Genghis: Birth of an Empire

by Conn Iggulden

  “Again,” Temujin snapped.

  Yuan’s eyes sparkled with amusement and he bowed before bringing his sword up. He had told them to wear the armor at all times, until it became a second skin. Even after a week on the route back to the Tartar camp, they were still too slow. Temujin forced his men to practice for two hours at dawn and dusk, whether they wore the armor or not. It slowed the progress of the sixty who had ridden out from the Kerait, but Yuan approved of the effort. Without it, the armored men would be like the turtles he remembered from home. They might survive the first arrows of the Tartars, but on the ground, they would be easy prey.

  With the help of the Kerait swordsmiths, Arslan had made five sets of the plated robes. In addition, Wen had made good his promise and delivered ten more, keeping only one back for his new personal guard. Yuan had chosen the man himself, making sure he understood his responsibilities before he left.

  Temujin wore one of the new sets, with the plating on a long chest piece as well as another to cover his groin and two more on his thighs. Shoulder guards reached from his neck to his elbow, and it was those that caused him the most difficulty. Time and again, Yuan simply stepped aside from blows, dodging their slow speed easily.

  He watched Temujin move toward him, reading his intentions from the way he stepped. The young khan’s weight was more strongly on the left foot, and Yuan suspected he would begin the blow from the low left, rising upwards. They used sharp steel blades, but so far there had been little real danger for either of them. Yuan was too much a perfectionist to cut the man in a practice bout, and Temujin never came close.

  At the last second, Temujin shifted his weight again, turning the sweep into a lunge. Yuan dropped his right leg back to shift out of the way, letting the blade rasp along the scales of his own armor. He did not fear a cut without force behind it, and that too Temujin was having to learn. Many more blows could be ignored or merely turned with a little delicacy.

  As the sword slid past, Yuan stepped forward briskly and brought his hilt up to touch Temujin lightly on the nose. At the same time, he let air explode from his lungs, calling “Hei!” before stepping back.

  “Again,” Temujin said irritably, moving before Yuan had taken position. This time he held the blade above his head, bringing it down in a chopping motion. Yuan caught the blade on his own and they came chest to chest in a clash of armor. Temujin had placed his leading foot behind Yuan’s, and the soldier found himself falling backwards.

  He regarded Temujin from the ground, waiting for the next strike.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Temujin said. “Now I would plunge the sword through your chest.”

  Yuan did not move. “You would not. I have been trained to fight from any position.” As he spoke, he kicked out with one leg, dropping Temujin neatly.

  Temujin leapt up, his face strained.

  “If I were not wearing this heavy armor, you would not find this so easy,” he said.

  “I would shoot you from far away,” Yuan replied. “Or shoot your horse, if I saw that you were armored.”

  Temujin was in the process of raising his sword again. His wrists burned with fatigue, but he was determined to get in one solid blow before mounting up for the day’s ride. Instead, he paused.

  “We must armor the ponies, then, just the heads and chest.”

  Yuan nodded. “I have seen it done. The iron plates can be sewn into a leather harness just as easily as your armor.”

  “You are a skilled teacher, Yuan, have I told you?” Temujin said.

  Yuan watched him carefully, knowing a sudden strike was possible. In truth, he was still amazed that Temujin did not appear to mind being beaten time and time again in front of his men. Yuan could not imagine his old officers ever allowing such a display. The humiliation would have been too much for them, but Temujin seemed unaware, or uncaring. The tribesmen were a strange breed, but they soaked up whatever Yuan could tell them about their new armor. He had even taken to discussing tactics with Temujin and his brothers. It was a new experience for Yuan to have younger men listening so intently. When he was guarding Wen Chao, he knew he existed to give his life for the ambassador, or at least to kill as many enemies as he could before falling. The men who had come into the plains with him all knew their work, and rarely did Yuan have to correct them. He had found that he enjoyed the teaching.

  “Once more,” he heard Temujin say. “I am going to come from your left.”

  Yuan smiled. The last two times Temujin had thought to warn him, the attack had come from the right. It did not matter particularly, but he was amused at the attempts to cloud his judgment.

  Temujin came in fast, his sword darting with greater speed than Yuan had seen before. He saw the right shoulder dip and brought his blade up. Too late to correct, he saw Temujin had followed through on the left, deliberately. Yuan could still have spoiled the blow, but he chose not to, letting the blade tip touch his throat as Temujin stood panting and exhilarated.

  “That was better,” Yuan said. “You are getting faster in the armor.”

  Temujin nodded. “You let the blade through, didn’t you?”

  Yuan allowed a smile to show. “When you are better still, you will know,” he said.

  At full gallop, Yuan looked right and left, seeing how Temujin’s brothers kept the line solid. The exercises went on all day and Yuan found himself involved in solving the problems of a massed attack. He rode with his bow strapped on his saddle, but the archery of the sixty men was not in question. Togrul had given twenty of his personal bondsmen to the group. They were fit and skilled, but they were not experienced in war and Temujin was scathing at first with them. His own raiders followed his orders with instant obedience, but the new men were always slow.

  Yuan had been surprised to be given command of the left wing. The position called for a senior officer and he had expected it to go to Khasar. Certainly Khasar had thought so. Yuan had not missed the glowering looks coming his way from Temujin’s brother as he rode with his own ten just inside. After the training bouts each evening, Temujin would gather them around a small fire and give his orders for the following day. It was a small thing perhaps, but he included Yuan in his council, along with Jelme and Arslan, asking a thousand questions. When Yuan could answer from experience, they listened intently. Sometimes Temujin would shake his head halfway through, and Yuan understood his reasoning. The men Temujin commanded had not fought together for years. There was a limit to what could be taught in a short time, even with ruthless discipline.

  Yuan heard Temujin’s horn sound two short blasts. It meant the left wing was to ride ahead of the rest of them, skewing the line. Over the pounding of hooves, Yuan shared a glance with Khasar and both groups of ten accelerated to their new position.

  Yuan looked around him. It had been neatly done, and this time even Togrul’s bondsmen had heard the call and responded. They were improving and Yuan felt a spark of pride in his heart. If his old officers could see him, they would laugh themselves sick. First sword in Kaifeng and here he was riding with wild savages. He tried to mock himself as the soldiers at home would have done, but somehow his heart wasn’t in it.

  Temujin blew a single note and the right wing moved up alongside, leaving the center behind. Yuan looked across at Kachiun and Jelme riding there, grim-faced in their armor. The riders around Temujin’s brother were a little more ragged, but they dressed the line as Yuan watched, thundering forward as one. He nodded to himself, beginning to relish the battle to come.

  From behind, Temujin blew a long note, falling. They slowed together, each of the officers shouting orders at the men in their groups of ten. The rugged ponies slowed to a canter, then a trot, and Temujin moved up the center group with Arslan.

  Temujin rode ahead as the line re-formed, swinging his mount across to the left wing. He allowed them to catch him and Yuan saw his face was flushed with excitement, his eyes bright.

  “Send the scouts on ahead, Yuan,” Temujin called.
“We will rest the ponies while they search.”

  “Your will, my lord,” Yuan replied automatically. He caught himself as he turned in the saddle to two young warriors, then shrugged. He had been a soldier too long to change his habits, and in truth, he was enjoying the task of shaping the tribesmen into a battle group.

  “Tayan, Rulakh, move ahead until sunset. If you see anything more than a few wanderers, ride back.” By now, he knew all sixty names, forcing them to memory, a matter of personal habit. Both of the men were from Temujin’s raiders. They bowed their heads as they passed him, kicking their mounts forward. Yuan showed nothing of his hidden satisfaction, though Temujin seemed to sense it from the grin that came to his face.

  “I think you have missed this, Teacher,” Temujin called. “The spring is rising in your blood.”

  Yuan did not respond as Temujin rejoined the line. He had been two years with Wen Chao on guard duty. The oath he had given to the emperor bound him to follow any order given by a lawful authority. In his deepest heart, he acknowledged the truth of Temujin’s words. He had missed the comradeship of a campaign, though the tribesmen were nothing like the men he had known. He hoped the brothers would live past the first clash of arms.

  The moon was full again a month out from the Kerait. The exuberance of the first weeks had been replaced by a grim purpose. There was not so much chatter round the fires as there had been, and the scouts were on edge. They had found the site where Temujin and his brothers had seen the large group of Tartars. The blackened circles of grass brought back dark memories for the men who had been there. Kachiun and Khasar were particularly quiet as they remounted. The night they had rescued Borte had been burnt into them, too deep to forget Temujin’s chant, or the burst of light they had felt as they swallowed the flesh of their enemies. They did not speak of what they had done. That night had seemed endless, but when the dawn had finally come, they had scouted the area, trying to see where the small group had been taking her. The main Tartar camp had not been far away. The last of the raiders could have reached it in a morning’s ride, and Borte would have been lost for months, if not forever.

  Temujin pressed his hand into the ashes of a fire and grimaced. It was cold.

  “Send the scouts out wider,” he said to his brothers. “If we catch them on the move, it will be quick.”

  The Tartar camp had come prepared for a season, perhaps with the intention of hunting the raiders who had troubled them all winter. They moved with carts laden with gers and large herds whose droppings could be read and counted. Temujin wondered how close they were. He remembered his frustration as he lay with Tartar blood on his mouth and watched a peaceful camp too large to attack. There was no question of letting them escape. He had gone to Togrul as one having no other choice.

  “There were many people in this place,” Yuan noted at his shoulder. The Chin warrior had counted the black circles and noted the tracks. “More than the hundred you told Togrul.”

  Temujin looked at him. “Perhaps. I could not say for sure.”

  Yuan watched the man who had brought them to kill across a wilderness. It occurred to him that fifty of Togrul’s best men would have been better than thirty. The newcomers would have outnumbered Temujin’s people, and perhaps that was not to the young man’s liking. Yuan had noticed how Temujin had mixed the groups, making them work together. His reputation for ferocity was known—and for success. Already, they looked on him as a khan. Yuan wondered if Togrul knew the risk he had taken. He sighed to himself as Temujin moved away to talk with his brothers. Gold and land would buy great risks, if used well. Wen Chao had shown the truth of that.

  Temujin nodded to his brothers, including Temuge in the gesture. His youngest brother had been given the smallest set of armor. Wen Chao’s men were given to lightness of frame, but it was still too big for him, and Temujin repressed a smile as he saw Temuge turn stiffly to his pony, testing the straps and reins.

  “You have done well, little brother,” Temujin said as he passed him. He heard Khasar snort nearby, but ignored it. “We will find them soon, Temuge. Will you be ready when we ride to the attack?”

  Temuge looked up at the brother he revered. He did not speak of the cold fear in his stomach, nor of the way the riding had exhausted him until he thought he would drop from the saddle and shame them all. Every time he dismounted, his legs had stiffened to the point where he had to hold the pony tightly or drop to his knees.

  “I will be ready, Temujin,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone. Inside, he despaired. He knew his own archery was barely worth the name, and the Tartar sword Temujin had given him was too heavy for his hand. He had a smaller blade hidden inside his deel, and he hoped to use that. Even then, the thought of actually cutting skin and muscle, of feeling blood pour over his hands, was something he dreaded. He could not be as strong and ruthless as the others. He did not yet know what use he could be to any of them, but he could not bear the scorn in Khasar’s eyes. Kachiun had come to him the night before they left, saying that Borte and Hoelun would need support in the camp of the Kerait. It had been a transparent attempt to let him out of the fighting to come, but Temuge had refused it. If they needed help at all, fifty warriors could not save them in the heart of the Kerait. Their presence was a surety that Temujin would return with the heads he had promised.

  Of all the brothers, only Temuge had not been made an officer. With Jelme, Arslan, and Yuan as well as his brothers, Temujin had the five he needed, and Temuge knew he was still too young, too inexperienced in war. He touched the blade of his long knife as he mounted, feeling its sharpness. He dreamed of saving their lives, over and over, so that they would look at him with astonishment and realize he was truly Yesugei’s son. He did not like to wake from those dreams. He shivered as they rode out once again, feeling the cold more than the other men seemed to. He looked inside himself for the easy courage they displayed and found nothing but terror.

  The scouts found the main force of the Tartars only two days after Temujin had visited the old camp. The men rode in at full gallop, leaping from their horses to report to Temujin.

  “They are moving, my lord,” the first blurted out. “They have outriders in all directions, but the army is moving slowly through the next valley, coming this way.”

  Temujin showed his teeth. “They sent out thirty men to find us and not a single one made it back alive. They must suspect a large tribe is in the area. Good. If they are cautious, they will hesitate.”

  He raised his arm to bring his officers in close. They had all watched the excited actions of the scouts, and they came in fast, expecting the news.

  “Tell your men to follow their orders,” Temujin said as he mounted. “We ride as one, taking your speed from me. If any man breaks formation, I will leave him for the hawks.”

  He saw Khasar grinning and glowered at him.

  “Even if he is my own brother, Khasar, even then. Loose your arrows on my call, then draw swords. We will hit them as one line. If you are unhorsed, stay alive long enough for the rest of us to finish the killing.”

  “You will not take prisoners?” Arslan asked.

  Temujin did not hesitate. “If any survive our attack, I will question their leaders to learn more. After that I have no use for them. I will not swell our ranks with blood enemies.”

  The word spread quickly through the warriors as their officers returned to them. They walked their ponies forward in a single rank. As they passed a ridge, each man could see the Tartar formation, with riders and carts moving slowly across the plain.

  As one, they began to trot toward the enemy. Temujin heard distant alarm horns sound and he untied his bow, fitting a string and testing it. He reached back to open the quiver strapped to his saddle, raising the first arrow and testing the feathers with his thumb. It would fly straight and true, as they would.

  CHAPTER 29

  THE TARTARS did not lack for courage. As their warning horns moaned across the plain, every warrior ran for his horse, mounting
with shrill yells that carried to the ears of Temujin’s warriors. His sixty rode together as they increased their pace to a gallop. His officers snarled orders at any man who proved too eager, watching Temujin himself as he drew his first arrow in perfect balance.

  Yuan had discussed the advantage of hitting the enemy as a line, and it showed in the first bloody contacts with the Tartar outriders. As Temujin’s men reached them the Tartar scouts were spitted on long shafts, their bodies falling with their horses. Temujin could see the Tartars had split their force to leave some to defend their carts, but there were still more than he had guessed, boiling out across the plains like wasps.

  Temujin’s charge swept through them, crashing over dying horses and men as they were met in twos, in fives, a dozen at a time. The bows snapped quick death at the gallop and brought too great a force to resist on the loose Tartar formations. It seemed to Temujin as if just heartbeats passed before they had left a trail of dead men and riderless horses behind them and the carts were approaching at dizzying speed. He glanced left and right before blowing three quick blasts, calling for the horns formation. He had almost left it too late, but Yuan’s men moved up, matching Kachiun and Jelme on the right. They hit the carts in a crescent, enveloping the herds and Tartars with a roar.

  Temujin’s grasping fingers found his quiver was empty, and he threw his bow to the ground, drawing his sword. At the center of the crescent, he found his way blocked by a heavy cart laden with felt and leather. He barely saw the first man to step into his path, taking his head with a single swing of his blade before kicking in his heels and charging into a mass of Tartar warriors. Arslan and ten more went with him into the center, killing as they went. Women and children threw themselves under the carts in terror as the riders swept through, and their wailing was like the keening of hawks on the wind.