Temujin wiped sweat from his eyes as he tied the last crosspiece of wood together to make a small corral for their sheep and goats to give birth. The small herd had grown, with only a few mouths to feed, and two years before, the brothers had gone amongst the wanderers to trade wool and meat for felt. They had bartered for enough to make two small gers, and the sight of them never failed to raise Temujin’s spirits.
Khasar and Kachiun were practicing their archery nearby, with a target made from thick layers of felt wrapped in cloth. Temujin stood and stretched stiff muscles, leaning on the fence to watch them and thinking back to the first months when death and the winter stalked every step. It had been hard on them all, but their mother’s promise had been good. They had survived. Without Bekter, the brothers had grown a bond of trust and strength between them as they worked every hour of daylight. It had hardened them all, and when they were not working with the herd or preparing goods for trade, they spent every moment honing their skills with weapons.
Temujin touched the knife at his belt, kept sharp enough to slice through leather. In his ger there was a bow the equal of anything his father had owned, a beautiful weapon with an inner curve of shining horn. It was like pressing a knife edge to the fingers to draw its string back, and Temujin had spent months hardening his hands to bear the weight. It had not yet killed a man, but he knew it would send a shaft straight and true if he needed it.
A cool breeze came across the green plains and he closed his eyes, enjoying the way it dried his sweat. He could hear his mother in the ger with Temuge and little Temulun, singing to both her youngest children. He smiled at the sound, forgetting for a time the struggle of their lives. He did not often find peace, even in fragments. Though they traded with single herdsmen and their families, it had come as a surprise to find there was another society beneath the great tribes grazing across the land. Some of them had been banished for crimes of violence or lust. Others had been born without the protection of a khan. They were a wary people and Temujin had dealt with them only to survive. To one born in a khan’s ger, they were still tribeless men and women, beneath contempt. Temujin did not enjoy being one of their number, and his brothers shared the same frustration. As they grew into men, they could not help but remember the way their lives should have run. A single day had stolen all their futures, and Temujin despaired when he thought of scratching a life with a few goats and sheep until he was old and weak. That was what Eeluk had taken from them. Not just their birthright, but the tribe, the great family that protected each other and made life bearable. Temujin could not forgive those hard years.
He heard Kachiun shout with pleasure and opened his eyes to see a shaft in the very center of the target. Temujin straightened and strolled over to his brothers, his gaze automatically scanning the land around them as he had a thousand times before. They could never be safe and they lived with the fear that they would see Eeluk riding back with a dozen grim men at any moment.
That sense of foreboding was a constant in their lives, though it had dulled with time. Temujin had seen that it was possible to live beneath the notice of the great tribes as other wanderer families did. Yet it could all be taken from them by a single raiding party out for sport—at any moment, they could be hunted like animals and their gers torn apart or stolen.
“Did you see the shot, Temujin?” Kachiun said.
Temujin shook his head. “I was looking the other way, my brother, but it is a fine bow.” Like the one in his ger, the double-curved length had been dried for a year before the boiled strips of sheep horn were glued and overlapped onto the frame. The fish glue had made the gers stink for weeks afterwards, but the wood had become iron hard with its new layers and they were proud of what they had made.
“Take a shot,” Kachiun said, holding the bow out to his brother.
Temujin smiled at him, seeing again the way his shoulders had filled and the new height that seemed to come in bursts. Yesugei’s sons were all tall, though Temujin had grown beyond the others, matching his father’s height in his seventeenth year.
He took a firm grip on the shaft of the bow and notched an arrow with a bone head, drawing it back on the calloused pads of his fingers. He emptied his lungs and, at the moment when he might have taken a breath, he released the arrow and watched it plunge home beside Kachiun’s.
“It is a fine bow,” he said, running a hand along the yellow length of horn. His expression was somber as he faced them, and Kachiun was the first to notice, always sensitive to his brother’s thoughts.
“What is it?” Kachiun asked.
“I heard from old Horghuz that the Olkhun’ut have come back to the north,” Temujin said, looking out over the horizon.
Kachiun nodded, understanding immediately. He and Temujin had shared a special bond since the day they had killed Bekter. At first, the family had struggled simply to live through the winter and then the next, but by the third, they had enough felt for the gers and Temujin had traded a bow and wool for another pony to match the tired old mare they had taken from the herdsmen in the first days. The new spring of the fourth year had brought restlessness on the wind for all of them, though it affected Temujin particularly. They had weapons and meat and camped close enough to woods to hide from a force they could not handle. Their mother had lost her gauntness and, though she still dreamed of Bekter and the past, the spring had woken something of the future in her sons.
In his own dreams, Temujin still thought of Borte, though the Olkhun’ut had vanished from the plains, with no way of following them. Even if he had found them, they would have scorned a ragged wanderer. He did not have a sword, nor the means to barter for one, but the boys rode for miles around their little camp and they talked to the wanderers and listened for news. The Olkhun’ut had been sighted in the first days of spring, and Temujin had been restless ever since.
“Will you fetch Borte to this place?” Kachiun asked, looking around at the camp.
Temujin followed his gaze and he swallowed back bitterness at the sight of their rough gers and bleating sheep. When he had seen Borte last, it had been with the unspoken promise that she would marry him and be the wife of a khan. He had known his worth then.
“Perhaps she has already been given to another,” Temujin said, sourly. “She will be what? Eighteen? Her father was not a man to leave her waiting for so long.”
Khasar snorted. “She was promised to you. If she has married another, you could challenge him.”
Temujin glanced at his brother, seeing again the lack of understanding that meant he at least could never have ruled the Wolves. Khasar had none of the inner fire of Kachiun, the instant grasp of plans and strategies. Yet Temujin remembered the night when they had killed the herdsmen. Khasar had fought at his side. He had something of his father in him after all, though he could never grasp the subtleties Yesugei had loved. If their father had lived, Khasar would have been taken to the Olkhun’ut himself the following year. His life had also been thrown from its course by Eeluk’s treachery.
Temujin nodded reluctantly. “If I had a new deel, I could ride to them and see what has become of her,” he said. “At least I would know for certain.”
“We’ll all need women,” Khasar agreed cheerfully. “I have been feeling the urge myself and I don’t want to die without having one under me.”
“The goats would miss your love, though,” Kachiun said.
Khasar tried to cuff him, but his brother swayed away from the blow.
“Perhaps I could take you to the Olkhun’ut myself,” Temujin said to Khasar, looking him up and down. “Am I not the khan of this family now? You are a fine-looking lad, after all.”
It was true, though he meant it as a joke. Khasar had grown into lean strength and was dark and wiry under a mop of uncut hair that reached right down to his shoulders. They did not trouble to braid their hair anymore, and when they could be bothered to take a knife to it, it was just to hack off enough to clear their vision for hunting.
“Ten o
f the ewes are carrying,” Temujin said. “If we kept the lambs, we could sell a few goats and two of the older rams. It would get us a new stitched deel, and maybe some better reins. Old Horghuz was fussing with a set while I talked to him. I think he wanted me to make an offer.”
Khasar tried to hide his interest, but the cold face of the warrior had been lost between them for too long. They had no need to guard themselves the way Yesugei had taught, and they were out of practice. As poor as they were, the decision was Temujin’s alone and the other brothers had long accepted his right to lead them. It raised his spirits to be khan even of some ragged ponies and a couple of gers.
“I will see the old man and bargain with him,” Temujin said. “We will ride together, but I cannot leave you there, Khasar. We need your bow arm too much. If there is a girl come into her blood, I will talk to them for you.”
Khasar’s face fell and Kachiun clapped him on the arm in sympathy.
“What can we offer, though?” Khasar said. “They will know we have nothing.”
Temujin felt his excitement ebb and spat on the ground.
“We could raid the Tartars,” Kachiun said suddenly. “If we ride into their lands, we could take whatever we find.”
“And have them hunt us,” Khasar responded irritably. He did not see the light that had come into Temujin’s eyes.
“Our father’s death has never been settled,” he said. Kachiun sensed his mood and clenched a fist as Temujin went on. “We are strong enough and we can strike before they know we are even there. Why not? The Olkhun’ut would welcome us if we come with cattle and horses, and no one will care if they bear Tartar brands.”
He took his two brothers by their shoulders and gripped them.
“The three of us could take back just a little of what they owe us. For everything we have lost because of them.” Khasar and Kachiun were beginning to believe, he could see, but it was Kachiun who frowned suddenly.
“We cannot leave our mother unprotected with the young ones,” he said.
Temujin thought quickly. “We will take her to old Horghuz and his family. He has a wife and young boys. She will be as safe there as anywhere. I’ll promise him a fifth of whatever we bring back with us and he’ll do it, I know he will.”
As he spoke, he saw Kachiun glance toward the horizon. Temujin stiffened when he saw what had attracted his brother’s eye.
“Riders!” Kachiun yelled to their mother.
They all turned as she appeared at the door of the closest ger.
“How many?” she said. She walked out to them and strained to see the strangers in the distance, but her eyes were not as good as her sons’.
“Three alone,” Kachiun said with certainty. “Do we run?”
“You have prepared for this, Temujin,” Hoelun said softly. “The choice is yours.”
Temujin felt them all look to him, though he did not break his gaze away from the dark specks on the plain. He was still lifted by the words he had spoken with his brothers, and he wanted to spit into the wind and challenge the newcomers. The family of Yesugei would not be cowed, not after they had come so far. He took a deep breath and let his thoughts settle. The men could be an advance party for many more, or three raiders come to burn, rape, and kill. He clenched his fists, but then made the decision.
“Get into the woods, all of you,” he said, furiously. “Take the bows and anything you can carry. If they come to steal from us, we’ll gut them, I swear it.”
His family moved quickly, Hoelun disappearing inside the ger and emerging with Temulun on her hip and Temuge trotting at her side. Her youngest son had lost his puppy fat in the hard years, but he still looked fearfully behind him as they made for the woods, stumbling along beside his mother.
Temujin joined Khasar and Kachiun as they retrieved their shafts and bows, yanking bags onto their shoulders and running to the tree line. They could hear the riders shout behind them as they saw them run, but they would be safe. Temujin swallowed bitterness in his throat as he passed into the trees and paused, panting, looking back. Whoever they were, he hated them for making him run, when he had sworn no one would do it again.
CHAPTER 15
THE THREE WARRIORS RODE cautiously into the tiny camp, noting the wisp of smoke that still came from one of the gers. They could hear the bleating of goats and sheep, but otherwise the morning was strangely still and they could all feel the pressure of unseen eyes.
The small gers and the rickety corral lay by a stream at the bottom of a wooded hill. Tolui had seen the running figures disappear into the trees, and he was careful to dismount so that his pony’s bulk hid him from an ambush or a stray shot. Under their deels, Basan and Unegen wore leather armor like his own, a layer that would protect their chests and give them an edge even against a direct attack.
Tolui kept his hands low behind his horse’s neck as he signaled to the others. One of them had to check the gers before they moved on, or risk being shot at from behind. It was Basan who nodded, leading his mare into the shadow of the ger and using her to block the sight of him ducking inside. Tolui and Unegen waited while he searched, their eyes scanning the tree line. Both men could see heavy banks of thorn bush tied with twine amongst the trunks, forcing any pursuit to come on foot. The ground had been prepared by someone who had expected a raid, and they had chosen well. To reach the trees, the bondsmen would have to cross thirty paces of open ground, and if the sons of Yesugei were waiting with bows, it would be a hard, bloody business.
Tolui frowned to himself as he considered their situation. He no longer doubted the running figures were the sons they had left behind. The few wanderer families who scavenged on the plains would not have prepared for a battle as these had. He strung his bow by feel, never taking his eyes off the dark undergrowth that could be hiding an army. He knew he could ride away to return with enough men to hunt them down, but Eeluk would not have seen the rolls of thorns and he would think Tolui had lost his nerve. He would not have his khan believe that of him and he began to prepare himself for a fight. His breathing changed from long, slow inhalations to the sipping breath that raised his heartbeat and charged him with strength, while Basan entered the second ger and came out shaking his head.
Tolui clenched his fist, then spread three fingers in a sharp jab. Basan and Unegen nodded to show they had understood. They prepared their own bows and waited for his lead. Tolui felt strong and, in his leather armor, he knew only the most powerful arrow shot could hurt him. He raised his fist and the three men broke into a run together, splitting apart as they reached the open ground.
Tolui panted as he ran, watching for the slightest movement. To one side, he caught a flicker and threw himself into a wrestler’s roll, coming up fast as something hummed over his head. The other two men jinked as they closed the gap, but Tolui had seen by then that there was no way through the first line of trees. Every single gap had been closed by the great rolls of tied thorns. The sons of Yesugei must have pulled the last one behind them and Tolui found himself hesitating, while his heart pounded at being so exposed.
Before he could make a decision, an arrow punched into his chest, staggering him. The pain was colossal, but he ignored it, trusting in the armor to have prevented it from sinking in too far. They had good bows, he realized.
The three Wolves came to a stop in the worst possible position, facing the rolls of thorns. Yet as archers, each of them could take a bird on the wing: the situation was not as disastrous as Tolui had feared. For their enemies to shoot, they had to show themselves, if only for an instant. If they did, one of the three bondsmen would send a shaft back in the flick of an eye, too fast to dodge.
The sons of Yesugei must have realized the weakness in their tactic as silence grew and spread through the trees. The birds had all flown at the sudden rush of the warriors, and the only sound was the panting of men in fear of their lives, slowly coming under control.
Tolui took two slow paces to his right, crossing one leg over the other in per
fect balance as Basan and Unegen spread out to his left. Every sense was heightened as they watched, ready to kill or be killed. It was too easy to imagine an arrow tearing into their flesh, but Tolui found he was enjoying the sense of danger. He kept his head high, then, on impulse, called out to the hidden enemy.
“My name is Tolui of the Wolves,” he said, his voice loud in the clearing. “Bondsman to Eeluk who was once bondsman to Yesugei.” He took a deep breath. “There is no need to fight. If you grant us guest rights, we will go back to the gers and I will tell you my messages.”
He waited for a response, though he did not really expect them to give themselves away so easily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Basan shift his weight slightly, betraying discomfort.
“We cannot stand here all day,” Basan murmured.
Their eyes moved ceaselessly as Tolui hissed back, “You would let them run us off?”
Only Basan’s lips moved to respond. “Now we know they are alive, we should take the news back to the khan. Perhaps he will have fresh orders.”
Tolui turned his head a fraction to answer, and it was that movement that almost killed him. He saw a boy rise and pull smoothly back on an arrow. For Tolui, the world roared in his ears as he released his own shaft at the exact moment he was sent stumbling by another blow to his chest, just below the throat. The shot had been rushed, he realized over the pain. He heard Unegen shoot into the bushes and Tolui roared in anger as he rose, setting another arrow to the string.
Basan fired blindly where he saw something move. They heard no cry of pain and Tolui glanced to his left to see Unegen on the ground, a shaft through his throat from front to back. The whites of his eyes were showing and his tongue was hanging limply from his mouth. Tolui cursed, swinging his bent bow back and forth in a fury.
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