The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle

by Conn Iggulden

  “You will kill my fish!” he said. “Come further, where I have baths for you.”

  Khasar shrugged irritably, yanking his robe back over his shoulders. He trailed after Temuge and Ho Sa, ignoring the amusement of the Xi Xia soldier.

  At the far end of the second courtyard, they saw open doors with wisps of steam spilling out into the warm air. Chen Yi gestured for them to enter.

  “Do as I do,” he said. “You will enjoy yourselves.”

  He stripped quickly, revealing the scarred and wiry little frame they knew so well from the boat. Temuge saw two pools of water sunk into the floor, with steam rising lazily from one. He would have made for it, but Chen Yi shook his head and instead Temuge watched as two male slaves approached and Chen Yi raised his arms. To Temuge’s astonishment, the men upended buckets of water over their master, then used cloths wrapped around their hands to rub him with some lathering substance until he was slick and white with it. More buckets followed and only then did he step into the pool with a grunt of pleasure.

  Temuge swallowed nervously as he dropped his robe to the floor. It was as filthy as he was and he did not relish the idea of being scrubbed by strangers. He closed his eyes as the buckets were poured over his head, then kept them firmly closed as rough hands seemed to pummel his body, swaying him from side to side. The last buckets were freezing and he gasped.

  Temuge stepped gingerly into the hot water. He felt the muscles in his back and thighs relax as he found a stone seat beneath the surface, and he grunted in appreciation. The feeling was exquisite. This was how a man should live! Behind him, Khasar slapped away the hands of the attendants as they reached out with their cloths. They stood frozen at his action, before one of them tried again. Without warning, Khasar snapped a fist into the side of the man’s head, knocking him reeling onto the hard tiles.

  Chen Yi roared with laughter. He called out an order and the slaves stood back. The one who had been felled rose warily, with his head bowed, as Khasar took up a cloth and wiped at his body until the rag was black. Temuge did not look as Khasar raised a leg onto a stone ledge along the wall to rub his genitals clean. He finished the process by upending a bucket over his own head, all the time glaring at the man he had struck.

  Khasar handed the bucket back and murmured something that made the slave tense and set his jaw. Ho Sa endured the process with less fuss and they entered the water together, Khasar swearing in two languages as he lowered himself in.

  The four men sat in silence for a time, before Chen Yi rose and plunged into the other pool. They copied him in silent frustration, tired of the routines and delays. In the second pool, Khasar hissed out a breath at the cold, plunging his head under the water and coming up roaring as new energy filled him. Neither of the Mongols had ever known hot water, but a cold dip was no worse than the rivers at home. Temuge looked longingly back at the steaming bath he had left, but did not return to it.

  By the time they had settled themselves, Chen Yi was out and being dried by the towel slaves. Khasar and Temuge did not linger and climbed out after him, Khasar blowing like a beached fish. The two slaves did not approach Khasar a second time, instead handing him a large, rough piece of cloth to dry himself. He did so vigorously, his skin showing a fresh bloom. He had removed the string that held his hair, and it whipped around in long black strands.

  Temuge looked at the sorry pile of soiled cloth that was his robe and was reaching for it when Chen Yi clapped his hands and the attendants brought in fresh ones. There was pleasure in losing the stink of the boats, Temuge thought, running his hands over the soft material. He could only guess what Chen Yi had in mind for them as they walked back to eat.

  The food was plentiful, though Khasar and Temuge looked in vain for mutton among the dishes.

  “What is this?” Khasar asked, picking up a piece of white flesh in his fingers.

  “Snake in ginger,” Chen Yi replied. He pointed to another bowl. “You will know dog, I am sure.”

  Khasar nodded. “When times are hard,” he replied, dipping his fingers into a soup to search for another morsel. Showing no sign of distaste, Chen Yi took up a pair of wooden sticks and showed the Mongols how to grasp a piece of food between them. Only Ho Sa was comfortable and Chen Yi grew slightly flushed as both Khasar and Temuge dropped pieces of meat and rice on the cloth. Once more he showed them, this time putting the pieces onto the plates in front of the Mongols so that they could pick them up with their fingers.

  Khasar held his temper. He had been scrubbed, dipped, and given clothes that itched. He was surrounded by strange things he did not understand, and anger simmered underneath the surface. When he gave up on the strange sticks and shoved them upright into a bowl of rice, Chen Yi actually clucked under his breath, removing them with a sharp gesture.

  “To leave them so is an insult,” Chen Yi said, “though you could not have known.”

  Khasar found a plate of skewered crickets easier to handle, biting into the line of fried insects with evident pleasure.

  “This is better,” he said, his mouth working busily. Temuge was prepared to copy whatever Chen Yi did and dipped balls of fried dough into salt water before chewing them. When the crickets were all gone, Khasar reached for a pile of oranges, taking two. After spitting out a piece of skin, he peeled the first with his thumbs and relaxed visibly as he pulled the flesh apart and ate it. He and his brother waited for Chen Yi to speak, their impatience obvious and growing.

  When they had all finished, Chen Yi eyed Khasar’s efforts with the orange, then placed his chopsticks on the table and said nothing as his slaves removed all evidence of the meal. When they were alone again, he sat back on his couch. His eyes lost their hooded look and gained once more the sharpness of the river master they knew.

  “Why have you come to Baotou?” he said to Temuge.

  “Trade,” Temuge replied immediately. “We are merchants.”

  Chen Yi shook his head. “Merchants do not carry a Mongol bow, nor shoot one as your brother does. You are of that people. Why would you be here in the lands of the emperor?”

  Temuge swallowed painfully as he tried to think. Chen Yi had known for a long time and not given them away, but he could not bring himself to trust the man, especially after so much strangeness and confusion.

  “We are of the tribes of the great khan, yes,” he said. “But we have come to open trade between our people.”

  “I am a trader. Make your offers to me,” Chen Yi replied. His face gave nothing away, but Temuge could sense the little man’s fierce curiosity.

  “Ho Sa asked who you were to have so much wealth,” Temuge said slowly, choosing the words. “You have this house and slaves, but you took the role of a smuggler on the river, bribing guards and staging a diversion at the city gate. Who are you that we should trust you?”

  Chen Yi’s gaze was cold as he studied them. “I am a man who is uncomfortable at the thought of you blundering around his city. How long would it take for you to be captured by Imperial soldiers? How long after that before you told them everything you have seen?”

  He waited while Temuge translated for his brother.

  “Tell him if we are killed or kept as prisoners, Baotou will be burned to the ground,” Khasar said, tearing the second orange in two and sucking out a ragged half. “Genghis will come for us next year. He knows where we are and this little man will see his precious house in flames. Tell him that.”

  “You would do well to be quiet, brother, if we are to get out of here with our lives.”

  “Let him speak,” Chen Yi said. “How would my city be burned if you are killed?”

  To Temuge’s horror, Chen Yi spoke in the language of the tribes. His accent was rough, but clear enough. He froze as he considered all the conversations Chen Yi had overheard in the weeks it had taken to reach Baotou.

  “How do you know our tongue?” he demanded, forgetting his fear for a moment.

  Chen Yi laughed, a high-pitched sound that did nothing to settle the m
en at the table.

  “Did you think you were the first to travel to Chin lands? The Uighurs have ridden the silk road. Some have stayed.” He clapped his hands and another man came into the room. He was as clean as they were and dressed in a simple Chin robe, but his face was Mongol and the breadth of his shoulders showed one who had been raised with the bow. Ho Sa and Temuge remained seated, but Khasar rose to greet him, clasping his hand and beating him on the back with his fist. The stranger beamed at the welcome.

  “It is good to see a real face in this city,” Khasar said.

  The man seemed almost overcome to hear the words. “And for me,” he said, glancing at Chen Yi. “How are the plains? I have not been home for many years.”

  “They are the same,” Khasar replied. A thought struck him and his hand dropped to where his sword would usually lie on his hip. “Is this man a slave?”

  Chen Yi looked up without embarrassment. “Of course. Quishan was once a merchant, but he chose to gamble with me.”

  The man shrugged. “It is true. I will not be a slave forever. A few more years and my debt will be paid. Then I think I will return to the plains and find a wife.”

  “Find me first when you do. I will give you a new start,” Khasar promised him.

  Chen Yi watched as Quishan bowed his head. Khasar accepted the gesture as if it was nothing new to him, and Chen Yi’s gaze became hard.

  “Tell me again how my city will burn,” he said.

  Temuge opened his mouth, but Chen Yi held up a hand.

  “No, I do not trust you. Your brother spoke the truth when he thought I could not understand. Let him tell it all.”

  Khasar shot a glance at Temuge, thoroughly enjoying his brother’s frustration. He took a moment to choose his words. Perhaps Chen Yi would have them killed when he heard. He moved his hand to where he had hidden a small knife in the folds of his robe.

  “We were once of the Wolves,” Khasar said, at last, “but my brother has united the tribes. The kingdom of Xi Xia is our first vassal, though there will be more.” Ho Sa shifted uncomfortably at the words, but neither man looked at him. Khasar sat like stone as he stared into Chen Yi’s eyes. “Perhaps I will die here, tonight, but if I do, my people will come amongst the Chin and tear down your precious cities, one by one, stone from stone.”

  Chen Yi’s face had grown tight as he listened. His command of the language was only what he had needed for trade, and he would have suggested a switch back to his own if it would not have looked like weakness.

  “News travels fast on the river,” he said, refusing to respond to Khasar’s deadly intensity. “I had heard of the war in Xi Xia, though not that your people were triumphant. Is the king dead, then?”

  “Not when I left,” Khasar replied. “He paid tribute and a daughter. A beautiful girl, I thought.”

  “You have not answered my question, except with threats,” Chen Yi reminded him. “Why would you come here, to my city?”

  Khasar noticed the slight stress Chen Yi had put on “my.” He did not have the subtlety to play with words, or spin a thread of lies Chen Yi would believe.

  “We need masons,” Khasar said. He heard Temuge let out a sharp breath at his shoulder and ignored him. “We need to know the secrets of your cities. The great khan himself has sent us. Baotou is just a place on a map with no great significance.”

  “It is my home,” Chen Yi murmured, thinking.

  “You can keep it,” Khasar said, sensing the moment was right. “Baotou will not be touched if we bring back word of your help.”

  He waited for Chen Yi to finish his thoughts, sweat dripping down his face. One shout and the room would fill with armed men, he was certain. It was true Genghis would destroy the city in revenge, but Chen Yi could not be certain of that. For all he knew, they were boasting or lying.

  It was Quishan who broke the silence. He had paled at what he heard and his voice was low with awe.

  “The tribes are united?” he said. “The Uighurs among them?”

  Khasar nodded, his gaze never leaving Chen Yi. “The blue tail is part of the great khan’s standard. The Chin have held us down for a long time, but that is over. We ride to war, brother.”

  Chen Yi watched Quishan’s face carefully, seeing how the news brought an expression of astonished hope.

  “I will make a bargain with you,” he said suddenly. “Whatever you need you will have, from my hand. You will bring the word back to your khan and tell him that there is a man here he can trust.”

  “What use is a smuggler to us?” Khasar responded. Temuge almost groaned as Khasar went on, “How can you bargain for the fate of a city?”

  “If you fail, or if you lie, I have lost nothing. If you are telling the truth, you will need allies, will you not?” Chen Yi said. “I have power here.”

  “You would betray the Imperial court? Your own emperor?” Khasar said. He asked the question to test Chen Yi, and to his astonishment, the little man spat on the polished floor.

  “This is my city. Everything that goes on here comes to my ears. I have no love for nobles who think all men can be run under their carts like animals. I have lost family and friends to their soldiers, seen loved ones hanged when they refused to give up my name. What do I care for them?”

  He had risen as he spoke and Khasar stood to face him.

  “My word is iron,” Khasar said. “If I say you will have this city, it will be yours to rule when we come.”

  “You can speak for the khan?” Chen Yi said.

  “He is my brother. I can speak for him,” Khasar replied. Temuge and Ho Sa could only look on as the two men stared each other down.

  “I knew you were a warrior on the boat,” Chen Yi said. “You were a poor spy.”

  “I knew you were a thief, but a good one,” Khasar replied. Chen Yi chuckled and they took each other’s hands in a firm grip.

  “I have many men who answer to me. I will give you what you need and I will see you safe back to your people,” Chen Yi said. He sat, calling for wine as Temuge began to talk. He could not understand how the little man had come to trust Khasar, but it did not matter. They had their ally in Baotou.

  As evening came, Khasar, Ho Sa, and Temuge accepted the offer of a few hours’ sleep before a long night, retiring to rooms off the second courtyard. Chen Yi had never needed more than a few hours’ rest since his days running from the soldiers in the alleyways of Baotou—lifetimes ago. He sat up with Quishan and two of his guards, and they talked in low voices as they moved counters of ivory on a mah-jongg board. Quishan was silent for a long time as he clicked the counters together in his hand. He had known Chen Yi for almost ten years and seen a ruthless desire for power come to bloom in that time. The little man had crushed three other leaders of Baotou’s criminal gangs, and he had not exaggerated when he had told Khasar that little went on in the city without it reaching his ears.

  Quishan discarded a tile and watched as Chen Yi’s hand hovered over it. The man he had come to call a friend was clearly distracted from the game, his thoughts elsewhere. Quishan wondered if he should raise the stakes and clear a little more of his debt. He decided not to, remembering other games where Chen Yi had lulled him with exactly the same approach, then won consistently.

  He watched as Chen Yi took a different tile and the game went round the table, with one of the guards calling “Pung” and making Quishan swear under his breath.

  As the guard showed three matching tiles, Chen Yi put his hand down.

  “No more tonight. You are getting better, Han, but your gate duty is upon us.”

  Both guards rose and bowed. They had been rescued from the worst street slums, and they were strong and loyal to the man who ruled the tong. Quishan stayed, sensing Chen Yi wanted to talk.

  “You are thinking of the strangers,” Quishan said as he gathered up the tiles on the table.

  Chen Yi nodded, staring into the darkness through the screen doors. The evening was already cold and he wondered what the hours ahead
would bring.

  “They are strange people, Quishan. I have said that to you before. I took them on to guard my silk, when three of my men fell ill. Perhaps my ancestors were guiding me in that.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Did you see the way Khasar took note of the positions of the guards? His eyes were always moving. I thought on the boat that I had never seen him relax, but you are the same. Perhaps all your people are.”

  Quishan shrugged. “Life is struggle, master. Is that not also what the Buddhists believe? On the plains of my home, the weak die early. It has always been that way.”

  “I have never seen anyone shoot a bow as well as that one. In near darkness, on a rocking boat, he killed six men without hesitation. Are all your people so skilled?”

  Quishan busied his hands with the mah-jongg tiles, placing them back in their leather carrying case.

  “I am not, but the Uighurs value learning and trade more than any other tribe. The Wolves are known for their ferocity.” He paused, his hands growing still. “It is almost too much to believe that the tribes have united under one man, one khan. He must be extraordinary.”

  Quishan snapped the clasp closed on the leather box, leaning back. He wanted a drink to settle his stomach, but Chen Yi never allowed alcohol when the night needed clear heads.

  “Will you welcome my people when they ride to the walls?” Quishan asked softly. He felt Chen Yi’s gaze on him, but he did not look up from his folded hands.

  “You think I betrayed my city?” Chen Yi asked him.

  Quishan raised his gaze, seeing a dark anger in the man he had grown to trust over the years. “All this is new. Perhaps this new khan will be destroyed by the emperor’s armies and those who called themselves allies will suffer the same fate. Have you considered that?”