Gengis: Lords of the Bow

by Conn Iggulden

  She came on the first day of a new moon, borne in a litter very similar to the one her father had used for the meeting. Genghis watched as the honor guard of a hundred men kept close formation around her. He was amused to see that the mounts were not of the high quality he had come to expect. Rai Chiang did not intend to lose these ones as well, even to escort a daughter.

  The litter was placed on the ground just a few paces from Genghis as he waited in full armor. His father’s sword was on his hip and he touched it for luck, mastering his impatience. He could see the soldiers of the city were angry at having to give her up, and he smiled with genuine pleasure at them, drinking in their frustration. As he had requested, Ho Sa had come out of the city with them. He, at least, wore a cold expression of which Genghis could approve, showing nothing of his inner feelings.

  When the daughter of the king stepped out onto the ground, there was a murmur of appreciation from the warriors who had gathered to witness this last sign of their triumph. She was dressed in white silk embroidered with gold, so that she shone in the sun. Her hair was bound high on her head with pins of silver, and Genghis took in a breath at the flawless beauty of her white skin. In comparison to the women of his people, she was a dove amongst crows, though he did not say it aloud. Her eyes were dark pools of despair as she walked to him. She did not look at him, but instead lowered herself elegantly to the ground with her wrists crossed in front of her.

  Genghis felt the anger in her father’s soldiers swell, but he ignored them. If they moved, his archers would kill them before they could draw a blade.

  “You are welcome in my ger, Chakahai,” he said softly. Ho Sa murmured a translation, his voice almost a whisper. Genghis reached down to touch her shoulder and she rose, her face carefully blank. She had none of the wiry strength he had come to expect from his women, and he felt himself becoming aroused as a faint trace of her perfume reached his nostrils.

  “I think you are worth more than all the rest of your father’s gifts,” he said, giving her honor in front of his warriors, though she could not understand the words. Ho Sa began to speak, but Genghis silenced him with a sharp gesture.

  He reached out with a sun-darkened hand, marveling at the contrast as he raised her chin so that she had to look at him. He could see her fear and also a flash of disgust as she felt his rough skin touch hers.

  “I have made a good bargain, girl. You will bear fine children for me,” he said. It was true that they could not be his heirs, but he found himself intoxicated with her. He could hardly keep her in the same ger as Borte and his sons. So fragile a girl would not survive. He would have another ger built for her alone and the children she would have.

  He became aware he had been standing in silence for a long time and the tribes were watching his reaction with growing interest. More than a few grinning warriors nudged each other and whispered to their friends. Genghis raised his gaze to the officer standing with Ho Sa. Both men were pale with anger, but when Genghis gestured back to the city, Ho Sa turned as sharply as the others. The officer snapped an order at him and Ho Sa’s mouth fell open in surprise.

  “You I need, Ho Sa,” Genghis told him, delighted with his astonishment. “Your king has given you to me for a year.”

  Ho Sa drew his mouth into a thin line as he understood. With bitter eyes, he watched the rest of the escort riding back to the city, leaving him there with the shivering girl he had come to give away to wolves.

  Genghis turned to face the wind from the east, breathing in the scent of it and imagining the cities of the Chin over the horizon. They had walls he could not break and he would not risk his people again in ignorance.

  “Why did you ask for me?” Ho Sa said suddenly, the words wrenched out of him in the silence that Genghis seemed not to feel.

  “Perhaps we will make a warrior of you.” Genghis seemed to find the idea amusing and slapped his leg.

  Ho Sa looked stonily at him until Genghis shrugged.

  “You will see.”

  The camp was noisy with the sound of the gers being dismantled as the tribes made ready to move. As midnight came, only the khan’s ger stood untouched on its great cart, lit from within by oil lamps so that it glowed in the darkness and could be seen by all those who settled down in their rugs and furs to sleep under the stars.

  Genghis stood over a low table, squinting down at a map. It had been drawn on thick paper and Ho Sa at least could see that it had been copied in haste from Rai Chiang’s collection. The king of the Xi Xia was too canny a man to let a map marked with his seal fall into the hands of Emperor Wei of the Chin. Even the lettering was in the Chin language, carefully redone.

  Genghis tilted his head one way and then the other as he tried to imagine the lines and drawings of cities as actual places. It was the first real map he had ever seen, though with Ho Sa present, he would not reveal his inexperience.

  With a dark finger, Genghis traced along a blue line toward the north.

  “This is the great river the scouts reported,” he said. He raised his pale eyes to Ho Sa questioningly.

  “Huang He,” Ho Sa replied. “The Yellow River.” He stopped himself then, unwilling to become garrulous in the company of the Mongol generals. They filled the ger: Arslan, Khasar, Kachiun, others he did not know. Ho Sa had recoiled from Kokchu when Genghis had introduced him. The skinny shaman reminded him of the insane beggars of Yinchuan, and he carried a smell with him that seeped into the air until Ho Sa was forced to breathe shallowly.

  All those present watched as Genghis drew his finger further north and east along the river until it rested on a tiny symbol and tapped.

  “This city here is on the edge of Chin lands,” Genghis murmured. Once more he looked to Ho Sa for confirmation and he nodded reluctantly.

  “Baotou,” Kokchu said, reading the script under the tiny drawing. Ho Sa did not look at the shaman, his gaze held by Genghis as the khan smiled.

  “These marks to the north, what are they?” Genghis asked.

  “It is a section of the outer wall,” Ho Sa replied.

  Genghis frowned, puzzled. “I have heard of this thing. The Chin hide from us behind it, do they not?”

  Ho Sa repressed his irritation. “They do not. Neither wall was built for you, but to keep separate the kingdoms of the Chin. You have passed through the weaker of the two. You will not pass the inner wall around Yenking. No one ever has.”

  Genghis grinned at that, before turning back to study the map. Ho Sa stared at him, irritated by the khan’s easy confidence.

  When he was a boy, Ho Sa had traveled with his father to the Yellow River. The old man had shown him the Chin wall to the north, and even back then, there had been holes in it and sections reduced to rubble. There had been no work done in the decades since. As Genghis traced a line with his finger on the parchment, Ho Sa wondered how the Chin had ever become so careless with their peace. Their outer wall was worthless. He swallowed nervously. Especially as the tribes were already behind it. Xi Xia had been the weak point and the tribes had poured south. Shame burned in him as he studied Genghis, wondering what he was planning.

  “Will you attack Baotou?” Ho Sa blurted out without warning.

  Genghis shook his head. “And howl outside the gates as I did here? No. I am going home to the Khenti mountains. I will ride the hills of my childhood, fly my eagle, and marry your king’s daughter.” His fierce expression eased at the thought. “My sons should know the land that birthed me, and they will grow strong there.”

  Ho Sa looked up from the map in confusion. “Then what is this talk of Baotou? Why am I here?”

  “I said I was going home, Ho Sa. You are not. This city is too far from here to fear my army. They will have their gates open and merchants will come and go as they please.”

  Ho Sa saw Arslan and Khasar were grinning at him and he forced himself to concentrate. Genghis clapped him on the shoulder.

  “A walled city like Baotou will have builders, masters of their trade, will it
not? Men who understand every aspect of the defenses.”

  Ho Sa did not reply and Genghis chuckled.

  “Your king would not give them to me, but you will find them there, Ho Sa. You will travel to this Baotou with Khasar and my brother Temuge. Three men can enter where an army cannot. You will ask questions until you find these men who build walls and know so many clever things. And you will bring them to me.”

  Ho Sa saw they were all smiling then, amused at his appalled expression.

  “Or I will kill you now and ask for another from your king,” Genghis said softly. “A man must always have the final choice in life and in death. Anything else can be taken from him, but never that.”

  Ho Sa remembered how his companions had been killed for the horses they rode, and he did not doubt his life hung on a single word.

  “I am bound to you by my king’s order,” he said at last.

  Genghis grunted, turning back to the map. “Then tell me of Baotou and its walls. Tell me everything you have heard or seen.”

  The camp was quiet at dawn, but the light still flickered gold in the ger of the khan, and those who lay close on the cold grass could hear the murmur of voices like the distant drums of war.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE THREE RIDERS APPROACHED THE EDGE of the dark river, dismounting as their ponies began to drink. A heavy moon hung low above the hills, casting a gray light that illuminated the expanse of water. It was bright enough to create black shadows behind the men as they gazed out at the shapes of small boats at anchor, rocking and creaking in the night.

  Khasar pulled a linen bag from where it sat under his saddle. The day’s ride had softened the meat inside, and he dipped his hand into the fibrous mush, pulling a piece of it out and putting it in his mouth. It smelled rancid, but he was hungry and chewed idly as he watched his companions. Temuge was weary enough to sway slightly as he stood by his brother, his eyes hooded as he longed for sleep.

  “The boatmen stay well away from the shore at night,” Ho Sa murmured. “They are wary of bandits in the dark and they will have heard of your army to the west. We should find a place to sleep and go on in the morning.”

  “I still don’t understand why you want to use the river to reach Baotou,” Khasar said. Ho Sa swallowed his anger. He had explained half a dozen times since leaving the tribes, but the Mongol warrior’s attachment to his pony was proving difficult to overcome.

  “We were told not to call attention to ourselves, to enter Baotou like merchants or pilgrims,” he replied, keeping his voice calm. “Merchants do not ride in like Chin nobility and pilgrims would not have a horse between them.”

  “It would be faster, though,” Khasar said stubbornly. “If the map I saw was accurate, we could cut across the bow of the river and be there in just a few days.”

  “And have our passing noted by every peasant in the fields and every traveler on the roads,” Ho Sa snapped. He sensed Khasar stiffen angrily at his tone, but he had endured his complaining long enough. “I do not think your brother welcomes the thought of riding a thousand li across open land.”

  Khasar snorted, but it was Temuge who replied.

  “He has the right of it, brother. This great river will take us north to Baotou and we will be lost in the mass of travelers. I do not want us to fight our way through suspicious Chin soldiers.”

  Khasar did not trust himself to reply. At first he had been excited at the thought of stealing among the Chin peoples, but Temuge rode like an old woman with stiff joints and was no fit companion for a warrior. Ho Sa was a little better, but away from Genghis, his fury at the task he had been given made him a surly companion. It was worse when Temuge had Ho Sa chattering in the language of bird clucking and Khasar could not join in. He had asked Ho Sa to teach him curses and insults, but the man had only glared at him. Far from being an adventure, the journey was turning into a bickering contest, and he wanted it over as soon as possible. The thought of drifting slowly up on one of the shadowy boats made his mood sink even further.

  “We could swim the horses across the river tonight, then . . .” he began.

  Ho Sa hissed out a sharp breath. “You would be swept away!” he snapped. “This is the Yellow River, a full li from one bank to the next, and this a narrow point. It is not one of your Mongol streams. There are no ferries here and by the time we reached Shizuishan to buy a place on one, our progress would have been reported. The Chin are not fools, Khasar. They will have spies watching the borders. Three men on horses will be too interesting for them to ignore.”

  Khasar sniffed as he worked another piece of old mutton into his cheek and sucked on it.

  “The river is not so wide,” he said with a sniff. “I could send an arrow over it.”

  “You could not,” Ho Sa replied immediately. He clenched his fists as Khasar reached for his bow. “And we would not see it land in the dark.”

  “Then I will show you in the morning,” Khasar retorted.

  “And how will that help us?” Ho Sa demanded. “Do you think the boatmen will ignore a Mongol archer firing arrows over their river? Why did your brother send you for this work?”

  Khasar let his hand fall from where he had grasped his bow. He turned to Ho Sa in the moonlight. In truth, he had wondered the same thing, but he would never admit it to Ho Sa or his studious brother.

  “To protect Temuge, I imagine,” he said. “He is here to learn the Chin language and check you are not betraying us when we reach the city. You are only here to talk and you have proved that enough times today already. If we are attacked by Chin soldiers, my bow will be more valuable than your mouth.”

  Ho Sa sighed. He had not wanted to broach the subject, but his own temper was barely in check and he too was weary.

  “You will have to leave your bow here. You can bury it in the river mud before dawn.”

  Khasar was rendered speechless at that. Before he could express his indignation, Temuge laid a calming hand on his shoulder, feeling him jerk.

  “He knows these people, brother, and he has kept faith with us so far. We must take the river and your bow would raise suspicions from the start. We have bronze and silver to buy goods along the way so that we have something to trade in Baotou. Merchants would not carry a Mongol bow.”

  “We could pretend to be selling it,” Khasar replied. In the gloom, he rested his hand on the weapon where it was tied to his saddle as if that touch brought him comfort. “I will turn my pony loose, yes, but I will not give up my bow, not for a dozen secret river trips. Do not test me on this, my answer will be the same no matter what you say.”

  Ho Sa began to argue again, but Temuge shook his head, tired of them both.

  “Let it rest, Ho Sa,” he said. “We will wrap the bow in cloth and perhaps it will not be noticed.” He dropped his hand from Khasar’s shoulder and moved away to free his pony from the burdens of saddle and reins. It would take time to bury those and he could not risk falling asleep until the work had been done. He wondered again why Genghis had chosen him for the task of accompanying the two warriors. There were others in the camp who knew the Chin tongue, Barchuk of the Uighurs among them. Perhaps that one was too old, Temuge thought. He sighed as he undid the ropes on his mount. Knowing his brother as he did, Temuge suspected Genghis still hoped to make a warrior of him. Kokchu had shown him a different path and he wished his master were there to help him meditate before sleep.

  As he led the pony away into the darkness of the river trees, Temuge could hear his companions resume their argument in fierce whispers. He wondered if they had a chance of surviving the trip to the city of Baotou. When he had made a mat of rushes and lain down, he tried hard to shut out the strained voices, repeating the phrases Kokchu had told him would bring calm. They did not, but sleep came while he was still waiting.

  In the morning, Ho Sa raised his arm to another boat as it tacked against the wind to come upriver. Nine times the gesture had been ignored, though he held a leather purse of coins and jingled the content
s. All three breathed in relief as the latest boat swung across the water toward them. On board, six sun-darkened faces stared suspiciously in their direction.

  “Say nothing to them,” Ho Sa murmured to Temuge as they stood in the mud and waited for the boat to come closer. He and the two brothers wore simple robes tied at the waist that would not look too strange to the river crews. Khasar bore a roll of saddlecloth over one shoulder that contained his bow in its leather half-case and a full quiver. He stared at the boat in some interest, never having seen such a thing in daylight. The sail was almost as high as the boat was long, perhaps forty feet from end to end. He could not see how it could come close enough for them to step onto its small deck.

  “The sail looks like a bird wing. I can see the bones of it,” he said.

  Ho Sa turned sharply toward him. “If they ask, I will say you are a mute, Khasar. You must not speak to any one of them. Do you understand?”

  Khasar scowled at the Xi Xia soldier. “I understand that you want me to spend days without opening my mouth. I tell you, when this is over, you and I are going to go somewhere quiet—”

  “Hush!” Temuge said. “They are close enough to hear.”

  Khasar subsided, though he held Ho Sa’s gaze long enough to nod ominously at him.

  The boat maneuvered close to the bank and Ho Sa did not wait for his companions, stepping into the shallow water and wading out to it. He ignored Khasar’s muttered curse behind him as strong hands drew him over the side.

  The master of the boat was a short, wiry man with a red cloth tied around his head to keep the sweat from his eyes. Apart from that, he was naked except for a brown loincloth with two knives slapping against his bare thigh. Ho Sa wondered for an instant if they had been taken in by one of the pirate crews said to raid villages along the river, but it was too late for misgivings.

  “Can you pay?” the master demanded, reaching out to slap Ho Sa on the chest with the back of his hand. As Khasar and Temuge were dragged on board, Ho Sa pressed three warm bronze coins into the outstretched palm. The little man peered through the hole in the center of each one, before stringing them on a cord under his belt.