Lords of the Bow c-2 Page 34

  "There was a man in the ger. I woke and saw him as he opened the door to leave."

  Genghis snorted, but before he could reply, fresh voices called through the night.

  "Dead men here!"

  Genghis lost interest in his sons, snarling aloud at the thought of an enemy loose in the camp.

  "Find him!" he bellowed. He saw Kachiun coming at a run, a long blade in his hands. Khasar was not far behind and the three brothers stood together as they tried to make sense of the chaos.

  "Tell me," Kachiun said as he came to a halt, his face still puffy from sleep.

  Genghis shrugged, tense as a bowstring himself. "Jochi saw a man in his ger and there are dead guards. Someone is among us and I want him found."

  "Genghis!"

  He heard Borte call his name and turned to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shadow jerk into movement at the name.

  Genghis spun and had a glimpse of the assassin leaping at him. He swung his sword and the man twisted aside, coming up from a tumbler's roll with knives in his hands. Genghis saw he would throw them before he could strike again, and he jumped at the dark figure, hammering him off his feet. A spark of pain touched his throat and then his brothers were stabbing at the assassin, jamming their blades in with such force that they sank into the ground beneath. The man did not cry out.

  Genghis tried to scramble up, but the world swam lazily and his vision was strangely blurred.

  "I'm cut…" he said dazedly, falling to his knees. He could hear the assassin's feet drumming on the ground as his brothers dropped their knees onto his chest, smashing his ribs. Genghis raised a hand to his neck and blinked at bloody fingers. The hand was terribly heavy and he slumped backwards onto the dry earth, still confused.

  He saw the face of Jelme loom above him, moving slowly. Genghis stared upwards, unable to hear what he was saying. He saw Jelme reach down and yank cloth away from the wound in his neck. When he spoke again, the voice seemed to boom in Genghis's ears, almost drowning out the rushing whispers that deafened him. Jelme picked up the assassin's knife and cursed at the dark stain along the edge.

  "The blade is poisoned," Jelme said, his own fear reflected in Kachiun and Khasar as they stood dumbstruck over their brother. The general did not speak again, instead lowering his mouth to Genghis's neck and sucking on the flow of blood. It was hot and bitter, making him gag as he spat it to one side. He did not stop, though Genghis's hands slapped weakly at his face whenever he pulled away, all strength gone.

  Jelme could hear the younger sons of the khan wailing in distress as they saw their father lying close to death. Only Jochi and Chagatai were silent, watching as Jelme spat mouthfuls of blood until the front of his deel was covered in a dark slick.

  Kokchu pressed through the crowd, pausing in shock as he saw his khan on the ground. He knelt at Jelme's side and ran his hands over Genghis's chest to feel the heart. It was racing at incredible speed, and for a time, Kokchu could not feel individual beats. Sweat had broken out all over the khan's body and his skin was flushed and hot to the touch.

  Jelme sucked and spat and the blood flowed. The general could feel his own lips growing numb and he wondered if the poison would enter him. It did not matter. He thought of it as if he watched someone else. Blood dribbled from his lips as he gasped between each attempt.

  "You must not take too much blood," Kokchu warned him, still with his bony hands on the chest. "Or he will be too weak to resist whatever poison remains." Jelme looked at him with glassy eyes before nodding and dipping his face to the searing skin once more. His own cheeks were flushed from contact with such heat, and he went on because to stop was to watch his khan die.

  Kokchu felt the racing heart jolt and he feared it might stop under his hands. He needed the man who had won him such respect among the tribes, especially now that Temuge had abandoned him. Kokchu began to pray aloud, summoning the spirits by their ancient names. He called on the line of Genghis himself in a torrent of sound. Yesugei he called, even Bekter, the brother Genghis had killed. He needed them all to keep the khan from their realm. Kokchu could feel them gather as he chanted their names, pressing in on him so that his ears filled with whispers.

  The heart jolted again and Genghis gasped aloud, his open eyes staring blindly. Kokchu felt the fluttering pulse settle, suddenly slowing as if a door had shut inside. He shivered in the cold, thinking that for a few moments, he had held the future of the tribes in his hands.

  "Enough now, his heart is stronger," he said hoarsely. Jelme sat back. As he would have done with a gashed horse, the general made a paste of dust and spit and pressed it over the wound. Kokchu leaned over to observe the process, relieved to see the blood slow to a trickle. None of the major veins had been cut and he began to rejoice at the thought that Genghis might still live.

  Once more Kokchu began to pray aloud, forcing the spirits of the dead to attend the man who had formed a nation. They would not want such a man with them while he took their people onwards. He knew it with a certainty that frightened him. The tribesmen watched in awe as Kokchu ran his hands over the supine form, gathering invisible strands as if his trailing fingers wrapped the khan in a web of spirits and faith.

  Kokchu looked up at Borte as she stood red-eyed and swaying in shock. Hoelun too was there, desperately pale as she recalled the death of another khan many years before. Kokchu gestured for them to come closer.

  "The spirits hold him here, for now," he told them, his eyes shining. "Yesugei is here, with his father Bartan. Bekter is here to hold the khan, his own brother." He shuddered in the cold, his eyes glazing for a moment. "Jelme has sucked out a great deal of poison, but the heart is fluttering; sometimes strong, sometimes weak. He needs rest. If he will eat, give him blood and milk for strength." Kokchu could no longer feel the deep coldness of the spirits clustering around him, but they had done their work. Genghis still lived. He called the man's brothers forward to carry him into the ger. Kachiun broke from his trance to order the camp searched for any other enemy still hiding. After that, he shouldered his brother's limp weight with Khasar and carried Genghis into Borte's ger.

  Jelme was left kneeling, shaking his head in distress. His father, Arslan, reached him just as the young general vomited over the bloody ground.

  "Help me with him," Arslan ordered, heaving his son to his feet. Jelme's face was slack and his full weight fell on his father before two warriors stepped in and draped his arms over their shoulders.

  "What is wrong with him?" Arslan demanded of Kokchu. The shaman broke his gaze from the ger of Genghis. He used his fingers to open Jelme's eyes to their widest, staring into them. The pupils were large and dark and Kokchu swore softly.

  "He may have swallowed the blood. Some of the poison has entered him also." Kokchu shoved a hand under Jelme's wet tunic, feeling his chest.

  "It cannot be much and he is strong. Keep him awake if you can. Walk him. I will bring a draft of charcoal for him to drink."

  Arslan nodded. He motioned to one of the warriors supporting Jelme and took his place, pulling his son's arm around his neck like an embrace. With the other man, he began walking Jelme between the gers, talking to him as he went.

  The growing crowd of warriors, women, and children did not move. They would not go back to sleep until they were certain their khan would live. Kokchu turned from them, filled with the need to make a paste of charcoal that could soak up whatever poison Jelme had taken in. It would be little use to Genghis, but he would bring a second bowl for him as well. As he approached the ring of staring faces, they gave way before him and it was then that he saw Temuge pushing his way through to the front. Malice sparkled in Kokchu's eyes.

  "You are too late to help the khan," Kokchu said softly as Temuge came close. "His brothers killed the assassin and Jelme and I kept him alive."

  "Assassin?" Temuge exclaimed, staring around at the misery and fear on so many faces. His gaze passed over the dark-clad figure lying sprawled on the ground, and he swallowed
in horror.

  "Some things must be handled in the old ways," Kokchu told him. "They cannot be counted or put into one of your lists."

  Temuge reacted to the shaman's scorn as if he had been struck. "You dare to speak so to me?" he said.

  Kokchu shrugged and strode away. He had not been able to resist the barb, though he knew he would regret it. That night, death had walked the camp and Kokchu was in his element.

  The crowd became thicker as late arrivals pressed forward, desperate for news. Torches were lit across the camp as they waited for dawn. The body of the assassin lay crushed and broken on the ground, and they stared at it in simple dread, unwilling to come too close.

  When Kokchu returned with two bowls of thick black liquid, he thought they resembled a herd of yaks on a day of slaughter, miserable and dark-eyed but unable to understand. Arslan held his son's jaw and tilted his head as Kokchu forced the bitter liquid into him. Jelme choked and coughed, spattering black drops onto his father's face. He had regained some awareness in the time it had taken to grind the charcoal, and Kokchu did not linger with him. He pressed the half-empty bowl into Arslan's free hand and went on with the other. Genghis could not die, not in the shadow of Yenking. Kokchu was filled with a cold dread as he considered the future. He crushed his own fear as he entered the tiny ger, dipping his head to pass under the lintel. Confidence was part of his trade and he would not let them see him so shaken.

  As dawn approached, Khasar and Kachiun came out, blind to the thousands of eyes that fastened on them. Khasar retrieved his sword from where it had stuck in the dead man's chest and kicked the lolling head before sheathing the blade.

  "Does the khan live?" someone called.

  Khasar cast a weary gaze over them, not knowing who had spoken. "He lives," he said. His words were repeated as a whisper until they all knew.

  Kachiun picked up his own blade from where it had fallen and raised his head at the sound. He was helpless to aid his brother in the ger, and perhaps that was why his temper kindled at the sight of them.

  "Will our enemies sleep while we are gathered here?" Kachiun snapped. "They will not. Go home to your gers and wait for news." Under his fierce gaze, the warriors turned away first, pressing through the throng of women and children. They too began to drift away, staring backwards as they went.

  Kachiun stood with Khasar as if they guarded the ger where Genghis lay. The khan's second wife, Chakahai, had come, her face a mask of pale fear. All the men had looked to Borte to see how she would react, but she had only nodded to the Xi Xia woman, accepting her presence. In the silence, Kachiun could hear the drone of Kokchu's chanting in the ger. For a moment, he did not want to return to the fetid interior, packed with those who loved his brother. His own grief felt undermined somehow by the presence of the others. He breathed deeply in the cold air, clearing his head.

  "There is nothing more we can do," he said. "Dawn is not far off and there are things we must discuss. Walk with me, Khasar, for a little while."

  Khasar followed him to where they would not be heard. It was a long time before they were clear of the camp, their footsteps crunching on frozen grass.

  "What is it? What do you want?" Khasar said at last, stopping his brother with a hand on his arm.

  Kachiun turned to him, his face darkly furious. "We failed tonight. We failed to keep the camp safe. I should have considered that the emperor would send assassins. I should have had more guards watching the walls."

  Khasar was too tired to debate the point. "You cannot change it now," he said. "If I know you, it will not happen again."

  "One time could be enough," Kachiun snapped. "If Genghis dies, what then?"

  Khasar shook his head. He did not want to think of that. As he hesitated, Kachiun gripped him by the shoulders, almost shaking him.

  "I don't know!" Khasar replied. "If he dies, we will return home to the Khenti mountains and lay him out for the hawks and vultures. He is a khan; what would you expect me to say?"

  Kachiun let his hands fall. "If we do that, the emperor will claim a great victory against us." He seemed almost to be speaking to himself and Khasar did not interrupt. He could not begin to imagine the future if Genghis were not there.

  "The emperor would see our army retreat," Kachiun went on grimly. "In a year, every Chin city would know we had been turned back."

  Khasar still said nothing.

  "Can't you see, brother?" Kachiun said. "We would lose everything."

  "We could return," Khasar replied, yawning. Had he slept at all? He wasn't sure.

  Kachiun snorted. "Within two years, they would be attacking us. The emperor has seen what we can do and he will not make the same mistakes again. One chance we have made for ourselves, Khasar. You cannot wound a bear and run. It will chase you down."

  "Genghis will live," Khasar said stubbornly. "He is too strong to fall."

  "Open your eyes, brother!" Kachiun replied. "Genghis can die like any other man. If he does, who will lead the tribes, or will we see them splinter apart? How easy would it be then for the Chin army when they come hunting?"

  Khasar saw the first pink light of dawn behind Yenking in the distance. He welcomed it in a night he'd thought would never end. Kachiun was right. If Genghis died, the new nation would break apart. The old khans would assert their authority over the quarreling tribes. He shook his head to clear it.

  "I understand what you are saying," he told Kachiun. "I am not a fool. You want me to accept you as khan."

  Kachiun stood very still at that. There was no other way, but if Khasar could not see it, the new day would begin with bloodshed as the tribes fought to leave or remained loyal. Genghis had bound them together. At the first hint of weakness, the khans would taste freedom and fight to keep it.

  Kachiun took a deep breath, his voice calm. "Yes, brother. If Genghis dies today, the tribes will need to feel a strong hand on their necks."

  "I am older than you," Khasar said softly. "I command as many warriors."

  "You are not the man to lead the nation. You know it." Kachiun's heart was racing with the strain of making Khasar understand. "If you think you are, I will take an oath to you. The generals will follow my lead and carry the khans with them. I will not fight you for this, Khasar, not with so much at stake."

  Khasar knuckled the tiredness out of his eyes as he thought it through. He knew what it must have cost Kachiun to make the offer. The thought of leading the tribes was intoxicating, something he had not dreamed of before. It tempted him. Yet he was not the one who had seen the dangers to the fragile nation. That remained like a thorn in his flesh to worry him. The generals would come to him expecting him to solve their problems, to see a way through difficulties that they could not. He would even have to plan battles, with triumph or failure resting on his word.

  Khasar's pride warred with the knowledge that his brother was better able to lead. He did not doubt that Kachiun would give him complete support if he became khan. He would rule his people and no one would ever know this conversation had taken place. As Genghis had been, he would be father to all their people. He would be responsible for keeping them all alive against an ancient empire bent on their destruction.

  He closed his eyes, letting the glowing visions drain from his mind.

  "If Genghis dies, I will take an oath to you, little brother. You will be khan."

  Kachiun sighed in exhausted relief. The future of his people had hung on Khasar's trust in him.

  "If he does, I will see every Chin city destroyed in fire, beginning with Yenking," Kachiun said. Both men glanced at the looming walls of the city, united in their desire for vengeance.

  Zhi Zhong stood on an archery platform, high above the plain and the Mongol camp. A cold breeze was blowing and his hands were numb on the wooden railing. He had been standing there for hours, watching the tribes for some sign that the assassin had been successful.

  Just a little while before, his vigil had been rewarded. Points of light sprang up among the gers
and Zhi Zhong had gripped the railing tighter, his knuckles whitening as he squinted into the distance. Dark shadows raced through the flickering pools of light and Zhi Zhong's hopes rose, imagining the spreading panic.

  "Be dead," he whispered, alone in the watchtower.

  GenghisLordsoftheBow

  CHAPTER 28

  G ENGHIS OPENED BLOODSHOT EYES, finding both of his wives and his mother at his side. He felt appallingly weak and his neck throbbed. He raised a hand to it and Chakahai caught his wrist before he could disturb the bandage. His thoughts moved sluggishly and he stared at her, trying to remember what had happened. He recalled standing outside the ger, with warriors rushing around him. It had been night and it was still dark in the ger, with only a small lamp to banish the gloom. How much time had passed? He blinked slowly, lost. Borte's face was pale and worried, with dark circles under her eyes. He saw her smile at him.

  "Why… am I lying here?" he asked. His voice was feeble and he had to force the words out.

  "You were poisoned," Hoelun said. "A Chin assassin cut you and Jelme sucked out the filth. He saved your life." She did not mention Kokchu's part. She had endured his chanting, but not allowed him to stay, nor anyone else to enter. Those who did would always remember her son this way, and it would undermine him. As wife and mother to a khan, Hoelun knew enough of the minds of men to know the importance of that.

  With a vast effort, Genghis struggled up onto his elbows. As if it had waited for exactly that moment, a headache slammed into his skull.

  "Bucket," he groaned, leaning over. Hoelun was just fast enough to shove a leather pail under his head as he emptied black liquid from his stomach in a series of painful spasms. The action made his headache almost unbearable, but he could not stop, even when there was nothing more to come out. At last he slumped back on the bed, pressing a hand over his eyes to shut out the dim light that pierced him.