Authors: Conn Iggulden
He had come back from the Chin capital worn out and racked by illness. It had taken almost a year for him to regain his health, but the weakness was now only a memory. As the end of summer approached, he felt his old strength and with it the desire to crush those who had dared to kill his men. He wanted his enemies proud and strong, so that he could cast them further down in his vengeance.
Genghis reached for another arrow and his fingers closed on nothing, making him sigh. The boys and girls of the camps would now run in with hammers and knives to finish the slaughter and begin preparing the carcasses for a great feast.
The scouts for the khan had reported that the armies of Khasar and Tsubodai were only a few days’ ride away. His generals would be honored with rice wine and black airag when they returned. Genghis wondered how his sons would have grown in the years apart. It was exciting to think of riding to war with Chagatai and Ogedai, taking new lands so that they too could be khans. He knew that Jochi was returning, but that was an old wound and he did not dwell on it. He was done with peaceful years with his wives and the young children. If the sky father had a purpose for him, it was not to spend his time quietly while the world slept.
Genghis rode to Kachiun as his brother clapped Arslan on the
shoulders. Between them, the ground was red with blood and fur, and boys darted almost under the hooves as they yelled and called to each other in excitement.
“Did you see the great cat I brought down?” Genghis said to the two men. “It took two arrows just to slow it.”
“It was a fine kill,” Kachiun shouted, his face glowing with sweat. One scrawny boy came too close to Kachiun’s stirrups as he spoke, and he reached down to cuff the lad, knocking him sprawling to the amusement of his companions.
Arslan smiled as the little boy picked himself up and glared at the khan’s brother before racing off.
“They are so young, this new generation,” he said. “I can hardly remember being so small.”
Genghis nodded. The children of the tribes would never know the fear of being hunted as he and his brothers had. Listening to their laughter and high-pitched voices, he could only wonder at what he had achieved. Just a few herdsmen roamed the valleys and mountains of his homeland now. He had gathered the rest and made them a nation under one man and the sky father. Perhaps that was why he yearned to answer the challenge from the desert tribes. A man without enemies grew quickly soft and fat. A nation would fare badly without someone peering into their camps. He smiled at the thought. There was no shortage of enemies in the world, and he thanked the spirits that they teemed in their millions. He could not imagine a better way of spending a life, and he had good years ahead.
Arslan spoke again and the lightness had gone from his voice.
“I have thought for many months, lord, that it is time I gave up my position as general. I am getting too old to stand a campaign in winter and perhaps too cautious. The men need someone younger who can risk it all on a single throw of the bones.”
“You have years in you yet,” Kachiun replied as seriously.
Arslan shook his head, looking to see how Genghis reacted to his words. “It is time. I will wait for my son Jelme to return, but I do not wish to leave my homeland again. My oath is to you, Genghis, and I will not see it broken. If you say ride, I will ride until I fall.” He spoke of death. No warrior could fall from a saddle while he still lived. Arslan paused to see the khan understood his loyalty before going on.
“No man can ride forever. My hips and shoulders ache and my hands are stiff at the first touch of cold. Perhaps it is all the years of beating metal, I do not know.”
Genghis pursed his mouth, edging his mount closer so that he could grip his general’s shoulder.
“You have been with me from the first days,” he said softly. “No one has served with more honor. If you want to see your final years out in peace, I will release you from your oath.”
Arslan bowed his head, visibly relieved. “Thank you, my lord khan.” When he looked up, his face was flushed with emotion. “I knew you when you were alone and hunted. I saw greatness in you then when I pledged my life. I have known this day would come and prepared my second for command of my
tuman.
It is your decision, but I recommend Zurgadai to replace me.”
“No one could replace you,” Genghis said immediately. “But I will honor your choice and your wisdom this last time. I know this Zurgadai, the one they call ‘Jebe,’ the Arrow.”
Arslan grimaced slightly. “As you say. You met him first when we rode against the Besud clan years ago. He killed your horse.”
Genghis let out a surprised exclamation. “I thought I knew the name! By the spirits, he could shoot a bow. Was it three hundred paces? I remember I almost broke my head open.”
“He has mellowed a little, lord, but not too much. He has been loyal to you ever since you spared him that day.”
Genghis nodded. “Then pass your gold paitze to him and invite him to my council tent. We will make the feast a celebration of your life. The storytellers will sing your praises to the sky father, and all the young warriors will know a great man is gone from the ranks.” He thought for a moment as Arslan colored in pride.
“You will have a thousand horses from my own herd and a dozen women as servants for your wife. I will send three young men to guard you in your old age. You will not be lonely in your retirement, General. You will have sheep and goats enough to make you fat for a hundred years.”
Arslan dismounted and touched his head to Genghis’s foot in the stirrup.
“You honor me, lord, but I need very little. With your permission, I will take my wife and just a small herd of breeding goats and horses. Together, we will find a quiet place by a stream and there remain. There are no thieves in the hills any longer, and if by chance there are, my bow and sword still speak for me.” He smiled at the man he had seen grow from a boy to a conqueror of nations. “Perhaps I will build a small forge and make one last sword to be buried with me. I hear the sounds of the hammer in my mind even now and I am at peace.”
Genghis found tears in his eyes as he viewed the man who had been like a second father to him. He too dismounted and embraced Arslan briefly, causing the shouting children around them to fall silent and staring.
“It is a good dream, old man, but first we wait on your son Jelme and feast a good life.”
The lands around the Orkhon River were a deeper green than could be found anywhere else. The river itself was wide and clear. It had to be to support two hundred thousand men and women, with twice that number of horses when Khasar and Tsubodai arrived within a day of each other. Under the khan’s ruling hand, the nation had grown and there were always children squalling somewhere. Since his return from the Chin capital, Genghis had made a near permanent camp at the river, rejecting the plain of Avraga. It was true that Avraga would always be sacred as the place he had forged a nation, but it was a dry, flat land. In comparison, a nearby waterfall beat the waters of the Orkhon into white spray, and the horses and sheep could drink their fill. Genghis had swum many times in its deep pools, regaining his strength.
Khasar had come in first and embraced his brothers: Genghis, Kachiun, even Temuge, who was no warrior, but ran the camps and settled disputes between families. Khasar brought Ogedai with him. The boy was barely thirteen years old, but stood muscular and long-limbed, with the promise of his father’s height. In the sharp planes of Ogedai’s face, the brothers could see an echo of the boy who had once kept them alive when they were banished and alone, just a few scraps of food away from starvation and death. Khasar gripped the back of Ogedai’s neck as he sent him forward to see his father, showing his pride.
“He is a good hand with a bow and sword, brother,” Khasar said, tilting a skin of black airag and directing a line of the spirit down his throat.
Genghis heard the delighted cry of his wife Borte from the family ger and knew his son would be surrounded by women in just a few moments.
“You have grown, Ogedai,” he said awkwardly. “I will want to hear all about your travels tonight.” He watched as Ogedai bowed formally, the boy’s face hiding any emotion. Three years was a long time to be away, but Genghis was pleased with the stripling warrior who had returned to him. Ogedai had the same yellow eyes and Genghis approved
his stillness and calm. He did not test it by embracing him, not with so many warriors watching who would perhaps follow Ogedai in a charge one day.
“Are you old enough to drink, boy?” Genghis asked, hefting a skin in his hands. When his son nodded, he tossed it over and Ogedai took it cleanly, overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of his people all around. As his mother came forward and embraced him, he remained stiff, trying to show his father that he was not a little boy to melt into her arms. Borte hardly seemed to notice and held his face in both hands, weeping at his safe return.
“Let him stand, Borte,” Genghis muttered at her shoulder. “He is old enough to fight and ride with me.” His wife ignored him and Genghis sighed to himself, his mood mellow.
Genghis felt his chest tighten as he saw Tsubodai trotting through the crowded plain toward him, Jochi at his side. Both men dismounted and Genghis saw Jochi walked with the springy step of a natural warrior. He had grown an inch taller than the khan, though his dark eyes still reminded Genghis that some other man may have fathered him. He had not known how he would react to Jochi, but on instinct, Genghis spoke directly to Tsubodai, ignoring him.
“Have you carried them all before you, General?” he said.
Tsubodai responded with a chuckle. “I have seen many strange things, my lord khan. I would have gone further if you had not called us back. Is it war then?”
A shadow crossed Genghis’s face, but he shook his head.
“Later, Tsubodai, later. I’ll have dogs for you to whip, but Arslan is stepping down as my general, and when Jelme comes in, we will feast his life.”
Tsubodai showed sadness as he heard the news. “I owe him a great deal, lord. My poet is a fine man. May I offer his service?”
Genghis grinned. “For the swordsmith general, I have a dozen poets and storytellers fighting like cats for the honor, but your man may as well join them.”
Genghis could feel Jochi’s mother watching him as he spoke. Borte would be looking for some public acceptance of her firstborn son before she too welcomed him home. As silence fell, Genghis turned at last to Jochi. It was hard not to bristle under that flat, black stare. It had been a long time in the camps since any man dared to meet the eyes of the khan in such a way, and Genghis felt his heart thump faster, as if he faced an enemy.
“I am pleased to see you well and strong, Father,” Jochi said, his voice deeper than Genghis had expected. “When I left, you were still weak from the assassin’s poison.”
Genghis saw Tsubodai’s hand twitch, as if he wanted to raise it to Jochi in warning. The general had sharper wits than Jochi, it seemed. The young warrior stood proudly before him as if he were not a rape-born whelp, barely welcome in the gers of his family.
Genghis struggled with his temper, very aware of the silent presence of his wife.
“It seems I am a difficult man to kill,” he said softly. “You are welcome in my camp, Jochi.”
His son remained still, though for Genghis to grant him guest rights like any common warrior was a subtle barb. He had not said the words to Tsubodai or Khasar; they were not needed between friends.
“You honor me, my lord khan,” Jochi said, bowing his head so that his father could not see his furious eyes. Genghis nodded, weighing the young man as Jochi took his mother’s hands gently in his own and bowed, his face pale and strained.
Borte’s eyes filled with tears of joy, but there was more restraint between mother and son than there had been with Ogedai. In such an atmosphere, she could not embrace the tall young warrior. Before Genghis could speak again, Jochi turned to his younger brother, and all the stiffness left him in a rush.
“I see you, little man,” Jochi said. Ogedai grinned and came forward to punch Jochi on the shoulder, prompting a brief wrestling match that ended with his head jammed into Jochi’s armpit. Genghis watched irritably, wanting to say something else that would prick Jochi’s easy manner. Instead, Jochi walked Ogedai away over his muffled protests at having his head rubbed. The khan had not actually dismissed his son, and Genghis opened his mouth to have him brought back.
“Your son has learned well, lord,” Tsubodai said before he could speak. “He has commanded a thousand in battles against the warriors of Russia, and the men respect him.”
Genghis scowled, knowing the moment had somehow escaped him.
“You have not raised him too fast?” he said.
A weaker man might have agreed under those yellow eyes, but Tsubodai shook his head immediately, loyal to the young man he had fostered for three years. “He learned quickly what it means to command,
lord, to have every man look to you alone for strength. My poet has many verses about Jochi and the men speak well of the khan’s son. He can lead. I have no greater praise.”
Genghis glanced over to where Jochi was laughing with Ogedai. Together, they looked younger, more like the boys who had grown in his ger. He nodded grudgingly, but when he spoke again, Tsubodai’s hopes fell.
“Bad blood may come to the surface at any time, General. In a charge, or a battle, he could turn. Be careful not to risk your life on that one.”
Tsubodai could not contradict the khan without giving insult, though he burned to speak against the unfairness. In the end, his struggle remained internal and he bowed his head.
“Jelme and Chagatai are only three days away,” Genghis said, his expression lightening. “You will see a son of mine then, Tsubodai, and know why I am proud of him. We will light the land with lamps and eat and drink enough so that men will talk of it for years.”
“As you say, lord,” Tsubodai replied, hiding his distress. Over three years, he had seen Jochi grow into a fine man, one capable of leading armies. Tsubodai had seen no weaknesses in him and he knew he was a good judge of men. As he followed the khan’s gaze to his oldest son, Tsubodai grieved for the hurt Jochi must feel. No man should ever be rejected by his father. If Jochi had every other general at his feet and the scorn of Genghis, he would feel only the scorn. As Genghis turned away with Khasar and Kachiun, Tsubodai shook his head slightly before he reasserted the cold face and joined the other men in preparing for the feast. Jelme and Chagatai were coming and Tsubodai did not look forward to seeing Genghis praise his second son over the first.