The first thing Kushi Ursut thought, upon seeing the dejected expression on the face of their new zuun-lord was:

Look at that sad bastard.

Baraat’s expression, as he was being toured through the encampment, to meet and know the two-hundred men and their hundred mounts in his command was one of such singular misery as Kushi had not seen even among prisoners-of-war. Baraat’s one-word responses to the salutes of his men, his absent-minded inspection of the mounts and his almost indifferent approach to inspecting their guns and sabers at first puzzled the old Mongol, who suddenly found it hard to believe that their new zuun-lord was the tank-buster of hearsay.

In fact, Kushi thought, as they were finishing their round of inspection and he was leading the boy-commander to his quarters, this might have all been a hoax, to protect this strange nobody (perhaps a nephew of the Khan himself) from being harassed by his subordinates. Perhaps this boy was little better than a greenhorn driver, fresh out of the steppes, finding himself immediately overwhelmed by responsibility. The thought made Kushi uneasy: 

To trust their lives to a scared boy that was in a situation that was way over his head? Now that was suicide.

Kushi hoped he would not have to put a bullet to the boy’s head when he finally broke down as soon as the going got rough. He hoped, at the very least, that he would be able to find which buttons to press in this boy, to turn him into a serviceable figurehead. The thought of him re-assuming the role of functioning zuun-lord once again was not a welcoming prospect.

After all, Kushi knew he was not leader-material. His grasp of tactics was elementary, at best; his understanding of campaign logistics was marginal and the subtle nuances of warfare were lost to him: like his fellow countrymen, Kushi was a pillager-born, a savage who had reveled in the great disaster that had dissolved civilization like so many of his fellows. 

“Is the inspection complete?” Baraat asked, interrupting Kushi’s reverie. The boy looked pale, exhausted, barely on his feet. Kushi knew that this was not just because he was forced to hobble along on his crutches. 

“I believe so, zuun-lord. There is, however, the matter of managing your hoard.” Kushi said, forcing a smile. Wasn’t this going to be fun: divvying up the spoils while trying to handle by this bumbling child.

“It will have to wait. I wish to retire for the day.” Baraat said. “Take me to my quarters.”

Kushi nodded and led the boy to the RV that had been set up in the middle of the zuun’s encampment, adorned with animal pelts, its bumper covered in repurposed decals depicting screaming skulls on fire. Baraat moved to the side of the vehicle, struggled to open the door, almost stumbled and then leaned against the side of the RV, panting.

“What is your name?” Baraat asked, feigning harshness. Kushi did his best not to grin at the show.

“I am Kushi Ursut, zuun-lord. Arban-lord and your designated driver.”

“Ursut?” the boy asked, his expression turning suddenly grim. “You weren't related to-”

“Chuluun Ursut? Yes, zuun-lord. He was my nephew, from my sister’s side and your predecessor.”

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Kushi Ursut.”

“Don’t fret, zuun-lord,” Kushi said, laughing uproariously “Chuluun was a murderous, violent cunt and he will not be missed. To be honest, I am glad that he was killed by enemy fire. I would hate having to make up some extraordinary lie to hide the fact I had shot him in the back to console my poor sister!”

Baraat was silent for a while, then laughed along with Kushi, who produced a flask of vodka and offered it to his superior, as custom dictated. Baraat politely refused.

“Doctors said I should not consume alcohol. Might interfere with my antibiotics.”

“Ah, it’s a terrible thing, for a man to be denied his liquor. Better they just slit my throat than have to put up with what you’re going through!” Kushi said, gulping down half the flask in one chug.

“It’s not so bad. The worst part is having to stay in the back seat. To not be able to drive my own mount.” Baraat muttered.

“That’s just the youth talking, zuun-lord. When you get my age, you’ll be glad to be able to sit your ass down and have the youngsters do the work. Trust me when I tell you this: in ten years’ time, you will be cursing the gods above and below that they didn’t give you the common sense to make someone else do the heavy lifting!” Kushi said, patting Baraat’s shoulder playfully. He stopped, as he noticed his expression change: from playful to grim in an instant, stopping him dead in his tracks. 

“We will divvy up the loot later. I will rest for today. But before that, I would like to meet your mount-partner. Get to see the man who’ll be doing the shooting for me.”

“Understood, zuun-lord.” Kushi responded.

He had opened the door for Baraat before he even knew he was doing it. Suddenly, it seemed as if the boy’s hobbling wasn’t as bad as before.