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 (87 page)

“I think you had the better son to train, my friend,” he murmured to Tsubodai.

“I hope his father knows it,” Tsubodai replied. The two men shared a glance of understanding before they called warriors down to
begin skinning the tiger. The meat would feed as many as possible, half-burned scraps forced into the mouths of warriors. There were many who desired the speed and ferocity of such an animal. Jelme wondered if Chagatai would taste the meat, or just his own rage that night.

IT WAS ANOTHER THREE DAYS
before Genghis came to see Jochi. After the riotous night that followed the fight with the tiger, almost all the camp had slept, and Genghis himself had risen only to vomit for an entire day and night after three spent solidly drinking. Another day had been spent in moving the great host back to the banks of the river Orkhon. Jelme’s camp had been a fine place to feast Arslan’s life, but the herds and horses needed water and sweet grass. With his customary vitality, Genghis had recovered during the ride, though his bowels remained watery as he stood before the ger of the shaman Kokchu. It depressed him to think he would once have thrown off the effects of so much drink in just a night’s sleep.

Genghis opened the small door onto a peaceful scene that reminded him of the death of his father. He swallowed acid and ducked inside, his gaze hard as he looked over the bandaged figure in the shadows. Kokchu was washing Jochi and he twisted round in irritation before he saw who it was. The shaman came to his feet from kneeling and bowed low before the khan.

The shade was a relief after the hard sunlight, and Genghis relaxed slightly, pleased to be away from the bustling camp.

“Has he woken?” he asked.

Kokchu shook his head solemnly. “Only for moments, lord. His
wounds have let a fever into his body, and he wakes and cries out before sleeping once more.”

Genghis came closer, drawn by memories. At Jochi’s side lay the sword he had won, a blade that Genghis himself had inherited. In its scabbard, it brought back many memories, and he could not help but sniff the air for the scent of rot. It was painful to recall the time he had come to his father as he died, the wasted body racked with poison. Genghis breathed deeply over the supine form of his son. Kokchu watched him closely and Genghis returned the stare rather than let it rest on him unchallenged.

“Will he live, shaman? I have lost count of the times I have been asked.”

Kokchu looked back at the young warrior lying so still. The chest barely rose and fell and he could not say. He gestured at the bandages wrapping both legs and the splinted arm.

“You see his wounds, lord. The beast broke two bones in his lower arm as well as three ribs. He has dislocated a finger on his right hand, though that is minor enough. The gashes have swollen and weep pus.” He shook his head. “I have seen men recover from worse.”

“Have you sealed the cuts?” Genghis asked.

Kokchu hesitated, before speaking too quickly. In the fall of Yenking, he had taken books on medicine and magic that were worth more than all the gold and jade. He had not expected to have his treatment challenged and spoke without his usual confidence.

“I have Chin texts that are astonishing, lord, for what they know of the body. Their practice is to pour boiling wine into a gash before stitching. I have done that, as well as poultices to bring out the fever.”

“Then you have not sealed them in the manner of our people,” Genghis replied, his eyes cold. “Have an iron brazier brought to the ger and burn the cuts properly. I have seen it work.”

Kokchu knew better than to argue further.

“Your will, lord.” For the father, he would press red iron against each wound, though he now considered it a crude practice, beneath a man of his learning. He hid his distaste and Genghis seemed satisfied. Kokchu saw the khan intended to leave and spoke again, still trying to understand the man who led the tribes.

“The pain will be intense, lord. If it wakes him, shall I give him a message from you?”

Genghis turned his pale eyes on the shaman. He left without another word.

The generals gathered in the khan’s ger, half again as high and twice as wide as any other in the camp. Khasar and Kachiun had come with Temuge, though he would only be responsible for the camp itself and would not ride with them. Tsubodai, Jelme, and Chagatai had been summoned and took their places on the ring of low beds that served as couches for the khan’s council. The ger was as bare as that of the poorest herder, and they were all reminded that Genghis cared nothing for wealth or its trappings.

The last pair to enter before Genghis was Arslan and the young man he had chosen as his successor. Jebe, the Arrow, seemed unimpressed by the presence of so many leaders of his people in one place. As Arslan gestured for him to take a seat, he nodded to them as if he had every right to be there. The other men merely watched him, though they greeted Arslan openly, putting aside the cold face to show their appreciation of the old man. He also would not ride with them. All the men present knew that Arslan had tied packs to three mares and three stallions and that his wife and a small herd would travel with him into the wilderness.

Jelme’s eyes were bright with pride for his father, and he made a point of vacating his seat for Arslan. The two men exchanged glances, and though they did not speak, Arlsan too seemed moved that the moment was finally upon him.

When Genghis entered the ger, the men within sat subtly straighter. He took his place on a pile of saddles and blankets facing the door and gestured to a servant for a cup of goat’s milk to calm his stomach.

Arslan waited until the khan had finished the drink before speaking.

“My lord, I commend this man to you, Jebe, whom you named.”

Genghis looked across the ger at the new face, taking in his breadth of shoulder. Jebe wore an open robe over a bare chest, and his reddish skin shone with health and mutton fat. Even sitting, he seemed poised and alert, a warrior born. He made Genghis feel old.

“You are welcome in my ger, Jebe. With Arslan to speak for you, you will always be welcome. In the days to come, you will be tested. Be sure you honor his name in all that you do.”

“I will, lord,” Jebe replied. His confidence was obvious and Khasar grinned to himself as Genghis looked away.

Genghis took a deep breath and rested his hands on his knees. He knew as well as anyone that this meeting of generals would change the
world, and he enjoyed the quiet moment while they waited for him to speak.

“When you left me to finish the siege of Yenking, I sent envoys to far lands. Some brought back trade goods and made alliances in my name. Others were attacked or have simply not returned.” He paused, but no man spoke. They were hardly breathing as they listened to the man who would send them out like wolves on the hunt. The entire camp knew war was coming and it was a pleasure to be the first to hear the details.

“One group went into the west, more than two thousand miles. A single scout returned when the rest were slaughtered. At first I did not think too much of it. It was not so long ago that a raiding party in our own land would have been killed by whichever tribe came first upon them.” Some of the older men nodded, though Tsubodai and Jebe could barely recall those times.

“I learned from the scout that the leader of that land is one who calls himself Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed.” Genghis pronounced the name with difficulty, then gestured to Temuge. “On my brother’s advice, I sent a group of four hundred warriors, well armed, but only as a threat. They traveled to the closest city, Otrar, and met the governor there. They took letters with my words on them for the Shah.” Genghis grimaced at the memory. “I expected him to hand over the men involved, or at least to send word where they had their camp. I called him ‘beloved son’ and mentioned only trade and friendship.” At that, he stared coldly at Temuge until his brother looked away. It had been his advice that had failed so spectacularly.

“The bazaar in Otrar is a public place. I sent three spies with the warriors to witness their treatment.” He showed his teeth for an instant as anger swelled in him. “The governor commands a garrison of twenty thousand. They arrested my men and tore up my words in a gesture for the crowd.” Once more he glared at Temuge.

“Even then, I did not react! This Shah is served by a fool, but I thought perhaps he could yet be made to walk a straight path. I learned of greater cities than Otrar in the east, and I sent three senior officers to the Shah himself, demanding that the governor be bound and handed over to me for punishment and my men freed.
In this too, I was scorned.”
His face had grown flushed and the men in the ger felt their own hearts beat faster in response.

“Shah Mohammed sent their heads back to me,” Genghis went on. He clenched his right fist slowly. “I am not the author of this trouble,
but I have prayed to the sky father to give me the strength to exact vengeance.” In the distance, they heard a man’s voice screaming, and more than one head jerked at hearing it. Genghis too listened and nodded, satisfied.

“It is Jochi. My shaman is tending his wounds.” He looked at Chagatai as he spoke, and his son blurted out a question.

“Will he too ride with us?”

Genghis’s eyes turned distant. “He killed the tiger, in front of the people. And our numbers have grown.” His expression hardened at the memory of Chagatai kneeling.
“As you
have a place, so will he, if he lives. We will cross the Altai mountains to the west and show these desert men whom they have chosen to insult.”

“And the Chin lands?” Khasar said. “There are cities more wealthy than any we have seen yet, and they lie untouched in the south.”

Genghis was quiet at that. He still dreamed of bringing the southern Chin empire under his feet. Taking his nation into the west had its risks, and it was tempting to send at least one of the men in the ger to crush his ancestral enemy. He remembered the estimates of Chin numbers and grimaced again. Against millions, one tuman would not be enough. Reluctantly, he had decided the Chin must wait to see him on their horizon.

“They will still be there, my brother, when we come back for them. You will see Chin lands again, I promise you.”

Khasar frowned at that and would have spoken again, but Genghis went on.

“Ask yourself this: for what purpose do we go to war and risk our lives? Is it for gold coins and to build the sort of palaces we tear down? I cannot care for those things. A man spends his life in struggle, from the pain of birth to the last breath.” He looked round at them all then, his gaze falling finally on Jebe and Chagatai.

“There are some who will tell you they seek happiness, that there is nothing more to our lives than that simple aim. I tell you now that the sheep are happy on the plains and the hawks are happy in the air. For us, happiness is a small thing, one to be discounted in a man’s life. We strive and we suffer because we know through those things that we are alive.” He snorted. “You may want to see the Chin cities humbled, Khasar, but can I let this challenge go unanswered? How long will it be before every small king dares to spit on my shadow?” His voice grew harder as he spoke, so that it filled the ger. Outside, they could hear another scream from Jochi and it seemed a fitting counterpoint under
those yellow eyes. “Can I let my people’s deaths go unavenged? Never in this world.”

He had them all. He knew it, as he had always known.

“When I am gone, I do not want men to say ‘Look at his piles of wealth, his cities, his palaces and fine clothes.’ ” Genghis paused for a moment. “Instead I want them to say ‘Make sure he is truly dead. He is a vicious old man and he conquered half the world.’ ” He chuckled at the idea and some of the tension went out of the group.

“We are not here to earn riches with a bow. The wolf does not think of fine things, only that his pack is strong and no other wolf dares to cross his path. That is enough.”

His gaze swept them and he was satisfied. Genghis stood and his manner changed to one of respect as he gestured to Arslan.

“Your horses are ready, General,” he said. “I will think of you resting your bones as we ride.”

“Long life and victory, my lord,” Arslan said. As they all stood, the ger became suddenly crowded. Having the highest rank, Genghis could have left first, but he stood back for Arslan to step out into the light. One by one, they followed until only Jebe remained to stare round at the khan’s ger. The young warrior took it all in and nodded to himself, strangely satisfied at the lack of ornament. He felt the khan was a man to follow and everything Arslan had told him had been confirmed. Jebe grinned lightly with no one to see him. He had been born on a hillside and raised in winters so terrible that his father brought the sheep into the only ger to protect them. His eyes were bright at the memory. Now he would lead a tuman for the khan. If Genghis only knew it, he had loosed a wolf. Jebe nodded to himself, satisfied. He would show the khan what he could do. In time, every man and woman of the tribes would know his name.

Outside, Arslan checked his packs and mounts one more time, refusing to let the seriousness of the moment alter his routines. Genghis watched him test each knot and give instructions to three herd boys who would accompany him to his first camp. No one spoke until the old man was ready. When he was satisfied, Arslan embraced Jelme and they could all see the son’s eyes were proud. Finally, Arslan stood before Genghis.