Lords of the Bow (33 page)

He blinked at his wives and the strangeness of seeing them together.

“Are you two going to watch?” he said. For some reason he could not understand, both women smiled. “Out,” he told them, barely holding on until they had left the ger and he could empty his bladder. He wrinkled his nose at the foul smell of the urine, far from a healthy color.

“Kachiun!” he called suddenly. “Come to me!” He heard an answering shout of joy and he grinned. No doubt the khans had been watching to see if he died. He gripped the wooden pole tightly as he considered how best to take a hold on the camp once more. There was so much to do.

The door slammed back on its hinges as Kachiun entered the ger over the protests of his brother’s wives.

“I heard him call me,” Kachiun was saying, pushing through them as gently as he could. He fell silent as he saw his brother standing at last. Genghis wore only grubby leggings and was paler and thinner than he had ever seen him.

“Will you help me dress, Kachiun?” Genghis asked. “My hands are too weak to do it on my own.”

Kachiun’s eyes brimmed with tears and Genghis blinked at him.

“You’re not weeping?” he asked in astonishment. “By the spirits, I am surrounded by women.”

Kachiun laughed, wiping his eyes before Chakahai or Borte could see.

“It is good to see you standing, brother. I’d almost given up on you.”

Genghis snorted. He was still weak and he did not let go of the pole in case he humiliated himself and fell.

“Send someone for my armor and food. My wives have half starved me with their neglect.”

Outside, they could all hear the news passing round the camp, shouted louder and louder. He was awake. He lived. It built into a roar of sound that carried even to the walls of Yenking and interrupted Zhi Zhong in council with the ministers.

The general froze in the middle of a discussion as he heard the sound and felt a cold lump settle in his stomach.

When Genghis emerged at last from his sick-tent, the tribes gathered to cheer him, beating their bows on their armor. Kachiun stayed at his shoulder in case he stumbled, but Genghis walked stiffly to the great ger on its cart, climbing the steps without a sign of weakness.

As soon as he passed inside, he almost fell as he released the grip of his will on his weakened body. Kachiun summoned the generals, leaving his brother sitting painfully straight and alone.

As they took their places, Kachiun saw Genghis was still unnaturally pale, with sweat beading his forehead despite the cold. Genghis’s neck was wrapped in fresh bandages, like a collar. Though his face was thin enough to see the shape of his skull, his eyes shone with feverish brightness as he welcomed each man.

Khasar grinned to see the hawklike expression as he took his place by Arslan and Tsubodai. Jelme came last and Genghis gestured for him to approach. He did not think his legs would hold him if he rose, but Jelme dropped to one knee in front of him and Genghis gripped him by the shoulder.

“Kachiun said you suffered with the poison you took from me,” Genghis said.

Jelme shook his head. “It was a small thing,” he said.

Genghis did not smile at that, though Khasar did. “We have shared blood, you and I,” he said. “It makes you my brother, as much as Khasar or Kachiun or Temuge.”

Jelme did not respond. The hand on his shoulder trembled and he could see how the eyes of his khan burned, sunk in the skull. Still, he lived.

“You will take a fifth of my herds, a hundred bolts of silk, and a dozen fine bows and swords. I will honor you in the tribes, Jelme, for what you have done.”

Jelme bowed his head, feeling Arslan’s proud gaze on him.

Genghis took back his hand and looked around at the men who had gathered in his name. “If I had died, which of you would have led the tribes?” Eyes turned to Kachiun and his brother nodded to him. Genghis smiled, wondering how many conversations he had missed while he slept like the dead. He had thought it might be Khasar, but there was no humiliation in his clear gaze. Kachiun had handled him well.

“We have been foolish not to plan for such a thing,” Genghis told them. “Take this as a warning. Any one of us can fall, and if we do, the Chin will sense our weakness and strike. Each of you is to name a man you trust to take your place. And another to take his. You will establish a line of command down to the lowest soldier so that every man knows he is led, no matter how many die around him. We will not be caught by this again.”

He paused to let a wave of weakness wash through him. The meeting would have to be short.

“For me, I will accept your will and name Kachiun as my successor, until my sons are grown. Khasar will follow him. If we fall, Jelme will rule the tribes and strike back in our name.”

One by one, the men he mentioned bowed their heads, accepting the new order and taking comfort from it. Genghis could not know how close they had come to chaos while he lay injured. Every one of the old khans had gathered his men around him, an older loyalty taking precedence over the tumans and their generals. In a single stroke, the assassin had sent them back to the old ties of blood.

Though his body had been hurt, Genghis had not lost his understanding of the tribes. He could have named fifty men who would have welcomed freedom from his rule if he died. No one spoke as he considered the future, knowing he had to reestablish the structures of the army that had won them the Chin cities. Anything else would see them splintered and eventually destroyed.

“Kachiun and I have discussed sending you out many times. I have been reluctant before, but we need to separate the tribes now. Some of them will have forgotten the oath they gave to me and to their generals. They must be reminded.” He looked around at the faces of his generals. Not one of them was weak, but still they needed him to lead, to give them their authority. Perhaps Kachiun would have kept them together if he had died, but he could not be sure.

“When you leave here, form the tumans on the plain, in sight of the walls. Let them see our strength and then our contempt for them when you leave. Let them fear what so many will achieve when you take other cities.” He turned to Tsubodai, seeing bright excitement in his gaze.

“You will take Jochi, Tsubodai. He respects you.” Genghis thought for a moment. “I do not want him treated like a prince. He is a prickly, arrogant boy and that must be hammered out of him. Do not fear to discipline him in my name.”

“Your will, lord,” Tsubodai replied.

“Where will you go?” Genghis asked, curious.

Tsubodai did not hesitate. He had thought of his answer many times since the battle of the Badger’s Mouth. “North, lord. Past the hunting grounds of my old tribe, the Uriankhai, and still further.”

“Very well. Kachiun?”

“I will stay here, brother. I will see this city fall,” Kachiun replied.

Genghis smiled at the grim expression on his brother’s face. “Your company is welcome. Jelme?”

“East, lord,” Jelme replied. “I have never seen the ocean and we know nothing of those lands.”

Genghis sighed at the thought. He too had been born to the sea of grass, and the idea was tempting. Yet he would see Yenking brought down first.

“Take my son Chagatai, Jelme. He is a fine boy who may yet be khan when he has his growth.” His general nodded solemnly, still overwhelmed by the honor Genghis had paid him. Only the day before, they had all been nervous, waiting to see what would happen in the tribes when the news came that Genghis had died. Hearing him give his orders restored their confidence. As the tribes whispered, Genghis was clearly beloved of the spirits. Jelme felt his pride swell and his attempt to keep the cold face was lost in a grin.

“I want you here with me, Arslan, for when the city is starved into surrender,” Genghis continued. “Perhaps then we will take a slow road home and enjoy a few years of riding the plains in peace.”

Khasar tutted under his breath. “That is a sick man talking, brother. When you are well you will want to follow me south and take the Chin cities like ripe fruit, one by one. You remember the ambassador Wen Chao? I am for Kaifeng and the south. I would like to see his face when he sees me again.”

“South it is, Khasar. My son Ogedai is barely ten years old, but he will learn more with you than staying here to stare at walls. I will keep only little Tolui. He adores the Buddhist monk you brought back with Ho Sa and Temuge.”

“I will take Ho Sa as well, then,” Khasar replied. “In fact, I could take Temuge away where he won’t cause any other problems.”

Genghis considered the idea. He was not as deaf as he pretended to the complaints about his youngest brother.

“No. He is useful enough. He stands between me and a thousand questions from fools and that is worth something.” Khasar snorted at that, making his feelings clear. Genghis continued thoughtfully, tasting new ideas as if his illness had freed his mind.

“Temuge has been wanting to send out small groups to learn of other lands. Perhaps he is right that the information they bring will be useful. Waiting for them to return will at least ease the tedium of this cursed place.” He nodded to himself. “I will choose the men and they too will leave when you ride. We will spring out in
all
directions.” He felt his energy leaving him then, as suddenly as it had come, and closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness.

“Leave me now, except for Kachiun. Form your tumans and say goodbye to your wives and mistresses. They will be safe with me, unless they are very attractive.”

He smiled weakly as they rose, pleased to see them visibly more confident than when they had arrived. When Kachiun stood alone in the great ger, Genghis let the animation fall from him, looking suddenly older.

“I must rest, Kachiun, though I do not want to return to that ger that smells of sickness. Will you post a guard on the door so that I can sleep and eat in here? I do not want to be seen.”

“I will, brother. May I send Borte in to undress and feed you? She has seen the worst already.”

Genghis shrugged, his voice weak. “You had better send both my wives. Whatever peace they have found will not last long if I favor one over the other.” Already his eyes were glazed. The effort of the single meeting had brought him to the brink of exhaustion, and his hands shook as they lay loose in his lap. Kachiun turned to leave.

“How did you make Khasar accept you to succeed me?” Genghis murmured to his back.

“I told him he could be khan,” Kachiun replied. “I think it terrified him.”

CHAPTER 29

I
T TOOK ANOTHER SIX DAYS
for the generals to gather their men in squares of ten thousand, ready to ride. In essence, each tuman was a raiding party on a vast scale, something they all knew well. Yet that scale required organization and Temuge and his cadre of maimed men were busy with supplies, remounts, weapons, and their lists. For once, the officers didn’t grumble at the interference. Ahead of them lay lands that no one among their people had ever seen. The wanderlust was strong in the men as they stared in the direction their generals had chosen.

Those who remained behind were less cheerful and Genghis depended upon Kachiun to keep discipline while he recovered. The tactic had proved surprisingly successful, as his brother only had to glance at the khan’s great ger for the arguing men to fall silent. No one wanted to disturb Genghis while he regained his strength. The simple fact of his being alive had stolen away the growing power of the old khans in the camp. Even so, the father of the Woyela was one who had demanded to see Genghis, heedless of consequences. Kachiun had visited the man in his own ger, and after that, the Woyela khan did not speak another word to anyone. His sons would ride south with Khasar and he would be left alone with only servants to lift him upright each day.

Snow had fallen the night before, but the morning was bright and the sky an aching blue over Yenking. In vast squares on the frozen plain, warriors waited for orders, standing ready to mount while their ponies cropped the snow. Their officers were busy checking the lines and equipment, though there were few there careless enough to leave something behind, not when their lives depended on it. Many of the men laughed and joked with each other. They had moved across the face of the land all their lives, and the forced halt at Yenking was unnatural to them. There would be less-formidable cities on their journey, and each tuman traveled with catapults in a dozen carts and men trained to use them. The carts would slow them down, of course, but every man there remembered Yinchuan in the Xi Xia kingdom. They would not have to howl outside distant walls. Instead, they would break city gates and throw small kings from the heights. It was a cheerful prospect and the mood was like that of a summer feast day.

The final items that Temuge produced were tents of white, red, and black for each general to use. The warriors took heart from seeing those rolled and loaded, tied down with long ropes. As nothing else, the presence of the tents showed their intention to conquer all those who stood against them. Their strength gave them the right.

In addition to the tumans, Genghis had assembled ten groups of twenty warriors to scout new lands. At first he thought of them as raiding parties, but Temuge had persuaded him to give them cartloads of gold and looted gifts. Temuge had spoken to the officer of each group, making sure the man understood his task was to observe and learn, even to bribe. Temuge had called them diplomats, a term he had learned from Wen Chao, many years before. In that, as in so much else, Temuge had created a new thing for the tribes. He could see their value even though they themselves could not. Those men were far less cheerful than the ones who knew they would carry cities before them.

Genghis had removed the bandages on his neck, showing a thick scab over yellow and black bruising. He breathed deeply in the cold air, coughing into his hand over a wave of weakness. He was nowhere near fit, but he too wished he was riding with the others, even those who expected to talk and spy rather than raid. He shot an irritable glance at Yenking at the thought, the city squatting like a toad on the plain. No doubt the Chin emperor was on the walls at that very moment, watching this strange movement of men and horses. Genghis spat on the ground in the direction of the city. They had hidden behind soldiers at the Badger’s Mouth, and now they hid behind walls. He wondered how many more seasons they would hold out, and his mood was bitter.

“The men are ready,” Kachiun said, riding up and dismounting. “Temuge cannot think of another thing to irritate them, thank the spirits. Will you blow the horn yourself?”

Genghis looked at the polished scout horn hanging around his brother’s neck. He shook his head. “I will say goodbye to my sons first,” he said. “Bring them to me.” He gestured to a large blanket on the ground, with a bottle of black airag and four cups on the cloth.

Kachiun bowed his head and leaped back into the saddle, kicking the animal into a gallop through the squares of waiting men. It was a long way to ride to reach his nephews. Every warrior there had two other horses with him in a vast herd, and the morning was loud with their snorts and whinnying.

Genghis waited patiently until Kachiun returned with Jochi, Chagatai, and Ogedai, his brother standing aside to let the sons approach. Kachiun watched from the corner of his eye as Genghis sat cross-legged and the three boys faced him on the rough blanket. In silence, he poured each a cup of fiery spirit and they took them formally in their right hands, cupping the elbow with their left to show that they held no weapon.

Genghis could find nothing to criticize in their bearing as he looked them over. Jochi wore new armor, a little large on his frame. Chagatai still had the set he had been given. Only Ogedai wore the traditional padded deel robe, too small at ten to warrant a man’s armor, even with the amount they had captured at the Badger’s Mouth. The little boy regarded the cup of airag with some misgiving, but sipped it with the others, showing no expression.

“My little wolves,” Genghis said with a smile. “You will all be men by the time I see you again. Have you spoken to your mother?”

“We have,” Jochi replied. Genghis glanced at him and wondered at the depth of hostility in the boy’s eyes. What had he ever done to deserve it?

Returning Jochi’s dark gaze, Genghis spoke to them all.

“You will not be princes away from this camp. I have made that clear to your generals. There will be no special treatment for my sons. You will travel as any other warrior of the people, and when you are called to fight, there will be no one to save you because of who you are. Do you understand?”

His words seemed to suck the excitement out of them, their smiles fading. One by one, they nodded. Jochi drained his cup and put it down on the blanket.

“If you are raised to be officers,” Genghis continued, “it will only be because you have shown yourselves to be quick thinking, skilled, and brave
beyond
the men around you. No one wants to be led by a fool, even a fool who is my son.”

He paused, letting this sink in as his gaze fell on Chagatai.

“However, you
are
my sons and I expect to see the blood run true in each of you. The other warriors will be thinking of the next battle, or the last. You will be thinking of the nation you could lead. I expect you to find men you can trust and bind them to you. I expect you to push yourselves harder and more ruthlessly than anyone else ever could. When you are frightened, hide it. No one else will know and whatever causes it will pass. How you held yourself will be remembered.”

There was so much to tell them. It was gratifying to have even Jochi hang on every word, but who else could tell them how to rule if not their own father? This was his last duty to the boys before they became men.

“When you are tired, never speak of it, and others will think you are made of iron. Do not allow another warrior to mock you, even in jest. It is something men do to see who has the strength to stand against them. Show them you will not be cowed, and if it means you must fight, well, that is what you must do.”

“What if it is an officer who mocks us?” Jochi said softly.

Genghis looked sharply at him. “I have seen men try to deflect such things with a smile, or dipping their head, or even capering to make the others laugh all the harder. If you do that, you will never command. Take the orders you are given, but keep your dignity.” He thought for a moment.

“From this day, you are no longer children. You too, Ogedai. If you have to fight, even if it is a friend, put him down as fast and hard as you possibly can. Kill if you have to, or spare him—but beware putting any man in your debt. Of all things, that causes resentment. Any warrior who raises his fist to you must know he is gambling with his life and that he
will
lose. If you cannot win at first, take revenge if it is the last thing you do. You are traveling with men who respect only strength greater than theirs, men harder than themselves. Above everything else, they respect success. Remember it.”

His hard gaze swept across them and Ogedai shivered, feeling the cold of the words. Genghis did not smile to see it as he went on.

“Never allow yourself to become soft, or one day there will be a man who will take everything away from you. Listen to those who know more than you and be the last in every conversation to speak, until they wait on you to show them the way. And beware of weak men who come to you because of your name. Choose those who follow you as carefully as wives. If I have only one skill that has brought me to rule our people, it is that. I can see the difference between a blustering warrior and a man like Tsubodai, or Jelme, or Khasar.”

The ghost of a sneer touched Jochi’s mouth before he looked away, and Genghis refused to allow his irritation to show.

“One more thing before you go. Be wary of spilling your seed.” Jochi flushed then and Chagatai’s mouth dropped open. Only Ogedai looked confused. Genghis went on.

“Boys who spend each night playing with their parts become weak, obsessed with the needs of their body. Keep your hands away and treat desire as any other weakness. Abstinence will make you strong. You will have wives and mistresses in time.”

As the three boys sat there in embarrassed silence, he untied his sword and scabbard. He had not planned it, but it seemed right and he wanted to do something they would remember.

“Take it, Chagatai,” he said. He slapped the scabbard into his son’s hands. Chagatai almost fumbled it in amazed pleasure. Genghis watched as the boy held the wolf’s-head hilt up to catch the sun, then slowly drew the blade his father had carried for all his young life. The eyes of the others were on the shining metal, bright with envy.

“My father, Yesugei, wore it on the day he died,” Genghis said softly. “
His
father had it made at a time when the Wolves were the enemy of every other tribe. It has taken lives and seen the birth of a nation. Be sure you do not dishonor it.”

Chagatai bowed where he sat, overcome. “I will not, lord,” he replied.

Genghis did not look at Jochi’s white face. “Now go. When you return to your generals, I will sound the horn. We will see each other again when you are men and we can meet as equals.”

“I look forward to that day, Father,” Jochi said suddenly.

Genghis raised his pale gaze to him, but said nothing. The boys did not speak to each other as they galloped away on the hard ground and they did not look back.

When Genghis was once again alone with Kachiun, he felt his brother’s stare.

“Why did you not give the blade to Jochi?” Kachiun asked.

“To a Tartar bastard?” Genghis snapped. “I see his father looking back at me whenever we meet.”

Kachiun shook his head, saddened that Genghis could be so blind in this one thing and see so far in all the rest.

“We are a strange family, brother,” he said. “If you leave us alone, we grow weak and soft. If you challenge us, make us hate, we grow strong enough to strike back.” Genghis looked at him questioningly and Kachiun sighed.

“If you truly wanted to weaken Jochi, you should have given
him
the sword,” Kachiun said. “Now he will think of you as an enemy and he
will
make himself iron, just as you did. Is that what you intended?”

Genghis blinked, astonished at the idea. Kachiun saw things with painful clarity and he could not find a response.

Kachiun cleared his throat. “It was interesting advice, brother,” he said, “especially the bit about spilling their seed.”

Genghis ignored him, watching the distant figures rejoin the squares of warriors.

“It didn’t seem to do Khasar any harm,” Kachiun said.

Genghis chuckled, holding out his hand for Kachiun’s horn. He rose to his feet then and blew a long deep note across the plain. Before it had died away, the tumans rumbled into movement, his people riding to conquer. He ached to be with them, but he would yet see Yenking fall.

Temuge groaned as his servant massaged the cares of the day from his shoulders. The Chin people seemed to have an idea of civilization that no one among the tribes could match. He smiled sleepily at the thought of a warrior being asked to work the muscles of his calves with oil. The man would either take it as an insult or pound them like a woolen fleece.

At first he had regretted the loss of his first servant. The man had rarely spoken and indeed knew nothing of the Mongol tongue. Yet he had introduced Temuge to a structured day, so that events seemed to flow around him without tension. Temuge had become accustomed to waking after dawn and bathing. His servant would then dress him and prepare a light breakfast. He would read the reports of his men until late morning, then begin the proper business of the day. Losing such a man to an assassin’s blade had seemed a tragedy at first.

Temuge sighed in pleasure as the new servant worked at a muscle, his thumbs digging deeply. Perhaps it was not such a loss, after all. Old Sen had known nothing of oils and massage, and though his presence had been relaxing, the new man talked whenever Temuge allowed him to speak, explaining any aspect of Chin society that caught Temuge’s attention.

“That is very good, Ma Tsin,” he murmured. “The tenderness is almost gone.”

“My master is welcome,” the spy replied. He did not enjoy rubbing the man’s back, but he had once spent almost a year as a brothel guard and he knew how the girls relaxed their customers.

“I saw the armies move away this morning, master,” he said lightly. “I have never seen so many horses and men in one place.”

Temuge grunted. “It makes my life simpler to have them far away. I have had enough of their complaints and bickering. I think my brother has as well.”