Genghis: Birth of an Empire

by Conn Iggulden

  At last, Togrul announced himself satisfied and hid a belch with his hand.

  “You can see we have not gone hungry in the winter,” he said cheerfully, patting his belly. “The spirits have been good to the Kerait.”

  “And they will be generous in the future,” Wen Chao added, watching Temujin. “I am glad to see you have accepted the offer I brought you, my lord.”

  The last words sounded oddly false in his throat, but Temujin accepted them as his due.

  “Why am I needed here?” he asked Togrul. “You have enough men and weapons to smash the Tartars on your own. Why call on my men?”

  Togrul reached up to wipe his greasy lips with the back of a hand. He seemed to feel Wen Chao’s gaze fall on him and instead took a cloth from his deel for the task.

  “Your name is known, Temujin. It is true that the Kerait are strong, too strong for another tribe to attack, but Wen has convinced me of the need to carry the fight farther into the north, as you have done.”

  Temujin said nothing. From his first glance at the enormous man, he had no need to ask why Togrul did not lead them himself. He wondered if the man could even sit a pony for more than a few miles. Yet he could see hundreds of the Kerait around the feast, as well as the fifty or so who had joined them at the fire. The tribe was larger than the Wolves or even the Olkhun’ut. Surely there was someone amongst them who could lead a raiding party? He did not voice the thought aloud, but Togrul saw his expression and chuckled.

  “I could have one of my bondsmen attack the Tartars, could I not? How long would it be before he came to me with a knife hidden in a sleeve of his deel? I am not a fool, Temujin, do not think it. The Kerait have grown because I kept them strong and because Wen Chao has brought us horses, food, and gold from the east. Perhaps one day I will look out on lands of my own in that country. The Kerait will know peace and plenty in my lifetime if I can drive back the Tartars.”

  “You would take the entire Kerait tribe into Chin territory?” Temujin said incredulously.

  Togrul shrugged. “Why not? Is it too much to imagine living without a dozen baying tribes all around, watching for weakness? Wen has promised us the land, and the Kerait will thrive there.”

  Temujin darted a sharp look at the Chin representative.

  “I have heard much of promises,” he said. “But I have seen nothing real yet, except for pictures on paper. Where are the ponies I was promised, the armor and weapons?”

  “If we agree on a course today, I will send a messenger to the city of Kaifeng. You will have them in less than a year,” Wen replied.

  Temujin shook his head. “More promises,” he said. “Let us talk of things I can touch.” He looked at Togrul, his yellow eyes seeming gold in the morning light.

  “I told you there is a Tartar camp in the north. My brothers and I scouted it thoroughly, seeing how they placed their men. We followed a smaller group right up to a day’s ride away and we were not spotted. If you want me to lead your men on raids, give me ones who have been blooded and I will destroy the Tartars. Let that be what seals our bargain, not gifts which may never arrive.”

  Wen Chao was angry at having his word doubted. His face showed no sign of it as he spoke.

  “You were lucky not to meet the outriders of that camp, my lord. I came across them as I returned to the Kerait.”

  Temujin turned his pale gaze on the Chin diplomat. “They are all dead,” he said. Wen sat like stone as he digested the news. “We tracked the last of them as they ran back to their main camp.”

  “Perhaps that is why you brought so few men to the Kerait,” Wen said, nodding. “I understand.”

  Temujin frowned. He had exaggerated his numbers and been caught, but he could not let it pass.

  “We lost four men in the raid and killed thirty. We have their horses and weapons, but not the men to ride them, unless I find them here.”

  Togrul looked at Wen Chao, watching his reaction with interest.

  “They have done well, Wen, is it not so? He deserves the reputation he has gathered for himself. At least you have brought the right man to the Kerait.” The khan’s gaze fell on a few greasy scraps of meat left on a platter. He reached for them, scooping up the rich fat in his hand.

  “You will have your thirty men, Temujin, the best of the Kerait. Bring me a hundred heads and I will have your name written into the songs of my people.”

  Temujin smiled tightly. “You honor me, my lord, but if I bring you a hundred heads, I will want a hundred warriors for summer.”

  He watched as Togrul wiped his hands with a cloth, thinking. The man was obscenely large, but Temujin did not doubt the fierce intelligence that lurked in those dark eyes. Togrul had already voiced his fear of being betrayed. How could he trust a stranger better than a man from his own tribe? Temujin wondered if Togrul believed the Kerait warriors would return to his gers unchanged after a battle with the Tartars. Temujin remembered the words of his father long ago. There was no bond stronger than that between those who have risked their lives in each other’s company. It could be greater than tribe or family, and Temujin meant to have those warriors of the Kerait as his own.

  Wen Chao was the one to break the silence, perhaps guessing at Togrul’s misgivings.

  “Give just a year to war, my lord,” he said to Togrul, “and you will have another thirty at peace. You will rule lands of beauty.”

  He spoke almost in a whisper and Temujin watched him with growing dislike. Togrul did not move as the words reached his ear, but after a time, he nodded, satisfied.

  “I will give you my best men to crush the Tartar camp,” he said. “If you succeed, perhaps I will trust you with more. I will not burden you with other promises, as you seem to scorn them. We can aid each other and each man will get what he wants. If there is betrayal, I will deal with that as it comes.”

  Temujin maintained the cold face as he replied, showing nothing of the hunger that ate at him. “We are agreed, then. I will want your warrior with me, also, Wen Chao. The one called Yuan.”

  Wen sat very still, considering. In fact, he had been going to suggest the same thing and wondered at his luck. He made himself look reluctant.

  “For this first attack, you may take him. He is a fine soldier, though I would prefer him not to know I said that.”

  Temujin put out his hand and Togrul took it first in his fleshy fingers, before Wen pressed his own bonier fingers in a grip.

  “I will make them reel,” Temujin said. “Have this Yuan brought to me, Wen Chao. I want to test his armor and see if we can make more.”

  “I will have a hundred sets sent within a year,” Wen protested.

  Temujin shrugged. “I could be dead within a year. Summon your man.”

  Wen nodded to one of his ever-present servants, sending him scurrying away to return with Yuan in a few moments. The soldier’s face was utterly blank of emotion as he bowed first to Togrul and Wen Chao, then to Temujin himself. Temujin approached him as Wen barked orders in his own language. Whatever he had said, Yuan stood like a statue while Temujin examined his armor closely, seeing how the overlapping plates were joined and sewn into heavy, rigid cloth underneath.

  “Will it stop an arrow?” Temujin asked.

  Yuan dropped his gaze and nodded. “One of yours, yes,” he replied.

  Temujin smiled tightly. “Stand very still, Yuan,” he said, striding away.

  Wen Chao watched with interest as Temujin picked up his bow and strung it, fitting an arrow to the string. Yuan showed no fear and Wen was proud of his apparent calm as Temujin pulled back to his ear, holding the bow in perfect stillness for a moment as he sighted down it.

  “Let us find out,” Temujin said, releasing in a snap.

  The arrow struck hard enough to send Yuan backwards, hammering him off his feet. He lay stunned for a moment, then just as Temujin thought he was dead, Yuan raised his head and struggled upright. His face was impassive, but Temujin saw a glint in his eyes that suggested there was life somewher
e deep.

  Temujin ignored the shocked cries of the Kerait around him. Togrul was on his feet, and his bondsmen had moved quickly to put themselves between their khan and the stranger. Carefully, so as not to excite them, Temujin put his bow down and loosened the string before crossing the distance to Yuan.

  The arrow had broken through the first plate of lacquered iron, the head catching in the thick cloth underneath so that it stuck out and vibrated with Yuan’s breath. Temujin undid the ties at Yuan’s throat and waist, pulling aside a silk under-tunic until the bare chest was exposed.

  There was a flowering bruise on Yuan’s skin, around an oval gash. A thin line of blood trickled down the muscles to his stomach.

  “You can still fight?” Temujin asked.

  Yuan’s voice was strained as he spat a reply. “Try me.”

  Temujin chuckled at the anger he saw. The man had great courage and Temujin clapped him on the back. He peered closer at the hole left by the arrow.

  “The tunic of silk has not torn,” he said, fingering the spot of blood.

  “It is a very strong weave,” Yuan replied. “I have seen wounds where the silk was carried deep into the body without being holed.”

  “Where can I find shirts of it?” Temujin murmured.

  Yuan looked at him. “Only in the Chin cities.”

  “Perhaps I will send for some,” Temujin said. “Our own boiled leather does not stop arrows as well as this. We can make use of your armor.” He turned to Togrul, who still stood in shock at what he had witnessed. “The Kerait have a forge? Iron?”

  Togrul nodded mutely and Temujin looked at Arslan.

  “Can you make this armor?”

  Arslan stood to inspect Yuan as Temujin had, pulling the arrow from where it had lodged and examining the torn square of gray metal. The lacquer had fallen away in flakes and the metal had buckled before allowing the arrow through. Under the pressure of Arslan’s fingers, the last of the stitching fell away and it came free in his hand.

  “We could carry replacements,” Arslan said. “This one cannot be used again.” Yuan’s eyes followed the broken piece of iron as Arslan moved it. His breathing had steadied and Temujin could not help but be impressed by the man’s personal discipline.

  “If we stay with the Kerait for five days, how many sets can I have?” Temujin said, pressing him.

  Arslan shook his head as he thought. “These thin iron plates are not difficult to forge, though each one must be finished by hand. If I leave them rough and have helpers in the forge and women to sew them…” He paused to think it through. “Perhaps three, maybe more.”

  “Then that is your task,” Temujin said. “If Wen Chao will lend us more from his guards, we will have a force of men the Tartars cannot kill. We will make them fear us.”

  Wen pursed his mouth as he considered. It was true that the first minister would send gold and horses if he asked. The court did not stint on the materials to bribe the tribes. He was not certain they would be so generous with weapons and armor. Only a fool gave away his advantages in war, for all the promises Wen had made to the young raider. If he allowed Temujin to take his men’s armor, he did not doubt it would raise an eyebrow in the court if they ever heard of it, but what choice did he have? He inclined his head, forcing a smile.

  “They are yours, my lord. I will have them brought to you tonight.” He repressed a shudder at the thought of Temujin’s men going as well armored as any soldier of the Chin. Perhaps in time he would have to court the Tartars to have them curb the Mongol tribes. He wondered if he might have extended his stay in the plains, his heart sinking at the thought.

  In the gers of the Kerait the following night, Khasar cuffed his youngest brother, sending Temuge spinning. At thirteen years of age, the boy had none of the fire of his older brethren and tears sparkled in his eyes as he steadied himself.

  “What was that for?” Temuge demanded.

  Khasar sighed. “How is it that you are our father’s son, little man?” he demanded. “Kachiun would have taken my head off if I tried to hit him like that, and he is only a couple of years older than you.”

  With a shout, Temuge launched himself at Khasar, only to be knocked flat as his brother cuffed him again.

  “That was a little better,” Khasar admitted grudgingly. “I had killed a man by the time I was your age…” He stopped, shocked to see that Temuge was sniveling, tears running down his cheeks. “You’re not crying? Kachiun, can you believe this little scrap?”

  Kachiun lay on a bed in the corner of the ger, ignoring them as he applied a layer of oil to his bow. He paused at the question, looking over to where Temuge was rubbing at his nose and eyes.

  “He’s just a child, still,” he said, returning to his task.

  “I am not!” Temuge shouted, red in the face.

  Khasar grinned at him. “You cry like one,” he said, taunting. “If Temujin saw you like that, he’d leave you for the dogs.”

  “He would not,” Temuge said, tears appearing in his eyes again.

  “He would, you know. He’d strip you naked and leave you on a hill for the wolves to bite,” Khasar continued, looking sad. “They like the young ones, for the tender meat.”

  Temuge snorted in disdain. “He said I could ride with him against the Tartars, if I wanted,” he announced.

  Khasar knew Temujin had made the offer, but he feigned amazement. “What, a little scrap like you? Against those great hairy Tartars? They’re worse than wolves, boy, those warriors. Taller than us and white-skinned, like ghosts. Some people say they are ghosts and they come for you when you fall asleep.”

  “Leave him alone,” Kachiun murmured.

  Khasar considered, subsiding reluctantly. Kachiun took his silence for assent and sat up on the bed.

  “They are not ghosts, Temuge, but they are hard men and good with the bow and the sword. You are not strong enough yet to stand against them.”

  “You were, at my age,” Temuge said.

  There was a line of shining mucus under his nose, and Khasar wondered if it would drip down to the boy’s mouth. He watched it with interest as Kachiun swung his legs to the floor to address Temuge.

  “I could fire a bow better than you at your age, yes. I practiced every day until my hands were cramped and my fingers bled.” He patted his right shoulder with his left hand, indicating the compact muscle there. It was larger than his left and writhed whenever he moved.

  “It built my strength, Temuge. Have you done the same? Whenever I see you, you are playing with the children, or talking to our mother.”

  “I have practiced,” Temuge said sullenly, though they both knew he was lying, or at least skirting the truth. Even with a bone ring to protect his fingers, he was a hopeless archer. Kachiun had taken him out many times and run with him, building his stamina. It did not seem to make the boy’s wind any better. At the end of only a mile, he would be puffing and gasping.

  Khasar shook his head, as if weary. “If you cannot fire a bow and you are not strong enough to use a sword, will you kick them to death?” he said. He thought the little boy might leap at him again, but Temuge had given up.

  “I hate you,” he said. “I hope the Tartars kill you both.” He would have stormed out of the ger, but Khasar deliberately tripped him as he passed, so that he fell flat in the doorway. Temuge ran off without looking back.

  “You are too hard on him,” Kachiun said, reaching for his bow again.

  “No. If I hear one more time that he is such a ‘sensitive boy,’ I think I will lose my dinner. Do you know who he was talking to today? The Chin, Wen Chao. I heard them chattering about birds or something as I went by. You tell me what that was about.”

  “I can’t, but he is my baby brother and I want you to stop nagging at him like an old woman; is that too much to ask?”

  Kachiun’s voice contained a little heat and Khasar considered his response. He could still win their fights, but the last few had resulted in so many painful bruises that he did not p
rovoke one lightly.

  “We all treat him differently, and what sort of a warrior is he as a result?” Khasar said.

  Kachiun looked up. “Perhaps he will be a shaman, or a storyteller like old Chagatai.”

  Khasar snorted. “Chagatai was a warrior when he was young, or so he always said. It’s no task for a young man.”

  “Let him find his own path, Khasar,” Kachiun said. “It may not be where we lead him.”

  Borte and Temujin lay together without touching. With blood fresh on their mouths, they had made love on the first night of the punishment raid against the Tartars, though she had cried out in grief and pain as his weight came down on her. He might have stopped then, but she had gripped his buttocks, holding him in her while tears streamed down her face.

  It had been the only time. Since that day, she could not bring herself to let him touch her again. Whenever he came to the furs, she would kiss him and curl into his arms, but nothing more. Her monthly blood had not come since leaving the Olkhun’ut, but now she feared for the child. It had to be his, she was almost certain. She had seen the way many dogs would mount a bitch in the camp of the Olkhun’ut. Sometimes the puppies would show the colors of more than one of the fathers. She did not know if the same could apply to her, and she did not dare ask Hoelun.

  In the darkness of an unfamiliar ger, she wept again while her husband slept, and did not know why.

  CHAPTER 28

  TEMUJIN RUBBED ANGRILY at the sweat in his eyes. The armored cloth Arslan had made was far heavier than he had realized. It felt as if he were rolled in a carpet, and his sword arm seemed to have lost half its speed. He faced Yuan as the sun rose, seeing to his irritation how the man wore the same armor without even a trace of perspiration on his forehead.