“There are no traditions to tell us how to act,” Tsubodai went on wearily. “Yes, Genghis chose his heir, but his mind was clouded with anger over Jochi. It was not so many years ago that he favored Chagatai over all his brothers. The nation talks of nothing else. At times, I think Chagatai could press his claim openly and become khan. He could walk right up to Ogedai with a sword and fully half the army would not stop him.”
“The other half would tear him to shreds,” Khasar said.
“And in a stroke, we would have a civil war that would break the nation in two. Everything Genghis built, all our strength, wasted on an internal struggle. How long would it be then before the Chin rose against us, or the Arabs? If that is the future, I would rather see Chagatai take the horse-tail banner today.” Tsubodai held up his hand as they began to protest. “That is not a traitor speaking, do not think it. Have I not shown that I followed Genghis, even when everything in me cried out that he was wrong? I will not fail his memory. I will see Ogedai as khan, on my word.”
Once again he thought of a young man who had believed his promise of safe passage. Tsubodai knew his word was worthless, where it had once been iron. It was an old grief, but on some days he bled as if he had just been cut.
“You had me worried,” Khasar said.
Tsubodai did not smile. He was younger than both the brothers, but they waited patiently for him to speak. He was the great general, the master who could plan any attack on any terrain and somehow snatch victory. With Tsubodai, they knew Ogedai had a chance. Kachiun frowned at the thought.
“You should look to your own safety as well, Tsubodai. You are too valuable to lose.”
Tsubodai sighed. “To hear such words while I sit by the ger of my khan. Yes, I will be careful. I am an obstacle to the one we all fear. You should be sure that your guards are men you trust with your life, who cannot be bribed or threatened without them coming to you. If a man’s wife and children go missing, will you still trust him to watch you as you sleep?”
“That is an ugly thought,” Jebe said, with a wince. “You truly think we are at that point? On such a day, I can hardly believe in knives in every shadow.”
“If Ogedai becomes khan,” Tsubodai went on, “he could have Chagatai killed, or simply rule well or badly for forty years. Chagatai will not wait, Jebe. He will try to arrange a death, an accident, or he will try to take it by force. I cannot see him sitting idly by while his life and ambition is decided by others. Not the man I know.”
Somehow the sun seemed less bright after such cold words.
“Where is Jelme?” Jebe asked. “He told me he would be here.”
Tsubodai rubbed the back of his neck, making it crack. He had not slept well for many weeks, though he would not mention it to these men.
“Jelme is loyal; don’t worry about him,” he muttered. Some of the other men frowned.
“Loyal to which son of Genghis?” Jebe said. “There is no clear path in this, and if we do not find one, the nation could be torn apart.”
“Then we should kill Chagatai,” Khasar said. The others grew still and he grinned at them. “I am too old to be guarding my words,” he said with a shrug. “Why should he have it all his own way? Why should I check my personal guards, to be sure no one has turned them against me? We could end this today and Ogedai would be khan at the new moon with no threat of war.” He saw their cold expressions and spat once again. “I won’t dip my head at your disapproval, so don’t expect it. If you prefer to watch your backs for a month and make secret, clever plans, that is up to you. I could cut right through it and see an end. What do you think Genghis would say, if he were one of us, here? He’d walk right in and cut Chagatai’s throat.”
“He might,” Tsubodai admitted, who knew better than most how ruthless the khan had been. “If Chagatai was a fool, I would agree with you. If there could be surprise, yes, it could work. I’d ask you to test it, but you’d get yourself killed. Instead, take my word on this—Chagatai is ready for such a move. Any group of armed men approaching his tuman is met with bristling weapons and warriors ready to charge. He plans murder every day, so he fears it as well.”
“Between us we command enough men to get to him,” Khasar said, though less confidently.
“Perhaps. If only his ten thousand responded, we could still reach him, but I think it has already gone further than that. Whatever game Ogedai has been playing, he has given his brother two years to whisper and make promises. Without a khan’s shadow, all of us were forced to rule the lands around us, to act as if we were the only voice that mattered. I found I enjoyed it. Did you not feel the same?” Tsubodai glanced around at the others and shook his head. “The nation is falling apart into tribes of tumans, bound not by blood but by the generals who lead them. No, we will not attack Chagatai. My purpose is to prevent civil war, not to be the spark that sets it off.”
Khasar had lost his keen look as Tsubodai spoke, subsiding with an irritated expression.
“Then we are back to keeping Ogedai alive,” he said.
“More than that,” Tsubodai replied. “We are back to keeping enough of a nation intact for him to have something to rule as khan. I hope you did not expect me to have an answer on a single day, Khasar. We could win here and see Ogedai with the horse tails, yet watch as Chagatai takes away half the army and half the nation. How long would it be then before two khans and their armies were facing each other on a field of war?”
“You have made it clear, Tsubodai,” Kachiun said, “but we can’t just sit and wait for disaster.”
“No,” Tsubodai said. “Very well, I know enough to trust you. Jelme is not here because he is meeting two of the generals who may be loyal to Chagatai. I will know more when I have exchanged messages with him. I cannot meet him again—and yes, Khasar, this is the sort of secret game you despise. The stakes are too high to make a false step.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Khasar said thoughtfully.
Tsubodai shot a sharp glance at the older man. “I will also need your word, Khasar,” he said.
“On what?”
“Your word not to act on your own. It is true that Chagatai runs every day, though he does not go far from his warriors. There is a small chance you could arrange archers in place to take him from cover, but if you failed, you would ruin everything your brother worked for, everything that cost the lives of so many of those you loved. The entire nation would go up in flames, Khasar.”
Khasar gaped at the general, who seemed to be reading his very thoughts. His guilty expression was there for all to see as he forced the cold face. Before he could reply, Tsubodai spoke again.
“Your word, Khasar. We want the same thing, but I cannot plan around you, without knowing what you will do.”
“You have it,” Khasar said grimly.
Tsubodai nodded as if it were a minor point in a discussion. “I will keep you all informed. We cannot meet often, with the number of spies in the camp, so we will send trusted messengers. Write nothing down and never use the name of Chagatai again, not after today. Call him the Broken Lance if you must speak of him. Know that we will find a way through.”
Tsubodai rose smoothly to his feet and thanked Khasar for his hospitality.
“I must leave now, to find out what they promised Jelme in return for his support.” He bowed his head and climbed lithely down the steps, making Khasar and Kachiun feel old just to watch.
“Be grateful for one thing,” Kachiun said softly, watching the general stride away. “If he wanted to be khan, it would be even harder.”
THREE
Ogedai stood in shadows, at the base of the ramp that led to light and air above. The great oval was finished at last, the smell of wood, paint, and varnish strong in the air around him. It was easy to imagine the athletes of his people walking out to the roar of thirty thousand men and women. Ogedai saw it all in his mind, and he realized he was feeling better than he had for many days. The Chin healer had spoken much about the dangers of foxglove
powder, but Ogedai only knew that it eased the constant ache in his chest. Two days before, a sharp pain had driven him to his knees in his private apartments. He grimaced at the remembered pressure, like being trapped in a small space and unable to open his lungs to air. A pinch of the dark powder mixed in red wine had brought release like ropes snapping around his chest. He walked with death, he was certain of it, but it was still two steps behind.
The builders were leaving the great stadium in their thousands, though Ogedai barely looked at the river of exhausted faces passing him. He knew they had worked all night so he would be satisfied, and that was only right. He wondered how they felt about the emperor of the Chin kneeling to his father. If Genghis had been forced to such shame, Ogedai doubted he could be so calm, so accepting. Genghis had told him that the Chin had no concept of nation. Their ruling elite talked of empires and emperors, but the peasants could not stand high enough to see so far. Instead, they found smaller loyalties to cities and local men. Ogedai nodded to himself. It was not so long since the tribes of his people had done the same. His father had dragged them all into a new era, and many of them still did not understand the breadth of his vision.
Most of the crowd stared at the ground as they walked past, terrified of attracting his notice. Ogedai’s heart began to beat faster as he saw a different reaction in some of those approaching him. He felt the need to walk out of the shadows into light and had to strangle the urge. His chest ached, but there was none of the terrible weariness that usually dogged him no matter how much he slept. Instead, his senses were alive. He could smell and hear everything around him, from the garlic-laced food of the workmen to the whispered voices.
The world seemed to strain and then burst, leaving him almost dazed. Ahead of him were men who stared and then deliberately turned away, their reaction marking them out like a raised flag. Ogedai saw no signal, but almost as one they drew knives from their clothing; short, hacking blades of the sort carpenters used to trim posts. The crowd began to swirl as more and more people realized what was happening. Voices cried out hoarsely, but Ogedai remained very still, the center of the growing storm. He had locked eyes with the closest of the men as he shoved his way past others, his blade held high.
Ogedai watched the man approach. Slowly he opened his arms wide, then wider, his outstretched hands buffeted by the fleeing crowd. The attacker shouted something, a wild sound lost in the clamor. Ogedai showed his teeth as the man was struck from the side, his body crumpling away from the armored Guard who had hit him.
As his Guards trampled and slaughtered the men in the shadowy tunnel, Ogedai slowly lowered his arms, watching coldly. They left two alive, as he had ordered, clubbing them down with sword hilts until their faces were swollen masks. The rest were killed like goats.
In just moments, the first officer stood before him, his chest heaving and his pale face spattered with filth.
“Lord, are you well?” the man said, a study of confusion.
Ogedai turned his gaze away from the soldiers still thumping at the dead flesh of men who had dared to attack their master.
“Why would you think otherwise, Huran? I am unharmed. You have done your work.”
Huran bowed his head and almost turned away, but he could not.
“My lord, there was no need for this. We have followed these men for two days. I have searched their lodgings myself and there has never been a moment in Karakorum when I did not have eyes on them. We could have taken them without any risk to you.”
He was clearly struggling to find the right words, but Ogedai felt lighter and stronger than he had in too long. His mood was mellow as he replied.
“Say what you have to say, Huran. You will not offend me.” He had released the man from any need to guard his speech, and he watched the tension and stiffness vanish.
“I live, I work, to protect you, lord,” Huran said. “On the day you die, I die, I have sworn it. But I cannot protect you if you are … if you are in love with death, lord, if you want to die …” Under Ogedai’s cool gaze, Huran stumbled over the last words and fell silent.
“Put your fears to rest, Huran. You have served me since I was a boy. I took risks then, did I not? Like any other lad who thinks he will live forever?”
Huran nodded. “You did, but you would not have stood with your arms wide then, not with a killer running at you. I saw it, lord, but I did not understand it.”
Ogedai smiled, as if instructing a child. Perhaps it was his closeness to eternity in those moments, but he felt almost light-headed.
“I do not want to die, I promise you, Huran. But I am not afraid of it, not at all. I held open my arms because, in that moment, I did not care. Can you understand that?”
“No, lord,” Huran said.
Ogedai sighed, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood and excrement in the tunnel.
“The air is foul here,” he said. “Walk out with me.”
He skirted the heaped bodies. Many had been killed by accident in the fray, simple workmen trying to get out of the darkness. He would have some payment made to their families, he thought.
Huran stayed at his side as the light brightened and Ogedai’s gaze fell on the completed arena. His mood soared higher at the sight of the tiered seating, thousands upon thousands of benches stretching into the distance. After the bloodshed at the entrance, it had emptied at astonishing speed, so that Ogedai could hear the song of a bird in the distance, clear and sweet. He was tempted to call across the space to see if his voice would echo. Thirty thousand of his people could sit and watch races and wrestling and the archery wall. It would be glorious.
A spot on his face itched and he rubbed it, raising a reddened finger before his eyes. Someone else’s blood.
“Here, Huran, in this place, I will be khan. I will take the oath from my people.”
Huran nodded stiffly and Ogedai smiled at him, knowing his loyalty was absolute. Yet he did not mention the weakness of the heart that could take his life at any moment. He did not tell Huran that he woke each morning with sharp relief that he had survived the night to see one more dawn, nor how he stayed awake later and later each evening in case that day was his last. The wine and the foxglove powder had brought him relief, but he knew every day, every breath, was a blessing. How could he fear a killer when he was always in death’s shadow? It was amusing and he chuckled until he felt the ache in his chest again. He considered taking a pinch of the powder under his tongue. Huran would not dare ask about it.
“There are three days until the new moon, Huran. You have kept me alive until now, have you not? How many attacks have you thwarted?”
“Seven, lord,” Huran said softly.
Ogedai looked sharply at him. “I know of only five, including today. How do you make seven?”
“My man in the kitchens stopped a poisoning this morning, lord, and I had three warriors of your brother murdered in a brawl.”
“You were not certain that they were here to kill me?”
“No, lord, not certain,” Huran admitted. He had left one alive and worked on him for part of the morning, earning nothing but screaming and insults for his trouble.
“You have been rash, Huran,” Ogedai said, without regret. “We have planned for such attacks. My food is tasted, my servants are hand-picked. My city is under siege from the sheer number of spies and warriors pretending to be simple painters and carpenters. Yet I have opened Karakorum and people are still flooding in. I have three Chin lords staying in my own palace and two Christian monks who have taken a vow of poverty, so bed down in the straw of my royal stables. The oath-taking will be … an interesting time, Huran.” He sighed at the soldier’s grim worry. “If all we have done is not enough, perhaps I am not meant to survive. The sky father loves a good game, Huran. Perhaps I will be taken from you, despite all your efforts.”
“Not while I live, lord. I will call you khan.”
The man spoke with such assurance that Ogedai smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Escort me back to the palace then, Huran. I must resume my duties, after this small amusement. I have kept Orlok Tsubodai waiting long enough, I think.”
Tsubodai had left his armor in the palace rooms he had been given. Every warrior in the tribes knew that Genghis had once approached an enemy without weapons, then used a scale of his armor to cut the man’s throat. Instead, Tsubodai wore a light deel robe over leggings and sandals. They had been laid out for him, clean and new, of the best materials. Such luxury in those rooms! Ogedai had borrowed from every culture they had encountered in conquest. It made Tsubodai uncomfortable to see it, though he could not find words for his discomfort. Worse was the bustle and hurry of the palace corridors, packed with people, all intent on errands and work he did not understand. He had not realized there were so many involved in the oath-taking. There were Guards at every corner and alcove, but with so many strange faces, Tsubodai felt a constant itch of worry. He preferred open spaces.
The day had half gone when he grabbed a servant running past him, making the man yelp in surprise. It seemed Ogedai had been busy with some task in the city, but he knew Tsubodai was waiting.
Tsubodai could not leave without giving insult, so he stood in a silent audience room, his impatience growing harder to mask as the hours fled.
The room was empty, though Tsubodai still felt crawling eyes on him as he strolled to a window and looked over the new city and beyond to the tumans on the plains. The sun was setting, throwing long lines of gold and shadow on the ground and streets below. Ogedai had chosen the site well, with the mountains to the south and the nearby river wide and strong. Tsubodai had ridden along part of the canal Ogedai had built to bring water into the city. It was astonishing, until you considered that a million men had worked for almost two years. With enough gold and silver, anything was possible. Tsubodai wondered if Ogedai would survive to enjoy it.
He had lost track of time when he heard voices approaching. Tsubodai watched closely as Ogedai’s Guards entered and took positions. He felt their gaze pass over him and then settle, as the only possible threat in the room. Ogedai came last, his face puffier and far paler than Tsubodai remembered. It was hard not to remember Genghis in those yellow eyes, and Tsubodai bowed deeply.
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 Page 133
