Bones Of the Hills c-3

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘Well?’ Tsubodai demanded. He could feel the cold seeping into him and he was tired from riding. His mind felt dull and he wanted to get out of the wind.

  ‘He told me to say that he will not be there when you come. If you ride against us, you will find nothing. Even you cannot track us in the snow and we know this land. You will begin a hunt that will take you even further from the khan, but it will be wasted time.’ The man swallowed, nervousness growing in him as he sat under the glares of Tsubodai’s warriors. He summoned his courage to continue. ‘He said you have taught him well and you will not survive the hunt if you begin it.’

  Tsubodai held up his hand to halt those who would surge forward and kill the messenger. More than a few of them drew swords with cold-numbed hands, growing angry on his behalf. The moment had come, and though it hurt worse than the cold, he knew just how to reach Jochi.

  ‘I have not come to hunt, minghaan. Lead me to a place where my men can make camp, eat and rest. Then I will come with you alone. You will take me to him.’

  The officer did not reply at first. Those with Tsubodai began to clamour at him, demanding the right to protect him amidst their enemies. He shook his head and they fell quiet.

  ‘He will see me, minghaan,’ Tsubodai went on. ‘Did he say that? That he would see me if I came alone? I trained him. He should have thought that far ahead.’

  The officer bowed his head. His hands shook as he held the reins, though it was not from the cold.

  ‘I will guide you in, general,’ he replied.

  It was another night and dawn before Tsubodai and the minghaan officer walked their horses into Jochi’s camp. From the instinct of years, the general could not help taking note of the defences. They had chosen a spot surrounded by deep woods and forested hills. Even the path to it wound its way on fresh snow between ancient trees. Tsubodai’s respect for the scout who had found them increased sharply. He would commend the man if he lived to return to his tuman.

  There were gers there, the thick felt walls far better than stone or wood at keeping out the cold. A wooden palisade sheltered the settlement from the worst of the wind. As he rode through an open section, Tsubodai could see sheep and goats in wooden pens, huddled together in whitish clusters. The numbers were small and he was not surprised to see wooden huts made from the trunks of pines lashed and pinned together. Smoke rose from them and the village had a sense of being warm and snug that Tsubodai enjoyed. He had grown up in just such a place, each home separated from the rest by frozen, muddy tracks.

  His arrival had not gone unnoticed. Men whose faces he vaguely recognised stood watching him. His memory was legendary amongst the tribes, but away from the tumans, he could recall only whispers of names and none strongly enough to be certain. Some of them made a point of continuing their work as the general passed, but most stood idle and stared, almost yearning as they recalled a different world. He saw piles of tanned furs, with fresh skins being trimmed and washed in wooden tubs. To his surprise, he also saw pale-skinned women, some of them even pregnant. They worked as hard as the men to make a life in that frozen village and they did not look up as he passed. The name of Tsubodai meant nothing to them.

  Jochi stood waiting at the door of a log house, the building squat and small, but solid-looking compared with the gers. Jochi’s shoulders were more powerful than Tsubodai remembered, perhaps from the hard work of creating the settlement. Tsubodai felt his heart quicken with pleasure at seeing him, despite the circumstances. He would have urged his mount to a trot, but the minghaan officer reached out and took his reins before he could do so. Under that man’s silent warning, Tsubodai dismounted, watched all the time by Jochi.

  The general kept his expression cold as he allowed two warriors to search him for weapons. They were very thorough, inspecting the lining of his deel and removing every sharp edge from his armour, even if they had to cut them free with knives. He endured their inspection without looking at them. One of them jerked roughly to free a piece of iron from his armour and Tsubodai turned his gaze on the man, making him flush as he finished his work. When they were done, there was a pile of sharp-edged scales where they had been tossed into the snow, with his sword and two daggers lying on top. The heavy canvas underneath his armour was revealed in many places and some of his dignity had been stripped away. Only then did Jochi come forward, while his men stood close with swords ready to take the general’s head.

  ‘You should not have come, Tsubodai,’ Jochi said. His eyes were bright, and for an instant Tsubodai thought he saw affection there, quickly smothered.

  ‘You knew I would,’ Tsubodai replied. ‘Even though you will abandon this place when I have gone.’

  Jochi looked around him.

  ‘I thought it was worth the price, though many of my men wanted you killed in the woods.’ He shrugged. ‘I have other sites marked out, far away. We will rebuild.’ His face hardened. ‘But you have cost me already, Tsubodai, just because you knew I would let you come to me.’

  Tsubodai held himself still, knowing that a single sharp movement would end his life. As well as the swordsman at his back, he did not doubt there were archers sighting on him.

  ‘Then be sure it is not a waste, Jochi. Make me welcome in your camp and we will talk.’

  Jochi hesitated. The man before him was one of his oldest friends, one he respected above all others. Still, he could not shake the sense of dread that came with his presence. He could not out-think Tsubodai and it was hard to crush a swelling sense of fear.

  ‘It is good to see you,’ Tsubodai said gently.

  Jochi nodded. ‘And you, old friend. You are welcome in my camp. Join me for tea and salt. I will let you live for the moment.’

  Jochi waved the warriors away and Tsubodai climbed two wooden steps that kept the little home clear of the slushy ground. Jochi stood back to let him enter first and Tsubodai went into the little room beyond.

  As Jochi pulled the door shut, Tsubodai caught a glimpse of armed men gathering outside. The message was clear enough and he tried to relax as an iron kettle began to hiss on the stove and Jochi poured watery tea, adding milk and a pinch of salt from a pouch hanging by the door. There was only one low bed in that place and Tsubodai sat on a stool, sipping at the bowl of tea and enjoying the way it eased the cold in his chest. Jochi seemed nervous and his hands shook as he held his own.

  ‘Is my mother well?’ Jochi asked.

  Tsubodai nodded. ‘She thrives in the hot lands, more than most of us. Your brothers too are growing stronger each year. Ogedai now has a tuman of his own and Tolui as well, though his are but boys. I would not like to see them fight. Your father…’

  ‘I do not care how my father is, Tsubodai,’ Jochi snapped, cutting him off. ‘Has he sent you to kill me?’

  Tsubodai winced as if he had burned his lips. Carefully, he put aside the bowl, still half-full. He had thought his way through this conversation many times, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of desolation on seeing Jochi again. At that moment, he would have given anything to be far away, riding different lands for the khan.

  ‘Genghis has given hard orders, Jochi. I did not want them.’

  ‘Yet you are here, his faithful hound,’ Jochi said, without softening. ‘Tell me then what he wants from me.’

  Tsubodai took a deep breath.

  ‘You have barely seven thousand men, Jochi. They cannot stand against my tuman. Their fate lies with what I must ask you.’

  Jochi sat like stone, giving him nothing until Tsubodai went on.

  ‘If you come back alone, they will be left in peace. If you do not, I must kill them all.’

  ‘If you can,’ Jochi said, his anger flaring.

  ‘Yes, but you know I can.’

  ‘Not if I have you killed here, general. I know these woods. My men will fight for their homes.’

  ‘If you break truce,’ Tsubodai said quietly, ‘mine will fight to avenge me. Think as a leader, Jochi. You have brought them here, far f
rom your father. They look to you for honour and life. Will you see them all killed?’

  Jochi rose to his feet, his bowl of tea falling to the floor and shattering.

  ‘You expect me to come back to be butchered by my father? To leave everything I have built here? You are insane.’

  ‘Your father does not want your men, Jochi. In betraying him, you wounded him publicly. He does not care about hunting them, if you come back. Yes, you will die; did you expect me to lie? You will be executed as an example to any other man who might turn against him. But your people will be left alone. When they leave this camp, no one else will come searching for them, not while I live.’ He too stood to face Jochi, his expression becoming stern.

  ‘You have brought them to this, Jochi. You hold their lives in your hands alone. They will either be killed, or you will come with me and they will live. That is the choice you must make, and make now.’

  Tsubodai’s chest was tight at seeing the agony in the younger man. He felt it himself, but like Jochi, he had no other choice. He saw the fight go out of Jochi in a slow breath and he slumped back to his seat on the bed. His eyes were dead as he looked into nothing.

  ‘I should have known my father would never let me go,’ he said almost in a whisper. ‘I gave him everything and he still haunts my steps.’

  The weary smile he turned on Tsubodai almost broke the general’s heart.

  ‘What is one life, after all, Tsubodai? Even my own.’

  Jochi straightened his back and rubbed his hands roughly over his face so that Tsubodai would not see the glistening of his eyes.

  ‘This is a good place, Tsubodai. We have even begun trading in furs, selling them to other places. My men have found wives in raids and in just a short time there will be children here who have never heard the name of Genghis. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘I can. You have made a good life for them, but there is a price for it.’

  Jochi stared at him in silence for a long time. At last, he closed his eyes.

  ‘Very well, general. It seems my father sent the right man to bring me back.’

  He rose once more, recovering some of his poise as he opened the door and let the wind rush into the little room.

  ‘Collect your weapons, general,’ he said, pointing to the pile on the snow.

  Around it, many men had gathered. When they saw Jochi, their faces lit up. Tsubodai came out, ignoring the hostile men as he stooped to pick up his sword and daggers. He left the broken scales of armour where they were as he belted on the blade and shoved the daggers into his boots. He did not watch as Jochi spoke to the senior men. He did not think he could bear it. His horse was ready for him, its reins held by a stranger. Tsubodai nodded to him out of habit as he mounted, but the man was looking past him.

  Tsubodai turned to see Jochi approaching. The younger man looked tired and smaller somehow, as if something had been taken from him.

  ‘Return to your tuman, general. I will come to you in three days. There are things I must say here.’

  Tsubodai bowed in the saddle, shame eating at him.

  ‘I will wait for you, general,’ he said.

  Jochi jerked slightly at the term, but then he nodded and turned away.

  Snow still fell as the light faded on the third evening. Tsubodai was not sure that Jochi would come as he had promised, but he had not wasted the time. His men were ready for an attack as they froze and waited. His scouts were out in all directions and he could not be surprised. He stood on the edge of his men, watching the trail as it vanished under the falling snow. He wished his memories could disappear so completely, made fresh and clean, rather than torturing him with what he might have done. He still remembered how it had felt to receive the gold paitze from Genghis’ own hand, with the world before them. He had devoted himself to the khan, striving always to show that he was worthy of the honour. Tsubodai sighed. The khan was a man to follow, but he would not have wanted to be his son.

  His scouts reached him before Jochi, reporting a lone rider making his way through the woods. For a time, Tsubodai hoped it was not Jochi, that the man would throw his men’s lives away for his freedom. Genghis would have done just that, but Jochi had lived a different life and Tsubodai knew him too well.

  When he saw it was Jochi, Tsubodai sat still in his saddle. Even then, he hoped that Jochi would change his mind, but he came closer and closer until he stopped his horse facing the general.

  ‘Take me home then, Tsubodai. Take me and let them go.’

  Tsubodai nodded and Jochi guided his mount among Tsubodai’s staring warriors, who hardly understood what he had done. The tuman turned to go home and the two generals rode through them to take the lead.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Tsubodai said.

  Jochi looked at him strangely, then sighed.

  ‘You are a better man than my father,’ he said. He saw Tsubodai’s gaze fall to the wolf’s-head sword he wore at his waist. ‘Will you let me keep it, Tsubodai? I won it fairly.’

  Tsubodai shook his head.

  ‘I cannot. I will hold it for you.’

  Jochi hesitated, but he was surrounded by Tsubodai’s men. He grimaced suddenly, sick of all the struggle he had known in his life.

  ‘Take it then,’ he said, unbuckling the belt and scabbard.

  Tsubodai reached over as if to accept the sword. Jochi was looking down at it when Tsubodai cut his throat in one swift movement. The younger man was unconscious before he fell from the horse, his blood spattering bright on the snow.

  Tsubodai sobbed as he dismounted to check the body, each breath torn from him.

  ‘I am sorry, my friend,’ he said. ‘I am your father’s man.’ He knelt by the sprawled body for a long time and his men knew better than to speak.

  At last, he regained control of himself and he stood, breathing the frozen air deeply as if it could scour away the blood on his hands. He had followed his orders, but there was no comfort in it.

  ‘At dawn, we will ride back to their camp,’ he said. ‘They will come, now he is dead.’

  ‘What shall we do with the body?’ one of his minghaan officers asked. He too had known Jochi when he was just a boy and Tsubodai could not meet his eyes.

  ‘We will take him with us. Treat him gently. He was the khan’s son.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Genghis reined in at the valley of Panjshir. A howling wind swirled dust across the emptiness and on one side of the river hosts of carrion birds leapt and bickered, calling amongst themselves. Genghis grunted at the sight before digging in his heels and riding down. Jebe led those with him, including the tumans commanded by his youngest sons. Ogedai’s men had seen the aftermath of battles and raids before, but most of Tolui’s tuman were still young, some of them barely fourteen years old. They followed with wide eyes, until more senior men jabbed the most obvious gawkers in the ribs with a sword hilt.

  Forty thousand men followed Genghis into Panjshir, dusty and thin after a hard ride. Only Chagatai’s tuman had remained to guard the families and move them to new grazing. Genghis had taken every other man he had available, with two spare horses for each of them. Laden with waterskins and supplies, the vast tail of mounts trotted after the warriors, with just a few men at the rear to herd them.

  As Genghis rode across the dusty ground, the heat increased until it seemed to beat directly onto their heads. The river ran on his left, the one source of life in a place of desolation. Genghis could see trampled banners as he approached the battle site and, in the distance, people ran from the town of Parwan to the safety of the fortress on the other side of the river. Genghis did not pause as he rode towards the fighting birds, scattering ravens and vultures before the horses of his men so that they shrieked and wheeled angrily around them.

  Two men still remained on that side of the river, sitting their horses like statues as the khan came in. Kachiun had left them to guide Genghis into the mountains, but they were pale with tension as the tumans approached. Surrounded by birds, they
decided as one that it would be a good idea to dismount and prostrate themselves. Genghis saw the movement and angled his mount towards them, Ogedai and Tolui following. Unlike their father, they stared at everything and Tolui looked faintly ill, though he tried to hide it.

  Genghis dismounted, showing his temper only when a raven came swinging in too close to him and he batted furiously at it, sending the bird tumbling in the air. Many of the carrion crows were almost too full to fly and merely hopped from body to body, opening their black wings and beaks as if in warning.

  Genghis did not look at the corpses, except to estimate their numbers. What he saw did not please him. He stood over the two scouts and felt his patience fray in the heat.

  ‘Get up and report,’ he snapped.

  They leapt to their feet, standing as if at an execution. No one knew how Genghis would react to a defeat.

  ‘General Kachiun has followed the enemy into the mountains, lord. He said he will leave other men behind to bring you to him.’

  ‘You are still in contact?’ Genghis asked.

  Both men nodded. It used valuable warriors, but the practice of establishing a line from one site to another was nothing new. Barely five miles lay between scouts and they could pass information for twenty times that distance in just a short time.

  ‘There were false trails, lord, but the tumans are searching every valley,’ a scout said. ‘I have no news of a true sighting, not yet.’

  Genghis swore and both scouts tightened their faces in fear.

  ‘How do you lose sixty thousand men?’ he demanded.

  Neither scout was certain if the question required an answer and they looked at each other in desperation. Their relief was obvious when Jebe rode up to join Genghis, looking around him at the battlefield with an experienced eye. As well as the slabs of stone placed to break a charge, he could see trenches, some with dead warriors and horses still in them. Wooden stakes bound together had been broken or knocked to one side, but the rusty stains of blood could still be seen on some. There were hundreds of bodies in Arab robes, lying in pitiful heaps as birds and other animals tugged at their flesh. It was not enough, not nearly enough, and Genghis could hardly control his indignation. Only the thought that he must not criticise his generals aloud held his tongue. He knew Jebe could see the truth, but with Ogedai and Tolui within earshot, Genghis remained silent. Jelaudin’s army had fortified a position, just as a city or town. Kachiun had tried to break the defences by force, instead of standing back and waiting for them to starve. Genghis glanced at the sun beating on the back of his neck. Thirst would have killed them first, no matter how well they had prepared. To attack such a position was reckless, though he supposed he might have done the same. Still, his brother’s wits had deserted him. Genghis grimaced as he turned to Jebe, seeing the same thoughts reflected in that dark face.