The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle: Genghis: Birth of an Empire, Genghis: Bones of the Hills, Genghis: Lords of the Bow, Khan: Empire of Silver, Conqueror

by Conn Iggulden

  There was no hiding the sudden stiffness that came into Temujin’s bearing. Yesugei made a purring sound in frustration, deep in his throat like a growl.

  “He is my first warrior, and deadly, boy, you should believe it. I would rather have Eeluk at my side than any five of the tribe—any ten of the Olkhun’ut. His children will not rule the families. His sword will never be as good as mine, do you understand? No, you are only twelve. What can you understand of what I say to you?”

  “You had to give him something,” Temujin snapped. “Is that what you mean?”

  “No. It was not a debt. I honored him with the red bird because he is my first warrior. Because he has been my friend since we were boys together and he has never complained that his family were beneath mine amongst the Wolves.”

  Temujin opened his mouth to snap a reply. The red bird would be soiled by Eeluk’s dirty hands, with their thick yellow skin. The bird was too fine for the ugly bondsman. He did not speak, and instead he practiced the discipline that gave him the cold face and showed the world nothing. It was his only real defense against his father’s searching gaze.

  Yesugei saw through it, and snorted.

  “Boy, I was showing the cold face when you were the sky father’s dream,” he said.

  As they made camp that night by a winding stream, Temujin set about the chores that would help sustain them the following day. With the hilt of his knife, he broke chunks of hard cheese from a heavy block, passing the pieces into leather bags half filled with water. The wet mixture would sit under their saddles, churned and heated by the ponies’ skin. By noon, he and his father would have a warm drink of soft curds, bitter and refreshing.

  Once that task was done, Temujin set about finding sheep droppings, pulling them apart in his fingers to see if they were dry enough to burn cleanly and well. He collected a pile of the best ones and drew a stick of flint across an old knife to light strands of them, building the sparks into a tongue of flame and then a fire. Yesugei cut pieces of dried mutton and some wild onions with sheep fat, the delicious smell making their mouths water. Hoelun had given them bread that would soon be hard, so they broke the flat loaves and soaked them in the stew.

  They sat across from each other to eat, sucking the meat juices from their fingers between mouthfuls. Temujin saw his father’s gaze fall on the pack that contained the black airag and fetched it for him. He watched patiently as the khan took a deep swig.

  “Tell me about the Olkhun’ut,” Temujin said.

  His father’s mouth curled in an unconscious sneer. “They are not strong, though there are many of them, like ants. I sometimes think I could ride in there and kill all day before they brought me down.”

  “They don’t have warriors?” Temujin said incredulously. His father was not above making up some outlandish story, but he seemed serious.

  “Not like Eeluk. You’ll see. They use the bow rather than the sword, and they stand far off from their enemy, never coming close unless they have to. Shields would make a mockery of them, though they would kill the ponies easily enough. They are like wasps stinging, but if you ride in amongst them, they scatter like children. That is how I took your mother. I crept up, then I leapt on them.”

  “How will I learn to use a sword, then?” Temujin demanded.

  He had forgotten his father’s reaction to that tone and barely avoided the hand that came to smack a little humility into him. Yesugei went on as if nothing had happened.

  “You will have to practice on your own, boy. Bekter had to, I know that. He said they didn’t let him touch a bow or one of their knives from the first day to the day he left. Cowards, all of them. Still, their women are very fine.”

  “Why do they trade with you, with daughters for your sons?” Temujin asked, wary of another blow. Yesugei was already arranging his deel for sleep, lying back on the sheep-nibbled grass.

  “No father wants unwed daughters cluttering the ger. What would they do with them, if I did not come with a son every now and then? It is not so uncommon, especially when the tribes meet. They can strengthen their blood with the seed of other tribes.”

  “Does it strengthen us?” Temujin asked.

  His father snorted without opening his eyes.

  “The Wolves are already strong.”

  CHAPTER 5

  YESUGEI’S SHARP EYES spotted the Olkhun’ut scouts at exactly the moment they saw him. The deep notes of their horns carried back to the tribes, rousing the warriors to defend their herds and women.

  “You will not speak unless they speak to you,” Yesugei warned his son. “Show them the cold face, no matter what happens. Understand?”

  Temujin did not respond, though he swallowed nervously. The days and nights with his father had been a strange time for him. In all his life, he could not remember having Yesugei’s attention for so long, without his brothers crashing across the khan’s field of vision and distracting him. At first, Temujin had thought it would be a misery to be stuck together for the journey. They were not friends, and could not be, but there were moments when he caught a glint of something in his father’s eyes. In anyone else, it might have been pride.

  In the far distance, Temujin saw dust rise from the dry ground as young warriors leapt onto their ponies, calling for weapons. Yesugei’s mouth became a thin, hard line and he sat tall in his saddle, his back straight and unbending. Temujin copied him as best he could, watching the dust cloud grow as dozens of warriors came swarming out toward the lonely pair.

  “Do not turn, Temujin,” Yesugei snapped. “They are boys playing games, and you will shame me if you give honor to them.”

  “I understand,” Temujin replied. “But if you sit like a stone, they will know you are aware of them. Would it not be better to talk to me, to laugh?”

  He felt Yesugei’s glare and knew a moment of fear. Those golden eyes had been the last sight of more than a few young tribesmen. Yesugei was preparing himself for enemies, his instincts taking over his muscles and reactions. As Temujin turned to return the stare, he saw his father summon an effort of will and visibly relax himself. The galloping Olkhun’ut did not seem so close and the day had grown a little brighter somehow.

  “I will look a fool if they sweep us off the ponies in pieces,” Yesugei said, forcing a stiff grin that would not have been out of place on a corpse.

  Temujin laughed at his effort in genuine amusement. “Are you in pain? Try throwing your head back as you do it.”

  His father did as Temujin suggested and his effort reduced them both to helpless laughter by the time the Olkhun’ut riders arrived. Yesugei was red-faced and wiping tears from his eyes as the yelling warriors skidded to a halt, allowing their mounts to block the pair of strangers. The drifting cloud of dust arrived with them, passing through the group on the wind and making them all narrow their eyes.

  The milling group of warriors fell silent as Temujin and Yesugei mastered themselves and appeared to notice the Olkhun’ut for the first time. Temujin kept his face as blank as possible, though he could barely hide his curiosity. Everything was subtly different from what he was used to. The bloodlines of their horses were superb and the warriors themselves wore light deels of gray with gold thread markings over trousers of dark brown. They were somehow cleaner and neater looking than his own people, and Temujin felt a vague resentment start in him. His gaze fell on one who must surely have been the leader. The other riders deferred to him as he approached, looking to him for orders.

  The young warrior rode as well as Kachiun, Temujin saw, but he was almost a man grown, with only the lightest of tunics and bare brown arms. He had two bows strapped to his saddle, with a good throwing axe. Temujin could see no swords on any of the others, but they too carried the small axes and he wondered how they would be used against armed men. He suspected that a good sword would reduce their hatchets to kindling in just a stroke or two—unless they threw them.

  His examination of the Olkhun’ut was being returned. One of the men nudged his pony cl
ose to Yesugei. A grimy hand stretched out to finger the cloth of his deel.

  Temujin barely saw his father move, but the man’s palm was striped with red before he could lay a finger on Yesugei’s belongings. The Olkhun’ut rider yelped and pulled back, his pain turning to anger in an instant.

  “You take a great risk riding here without your bondsmen, khan of the Wolves,” the young man in a tunic said suddenly. “Have you brought us another of your sons for the Olkhun’ut to teach him his manhood?”

  Yesugei turned to Temujin and again there was that odd light in his eye.

  “This is my son, Temujin. Temujin, this is your cousin Koke. His father is the man I shot in the hip on the day I met your mother.”

  “And he still limps,” Koke agreed, without smiling.

  His pony seemed to move without a signal and he came in range to clap Yesugei on the shoulder. The older man allowed the action, though there was something about his stillness that suggested he may not have. The other warriors relaxed as Koke moved away. He had shown he was not afraid of the khan, and Yesugei had accepted that he did not rule where the Olkhun’ut pitched their gers.

  “You must be hungry. The hunters brought in fat spring marmots this morning—will you eat with us?”

  “We will,” Yesugei answered for both of them.

  From that moment they were protected by guest rights and Yesugei lost the stiffness that suggested he’d rather be holding a sword. His dagger had vanished back into his fur-lined robe. In comparison, Temujin’s stomach felt as if it had dropped out. He had not fully appreciated how lonely he would feel surrounded by strangers, and even before they reached the outer tents of the Olkhun’ut, he was watching his father closely, dreading the moment when he would ride away and leave his son behind.

  The gers of the Olkhun’ut were a different shade of white-gray from those Temujin knew. The horses were held in great corrals outside the gathering of tents, too many for him to count. With cattle, goats, and sheep busy munching grass on every nearby hill, he could see the Olkhun’ut were prosperous and, as Yesugei had said, strong in numbers. Temujin saw little boys the age of his brothers racing along the outskirts of the camp. Each held a small bow and seemed to be firing directly into the ground, yelling and cursing alternately. It was all strange, and he wished Kachiun and Khasar were there with him.

  His cousin Koke jumped down from his pony, giving the reins to a tiny woman with a face as wrinkled as a leaf. Temujin and Yesugei dismounted at the same time, and their ponies were taken away to be watered and fed. The other riders scattered through the camp, returning to their own gers or gathering in groups to talk. Strangers in the tribe were not common and Temujin could feel hundreds of eyes on him as Koke led the two Wolves through the midst of his people, striding ahead.

  Yesugei grunted in displeasure at being forced to walk behind the young man. The khan walked even slower in response, pausing to inspect the decorative knotwork on the ger of a lesser family. With a frown on his face, Koke was forced to wait for his guests, or arrive at his destination without them. Temujin might have applauded the subtle way his father had turned the little game of status to his advantage. Instead of hurrying along after the younger man, they had made the trip a tour of the Olkhun’ut gers. Yesugei even spoke to one or two of the people, but never with a question they might not have answered, only with a compliment or a simple remark. The Olkhun’ut stared after the pair of Wolves, and Temujin sensed his father was enjoying the tensions as much as a battle.

  By the time they stopped outside a ger with a bright blue door, Koke was irritated with them both, though he could not exactly have said why.

  “Is your father well?” Yesugei said.

  The young warrior was forced to pause as he ducked into the ger. “He is as strong as ever,” Koke replied.

  Yesugei nodded. “Tell him I am here,” he said, looking blandly at his nephew by marriage.

  Koke colored slightly before disappearing into the darkness within. Though there were eyes and ears all around them, Temujin and Yesugei had been left alone.

  “Observe the courtesies when we go in,” Yesugei murmured. “These are not the families you know. They will notice every fault and rejoice in it.”

  “I understand,” Temujin replied, barely moving his lips. “How old is my cousin Koke?”

  “Thirteen or fourteen,” Yesugei replied.

  Temujin looked up with interest. “So he is alive only because you shot his father in the hip and not the heart?”

  Yesugei shrugged. “I did not shoot for the hip. I shot to kill, but I had only an instant to loose the shaft before your mother’s other brother threw an axe at me.”

  “Is he here as well?” Temujin asked, looking round.

  Yesugei chuckled. “Not unless he managed to put his head back on.”

  Temujin fell silent as he considered this. The Olkhun’ut had no reason to love his father and many to hate him, yet he sent his sons to them for wives. The certainties he had known among his own people were vanishing, and he felt lost and fearful. Temujin drew on his determination with an effort, composing his features into the cold face. Bekter had withstood his year with the tribe, after all. They would not kill him and anything else was bearable, he was almost certain.

  “Why has he not come out?” he murmured to his father.

  Yesugei grunted, breaking off from staring at some young Olkhun’ut women milking goats.

  “He makes us wait because he thinks I will be insulted. He made me wait when I came with Bekter two years ago. No doubt he will make me wait when I come with Khasar. The man is an idiot, but all dogs bark at a wolf.”

  “Why do you visit him first, then?” Temujin said, dropping his voice even lower.

  “The blood tie brings me safe amongst them. It galls them to welcome me, but they give your mother honor by doing it. I play my part, and my sons have wives.”

  “Will you see their khan?” Temujin asked.

  Yesugei shook his head. “If Sansar sees me, he will be forced to offer his tents and women for as long as I am here. He will have gone hunting, as I would if he came to the Wolves.”

  “You like him,” Temujin said, watching his father’s face closely.

  “The man has honor enough not to pretend he is a friend when he is not. I respect him. If I ever decide to take his herds, I will let him keep a few sheep and a woman or two, perhaps even a bow and a good cloak against the cold.”

  Yesugei smiled at the thought, gazing back at the girls tending their bleating flock. Temujin wondered if they knew the wolf was already amongst them.

  The inside of the ger was gloomy and thick with the smell of mutton and sweat. As Temujin ducked low to pass under the lintel, it occurred to him for the first time just how vulnerable a man was as he went into another family’s home. Perhaps the small doors had another function apart from keeping out the winter.

  The ger had carved wooden beds and chairs around the edges, with a small stove in the middle. Temujin felt vaguely disappointed at the ordinary look of the interior, though his sharp eyes noticed a beautiful bow on the far wall, double curved and layered in horn and sinew. He wondered if he would have the chance to practice his archery with the Olkhun’ut. If they forbade him weapons for the full turn of seasons, he might well lose the skills he had worked so hard to gain.

  Koke stood with his head respectfully bowed, but another man rose as Yesugei came to greet him, standing a head shorter than the khan of the Wolves.

  “I have brought another son to you, Enq,” Yesugei said formally. “The Olkhun’ut are friends to the Wolves and do us great honor with strong wives.”

  Temujin watched his uncle in fascination. His mother’s brother. It was strange to think of her growing up around this very ger, riding a sheep, perhaps, as the babies sometimes did.

  Enq was a thin spear of a man, his flesh tight on his bones, so that the lines of his shaven skull could be easily seen. Even in the dark ger, his skin shone with grease, with just one thi
ck lock of gray hair hanging from his scalp between his eyes. The glance he gave Temujin was not welcoming, though he gripped Yesugei’s hand in greeting and his wife prepared salted tea to refresh them.

  “Is my sister well?” Enq said as the silence swelled around them. She has given me a daughter,” Yesugei replied. “Perhaps you will send an Olkhun’ut son to me one day.”

  Enq nodded, though the idea did not seem to please him.

  “Has the girl you found for my elder son come into her blood?” Yesugei asked.

  Enq grimaced over his tea. “Her mother says that she hasn’t,” he replied. “She will come when she is ready.” He seemed about to speak again and then shut his mouth tight, so that the wrinkles around his lips deepened.

  Temujin perched himself on the edge of a bed, taking note of the fine quality of the blankets. Remembering what his father had said, he took the bowl of tea he was offered in his right hand, his left cupping his right elbow in the traditional style. No one could have faulted his manners in front of the Olkhun’ut.

  They settled themselves and drank the liquid in silence. Temujin began to relax.

  “Why has your son not greeted me?” Enq asked Yesugei slyly.

  Temujin stiffened as his father frowned. He put aside the bowl and rose once more. Enq stood with him, and Temujin was pleased to find he was the man’s equal in height.

  “I am honored to meet you, Uncle,” he said. “I am Temujin, second son to the khan of Wolves. My mother sends you her greetings. Are you well?”

  “I am, boy,” Enq replied. “Though I see you have yet to learn the courtesies of our people.”