Only once did the front runner return to guide Chen Yi down a different path. Temuge hoped the soldiers were spending the night in a warm barracks rather than being frozen and drenched as he was.
Chen Yi stopped his panting men at last in the shadow of the city wall itself. Temuge could see it as a bank of deeper darkness. On the other side lay the world he knew and he had a sense of the protection it brought to the city. Such a wall had served the Xi Xia king in Yinchuan. All the warriors Genghis had summoned could not make a breach in such a thing. It ran into the distance, looming over a wide street of houses that looked much as Chen Yi’s own home. These, though, were not hidden in the slums, but rose well spaced and carried the scent of flowering gardens on the breeze. Even the pattern of streets had changed in this part of Baotou. They jogged through a grid of islands, each one separate from the city behind its gates and walls. Temuge struggled to catch his breath. He almost choked as Khasar slapped him on the shoulders, his brother standing comfortably as if he had been out for an evening stroll.
The two runners behind came up quickly, shaking their heads. They had not been followed. Chen Yi did not pause to rest, whispering orders to them to stay out of sight as he approached the closest gate. The man’s gaze fell on Temuge as he stood there with his hands resting on his knees, and he came close to speak into his ear.
“There will be guards. They will wake their master and I will speak to him. Make no threats in my city, Mongol. The owner will be nervous to have strangers so late in his house and I do not want weapons to be drawn.”
Chen Yi turned away, smoothing down his black robe with his hands as he neared the gate. Two of his men accompanied him and the rest of the group faded to one side where they could not be seen. Khasar took Temuge by the sleeve and dragged him with them before he could protest.
Chen Yi himself thumped on the gate and Temuge saw yellow light fall on his face as a hinged square opened in the wood.
“Tell your master he has a visitor on Imperial business,” Chen Yi said, his voice firm. “Rouse him, if he sleeps.”
Temuge could not hear the reply, but after an age, the square opened again and Chen Yi looked into another face.
“I do not know you,” the man said clearly.
Chen Yi stood very still. “The Blue Tong knows you, Lian. Tonight, your debts will be paid.”
The gate opened quickly, but Chen Yi did not step across the threshold.
“If you have crossbows waiting, Lian, it will be your last night. I have men with me, but the streets are dangerous. Do not be alarmed and all will be well.”
The unseen man murmured a reply, his voice shaking. Only then did Chen Yi turn his gaze on the others and gesture them to follow him in.
Temuge saw fear in the man who had been summoned from his bed. Lian was almost as wide across the shoulders as Khasar, but he trembled visibly, keeping his eyes downcast as Chen Yi strode into his home.
There was only one guard at the gate and he too kept his eyes averted from those who entered. Temuge felt his confidence grow and he looked around him with interest as soon as the gate was shut on the street. The run through the rain and darkness was behind and he enjoyed the subservient way the master mason of Baotou reacted.
Lian stood as if stunned before Chen Yi, his hair wild from sleep.
“I will have food and drink prepared,” he murmured, but Chen Yi shook his head.
“It will not be necessary. Show me to where we can talk in private.” Chen Yi looked around at the courtyard of the home. The mason had prospered under Imperial rule. As well as repairing the wall, he was responsible for the creation of three barracks and the race course in the heart of the Imperial district. Yet his home was simple and elegant. Chen Yi’s gaze fastened on the single guard and he saw that he stood very close to a bell hanging from a beam.
“You would not want your man to summon soldiers here, Lian. Tell him to stand away from that bell, or I will believe you doubt my word.”
The mason nodded to the soldier, who winced visibly and took up a new position near the main house. The rain grew heavier, pounding into the small courtyard. Chilled by it, the mason seemed to come to himself. He led them into the house and hid his fear in the lighting of lamps. Temuge saw his hand shake as he held the taper to wick after wick, more than they needed, as if the light could banish his fear.
Chen Yi settled himself on a hard couch as he waited for the mason to finish fussing round the room. Khasar, Ho Sa, and Temuge stood together, watching the scene in silent fascination. Chen Yi’s guards took positions behind their master and Temuge saw the mason’s eyes flicker over them, registering the threat.
At last he could not delay any longer. He seated himself across from Chen Yi, pressing his hands together to hide the way they shook.
“I have paid my tithe to the tong,” Lian said. “Was it short?”
“It was not,” Chen Yi replied. He took a moment to smooth the rainwater off his face, running his hand over his hair and flicking the drops onto the wooden floor. Lian’s gaze followed them. “It is not that which brings me to you.” Before Chen Yi could continue, Lian spoke again, unable to stop himself.
“The workers, then? I used all the men I could, but two of those you sent would not work. The others complained that they did not carry their share. I was going to dismiss them this morning, but if it is your will that they remain . . .”
Chen Yi could have been carved out of marble as he studied the master mason.
“They are the sons of friends. They will remain, but that is not why I am here.”
The mason slumped slightly in his seat. “Then I do not understand,” he said.
“Do you have one who can take over the work of maintaining the wall?”
“My own son, lord.”
Chen Yi sat very still until the mason looked up at him.
“I am not a lord, Lian. I am a friend who must ask a favor.”
“Anything,” Lian replied, tensing for the worst.
Chen Yi nodded, pleased. “You will summon your son and tell him he must take over the work for a year, perhaps two. I have heard good reports of him.”
“He is a fine son,” Lian agreed immediately. “He will listen to his father.”
“That is wise, Lian. Tell him you will be gone for that time, perhaps to find a new source of marble in a quarry somewhere. Make up whatever lie you wish, but do not leave him suspicious. Remind him the debts of the father are his while you are gone and explain the tithe he must pay to the tong if he wishes to work. I do not want to have to remind him myself.”
“It is done,” Lian said. He was sweating, Temuge saw, a bright line of droplets appearing on his hairline. He saw the burly mason gather his courage to ask a question.
“I will tell my wife and children the same, but may I know the truth?”
Chen Yi shrugged, cocking his head to one side. “Will it change anything, Lian?”
“No, lord. I am sorry . . .”
“It does not matter. You will accompany these friends of mine out of the city. They need your expertise, Lian. Bring your tools and, when your work is done, I will see to it that you are rewarded.”
The mason nodded miserably and Chen Yi stood abruptly.
“Speak to those you love, Lian, then come with me.”
The mason left the group alone and disappeared into the darkness of the house. Those who remained relaxed a little and Khasar wandered over to a silk hanging, using the material to dry the rain from his face and hair. Temuge heard the distant wail of a child as the man passed on what he had been told.
“I do not know what we would have done if you had not been here to help us,” Ho Sa said to Chen Yi.
The master of the tong smiled slightly. “You would have blundered around my city until the soldiers caught you. Perhaps I would have come to watch the foreign spies impaled or hanged. The gods are fickle, but this time, they were with you.”
“Have you given thought to getting us out of the city?�
�� Temuge asked. Before Chen Yi could respond, Lian returned. His eyes were red, but he stood tall and had lost some portion of his fear. He wore a coat of heavy waxed cloth against the rain, and over one shoulder was a rolled leather pack that he clutched as if it gave him comfort.
“I have my tools,” he said to Chen Yi. “I am ready.”
They left the house behind and once again Chen Yi sent a man ahead to watch for soldiers walking their patrols. The rain had lessened and Temuge saw the north star briefly through the clouds. Chen Yi had explained nothing, but they headed west along a road parallel to the wall and Temuge could only trot with them.
In the darkness ahead, they heard a voice cry out and the group halted as one.
“Keep your blades out of sight,” Chen Yi hissed. Temuge swallowed nervously, hearing footsteps on the paved road. They waited for the man ahead to come back, but instead, they heard the tramp of iron-shod sandals and Chen Yi darted his gaze around, taking in possible routes of escape.
“Stand still,” a voice snapped out of the darkness. Temuge was close enough to see Chen Yi grimace.
There were six soldiers in scaled armor, led by a man wearing a plumed helmet of hard bristles. Temuge groaned to himself at the sight of the crossbows they held. Chen Yi’s men stood little chance of fighting their way through. He felt panic rise like acid in his throat and he started to back away without thinking. It was Khasar’s iron grip that held him in place.
“Where is your captain?” Chen Yi demanded. “Lujan can vouch for me.” He saw that they held his man by the scruff of his neck. The man struggled in the grip, but Chen Yi did not look at him.
The plumed officer frowned at the tone, stepping forward from his men.
“Lujan is off-duty tonight. What business do you have to be running the streets in the dark?”
“Lujan will explain,” Chen Yi said. He licked his lips nervously. “He told me his name would let us pass.”
The officer glanced back at the hapless man being held by his neck.
“I have not been told. You come back to the barracks and we will ask him.”
Chen Yi sighed. “No. No, we will not do that,” he said. Chen Yi darted forward with a knife in his fist, punching it into the throat of the officer so that he fell back with a choking cry. The soldiers behind loosed their crossbows instantly, firing into the group. Someone cried out and then Chen Yi’s men were among them, hacking their blades into the soldiers.
Khasar drew the sword he had been given and roared at the top of his lungs. The bark of sound made the closest soldier take a step back, and Khasar knocked him down, stepping in close to hammer his forearm across the man’s face. The impact took the soldier’s feet out from under him, and Khasar lunged past, lost in a vicious whirl where he used elbows, feet, head: anything to bring his enemies to the ground. Those who had shot their bolts could only raise the bows to defend themselves. Khasar’s blade smashed one of the weapons to pieces before he hacked the edge into a soldier’s neck. In the darkness, he moved through them like a breeze, kicking at an exposed knee and feeling it break. The soldiers were clumsy in their armor and Khasar was faster, whipping round as he sensed every threat before it could come close. He felt someone grasp him from behind, trapping his sword arm. He smashed his head backwards, striking with his elbows, and was rewarded with a grunt of pain as his attackers fell away.
Temuge shouted as one of the soldiers collided with him. He flailed wildly with his own sword, terror stealing his strength. Somewhere a bell began to ring. As he registered the sound, he felt himself being lifted and he screamed, falling silent when Ho Sa slapped his face.
“Get up. It is over,” Ho Sa snapped, embarrassed for him. Temuge gripped his arm as he rose, staring at the sight of Khasar surrounded by broken bodies.
“You call these soldiers, Chen Yi?” Khasar said. “They move like sick sheep.”
Chen Yi stood stunned as Khasar casually shoved his sword into the chest of one who still moved, finding a place under the scales of armor before leaning his full weight on it. He could hardly believe how quickly the Mongol warrior had moved. His own guards were men picked for their skill, but Khasar had made them look like farmers. He found himself wanting to defend the soldiers of his city, much as he hated them.
“There are six city barracks, each with five hundred or more of these sick sheep,” he replied. “It has been enough.”
Khasar prodded one of the bodies with his foot. “My people will eat them alive,” he said. He winced then and touched his hand to his collarbone. It came away stained with blood, quickly diluted in the rain so that it ran between his fingers.
“You are cut,” Temuge said.
“I am too used to fighting in armor, brother. I let the blow through.” In irritation, Khasar kicked the officer’s helmet where it lay near his feet, sending it skittering over the paving.
Two of Chen Yi’s men hung limp between their fellows, blood pooling into the puddles of rainwater. Chen Yi examined them, his fingers touching the bolts that stood out in their chests. He thought quickly, his plans in disarray.
“No man can avoid the wheel,” he said. “Let them lie here to be found. The Imperial officers will want bodies to show to the crowds tomorrow.”
The two dead men were released, sprawling on the stones. Temuge saw that others among them bore wounds and they panted like dogs in the sun. Chen Yi turned to him then, his anger becoming scorn.
“You are safe for the moment, frightened one, but they will rip the city apart looking for us. If I do not get you out tonight, you will be here until spring.”
Temuge’s cheeks burned in humiliation. All the group was staring at him and Khasar looked away. Chen Yi sheathed his blade and resumed the trot that would carry them to the walls. The runner had survived the bloody fight and he went ahead once more.
The west gate was smaller than the one they had passed through on their journey from the river. Temuge despaired when he saw light growing ahead and heard shouting. Whichever citizen had rung a warning bell, the soldiers had roused themselves from their barracks and Chen Yi was hard pressed to avoid being seen. He headed for a dark building near the gate, hammering on the door to be let in. Temuge could hear the clatter of armored men coming closer as the door opened and they piled inside, slamming it quickly shut behind them.
“Get men to the highest windows,” Chen Yi told the one who had answered his knock. “Have them call down what they see.” He swore under his breath then and Temuge did not dare speak to him. The sight of the ugly gash running the length of Khasar’s collarbone stirred Temuge from his panic, and he asked one of Chen Yi’s men for a needle and catgut thread. His brother watched with just the occasional grunt as Temuge stitched the skin in a ragged line. The blood and rain had cleaned it and he thought it would not fester. The action helped to still his thumping heart and prevented him from dwelling on the fact that they were being hunted at that very moment.
One of the men above called down, his voice a harsh whisper as he leaned over a banister: “The gate is shut and barricaded. I can see perhaps a hundred soldiers, though most are on the move. Thirty hold the gate.”
“Crossbows?” Chen Yi asked, looking up at the man.
“Twenty, maybe more.”
“Then we are trapped. They will search the city for us.” He turned to Temuge. “I can no longer help you. If I am found, they will kill me and the Blue Tong will have a new leader. I must leave you here.”
The mason Lian had not fought with the others. Unarmed, he had stepped into the gutter as soon as the fight had started. It was he who answered Chen Yi, his voice rumbling in the shocked silence.
“I know a way out,” he said. “If you don’t mind a little dirt on your hands.”
“Soldiers in the street!” the man above hissed down at them. “They are knocking on doors, searching the houses.”
“Tell us quickly, Lian,” Chen Yi said. “If we are caught, you will not be spared.”
The mason nodde
d, his face grim. “We must go now. It is not far from here.”
Mutton-fat lamps burned and spat, casting a dim yellow light as Genghis faced a line of six kneeling men. Each of them had his hands bound behind his back. To a man, they showed the cold face, as if terror of the khan did not gnaw at them. Genghis strode up and down the line. He had been summoned from the bed of Chakahai and had risen with fury, even when he saw it was Kachiun who called his name in the darkness.
The six men were brothers, ranging from the youngest who was barely more than a boy to mature warriors with wives and children of their own.
“Each of you spoke an oath to me,” Genghis snapped. His temper flared as he spoke and for an instant he was tempted to take the heads of all six.
“One of you killed a boy of the Uriankhai. Let him speak and only one will die. If he does not, your lives are mine to take.” He drew his father’s sword slowly, letting them hear the sound. Outside the ring of lamps, he sensed the presence of a growing crowd, called from sleep by the prospect of seeing justice. He would not disappoint them. Genghis stood over the youngest of the brothers and raised the sword as if it weighed nothing.
“I can find him, my lord,” Kokchu said softly from the edge of the darkness. The brothers looked up to see the shaman enter the dim light, his eyes terrible. “I have only to lay my hand on each head to know the one you seek.”
The brothers were visibly trembling as Genghis nodded, sheathing his sword.
“Work your spells, shaman. The boy was torn apart. Find me who did it.”
Kokchu bowed low and stood before the brothers. They did not dare look at him, though their frozen expressions were strained and quivering.
Gengis: Lords of the Bow Page 19
