The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle Page 10

  As Yesugei came to his feet, he stepped left and then right, keeping the pair off balance. He trained every day with Eeluk and his bondsmen, and he knew that movement was the key to killing with swords. Any man could heave a blade around his head, but footwork separated a man from a master. He grinned as Ulagan limped after him, gesturing for him to come closer. The Tartar nodded to the one remaining warrior and Yesugei watched as he moved to the side to take him. Ulagan timed it well and Yesugei did not have space to dart away. He buried his sword in the chest of the unnamed man, but it snagged in the ribs and Ulagan struck with his full weight, punching his blade tip through the mail into Yesugei’s stomach. Yesugei’s grip was broken on his sword as it fell away. He felt a pang for his sons that was worse than the pain, but he used his right hand to hold Ulagan still against him. With his left, he drew a dagger from his belt.

  Ulagan saw the movement and struggled, but Yesugei’s grip was like iron. He looked down on the young Tartar and spat into his face.

  “Your people will be torn from the land for this, Tartar. Your gers will burn and your herds will be scattered.”

  With a quick slash, he cut the young man’s throat and let him fall away. As he crumpled, the Tartar blade slid out of Yesugei’s wound and he bellowed in pain, falling to his knees. He could feel blood coursing down his thighs, and he used the dagger to cut a great strip from his deel, yanking and cursing the agony, with his eyes closed now that there was no one to see. His gelding pulled nervously at the reins, whinnying its distress. The animal was frightened by the smell of blood, and Yesugei forced himself to speak calmly. If the horse pulled free and bolted, he knew he would not make it back to his people.

  “It’s all right, little one. They have not killed me. Do you remember when Eeluk fell on the broken sapling and it went into his back? He lived through it, with enough boiling airag poured into the wound.”

  He grimaced at that thought, remembering how the usually taciturn Eeluk had screamed like a small child. To his relief, his voice seemed to quiet the pony and it ceased yanking at the knot.

  “That’s it, little one. You stay and carry me home.”

  Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, but his fingers tugged the cloth around his waist and tied the knots hard and tight. He raised his hands and sniffed at them, wincing at the smell of human filth from Ulagan’s blade. That was an evil thing, he thought. They deserved death for that alone.

  He wanted just to stay on his knees with his back straight. His father’s sword was close by his hand and he took comfort from the touch of cold metal. He felt he might hold himself there for a long time and watch the sun rise. Part of him knew he could not, if Temujin was to live. He had to reach the Wolves and send warriors out for the boy. He had to get back. His body felt heavy and useless, but he summoned his strength yet again.

  With a cry of distress, he pulled himself to his feet, staggering to the gelding, who watched him with the whites of its eyes showing. Resting his forehead against the pony’s flank, he slid the sword into the saddle straps, taking sharp breaths through the pain. His fingers were clumsy as he undid the reins, but he managed somehow to get back into the saddle. He knew he could not make the steep slope down, but the other side of the hill was easier and he dug in his heels, his vision fixed far away, on his home and his family.

  CHAPTER 8

  AS EVENING CAME, Bekter let his mare graze while he sat on a high ridge, watching for his father’s return. His back ached with tiredness after spending the day in the saddle with the herds. It had not been dull, at least. He’d rescued a goat kid that had fallen into a strip of marshy land by the river. With a rope around his waist, he had waded into the black muck to bring out the terrified animal before it drowned. It had struggled wildly, but he had pulled it out by an ear and placed it on the dry bank, where it glared at him as if the ordeal were his fault. As he moved his slow gaze over the plain, he scratched idly at a spatter of the black mud on his skin.

  He enjoyed being away from the chatter and noise of the gers. When his father was absent, he sensed a subtle difference in the way the other men treated him, especially Eeluk. The man was humble enough when Yesugei was there to demand obedience, but when they were alone, Bekter sensed an arrogance in the bondsman that made him uncomfortable. It was nothing he could have mentioned to his father, but he walked carefully around Eeluk and kept his own counsel. He had found the best course was simply to remain silent and match the warriors at work and battle drills. There at least, he could show his skills, though it helped not to have Temujin’s eyes on the back of his neck as he drew his bow. He had felt nothing but relief when Temujin went to the Olkhun’ut. In fact, he had taken satisfaction from the hope that his brother would have a little sense beaten into him, a little respect for his elders.

  Bekter remembered with pleasure how Koke had tried to bait him on his very first day. The younger boy had not been a match for Bekter’s strength or ferocity, and he had knocked him down and kicked him unconscious. The Olkhun’ut had seemed shocked by the violence, as if boys did not fight in their tribe. Bekter spat at the memory of their sheeplike faces accusing him. Koke had not risked taunting him again. It had been a good lesson to give early.

  Enq had thrashed him, of course, with one of the felting sticks, but Bekter had borne the blows without a single sound, and when Enq was panting and tired, he had reached out and snapped the stick in his hands, showing his strength. They had left him alone after that and Enq had known better than to work him too hard. The Olkhun’ut were as weak as Yesugei said they were, though their women were soft as white butter and stirred him as they walked by.

  He thought his betrothed would surely have come into her blood by now, though the Olkhun’ut had not sent her. He remembered riding out onto the plains with her and laying her down by the bank of a stream. She had struggled a little at first when she realized what he was doing, and he had been clumsy. In the end, he’d had to force her, though it was no more than he had a right to do. She should not have brushed past him in the ger if she didn’t want something to happen, he told himself, smiling at the memory. Though she had cried a little afterwards, he thought she had a different light in her eye. He felt himself growing stiff as he recalled her nakedness, and wondered again when they would send her. Her father had taken a dislike to him, but the Olkhun’ut would not dare refuse Yesugei. They could hardly give her to another man after Bekter had spilled his seed in her, he thought. Perhaps she would even be pregnant. He did not think it was possible before the moon’s blood began, but he knew there were mysteries there that he did not fully understand.

  The night was growing too cold to be tormenting himself with fantasies, and he knew better than to be distracted from his watch. The families of the Wolves accepted that he would lead them one day, he was almost certain, though in Yesugei’s absence they all looked to Eeluk for orders. It was he who had organized the scouts and watchers, but that was only to be expected until Bekter took a wife and killed his first man. Until that time, he would still be a boy in the eyes of seasoned warriors, as his brothers were boys to him.

  In the gathering gloom, he saw a dark spot moving out on the plain below his position. Bekter rose to his feet instantly, pulling his horn free of the folds of his deel. He hesitated as he raised it to his lips, his eyes searching for more of a threat than a single rider. The height he had chosen gave him a view of a great expanse of the grassland, and whoever it was seemed to be alone. Bekter frowned to himself, hoping it was not one of his idiot brothers out without telling anyone. It would not help his status in the tribe if he called the warriors from their meal without cause.

  He chose to wait, watching as the tiny figure came closer. The rider was clearly in no hurry. Bekter could see the pony was walking almost aimlessly, as if the man on his back was wandering without a destination.

  He frowned at that thought. There were men who claimed allegiance to no particular tribe. They drifted between the families of the plains, exchanging a d
ay’s work for a meal or occasionally bringing goods to trade. They were not popular and there was always the danger that they would steal whatever they could lay their hands on, then disappear. Men without a tribe could not be trusted, Bekter knew. He wondered if the rider was one of those.

  The sun had sunk behind the hills and the light was fading quickly. Bekter realized he should sound his horn before the stranger was lost in darkness. He raised it to his lips and hesitated. Something about the distant figure made him pause. It could not be Yesugei, surely? His father would never ride so poorly.

  He had almost waited too long when he finally blew the warning note. The sound was long and mournful as it echoed across the hills. Other horns answered him from watchers around the camp, and he tucked it back into his deel, satisfied. Now that the warning had been given, he could go down to see who the rider was. He mounted his mare and checked that his knife and bow were within easy reach. In the silence of the evening, he could already hear answering shouts and the sound of horses as the warriors came boiling out of the gers. Bekter dug in his heels to guide his pony down the slope, wanting to get there before Eeluk and the older men. He felt a sense of ownership for the single rider. He had spotted him, after all. As he reached the flat ground and broke into a gallop, thoughts of the Olkhun’ut and his betrothed slipped away from his mind and his heart began to beat faster. The evening wind was cool and he hungered to show the other men that he could lead them.

  The Wolves rode hard out of the encampment, Eeluk at their head. In the last moments of light, they saw Bekter kick his mount into a run and went after him, not yet seeing his reason for raising the alarm.

  Eeluk sent a dozen riders left and right to skirt the camp, looking for an attack from another direction. It would not do to leave the gers defenseless while they went after a feint or a diversion. Their enemies were devious enough to draw the watchers away and then attack, and the last moments of light were perfect to cause confusion. It felt strange for Eeluk to be riding without Yesugei on his left, but Eeluk found he was enjoying the way the other men looked to him to lead them. He snapped orders and the arban formed around him with Eeluk on the point, racing after Bekter.

  Another blast from a horn came from just ahead, and Eeluk narrowed his eyes, straining to see. He was almost blind in the gloom and to gallop was to risk his mare and his life, but he kicked his horse on recklessly, knowing Bekter would not have blown again unless the attack was real. Eeluk snatched at his bow and placed an arrow on the string by feel, as he had done a thousand times before. The men around him did the same. Whoever had dared to attack the Wolves would be met with a storm of whining shafts before they came much closer. They rode in grim silence, high on the stirrups, balancing perfectly against the rise and fall of their ponies. Eeluk pulled back his lips in the wind, feeling the thrill of the attack. Let them hear the hooves thundering toward them, he thought. Let them fear retribution.

  In the dark, the riding warriors almost collided with two ponies standing alone on the open ground. Eeluk came close to loosing his arrow, but he heard Bekter shouting and, with an effort, he lowered himself into the saddle and eased his string. The battle blood was still strong in him and he felt a sudden fury that Yesugei’s son had brought them out for nothing. Dropping his bow over the saddle horn, Eeluk leapt lightly to the ground and drew his sword. The darkness was on them and he did not yet know what was happening.

  “Eeluk! Help me with him,” Bekter said, his voice high and strained.

  Eeluk found the boy holding the slumped figure of Yesugei on the ground. Eeluk felt his heart thump painfully as the last traces of battle rage slid away from him and he knelt by the pair of them.

  “Is he injured?” Eeluk said, reaching out to his khan. He could hardly see anything, but he rubbed his fingers and thumb together and sniffed at them. Yesugei’s stomach was tightly bound, but blood had soaked through.

  “He fell, Eeluk. He fell into my arms,” Bekter said, close to panic. “I could not hold him.”

  Eeluk laid a hand on the boy’s to steady him, before standing and whistling for the other bondsmen to approach. He took a grip on the reins of one dark rider.

  “Basan, you ride to the Olkhun’ut, and find the truth of this.”

  “Is it war, then?” the man answered.

  “Perhaps. Tell them that if you are not allowed to leave freely, we will be riding behind you and I will see their gers burnt to ashes.”

  The warrior nodded and trotted away, the drumbeat of hooves fading quickly in the night.

  Yesugei groaned and opened his eyes, feeling a sudden panic at the shadows moving around him.

  “Eeluk?” he whispered.

  Eeluk crouched at his side. “I am here, my khan.”

  They waited for another word, but Yesugei had passed back into unconsciousness. Eeluk grimaced.

  “We must get him back to have his wound tended. Step away, boy; there’s nothing you can do for him here.”

  Bekter stood stunned, unable to comprehend that it was his father lying helpless at his feet.

  “He fell,” he said again, as if dazed. “Is he dying?”

  Eeluk looked down at the slumped man he had followed all his adult life. As gently as he could, he took Yesugei under the armpits and heaved him onto his shoulder. The khan was a powerful man, made even heavier in chain mail, but Eeluk was strong and he showed no sign of discomfort.

  “Help me to mount, Bekter. He’s not dead yet and we must get him to warmth. A night out here will finish it.” A thought struck him as he draped Yesugei over his saddle, the long, limp arms reaching almost to the ground. “Where is his sword?” he asked. “Can you see it?”

  “No, it must have fallen when he did.”

  Eeluk sighed as he mounted. He had not had a chance to think about what was happening. He could feel the blood warmth of Yesugei against his chest as he leaned forward to speak to the son.

  “Mark the spot somehow, so you can find it again in the light. He won’t thank you for losing his father’s blade.”

  Bekter turned without thinking to another one of his father’s bondsmen, standing nearby in shock at what he was witnessing.

  “You will stay, Unegen. I must return to the gers with my father. Search in circles as soon as you can see, and bring the blade to me when you find it.”

  “I will do as you say,” Unegen replied in the darkness.

  Bekter moved to his pony to mount and did not see Eeluk’s expression as he considered the exchange. The world was changing in those moments and Eeluk did not know what the day would bring for any of them.

  Hoelun wiped tears from her eyes as she faced her husband’s bondsmen. The men and women of the Wolves had come, hungry for news, as soon as word spread of the khan’s injury. She wished she had something more to tell them, but Yesugei had not woken again and he lay inside the ger in the cool shadows, his skin burning. Not one of them had stirred from their watch as the day wore on and the sun rose high above their heads.

  “He still lives,” she said. “I have cleaned his wound, but he has not yet woken.”

  Eeluk nodded and she could not miss how the other warriors looked to him. Kachiun and Temuge were there with Khasar, standing shocked and pale after seeing their father helpless. Yesugei seemed smaller under the blankets, his weakness frightening his sons more than anything they had ever known. He had been such a force in their lives, it did not seem possible that he might never wake. She feared for them all, though she did not mention it aloud. Without Yesugei to protect them, she saw the glint of greed in the eyes of the other men. Eeluk in particular seemed to be hiding a smile when he spoke to her, though his words were deliberately courteous.

  “I will tell you if he wakes,” she told the warriors, ducking back into the ger, away from their cold interest. Her daughter, Temulun, was in the cradle there, crying to be changed. The sound seemed to match the screaming voice inside her that she barely held in check. She could not give way to it, not while her sons needed
her.

  Temuge had come with her into the ger, his small mouth quivering in grief. Hoelun gathered him into her arms and shushed his tears, though her own started just as strongly. They wept together at Yesugei’s side and she knew the khan could not hear them.

  “What will happen if he does not live?” Temuge asked.

  She might have answered, but the door creaked open and Eeluk entered. Hoelun felt a grip of hot anger to have been seen at such a moment, and she wiped fiercely at her eyes.

  “I have sent your other sons to the herds for the day, to keep their minds off their father,” Eeluk said.

  It may have been her imagination, but again she thought she saw a gleam of satisfaction as he looked at Yesugei’s still form, quickly masked.

  “You have been strong when the tribe needed it, Eeluk,” she said. “My husband will thank you himself when he wakes.”

  Eeluk nodded as if he had barely heard, crossing the ger to where Yesugei lay. He reached down to press his hand against the khan’s forehead, whistling softly at the heat there. He sniffed at the wound and she knew he could smell the corruption that tainted the flesh.

  “I poured boiling spirits into the wound,” Hoelun said. “I have herbs to ease the fever.” She felt she had to speak, just to break the silence. Eeluk seemed to have changed in subtle ways since Yesugei had come back. He walked with a little more of a swagger with the men, and his eyes challenged her whenever she spoke. She felt the need to mention Yesugei every time they talked, as if his name would keep him in the world. The alternative was too frightening to consider and she did not dare look to the future. Yesugei had to live.