There was another small lamp there. Torogene handed it out to Sorhatani, who placed it so that some of its light reached Tsubodai. It made huge shadows in the rooms, great dark figures that leapt and danced, dwarfing them all.
They worked in grim concentration. Tsubodai and Huran knew they would have just moments to retreat when the outer door gave way. The couch braced against it would be no more than a nuisance to the attackers as they poured in. Behind them, Sorhatani and Tolui built their barricade without speaking, jittery from fear and lack of sleep. The boys brought them wood paneling, bedclothes, even a heavy pedestal that had to be dragged over the floor, leaving a long scar. It would not hold against determined men. Even young Kublai understood that, or saw it in his parents’ bleak expressions. When their pitiful collection of debris was in place, they stood behind it with Ogedai and Torogene, panting and waiting.
Sorhatani rested one hand on Kublai’s shoulder, holding Tsubodai’s long knife in the other. She wished desperately for more light, terrified of being killed in the gloom, overwhelmed by struggling, bloody bodies. She could not consider losing Kublai and Mongke. It was as if she stood on the edge of a high cliff and to look at them was to step off and drop. She heard Tolui’s long, slow breaths and copied him, breathing through her nose. It helped a little, in the dark, as the outer door cracked suddenly down its length and the men outside grunted and howled in anticipation.
Tsubodai and Huran were both wary of the archer on the other side of the door. Each man had to judge when the blows against the rapidly splintering wood would obstruct the hidden man, then strike a blow into the faces in the dark. The attackers were pressing, knowing they were near to getting in at last. More than one fell back with a cry from a sword blade, licking out like a fang and withdrawing before the archer could see through his own people. Someone out there was dying noisily and Huran was panting. He was in awe of the ice general fighting at his side. Tsubodai could have been at a training bout for all the emotion his face showed.
Yet they could not hold the door. Both men tensed as a low panel broke into splinters. Half the door remained, cracked and loose. Crouching men came struggling under the locking bar, and both Huran and Tsubodai stood their ground, plunging their blades into exposed necks. Blood splashed them both as they refused to yield, though the archer had moved and sent a shaft that spun Huran around, winding him.
He knew his ribs had broken. Every breath was agony, as if his lungs inflated against a shard of glass, but he could not even check the wound to see if his armor had saved him. More men were kicking at the bar, loosening its bolts in the wall. When that finally gave way, the two warriors would be swallowed in the flood.
Huran gasped hoarsely as he continued to strike out, seeking bare necks and arms beyond the hole. He saw blades jabbing at him and felt blows on his shoulders and legs. He could taste iron bitterness in his mouth, and his arms seemed slower as he swung and swung, each breath burning him with its sweetness and heat.
He fell then, thinking he must have slipped in someone’s blood. Huran saw the iron bar spring out. The room seemed lighter somehow, as if the wolf’s dawn had come at last. Huran gasped as someone trod on his outstretched hand, breaking bones, but the pain was fleeting. He was dead before Tsubodai had turned at bay to face the men who roared into that room, wild with release and hungry to do their work.
The stalemate at the gates had become Chagatai’s triumph. He had enjoyed his uncles’ expressions as Jelme brought a tuman up to his side. Tolui’s tuman had matched him on the other side, its men straining at the leash with knowledge that their lord and his family were trapped in the city, perhaps already dead.
One by one, all the generals of the nation brought their men to the city walls, stretching away into the darkness. More than a hundred thousand warriors stood ready to fight if they had to, but there was no battle heat in them while their commanders sat and stared coldly at each other.
Jochi’s son Batu had declared for Kachiun and Khasar. He was barely seventeen years old, but his thousand men followed his lead and he rode with his head high. He was a prince of the nation despite his youth and his father’s fate. Ogedai had seen to that, promoting him as Genghis would never have done. Even so, Batu had chosen to stand against the most powerful man in the tribes. Kachiun sent a runner to him to thank him for the gesture.
In Tsubodai’s absence, Kachiun’s mind was running faster than his peaceful look suggested. He thought Jelme was still loyal to Ogedai, though Chagatai had accepted him. It was no small thing to have perhaps a sixth of an enemy’s army ready to turn against him at a crucial point. Yet the sides were too evenly matched. Kachiun had a vision of the army falling in on itself until there were just hundreds left alive, then dozens, then just one or two. What then of the great dream Genghis had given them? He at least would never have countenanced such a waste of life and strength—not among their own people.
The wolf dawn showed in the east, the faint graying of the land before the sun rose above the horizon. The light spread over the host gathered by Karakorum, illuminating the faces of the generals and their men so that there was no need for torches. Even then, they did not move and Chagatai sat and chatted with his bondsmen, barking out laughter as he enjoyed the new day and everything it would bring.
When the first thin line of gold appeared in the east, Chagatai’s second in command clapped him on the back and the men around him cheered. The sound was quickly taken up by the other tumans on his side. Those with Khasar and Kachiun sat in sullen and thoughtful silence. It did not take a mind like Tsubodai’s to interpret Chagatai’s pleasure. Kachiun watched with narrow eyes as Chagatai’s men began to dismount, so that they could kneel to him as khan. He pursed his mouth in rising fury. He had to stop it, before it became a wave across all the tumans and Chagatai was made khan on a wave of oaths, before Ogedai’s fate was even known.
Kachiun moved his horse forward, holding up a hand to the men who would have followed him. Khasar too came forward, so that they rode alone through the ranks of men toward Chagatai.
Their nephew was ready from the first step they took in his direction, as he had been all night. Chagatai drew his sword in unmistakable threat, but he still smiled as he gestured to his bondsmen to let them through. The rising sun lit the host of warriors. Their armor glimmered like a sea of iron fish, scaled and dangerous.
“It is a new day, Chagatai,” Kachiun said. “I will see your brother Ogedai now. You will open the city.”
Chagatai glanced once more at the dawn and nodded to himself.
“I have done my duty, Uncle. I have protected his city from those who might have run riot inside on the eve of the oath-taking. Come, ride with me to my brother’s palace. I must be certain he is safe.” He grinned as he spoke the last words, and Kachiun looked away rather than see. He watched the gates begin to open, laying the empty streets of Karakorum bare before them.
Tsubodai was no longer a young man, but he wore full armor and he had been a soldier longer than most of the attackers had been alive. As they came in a welter of limbs and blades, he darted six steps away from the door. Without warning, he spun and lunged, taking the closest man to him through the throat. Two more brought their blades down in reaction, hacking wildly at his scaled armor and leaving bright marks in the tarnish. Tsubodai’s mind was perfectly clear, faster than their movements. He had expected to retreat immediately, but the hurried blows showed him their weariness and desperation. He struck again, reversing his blade for a pull stroke that jerked the steel across a man’s forehead, opening a flap so that he was blinded with blood. It was a mistake. Two men grabbed hold of Tsubodai’s right arm. Another kicked his legs away and he fell with a crash.
On the ground, Tsubodai exploded into a frenzy. He lashed out in all directions, using his armor as a weapon and always moving, making himself harder to hit. The metal plates on his leg opened a gash in someone’s thigh, and then he heard roaring and still more men poured into the room, more than it co
uld hold. Tsubodai struggled on desperately, knowing he had lost and Ogedai had lost. Chagatai would be khan. He tasted his own blood in the back of his throat, as bitter as his rage.
At the barricade, Ogedai and Tolui waited shoulder to shoulder. Sorhatani stood with the bow, unable to shoot while Tsubodai still lived. When he went down, she sent two shafts between her husband and his brother. Her arms were nowhere near strong enough for a full draw, but one of the arrows checked a man in his rush while the other ricocheted away into the ceiling. Ogedai stepped in front of her as she struggled to notch a third with shaking fingers. The view beyond the barricade was blocked with grasping hands and blades and bloody faces. She did not understand what was happening at first. She flinched at a roar as more men came into the outer room. Some of those struggling with Ogedai and Tolui turned at the sound, and then they were yanked back. Sorhatani saw a sword appear through the throat of a man facing her, as if he had grown a long and bloody tongue. He fell jerking and the view was suddenly clear.
Ogedai and Tolui panted like dogs in the sun. In the other room, a group of armored men were finishing off the attackers with quick, efficient blows.
Jebe stood there, and at first he ignored the survivors, even Ogedai. He had seen Tsubodai on the ground and knelt at his side just as the general struggled to his knees. Tsubodai was shaking his head; dazed and gashed, but alive.
Jebe rose and saluted Ogedai with his sword.
“I am pleased to see you well, my lord,” he said, smiling.
“How are you here?” Ogedai snapped, his blood still surging with anger and fear.
“Your uncles sent me, lord, with forty bondsmen. We had to kill a lot of men to reach you.”
Tolui clapped his brother on the back in delight before he turned and embraced Sorhatani. Kublai and Mongke punched each other on the shoulders and mock-scuffled until Kublai was in Mongke’s headlock.
“Tsubodai? General?” Ogedai said.
He watched as Tsubodai’s glazed eyes cleared. A warrior put out his hand to steady the general, and Tsubodai batted it away irritably, still shaken by how close he had come to death at the feet of the attackers. When Tsubodai got to his feet, Jebe turned to him, as if reporting.
“The Broken Lance closed the gates of the city. All the tumans are outside, on the plain. It may be war yet.”
“How then did you get inside my city?” Ogedai demanded. He looked for Huran and remembered with a pang of loss that the man had given his life at the first door.
“We climbed the walls, my lord,” Jebe said. “General Kachiun sent us before he rode to try to force his way in.” He saw Ogedai’s look of surprise and shrugged. “They are not so very high, my lord.”
The rooms were lighter, Ogedai realized. Dawn had come to Karakorum and the day promised to be fine. With a start, he remembered this was the day of the oath-taking. He blinked, trying to put his thoughts in some sort of order, to see a way through after such a night. That there even was an “after” was more than he had expected in the last moments. He felt dazed, lost in events beyond his control.
In the corridor outside, running footsteps could be heard. A messenger came pelting into the room and skidded to a halt, shocked by the mass of dead flesh and the collection of blades leveled at him. The room stank of opened bowels and urine, thick and choking in the enclosed space.
“Report,” Jebe said, recognizing the scout.
The young man steadied himself. “The gates have reopened, General. I ran all the way, but there is an armed force coming.”
“Of course there is,” Tsubodai said, his deep voice startling everyone there. They all looked to him, and Ogedai felt a surge of relief that he was there. “Everyone who was outside the walls last night will be coming here to see who survives.” He turned to Ogedai then.
“My lord, we have just moments. You must be clean and changed when they see you. This room must be sealed. It will keep for today at least.”
Ogedai nodded gratefully and Tsubodai snapped quick orders. Jebe went first, leaving six men to form a guard for the one who would be khan. Ogedai and Torogene followed, with Tolui and his family close behind. As they hurried down a long corridor, Ogedai saw that Tolui’s hand kept drifting to his wife or his sons as he strode, still hardly able to believe they were all safe.
“The children, Ogedai,” Torogene said.
He glanced at her and saw that her face was pale and drawn with worry. He put his arm around her shoulders, and each took comfort from the other. Looking over her head, Ogedai could see no one who knew the palace well. Where was his servant, Baras’aghur? He addressed Jebe, as the closest man.
“General, I must know if my son, Guyuk, survived the night. My daughters also. Have one of your men find their quarters—ask a servant. Bring me the news as quickly as you can. And find my chancellor, Yao Shu—and Baras’aghur. Get them moving. See who still lives.”
“Your will, my lord,” Jebe said quickly, bowing his head. Ogedai seemed almost manic, his mood hard to read. It was more than the excitement that can come after a battle, when life courses more strongly in the veins.
Ogedai rushed on, his wife and Guards struggling to keep up. Somewhere ahead, he could hear marching feet, and he darted down another corridor away from the sound. He needed fresh clothes and to wash the blood and filth off him. He needed time to think.
Kachiun had become cold and pale as they rode through the streets, approaching Ogedai’s palace. There seemed to be bodies everywhere, with pools of darkening blood staining the polished stone gutters. Not all of them bore the marks of Ogedai’s Guard tuman. Others wore dark deels or armor rubbed with lampblack, dull and greasy in the dawn light. The night had been bloody and Kachiun dreaded what he would see in the palace itself.
Chagatai rode lightly, shaking his head at such destruction until Khasar considered cutting his throat and wiping the expression off his face. The presence of three of Chagatai’s bondsmen kept his hand from his sword hilt. They did not stare at the dead. Their eyes were only for the two men riding with their lord, the man who would be khan before the end of the day.
The streets were silent. If any workers had left their homes after the clashes and screams of the night, the sight of so many bodies had sent them scurrying back to bar the doors. The six horsemen made their way to the steps leading up to the palace doors. Dead men lay splayed on the pale marble, their blood in patterns along the veins of stone.
Chagatai did not dismount, but urged his pony up the steps, clicking his tongue as it trod gingerly past the corpses. The main door to the first courtyard stood open, and there was no one to challenge his right to enter. Crows called to one another and there were hawks and vultures already overhead, drawn by the scent of death on the breeze. Kachiun and Khasar looked at each other in grim surmise as they passed under a bar of shadow into the yard beyond. The tree of silver shone there in the dawn, beautiful and lifeless.
The generals could read the patterns of dead well enough. There had been no fixed battle, with lines of men cut down. Instead, the bodies lay randomly, killed from behind or taken by shafts they never saw. They could almost sense the defenders’ surprise as men dressed in shadows had appeared and killed, cutting through them before anyone could organize a defense. In the silence, Chagatai was rapt as he dismounted at last. His pony was skittish with the smell of blood, and he made a point of tying the reins securely to a post.
“I begin to fear for my brother,” Chagatai said.
Khasar tensed and one of the bondsmen raised a hand to him, reminding him of their presence. The man was grinning, enjoying his master’s show.
“You need not fear,” came a voice, making them all jump.
Chagatai spun instantly, his sword leaping out of its scabbard in one movement. His bondsmen were barely slower, ready for any attack.
Tsubodai stood there under an arch of carved limestone. He wore no armor and the morning breeze had not dried the patches of sweat on his silk tunic. A strip of cloth bound his
left forearm, and Chagatai could see a smear of blood seeping through it. Tsubodai’s face was weary but strong and his eyes were terrible as they met those of the man responsible for the death and destruction all around them.
Chagatai opened his mouth to demand some explanation, but Tsubodai went on.
“My lord Ogedai is waiting for you in his audience hall. He bids you welcome in his home. He guarantees your safety.” He spoke the last words as if they stuck in his throat.
Chagatai looked away from the rage he saw in the general. For an instant, his shoulders sagged as he understood his defeat. He had gambled it all on a single night. He did not look up at the slight sound of boots on stone above his head as archers appeared. He bit his lower lip and nodded to himself. Even so, he was his father’s son. He stood straight and sheathed his sword with the care of ritual. No trace of his shock or disappointment showed on his face as he smiled wryly at Tsubodai.
“Thank the spirits he has survived,” Chagatai said. “Take me to him, General.”
SIX
Chagatai’s bondsmen remained in the courtyard. They would have fought if he had asked them. Instead, he clapped one of them on the shoulder and shook his head before striding into the cloister behind Tsubodai. Chagatai did not look back as his men were surrounded by warriors of Ogedai and beaten to the ground. When one of them cried out, Chagatai set his jaw, disappointed the man could not die quietly for the honor of his master.
Khasar and Kachiun followed in silence. They watched Chagatai fall in beside Tsubodai, neither man looking at the other. At the audience chamber, Guards were all around and Chagatai merely shrugged and gave up his sword.
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