials of the court and the Sabari aristocrats all raised their hands and clasped them, shouting in loud voices. “Long live the Khan, may the Khan reign ten thousand years!”
Then, it was over. Drums sounded, and a eunuch servant cried, “The Khan’s carriage departs!” as he rose, taking his Khatun’s hand, and departed with his household to the private quarters where his foreign guests could be received in more comfort.
