Genghis: Birth of an Empire Page 39

  “The khan was very clear…” Arslan began.

  Hoelun turned sharply to him. “Are we not one people?” she demanded. “There is nothing to fear from the Olkhun’ut. I would know if there were.”

  Arslan dropped his gaze, unsure how to respond.

  “Kachiun,” Hoelun said, “go and find my brother Enq and tell him his sister will eat with him.” She waited while Kachiun ran swiftly away, his legs moving before he thought to ask where the ger in question might be. Hoelun watched him hesitate at a crossed path and smiled. He would ask directions rather than come sheepishly back, she was sure. Her sons could think for themselves.

  “You will accompany me, Khasar, and you too, Arslan. You will eat and then we will find Borte and her father and take them back.”

  Arslan was torn, remembering Temujin’s warnings. He did not relish being put in such a situation, but to argue further would shame Hoelun in front of the Olkhun’ut and he could not do that. In the end, he bowed his head.

  Sholoi had turned back to watch the exchange. He flickered a glance at his daughter to see how she was taking it.

  “I would like that,” he said.

  Borte nodded stiffly and his smile lit up his face. Together, they walked back through the gers of the Olkhun’ut, and Sholoi’s pride was visible from far away. Hoelun watched them go with satisfaction.

  “We are going to war,” she murmured. “Would you deny them their last chance to talk as father and daughter?”

  Arslan did not know if the question was aimed at him, so he did not respond. Hoelun seemed lost in memories, and then she shook herself.

  “I am hungry,” she announced. “If my brother’s ger is where it used to be, I can find it still.” She strode forward and Arslan and Khasar fell in behind, unable to look each other in the eye.

  Four days after Temujin had brought the Olkhun’ut, warning horns sounded as the sun set across the plains. Though the warriors of both tribes had been run to exhaustion during the day, they leapt up from their meal, hunger forgotten as they gathered weapons.

  Temujin mounted his pony to give him a better view. For a single sickening instant, he thought the Tartars had somehow marched around them, or split their forces to attack on two fronts. Then his hands tightened on the reins and he paled.

  Kachiun’s eyes were as sharp as they had ever been, and he too stiffened. Arslan looked at the reaction of the younger men, still unable to make out details in the growing gloom.

  “Who are they?” he asked, squinting at the mass of dark riders galloping in.

  Temujin spat furiously onto the ground by Arslan’s feet. He saw how well the strangers rode in formation and his mouth remained bitter.

  “They are my father’s tribe, Arslan. They are the Wolves.”

  CHAPTER 32

  IRON TORCHES FLICKERED and roared in the night wind as Eeluk entered the joint camp. Temujin had sent Arslan out to grant a meeting with the khan as soon as the Wolves halted. He would not go himself, and even as he saw Eeluk stride through the gers to where he sat with his brothers, he did not know if he could let him leave alive. To attack a guest was a crime that would hurt him with the Olkhun’ut and the Kerait, but he thought Eeluk could be goaded into breaking the protection and then Temujin would be free to kill him.

  Eeluk had grown thicker in body in the years since Temujin had seen him last. His head was bare, shaved to the skull except for a single lock of braided hair that swung as he walked. He wore a heavy black deel, trimmed in dark fur, over a tunic and leggings. Temujin narrowed his eyes as he recognized the wolf’s-head hilt of the sword on his hip. Eeluk padded through the gers without looking round, his gaze fixed on the figures by the central fire. Tolui walked at his shoulder, even larger and more powerful than Temujin remembered.

  Temujin had wanted to remain seated, to show how little he cared about the man who had come to him, but he could not. As Eeluk and Tolui approached he rose to his feet, his brothers standing with him as if at a signal. Togrul saw how tense they were and, with a sigh, he too levered himself up. Yuan and a dozen of his best men stood at his back. Whatever Eeluk intended, his life would be forfeit at the slightest provocation.

  Eeluk’s gaze flickered from Temujin to Khasar and Kachiun, frowning as he saw Temuge there. He did not recognize the youngest son of Yesugei, though he saw the fear in his eyes.

  There was no fear in the others. Each of them stood ready to attack, their faces pale as their muscles tightened and their hearts pounded. The khan of the Wolves had been in all their dreams, and they had killed him in a thousand ways before waking. Kachiun and Khasar had last seen him when he took the Wolves away, leaving them to die on the bleak plains with winter on its way. Everything they had suffered since that day could be laid at his feet. He had assumed the face of a monster in their imagination, and it was strange to see a man, grown older, but still strong. It was hard to keep the cold face.

  Tolui’s gaze was drawn to Temujin and captured there by the yellow eyes. He too had his memories, but he was far less confident than when he had captured Yesugei’s son and taken him back to his khan. He had learned to bully those less powerful than himself and fawn on those who ruled him. He did not know how to respond to Temujin and looked away, troubled.

  It was Togrul who spoke first, when the silence became uncomfortable.

  “You are welcome in our camp,” he said. “Will you eat with us?”

  Eeluk nodded without looking away from the brothers. “I will,” he said.

  Hearing his voice brought a fresh spasm of hatred to Temujin, but he lowered himself to the mat of felt with the others, watching to see if Eeluk or Tolui reached for a weapon. His own sword was ready by his hand, and he did not relax. Sansar had believed himself safe in his own ger.

  Eeluk took his bowl of salted tea in both hands, and only then did Temujin reach for his own, sipping without tasting any of it. He did not speak. As guest, Eeluk had to speak first and Temujin hid his impatience behind the bowl, showing him nothing.

  “We have been enemies in the past,” Eeluk said, when he had drained the bowl.

  “We are enemies still,” Temujin replied immediately, released.

  Eeluk turned his flat face to him. With so many men ready to leap at his throat, he seemed calm, though his eyes were bloodshot, as if he had been drinking before the meeting.

  “That may be true, though it is not why I have come here now,” Eeluk said quietly. “The tribes are busy chattering about the Tartar army coming south, an army you provoked into existence with your raids.”

  “What of it?” Temujin snapped.

  Eeluk smiled tightly, his temper rising. It had been many years since another man had dared to take such a harsh tone with him.

  “The plains have emptied of wanderers,” Eeluk continued. “They have come to join you against a common enemy.”

  Temujin suddenly understood why Eeluk had brought the Wolves. His mouth opened slightly, but he said nothing, letting Eeluk go on as he thought.

  “I have heard many times about the young Wolf who raided the Tartars again and again,” Eeluk said. “Your name is known on the plains now. Your father would be proud of you.”

  Temujin almost leapt at him then, fury rising in his throat like red bile. It took a huge effort to master himself, and Eeluk watched him carefully, sensing it.

  “I did not know you had joined the Olkhun’ut with the Kerait warriors until I was already moving the Wolves. Still, I think you will need my men if you are to crush the Tartars and drive them back into the north.”

  “How many do you have?” Togrul asked.

  Eeluk shrugged. “A hundred and forty.” He looked at Temujin. “You know their quality.”

  “We do not need them,” Temujin said. “I lead the Olkhun’ut now. We do not need you.”

  Eeluk smiled. “It is true that you are not as desperate as I thought you would be. Still, you need every rider you can find, if the numbers I heard are true. Having the Wolves with you will mea
n more of…your tribe are alive at the end. You know it.”

  “And in return? You are not here for nothing,” Temujin said.

  “The Tartars have silver and horses,” Eeluk said. “They have women. This army is the movement of many tribes together. They will have things of value.”

  “So it is greed that has drawn you forth,” Temujin said, sneering.

  Eeluk colored slightly in anger and Tolui shifted at his shoulder, irritated at the insult.

  “The Wolves could not face them alone,” Eeluk replied. “We would have had to retreat south as they came. When I heard the Kerait would stand and that your raiders had joined them, I took the chance that you would be able to put aside our history. Nothing I have seen here changes that. You need the Wolves. You need me to stand with you.”

  “For a sixth of their riches,” Togrul murmured.

  Eeluk glanced at him, masking his distaste at the fleshy khan of the Kerait. “If three khans meet them, any spoils should be divided in thirds.”

  “I will not bargain like a merchant,” Temujin said curtly, before Togrul could reply. “I have not yet said I will have you here.”

  “You cannot stop me from fighting against the Tartars if I choose to,” Eeluk said softly. “There is no shame in discussing the split, for when they are beaten.”

  “I could stop you with a single order,” Temujin said. “I could have the Wolves broken first.” His temper had taken control of him and a small part knew he was raging like a fool, but his calm was a memory. Almost without noticing, he began to rise.

  “You would not do that to the families,” Eeluk said with certainty, stopping him. “Even if you could, it would be a waste of lives you need to fight the Tartars. Where is the sense in struggling amongst ourselves? I have been told you are a man of vision, Temujin. Show it now.”

  All the men present looked to Temujin to see how he would respond. He felt their gaze and unclenched his cramped fists as he settled himself once more, taking his hand away from where it had fallen to his sword hilt. Eeluk had not moved in response. If he had, he would have died. His enemy’s courage in coming there shamed Temujin, bringing back memories of being a boy amongst men. He knew he needed the warriors Eeluk had brought, if he could only stomach the alliance.

  “Will they take my orders, these Wolves? Will you?” he said.

  “There can be only one leader in battle,” Eeluk said. “Give us a wing and let me command it. I will ride as hard as any man you have.”

  Temujin shook his head. “You will need to know the horn signals, the formations I have made with the others. There is more to this than riding in and killing as many as you can reach.”

  Eeluk looked away. He had not known exactly what he would find when he told the Wolves to pack their gers and ride. He had considered the chances of wresting spoils from the battered tribes who faced the Tartars, but in his most secret heart, he had smelled blood on the wind like a true wolf and he could not resist it. There had been nothing on the plains like the army of the Tartars in his lifetime. Yesugei would have ridden against them, and it had scalded Eeluk’s soul to hear that the sons of the old khan were challenging the army coming south.

  Still, he had expected to be welcomed by fearful men. Finding the Olkhun’ut already in alliance had changed the value of his warriors. He had been going to demand a full half of the spoils and, instead, he found the sons of Yesugei were coolly arrogant toward him. Yet he had committed himself. He could not simply leave them on the plain and take the Wolves back. His control of the tribe would suffer after seeing him turned away. In the flickering torches, he could see dozens of gers stretching around him into darkness. Just the sight of so many warriors matched his dreams. What could a man achieve with so many at his back? If Yesugei’s sons died in the battle, their men would be lost and frightened. They could swell the ranks of the Wolves.

  “My men will follow your orders, through me,” he said at last.

  Temujin leaned forward. “But afterwards, when the Tartars have been gutted, we will settle an older debt between us. I claim the Wolves, as the oldest surviving son of Yesugei. Will you meet me with that sword you wear as if it were your own?”

  “It is my own,” Eeluk replied, his face tightening.

  A hush fell on the camp around them. Togrul glanced at the two men, observing the hatred barely masked by civility. Eeluk forced himself to stillness as he pretended to consider. He had known Temujin would want him dead. He had considered the chance of absorbing surviving raiders into the Wolves, taken from Temujin’s dead hands. Instead, he faced the khan of the Olkhun’ut and the prize was a hundred times greater. Perhaps the spirits were with him as they had not been before.

  “When the Tartars are broken, I will meet you,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “I will welcome the chance.”

  Temujin stood suddenly, causing many hands to reach for their swords. Eeluk sat like stone and looked up at him, but Temujin’s gaze was elsewhere.

  Hoelun walked slowly toward the gathering, as if in a trance. Eeluk turned to see who had captured Temujin’s attention, and when he saw Yesugei’s wife, he too rose with Tolui to face her.

  Hoelun was pale and Eeluk saw how she ran the point of her tongue over her bottom lip, a sliver of red like a snake’s warning. As he met her eyes, she rushed forward, holding up her arm to strike.

  Kachiun stepped between them before she could reach the khan of the Wolves. He held his mother firmly as she swiped her hand out like a claw, straining for Eeluk’s face. The nails did not touch him and Eeluk said nothing, sensing Temujin standing ready at his back. Hoelun struggled, her gaze finding her eldest son.

  “How can you let him live after what he did to us?” she demanded, fighting Kachiun’s grip.

  Temujin shook his head. “He is a guest in my camp, Mother. When we have fought the Tartars, I will have the Wolves from him, or he will have the Olkhun’ut.”

  Eeluk turned to him then and Temujin smiled bitterly.

  “Is that not what you want, Eeluk? I do not see more gers in your camp than when you left us on the plains to die. The sky father has abandoned the Wolves under your hand, but that will change.”

  Eeluk chuckled and flexed his shoulders. “I have said all I came to say. When we ride, you will know a better man holds your wing. After that, I will have a hard lesson for you and I will not let you live a second time.”

  “Go back to your gers, Eeluk,” Temujin said. “I will begin training your men at dawn.”

  As the Tartars came south into the green plains, smaller tribes fled before their numbers. Some never paused as they sighted the host Temujin had assembled, skirting them so that they appeared as dark moving specks drifting across the hills far away. Others added their number to his warriors, so that the army grew daily in a trickle of furious riders. Temujin had sent messengers to the Naimans, the Oirats, any of the great tribes who could be found. Either they could not be reached or they would not come. He understood their reluctance, even as he scorned it. The tribes had never fought together in all their history. To have bound even three into a single force was astonishing. They had trained together until he thought they were as ready as they could ever be. Yet in the evenings he had been called time and again to forbid blood feuds, or punish fighting bands as they remembered grievances from generations before.

  He had not visited the gers of the Wolves. Not one of the old families had spoken up for his mother when she was left to die with her children. There had been a time when he would have given anything to walk amongst the people he had known as a boy, but as Hoelun had discovered before him, they were not the same. While Eeluk ruled them, it would not bring him peace.

  On the twentieth dawn after the arrival of the Olkhun’ut, the scouts came racing in to report the Tartar army on the horizon, less than a day’s march away. With them came another family of wanderers, driven before them like goats. Temujin blew the signal to assemble and there was quiet in the camps as the warriors kissed their loved ones g
oodbye and mounted their horses. Many of them chewed packages of hot mutton and bread to give them strength, pressed into their hands by daughters and mothers. The wings formed, with Eeluk’s Wolves taking the left and Kachiun and Khasar leading the Olkhun’ut on the right. Temujin held the Kerait in the center, and as he looked right and left along the line of horsemen, he was satisfied. Eight hundred warriors waited for his signal to ride against their enemies. The forges of the Kerait and Olkhun’ut had been fired night and day, and almost a third of them wore armor copied from the sets Wen Chao had given them. Their horses were protected by leather aprons studded with overlapping plates of iron. Temujin knew the Tartars had seen nothing like them. He waited while the women moved back, seeing Arslan reach down and kiss the young Tartar girl he had captured, then taken for a wife. Temujin looked around, but there was no sign of Borte. The birth was overdue and he had not expected her to come out of the gers. He remembered Hoelun telling him that Yesugei had ridden out on the night of his own birth, and he smiled wryly at the thought. The circle turned, but the stakes had grown. He had done everything he could and it was not hard to imagine his father watching his sons. Temujin caught the eye of Khasar and Kachiun, then found Temuge in the second rank to his left. He nodded to them and Khasar grinned. They had come a long way from the cleft in the hills where every day survived was a triumph.

  When they were ready, the shaman of the Olkhun’ut rode to the front on a mare of pure white. He was thin and ancient, his hair turned the color of his mount. Every eye was on him as he chanted, raising his hands to the sky father. He held the fire-cracked shoulder blade of a sheep, and he gestured with it as if it were a weapon. Temujin smiled to himself. The shaman of the Kerait had not been as thirsty for war, and Temujin had chosen the right man for the ritual.

  As they watched, the shaman dismounted and pressed himself on the earth, embracing the mother who ruled them all. The chant was thin on the breeze, but the ranks of warriors sat in perfect stillness, waiting for the word. At last, the old man peered at the black lines on the bone, reading them as he ran his gnarled fingers along the fissures.