Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “I'll ride with you, Father,” Tolui burst out.

  Jelme grinned. “Only six, and he wants a taste of war.”

  “Jochi will come with us,” Temujin said. “He's old enough to ride with the spare horses in the rear. The rest of you will stay here to guard your mother.”

  Jochi shot a triumphant look at Chagadai. They would all he going to war before long; Bortai felt a pang.

  “I hear the weeping of Tatar women,” Teb-Tenggeri said, “and see Tatar heads lying at our feet. My brother will have his victory.”

  Fifteen days after the army rode out to meet the Tatars, an old man galloped into Hoelun's camp with a message. The Khan's Jurkin cousins had refused to join the campaign; now, in the absence of most of the fighting men, they had raided one camp, killing ten men.

  Seche Beki and Taichu meant to break with her son at last, after years of arguing and grumbling. Temujin had been patient, and this was his reward.

  Other camps had to be warned. She sent out five older boys with a message to be on guard. The Jurkin chiefs must be hoping that Temujin would fall, that they could finally take his Khanate for themselves.

  Twelve days after the old man had left for his camp, one of Hoelun's servants summoned her outside. “Guchu's come back,” the woman cried.

  Hoelun ran from the tent. Her foster son stood by the fires beyond her circle, speaking to the older boys on guard. Two other soldiers, one of them gripping the shoulder of a boy she did not know, were with him; Guchu left them with the horses and ran towards her.

  “Mother,” he shouted, “we have a victory!” He threw his arms around her, crushing her against his leather breastplate. “I insisted on being the messenger to you—I wanted to be the first to tell you.”

  She freed herself, then reached up to caress his brown face. “We met the Tatars in the Ulja River valley,” Guchu continued. “They were trapped—couldn't retreat south-east without meeting the Kin. We fought until they were pushed back to where their women waited with their carts and herds.”

  Hoelun led Guchu to her tent. “I trust you and Kukuchu acquitted yourselves well.”

  “We were with the left wing's light cavalry, under Borchu. My arrows found their mark, and Kukuchu took the head of one of their Noyans when his horse threw him.”

  A servant helped the young man off with his armour; he collapsed on a cushion. “The Tatar chief Megujin fled for the forest. He and his men set up a barricade of birches and pines, but Temujin wasn't going to let him escape—led the assault on the barricade himself, and not one of those Tatars lived.”

  The servant woman handed Guchu a jug; he sprinkled a hasty blessing, then gulped down the kumiss. “And my other sons?” Hoelun asked.

  “All uninjured, Mother, as are Munglik-echige and his sons.” She chided herself silently for thinking of her sons first. “Everyone's praising Kokochu—Teb-Tenggeri—for the spells he cast. When the Tatars broke and ran, he raised a wind that swept many of them from their mounts.”

  “Spells would be useless without brave fighters.” She quickly made a sign to avert misfortune. “There will be weeping in our camps, Guchu. In such a battle, we must have lost men.”

  He looked solemn for a moment, then brightened. “Many more Tatars fell, and Temujin will see that our widows and orphans get their share of loot. He took the bed of Megujin for himself—it's covered with gold and pearls.”

  “Stolen from a town in Khitai earlier, no doubt. The Kin general must have been pleased we came to his aid.”

  “The Prince Hsiang let us keep most of the booty,” Guchu said, “and honoured both Temujin and the Kereit Khan with titles. Toghril is Ong-Khan now, the Prince of Khans, and Temujin is Ja'ud Khuri - the Pacifier.” Hoelun's son had a greater title of his own, but perhaps the Kin thought only their titles had meaning. “As usual, Temujin isn't claiming as much as he might—he even gave away some pretty Tatar girls he took on Megujin's bed.” Guchu drew his brows together. “Teb-Tenggeri has as great a share as many who fought in the front ranks, but then his spells helped us.”

  “There's one thing the All-Celestial didn't predict,” Hoelun said, forgetting her fear of her stepson for once. “The Jurkins fell upon some of our people, and killed ten men while you were away.”

  Guchu paled, then sat up. “We waited six days for them in vain. Temujin was furious. We had to go on without them, but he means to pay back Seche and Taichu for disobeying him. I never thought they'd go this far.”

  “Well, they have. This is worse than disobedience. They must think that if they can make a Khan, they can unmake him.” She took the jug from him. “A man rode here to tell me and appealed to me as the Khan's mother. I sent warnings to our people to be on guard.”

  “Temujin must have learned about this treachery by now. The Jurkins forgot their oaths—he won't forgive that.” Guchu pulled at his short moustache. “They've been a spear in our side for years, with their slanderous talk of how Temujin claims too much. The Khan gives his men more than most would.”

  Her son was generous with everything, she thought, except his power; that he would keep for himself. Her joy in seeing Guchu safe was mingled with sadness. He would soon have his own tent and a wife; perhaps a Tatar girl was part of his booty.

  Guchu's companions called out to him. A servant ushered them inside; the little boy she had seen earlier was with them. “I greet you, Khatun and mother of our Khan,” one man said, “and would beg only the smallest part of your hospitality before we ride on.”

  “I almost forgot,” Guchu said before she could reply. He gestured at the boy. “This boy was among the Tatar prisoners, and Temujin claimed him for you. I wanted to bring one of your prizes to you right away.”

  The boy looked up at her with his black eyes. His clothes were covered with dirt, but the belt around his tunic was of sable and silk, and a gold ring shone in his nose.

  “You must be a Noyan's son,” Hoelun said gently. “What are you called?”

  “Shigi Khutukhu.” He drew himself up, reminding her of how Guchu had looked when he was brought to her.

  “And what has my son Guchu told you about me?”

  “That you are kind, and your sons the bravest of men. That you were a mother to him when he had no one else.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I lost my mother when we ran from the Kin—my father fell when—” A tear rolled from his eye; he wiped it away.

  A sudden horror of men and battles welled up inside her. Some of Yesugei's bitterest enemies had been punished, yet this boy, and countless others, had to be punished for deeds committed before they had entered life. She had stoked Temujin's hatred with her tales of his father's poisoning, stories she had told for so long that she had come to believe them herself, and this was the result.

  Foolish thoughts, she told herself, weak musings unworthy of a Khan's mother.

  “Honoured Lady?” Shigi Khutukhu asked. “Are you to be my mother now?”

  “Yes.” She took his small hand. “You'll be my son.”

  “Our mother,” Guchu said, “would claim all the children of the world if she could.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “With one mother, they'd all be brothers and sisters—perhaps they'd stop fighting then.”

  The men laughed; it was an impossible hope. Hoelun drew the Tatar boy to her.

  62

  The mist was a shroud around Jamukha, the valley below hidden by a thick grey veil. As the fog lifted, the tips of evergreens seemed to drift on a pale sea. The men camped below on the mountainside were shadows huddled around a fire.

  Unggur was gone. Jamukha's throat tightened as he stared at his son's grave. He had lost one son a year ago, soon after hearing about his anda's victory against the Tatars; the news of Temujin's success had mocked his grief. But this loss was harder to bear. His other son had been only a baby of a few days, but Unggur was a vigorous lad of two when the river spirits dragged him under the water. He nearly wept again, thinking of the small, drowned body his servant had
carried to him. The servant had paid for his carelessness. Jamukha had severed the man's limbs from his body himself before burying him with the child.

  The spirits were determined to make him suffer, to leave him childless, to lash at him with tales of his anda's triumphs. Temujin let nothing stand in his way, not even his rebellious Jurkin cousins. He had swept down on Seche and Taichu immediately, taking their heads with his own sword; there had been no time for Jamukha to ride to their defence. The Jurkin clan had been disbanded, its people parcelled out among Temujin's followers.

  Even then, many Jurkin warriors had willingly sworn oaths to the Khan, if the reports carried to Jamukha could be believed. The Noyan Gugun and his brothers Chilahun and Jebke had apparently made fine speeches about how only duty had compelled them to obey their Jurkin chiefs, and Temujin had forgiven them. Gugun's father Telegetu Bayan had ridden with the Jajirats before sneaking off to join Temujin; now Gugun's sons Bukha and Mukhali would serve Genghis Khan.

  Jamukha's bitterness nearly overwhelmed him. Temujin's cursed mother had even claimed another foster son, a Jurkin boy called Boroghul. Temujin was surrounded by brothers, those of the flesh, the stepbrothers he had gained with his mother's marriage, and those the damned woman had adopted, while Jamukha had none.

  Two riders emerged from the fog below and dismounted; one of Jamukha's men rose to greet them. They hunkered down by the fire, and then Ogin got up and walked towards the horses. The young man would ride up here and tell Jamukha it was time to leave the grave, that he had mourned for Unggur too long.

  He should have struck on the last night he had spoken to Temujin, the moment his anda had refused to answer his question. Instead, his love for his friend had stayed his hand. Temujin had used that love against him. The urges of Jamukha's own body were only more weapons the spirits used to strike at him, tormenting him even now with what might have existed between him and his anda.

  As long as Temujin was alive, he would steal everything that might have been Jamukha's.

  “Noyan.” Ogin dismounted and came towards him, leading two horses. “A messenger from the Kereit Khan waits below.” Jamukha did not move. “He wants to speak to you.” Jamukha was silent. “Come away from this place, my comrade.”

  The men might leave him if he stayed here much longer. Jamukha got to his feet and gazed at his son's grave, then followed Ogin down the slope.

  After Jamukha had greeted the Kereit formally, they sat down by the fire, away from the others.

  “I sorrow with you,” the Kereit said. “I was told at your camp that you had gone to bury a son. I've also lost two of my four sons. One rode out scouting and never returned, and another fell to a Naiman's lance.”

  Jamukha stared past the man. Losing sons in war, however painful, was not the same, and this man had other sons. His own had never had the chance to make their names live through their deeds.

  “Why has Toghril-echige sent you?” he asked at last.

  “Genghis Khan,” the man replied, “wants to attack the Naimans. Naturally, he's invited the Ong-Khan to join him, since they both have reason to hate those dogs.” Jamukha repressed a sneer at the sound of Toghril's Kin title; it was like the Kereit Khan to insist on using it. “Toghril Ong-Khan thought you should hear of this from him.”

  That was also like Toghril. Grateful as he was for Temujin's favours, he would also try not to anger Jamukha. Maybe the old man finally understood that Temujin, whatever oaths he had sworn as Toghril's vassal, would reach for even more; the Kereit Khan might need Jamukha then.

  “Against which Naiman force will you ride?” he asked.

  “Buyrugh's men. He won't expect that, since he keeps near the mountains—he'll think we mean to meet his brother's army on the plain.”

  Jamukha nodded. Temujin would take advantage of the split among the Naimans, and Bai Bukha, who had taken the title of Tayang for himself, had a larger army. It was said that the two brothers had fought over one of their father's wives. Men who would divide a realm because of a woman deserved to be crushed.

  “So my anda seeks more spoils,” Jamukha said, “in spite of all he has.”

  “You must admit there's no better time to attack the Naimans,” the Kereit said, “and whatever your past differences with Genghis Khan, you'll be safer if they're beaten.” He scowled as he poked at the fire. “I mean to take a hundred lives for my son's.”

  Jamukha tugged at his hat. There might be an opportunity for him here, some way of using this campaign for his own ends.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “that I may join the Ong-Khan against the Naimans. As you say, they're my enemies as well.”

  The messenger grinned. “Toghril Khan will be pleased to hear it, as will Genghis Khan. The hard feelings between you and your anda have troubled the Ong-Khan.”

  “One must forget such differences when there's more to be gained, and Temujin rides with many who once fought against him. I'll bring a thousand of my men to join Toghril-echige. Tell him this, and ask him when and where we should meet.”

  “I shall,” the Kereit replied.

  Toghril would be lulled, thinking that Jamukha was ready to forget the past. Temujin, in his arrogance, might even believe that his anda would at last make a formal declaration of peace and submit to him. He had weapons now, and would find a way to use them.

  63

  In the early days of summer, before the sun parched the land, the army of Genghis Khan rode towards the Khangai range from the north-east as the Kereits approached from the south-east. The columns separated before making their way through the mountain passes; the advance troops led them to a stony waste with little forage. The men lived off their scanty rations—leather bottles of kumiss, dried curds in pouches, and meat which they put under their saddles to soften.

  As they rode, Jamukha spoke to Toghril about Temujin, and how wounded he had been when his anda abandoned him.

  They came to the Naiman grasslands, flat expanses dotted with birches and poplars, and watered their horses at the lakes they passed. Buyrugh had retreated south, towards the Altai Mountains, but they saw no scouts, no sign that the Naimans had sent out men to encircle them. The army followed the trail, caught up with a camp of Naimans on the move, killed those who were too weak to travel further, took the rest prisoner, and added the Naiman herds to their train. By then, another army was following them, that of the carrion-eaters. The sky was thick with black birds, and the howls of wolves and hyenas often sounded in the night.

  By day, they rode under a fierce, hot sun: by night, riders moved among the widely separated camps, issuing orders for the next day's movements. Still Buyrugh retreated, sending none of his army against them. The strategy showed his weakness. The Naiman hoped to wear them down, yet refused to risk his men; perhaps he hoped they would give up the chase, or meant to attack when they withdrew. The army spread out over more territory, alert to any sign that the enemy might turn and strike.

  At night, when the men rested, Jamukha whispered to Toghril of how mercilessly Temujin had executed two of the kinsmen who had made him Khan.

  The Mongols and Kereits pressed on. At the foot of the Altai ridge, near one of the mountain passes, their advance troops captured a commander of Buyrugh's rearguard. They rode through the passes, sometimes dismounting to lead their strings of horses along cliffsides. The men lived by nicking the necks of their horses and sucking the warm blood. Jagged, dark cliffs, through which evil winds howled, rose up on either side of them. Above, where glaciers untouched by the sun overhung the passes, black birds circled, waiting to feed.

  They left the mountains and entered the Urungu River valley, riding past thickets of willow. The tree-lined valley throbbed with the steady, harsh tapping of woodpeckers; here, they hunted boars, and had fresh meat. A wing of Kereits forded the river, the men clinging to their horses' tails as they floated on their packs. A wing of Mongols fanned out and moved west.

  Buyrugh was moving towards Lake Kizilbash, yet did not turn to fi
ght. His pursuers held back, allowing the Naimans to think they might retreat. The advance wings of the army spread out, ready to sweep towards the Naimans from both sides. The centre of the army converged and followed the river to the reedy marshes of Lake Kizilbash.

  Here, two months after their departure, amid the dry yellow hills that bordered the salt lake, the Mongols and Kereits met their Naiman foes. Buyrugh's warriors rode against them, only to be thrown back by the centre's heavy cavalry as the two wings began to enfold them. War-drums sounded; the clanging of swords, the deadly whistling of clouds of arrows, and the screams of dying men shattered the silence of the yellow hills for a day and into the night, until the Naimans pulled back. Caught between the left and right wings of their enemies, many more retreating Naimans fell. Buyrugh, his failure as a general revealed, the falseness of the omens he had read now demonstrated to him, fled from the battlefield.

  By dawn, the yellow hills were covered with bodies. Some were carried away to be buried; the Naiman bodies were stripped and left there. The triumphant army sang, danced, and paraded heads on spikes; the black birds and the hyenas fed. In the midst of the celebration, Jamukha whispered to Toghril of how the Kereits had taken more casualties than the Mongols.

  The army took one camp Buyrugh had abandoned, then went back along the way they had come, with exhausted mounts and prisoners in their train. At night, when they camped, the silence was broken by the wails of Naiman women and the cries of their children. They left the Altais and rode east until they reached the rapids of the Baydarik River, which flowed south from the Khangai Mountains.

  Throughout their journey, they had anticipated an attack, expecting that Naimans might regroup to confront them. By the river, the officers learned from their scouts that a Naiman general was waiting upriver with his army; they would not leave Naiman territory without a fight. There, they camped, the Mongols to the south of the Kereits, resting for the battle they would soon face, and Jamukha finally saw a way to strike at his anda.