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

  “Join me on the cart, dear,” Torogene said, fitting her arm through Sorhatani’s. “We can talk on the way to the palace. Is that Yao Shu I see there?”

  “My lady,” Yao Shu murmured.

  “I will want to see the accounts, Chancellor. Bring them to me in the khan’s rooms at sunset.”

  “Of course, my lady,” he replied.

  What trickery was this? He had hoped for two cats spitting rage over Ogedai, and instead they seemed to have assessed each other and found something to like in just a glance and a greeting. He would never understand women, he thought. They were life’s great mystery. His hands ached and throbbed from hammering through the door panels, and he was suddenly tired. He wanted nothing more than to return to his offices and settle down with something hot to drink. He watched in numb frustration as Sorhatani and Torogene were handed up onto the cart and took seats next to each other, already chattering like birds. The column moved off with cries from the drivers and warriors riding escort. It was not long before he was standing alone on the dusty road. The thought came to him that the accounts were in no state to be perused by anyone apart from himself. He had a great deal of work to do before sunset, before he could rest.

  Karakorum was far from quiet as the riders and carts made their way through the streets. The khan’s own Guards had been brought out from their barracks to man the roads and keep back crowds of well-wishers, as well as those who just wanted to catch a glimpse of Torogene. The khan’s wife was seen as the mother of the nation, and the Guards were hard-pressed. Torogene smiled indulgently as they wended their way through the streets to the golden dome and tower of the khan’s palace.

  “I had forgotten there were so many people here,” Torogene said, shaking her head in wonder. Men and women held children out to her in the vain hope that she would bless them with a touch. Others cried her name, or called out blessings of their own on the khan and his family. The Guards linked arms at crossroads, struggling to hold back a tide of humanity.

  When she spoke again, Sorhatani could see a faint flush in Torogene’s cheeks.

  “I understand that Ogedai is much taken with you,” Torogene began.

  Sorhatani closed her eyes for a moment of irritation. Yao Shu.

  “Looking after him gave me something to do while I bore my own grief,” she said. Her eyes were clear of guilt and Torogene regarded her with interest. She had never been so beautiful, even when young.

  “You seem to have offended my husband’s chancellor, at least. That says something for you.”

  Sorhatani smiled. “He feels the khan’s wishes should have been respected. I … did not respect them. I think I irritated Ogedai into taking a grip on his duties again. He is not fully well, my lady, but I think you will see a change in him.”

  The khan’s wife patted her knee, reassured by Sorhatani’s babbling. By the spirits, the woman had secured her husband’s titles with just a few ruffled feathers! If that was not enough, she had nursed the khan back to health, when the man was refusing to see his wife or his chancellor. Some part of Torogene knew Ogedai had chosen to die alone in his palace. He had sent her away with a sort of cold resignation she could not pierce. Somehow, she had thought that to defy him would be to see him break down completely. He had not allowed her into his grief. It still hurt.

  Sorhatani had done what Torogene could not, and she silently thanked the younger woman, however she had achieved it. Even Yao Shu had been forced to admit Ogedai was in better spirits. It was somehow good to know Sorhatani could be as nervous as a girl. It made her less frightening.

  Sorhatani regarded the motherly lady at her side. It had been a very long time since anyone had shown her this sort of affection, and she found herself liking the woman more. She could hardly express her relief that there was no bad blood between them. Torogene wasn’t the foolish sort to come storming home. If Ogedai had the sense of a marmot, he’d have had her close from the moment he returned. He’d have healed himself in her arms. Instead, he’d chosen to wait for death in a frozen room. He’d seen it as refusing to flinch in the face of death, she knew now. He had tormented himself with past sins and errors until he could no longer move even to save himself.

  “I am glad you were there for him, Sorhatani,” Torogene said. The color in her cheeks deepened suddenly, and Sorhatani prepared for the question she knew would come.

  “I am not a young girl, a blushing virgin,” Torogene said. “My husband has many wives … and slaves and servants to attend to every need. I will not be hurt, but I do want to know if you comforted him in all ways.”

  “Not in bed,” Sorhatani said, smiling. “He came close to grabbing me once when I was bathing him, but I hit him with a foot-brush.”

  Torogene chuckled. “That’s the way to deal with them, dear, when they get warm. You’re very beautiful, you see. I think I would have been jealous of you if you had.”

  They smiled at each other, each one realizing she had found a friend. Both women wondered if the other valued the discovery anywhere near as much.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tsubodai moved slowly west over the following spring and summer. Leaving the Russian principates behind, he reached the limits of his maps. His scouts spread out ahead of the tumans, ranging in unknown territory for months at a time as they sketched valleys and towns and lakes, putting together a picture of the land that lay before him. Those who could read and write made notes on the strength of armies they encountered or the moving columns of refugees fleeing before them. Those who could not write bound sticks in bundles of ten, with each ten representing a thousand. It was a rough system, but Tsubodai was content to move in summer and fight each winter, playing to the strengths of his people. The lords and nobles of these new lands were made weak by such an approach to war. As yet, they had shown him nothing that could threaten his horse warriors.

  Tsubodai assumed he would eventually face armies the equal of those wielded by the Chin emperor. At some point, the foreign princes would join forces against the sweep west. He heard rumors of armies like clouds of locusts, but he did not know if it was exaggeration. If the foreign lords did not join together, they would be taken one by one, and he would not stop, would not ever stop, until he saw the sea.

  He rode to the front of a column of the closest two tumans, checking on the supplies Mongke had promised to send after a lucky find. Just keeping so many in the field forced them to move constantly. The horses needed vast plains of sweet grass, and the sheer number of ragged foot soldiers was becoming a greater problem every day. They served a purpose when used ruthlessly. Tsubodai’s tumans sent them in first, forcing the enemy to use all their bolts and arrows before they met the main Mongol forces. In that way, they were valuable enough, but anything that lived or moved had to be shot to feed the men—not just herds of cattle and sheep, but foxes, deer, wolves, hares, and wild birds, anything they could find. They scoured the land, leaving almost nothing alive behind them. He thought the destruction of villages was something like a mercy. Better a quick death than being left to starve, without grain or meat for the winter to come. Time and again, Tsubodai’s tumans had found abandoned villages, places filled with ghosts from years back, when plague or starvation had forced the people to leave. It was no wonder they gathered in great cities. In such places, they could pretend they were safe and find comfort in numbers and high walls. They did not yet know how weak those walls were for his tumans. He had brought down Yenking, with the Chin emperor inside it. Nothing he had seen in the west could match that stone city.

  Tsubodai firmed his jaw as he saw Batu in the company of Guyuk yet again. Mongke and Baidur were a hundred miles away, or he thought he might have found them there as well. The four princes had become friends, which could have been useful enough, if Batu had not been the one holding them together. Perhaps because he was the oldest, or because Guyuk followed his lead, Batu seemed to set the tone for the others. He made a great show of respect whenever Tsubodai spoke to him, but always there was
the mocking half-smile. It was never so obvious that the orlok could react, but still, it was there. He felt it like a thorn in his back, too far to reach and pluck out.

  Tsubodai reined in as he reached the head of the column. Behind him, Batu’s tuman rode alongside Guyuk’s. There was none of the usual rough competition between those warriors, as if they took their manner from the generals at the head. Tsubodai grunted at the clean lines. He could not fault them, but it rankled to have Guyuk and Batu talking the day away as if they were riding to a marriage feast and not through hostile territory.

  Tsubodai was hot and irritable. He had not eaten that day and he had ridden the best part of twenty miles since dawn, checking on the columns as they clawed their way across the earth. He stifled his temper as Batu bowed in the saddle to him.

  “Do you have new orders, Orlok?” Batu called.

  Guyuk looked up as well and Tsubodai brought his horse in closer, matching their pace. He did not bother to answer the pointless question.

  “Has the beef herd reached you from Mongke yet?” Tsubodai said. He knew it had, but he needed to broach the subject. Guyuk nodded immediately.

  “Just before dawn. Two hundred head and large. We’ve slaughtered twenty bulls and the rest are in the herds behind.”

  “Send sixty more to Kachiun. He has none,” Tsubodai said, curt and stiff with them. He did not like even the appearance of asking for a favor.

  “Perhaps because Kachiun sits on a cart, instead of riding out and finding meat,” Batu muttered.

  Guyuk almost choked as he tried to smother laughter. Tsubodai stared them both down coldly. If it was not enough to have the khan’s own son act the fool, Batu’s insolence was something he would have to face and crush eventually. He hoped Batu would step over the line before it became a killing matter. He was young and headstrong. He would make a mistake, Tsubodai was sure.

  A scout raced in to report and Tsubodai turned automatically, only to find the man heading across him toward Batu. He took a slow breath as the scout saw him and started, bowing deeply in the saddle.

  “The village by the river is coming up, General,” he said to Batu. “You asked to be told when we were in range.”

  “And the river itself?” Batu asked. He knew Tsubodai had scouted it for fords and bridges days before. The half-smile was playing over his mouth again—he knew Tsubodai could hear every word.

  “Two shallow fords in our path, General. The better one is to the north.”

  “Very well. That’s the one we’ll take. Show my bondsmen where it is, then lead us in.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the scout replied. He bowed to Batu, then Tsubodai, before kicking in his heels and trotting along the line of moving warriors.

  “Was there anything else, Orlok?” Batu asked innocently. “I have things in hand here.”

  “Camp as soon as you are over the river, then both of you come and see me at sunset.”

  He saw them look at each other and then away before they could laugh. Tsubodai gritted his teeth and left them. He had news of two cities beyond the mountains, cities his scouts said were flooded with refugees running from the Mongol tumans. Yet instead of preparing a campaign against Buda and Pest, he was dealing with generals acting like children. He wondered if he could take Guyuk aside and shame the young man into something resembling duty or dignity. He nodded to himself as he rode. Ever since his charmed strike to the heart of a Russian army, Batu had eaten away at the orlok’s authority. If it went on, it would cost lives, perhaps see them all destroyed. It was not too early to grab the problem by the throat, or even the man. There was no place on the march for challenges to his authority, even from the sons and grandsons of khans.

  The generals rode to Tsubodai’s ger as the sun set. The tumans slept around them, an ocean of pale gers as far as the eye could see. Huddled in their midst was a darker mass of fighting men. The vast majority were Russian, either those who had survived the destruction of their towns and cities or a much smaller number who had come for spoils, tracking the army across the valleys and offering their weapons and strength. Most of those were made officers of the rest, as ones who knew one end of a sword from the other. Their equipment was whatever they could scavenge, and the best food went to the tumans, so that they were lean and always hungry.

  Pavel was one of them, thin as a wild wolf and always bruised or tired from the training. He did not understand half of what he was made to do, but he did it. He ran in the mornings, loping along behind the tumans for ten miles at a time. He had lost his rusty sword in the only battle of his life and come just a hair’s breadth from losing his life with it. The blow that had felled him had torn a flap of skin from his scalp, leaving him stunned. When he finally awoke, it was to find the stockade burning and the tumans arrayed in a vast camp. The dead lay where they had been cut down, and some of the bodies had been stripped. His face was stiff with his own blood, frozen in layers from his hair to his chin. He had not dared to touch it, though it had closed his right eye in a solid mass.

  Pavel might have slunk away then, if it had not been for the man with the rotting teeth, who had walked past him carrying a skin of some bitter fluid. It had made Pavel vomit, but the man only laughed in that unpleasant way of his and said his name was Alexi and that they had stood together. It was Alexi who had walked him through the camp where Mongol warriors lay sprawled and drunken, half of them asleep. He had taken Pavel to a man so badly scarred it made Pavel flinch.

  “Polan blood,” Alexi had said. “Just a farm boy, but he didn’t run.”

  The scarred man had grunted, then spoken in Russian and told him they could use another sword. Pavel had held up empty hands. He had no idea where his blade had gone by then, and the world still swam around him. Before he passed out, he remembered the man saying his skull was probably cracked.

  His new life was hard. Food was scarce, though he had been given a new sword without the flaws and rust of the last one. He ran with the tumans and endured, until the air in his lungs blew hot enough to burn and his heart pounded as if it would burst. He tried not to think of the farm he had left with his mother and grandfather. They would be tending the smallholding, watching the crops grow ready for harvest. He would not be there to help them this year.

  Pavel was still awake when he saw three men ride toward the large ger at the center of the camp. He knew the tall one with the cruel face was Batu, a grandson of Genghis. Pavel learned all the names he could. It was the only way he could draw threads from the new chaos of his life. He did not know the one who grinned foolishly as Batu made some comment. Pavel fingered his sword hilt in the darkness, wishing he had the strength to stride over to them and cut them down. He had not seen the duke killed, though the other men shook their heads and looked away when he asked about it. They did not seem to care as he did.

  Unseen, Pavel wandered closer to the ger. He knew the name of their leader, though it was hard to make his mouth say the sound. Tsubodai, they had called him, the man responsible for burning Moscow. Pavel craned for a glimpse of him, but as the three generals dismounted, their horses blocked a view inside the ger. He sighed to himself. He could run farther than he would have believed possible just a few months before. It was tempting to escape when there was no moon, though he had seen the fate of a few men who tried it. They had been brought back in pieces, and the haunches of meat had been thrown to the others, as an insult. He had not joined in, but he thought his starving companions had eaten the bloody lumps. Hunger made light of squeamish stomachs.

  He could smell tea and roasting lamb on the breeze, and his mouth filled with saliva. He had been hungry since leaving the farm, but there would be nothing until the morning and then only after he had run and loaded carts until his arms and shoulders burned. He rubbed a spot on his back at the thought, feeling the new muscle there. He wasn’t large, just hard from work. Silently, in the darkness, he told himself he might run at the next new moon. If they caught him, at least he would have tried, but they’d have
to ride fast and hard to do it.

  Batu ducked his head to enter the ger, straightening up as he greeted those inside. He had brought Guyuk and Baidur with him, and he was pleased to see Mongke already there. Batu nodded to him, but Mongke merely glanced over and then went back to filling his mouth with hot mutton. Batu reminded himself that Mongke too had lost a father. It was a way in, perhaps, to share that grief. The fact that he felt only hatred for his own father was no obstacle if he handled the younger man carefully. They were all princes of the nation, with blood ties to Genghis that Tsubodai could never claim. Batu enjoyed the idea, the sense of identity it gave him to know he was part of that group. No, that they were his group, to lead. He was the eldest of them, though Mongke had the build and dour manner of an experienced man, heavy with muscle. He would be the hardest to influence, Batu thought. Guyuk and Baidur were just boys in comparison, young and enthusiastic about everything. It was easy to imagine ruling an empire with them.

  Before he sat down, he acknowledged Kachiun, Jebe, and Chulgetei, bowing briefly. More old men. He noticed Kachiun’s thigh was hugely swollen, far worse than before. The general sat on a low pallet with the distended leg stretched out before him. A quick glance at Kachiun’s face showed tired eyes and skin a deep yellow from sickness. Batu thought his great-uncle would not survive the winter to come, but that was the way of things. The old died to give way to the young. He did not let it trouble him.

  Tsubodai was watching, his eyes cold as he waited for Batu to speak first. Batu made a point of smiling widely, his thoughts making him mellow.

  “It is a fine night, Orlok,” he said. “My men say this is the best grassland they have seen since home. The horses have put on a layer of fat you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Sit, Batu. You are welcome here,” Tsubodai replied curtly. “Guyuk, Baidur, there is tea in the kettle. There are no servants tonight, so pour your own.”