Flicking the reins to urge the camels on, I cursed myself at least a hundred times each day as the cart crawled toward my nephew’s lands. I’d have preferred to ride by horseback, but that was impossible with the felts and disassembled poles of the two gers I pulled behind me. I was on the road for only two days when I noticed a disturbance on the horizon behind me, in the direction of Karakorum, and instinctively touched the medallion hidden in my sleeve.
My thoughts flew to Güyük, that perhaps he’d changed his mind and decided to have me arrested. I traced the bulges in my pocket, a gift from a brave woman. I would carry the narcissus bulbs with me until Möngke’s rule was assured. I’d sooner die than fall into Güyük’s clutches.
I spurred the camels on, but the cart and its precious cargo weighted us down like a boulder. The disturbance on the horizon grew nearer until I could discern two mounted riders when I glanced over my shoulder. I almost cried out in relief when I recognized them.
Shigi and Alaqai reined in their horses on their approach, both animals beginning to lather and their riders wearing thick coats of dust along with the swords strapped to their waists. I stepped down from the cart on unsteady legs as Alaqai dismounted. She pulled me into a tight embrace, and I breathed deeply of the familiar scents of horse and leather. “Shigi told me about Toregene and Fatima,” she murmured. “I wish I’d known—I’d have ridden a hundred horses into the earth to get there in time.”
“They’re finally at peace,” I said. “That’s all that matters now.”
“We’re in this together, Sorkhokhtani,” she said, releasing me with a fearsome grin that might have been stolen from her father. “Come what may.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I tilted my chin. “I would be honored if you would help me raise their ordus.”
She stood back, blinked several times, and drew a ragged breath. “Of course. Then together we shall travel to Batu’s lands and gather your sons. It shall fall to Möngke and his brothers to unite this empire once again.”
“So it will,” I said. “And so they shall.”
I turned to Shigi. “You’ve done well, Shigi. Thank you.”
He bowed, his face grizzled from time and grief but still regal. Shigi had served Genghis Khan and Borte, then Alaqai, Toregene, and Fatima, and now me. He was a greater treasure to our family than Karakorum’s Silver Tree with its fountains of wine and airag, a man whose name should be venerated around hearth fires for generations.
He felt in his saddlebags and withdrew a heavy book bound by a blue leather cover, the Eternal Blue Sky and its clouds brought to earth. I recognized it as one Fatima had carried with her almost everywhere, her pen scratching over the pages during Ogodei’s khurlatai and Toregene’s assumption of the throne.
“Fatima’s history of the Golden Family,” I murmured, and Shigi nodded.
“I saved it from her chambers before I left Karakorum,” he said. “Her final entry was a description of Güyük’s khurlatai. I give it to you now, that it may always be safe.”
I flashed a wry smile. “Keep it for a while longer, my friend. Our story is not yet done, and I would have you write its ending.”
He hesitated, then bowed again. “As you wish, Sorkhokhtani Beki.”
Beki. Unlike Borte and Toregene, I, like Alaqai, would never be Khatun. Instead, my sons would mend this empire and ensure our family’s rule for generations to come. That would be my legacy.
It took many more days for us to close the distance to Borte’s lonely ordu. Once there, we spent the afternoon with only the howling wind for company, raising Toregene’s Great White Tent to the east, and next to it, a more diminutive tent for Fatima. I wondered what the proud Persian would think to know that her final monument in this life was a plain Mongol ger on the outside, the inside bedecked with sumptuous silk carpets and wall hangings from her homeland.
I stood alone inside Toregene’s tent after I had finished securing the felts with river rocks around the base. The rope that controlled the smoke hole dangled listlessly and the hearth lay dark and empty. The cold breath of air that made me shiver might have been Toregene’s spirit, the shadow cast in the corner her shade.
I breathed deeply, imagining the scent of the herbs that always clung to Toregene’s felts and wishing I had a fragment of her soul to carry with me. Instead, I had only memories.
I shut Toregene’s tiger door quietly behind me, pausing for a moment to trace the snarling wooden face. Angry gray clouds had followed us from Karakorum, but now the dappled sun shone down upon the three gers and illuminated the door’s vivid greens and reds, bringing the tiger to life.
Alaqai straightened in front of Fatima’s ordu and brushed the dirt from her hands. I’d given her two of the remaining narcissus bulbs, knowing that Fatima would have appreciated seeing a piece of Nishapur blooming outside her tent each spring. Shigi sat in the grass near the camel-cart, writing in the blue-and-white history book. From the way he paused now and again to wipe his eyes, I guessed he was recounting the recent tragedies since Güyük’s khurlatai.
Alaqai fell into step beside me and we entered Borte’s tent together, the ancient felts still stained with the black smoke of her hearth fires. I wondered what message the divining bones would hold if she could scry for us now, if she would see our victory or our ruin.
“Give us your strength,” I whispered to the spirits of the three ordus as Alaqai clasped my hand.
“They’ll watch over us,” she whispered. “As they always did in life.”
I prayed she was right.
* * *
The night sky was black when I made out the fires of Batu’s new capital of Sarai on the horizon, like the dull embers of charcoal. We had traded the camel cart for fresh horses at one of the ortoo messenger posts, and now I urged more speed from my stallion, flanked by Alaqai and Shigi. Together, we drove to the outskirts of the Golden Horde’s capital, following the ruts of wagons come before us and passing between larch trees and two colossal tablets bearing the laws of Genghis Khan. Batu had once murdered a Rus prince who had refused to do obeisance to the tablets and a statue of Genghis, thus earning my nephew the further respect of every Mongol from Persia to Goryeo. I bowed my head to Genghis’ scowling statue and continued down the newly laid streets, halting outside the largest tent as scouts recognized us and ran to alert their khan. I hesitated before dismounting, muttering curses against my stiff joints and sore bones.
“Sorkhokhtani Beki.” Batu Khan’s voice boomed out across the night, and I looked up to see him dressed in simple felts and furs, his only adornment the House of Batu’s great copper dragon insignia on his belt. He grinned under a thick beard in the Rus style and his strong hands whisked me down as if I were a young girl, reminding me of when I’d greeted the Great Khan for the first time. Batu chuckled under his breath as a crowd gathered round. “Your arrival tells me that I won’t spend this winter building my capital and tending my herds.”
“Life on these steppes is never dull,” I said, keeping my voice light. I was old enough to be Batu’s mother, but the man would have made my blood run hot in my youth. With shoulders wider than an ox’s, a crooked grin, and a shock of hair as black as a bear, the man had his share of female admirers, but he remained faithful to his wives. Despite that, the men held him in as high esteem as they had his grandfather. It was only due to his father’s dubious parentage that Batu could never seize power himself, for no man would ever follow a man with Jochi’s muddied blood.
Jochi. Guest.
Not for the first time, I wondered at Genghis Khan’s wisdom at saddling his firstborn with such a name. Things might have been so different if Jochi had been named Khan instead of Ogodei, if Güyük had never sat upon the Horse Throne.
Men might not accept the Khan’s helm on Batu, but they’d go where he led.
“Alaqai and Shigi,” Batu said, acknowledging the remainder of Genghis’
family. Beneath all the dust from the road, Shigi wore the blue that denoted his station as supreme judge and scribe of the Golden Family. Next to him, Alaqai’s white hair was twisted under a headdress shaped like two yak horns and dangling with gold coins and carnelian beads. She looked so much like Borte that for a moment I thought I viewed a glimpse of the spirit world. “I’m pleased to see you join us,” Batu said.
“You should be,” Alaqai said, looping her arm through his. “As we’ve come to rid our empire of the scourge of Toregene’s son.”
I followed them into Batu’s Great Tent, feeling the heat radiate off my nephew like a small sun in the dark. His first wife scurried about like a plump brown shrew, offering us cups of salt tea and bowls of steaming stew. I forced myself not to wave her away, and instead accepted the meal on a wooden tray carved with wildflowers.
“You should eat,” Batu murmured when I didn’t touch the food. “Milk paste and raw meat softened under a saddle grow old after only a few days.”
“We scarcely stopped even for that,” Alaqai said. “Sorkhokhtani sets a hard pace.”
“Your wife’s cooking is renowned,” I said, giving Batu a pointed look. His mouse of a wife still bustled around, but he quickly caught her attention and sent her outside with an excuse that our horses needed tending.
“We’ve just come from Karakorum,” I said, once the door was closed. Propriety demanded that we eat first, and then discuss the meaning of our journey, but decorum would have to wait until after the empire was righted. “Güyük requires your presence in his capital.”
Batu laughed at that, a deep, booming sound that made the walls of his tent flutter. “And if I refuse the imbecile’s demands?”
I shrugged. “Then he’ll march against you.”
Batu set aside his soup. “I’m no fool. Güyük will either march against me or he’ll greet me with an army outside Karakorum. It was always going to come to this.”
“Of course he thinks to fight you,” I said, although I didn’t mention that I hoped that wouldn’t happen. “Better to draw the bear out of his den, don’t you think?”
Alaqai snorted at that. “Güyük is no bear. More like a saw-toothed weasel.”
“I shall be happy to meet Güyük on a field of my own choosing.” Batu ground one fist into his palm, and I could well imagine what went through his mind then.
“And after?” I asked.
Batu relaxed but leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “I keep my promises, Sorkhokhtani. Möngke fought well with me on the Ryazan campaign and I swore a blood oath that I’d support your sons in a khurlatai. Tell me you wish to gather the clans for Möngke’s nomination, and the Golden Horde will be there.”
I filled my lungs with my nephew’s scent, then pressed my forehead to his for a moment. “Thank you, Batu,” I said. “I can never repay you.”
“Don’t thank me until the Khan’s helm sits upon Möngke’s head.” He chuckled. “Although I will say, you and I make a decent team for the son of a bastard and the widow of the drunken Prince of the Hearth.”
“You are a good man, Batu Khan,” I said, brushing off the skirt of my deel to hide the heat in my cheeks. I was overcome with weariness, yet there was still much to do. “When will your army be ready to move?”
Batu’s teeth gleamed in the firelight. “They’d march tonight if I told them to.”
I chuckled. “Tomorrow will suffice, Batu Khan.”
Tomorrow I would ride with Batu’s army toward this empire’s destiny. By this time next month I might be the mother of the next Khan.
Or I might be a corpse, sharing a grave with those who surrounded me this night.
* * *
The army’s pace was almost relaxing after our furious push from Karakorum, laden as we were with reserve horses and Batu’s ten thousand men. As we realized that the coming battle would be the decisive fight, the sun seemed suddenly brighter, the wind crisper, and the calls of the cranes overhead sharper.
We gathered my sons and their smaller contingents of soldiers from their wives and hearths, and I watched in silent pleasure as Batu and Möngke greeted each other like reunited brothers, roaring with happiness as they clapped each other on the back, comrades in arms from the siege against Ryazan. Together, our expedition passed the three ordus that Alaqai and I had erected, and halted the entire army so that Batu, Möngke, and Kublai could seek blessings of our family’s matriarch. My throat tightened when each of Batu’s soldiers bowed their heads as they passed the three tents.
Shortly after, we entered a town where I’d funded the building of a Saracen school and were received warmly by the governor. I’d appointed many officials during my time as regent of Tolui’s lands, and those officers now clamored to see my son on the throne. However, we learned as we changed horses that Güyük had left Karakorum and was preparing a great army to meet us outside the city.
“Güyük is smarter than I thought,” Batu said from his saddle, a piece of art with its golden-clawed dragons. “He must have realized I’d refuse to greet him without a fight.”
“Move slowly,” I counseled Batu. I knew not whether Oghul Ghaimish traveled with her husband, but I wished to allow her every opportunity for revenge before our two sides clashed on a battlefield. So few of us were left who recalled the early days of the Blood War, before Genghis Khan’s own khurlatai. I remembered, though, and I had no wish to water the steppes with the blood of the Thirteen Tribes.
Only Güyük’s.
* * *
We waited for word from Güyük, but Karakorum was strangely silent. The reason why was revealed soon afterward, as a lone rider galloped from the direction of the capital, sending up puffs of fireweed cotton in the wind. News of our army had certainly reached the Golden Ordu by now, but at the sight of us the rider hauled back on his horse’s reins so hard that the animal reared up.
“I’ll go to him,” Alaqai said. “No one will fear an old woman.”
Kublai chortled. “He should when that woman could hit him with an arrow from a hundred paces.” Alaqai gave a bark of laughter, but her lips curled up in a proud smile.
“I’ll join you,” I said, nudging my horse’s ribs before my sons could protest. This messenger likely carried news about Güyük, and I wished to be among the first to hear it.
Alaqai was right—the rider urged his horse forward, then dismounted and fell to his knees at the sight of the Khatun of the Onggud and the Princess of the Hearth. I recognized him as one of Shigi’s slaves, left behind in Karakorum. He wore a gold medallion at his throat now, marking him as a slave of Güyük’s house.
“What news have you from Karakorum?” Alaqai asked.
The rider looked up with bloodshot eyes and a face creased with black grime from many days on the road. Whatever message he carried must be an important one. “I have word of Güyük Khan, son of Ogodei Khan and grandson of Genghis Khan,” the slave said, his hands trembling in his lap.
“Does the Khan wish to negotiate with us?” I asked, gripping the horn of my saddle. “Or shall we meet in a field of blood?”
“Neither, Sorkhokhtani Beki,” the man said. “The Great Khan is dead.”
“Dead?” Alaqai glanced at me. “How can that be?”
The man bowed his head again. “Güyük Khan stopped with his army to hunt. They took down a great herd of deer, but after the feast that night, he fell ill. He lingered for a day in great pain, and then his spirit flew to the sacred mountains.”
I turned my horse, ready to gallop back to Batu and my sons with the news of our victory, yet there was one more thing I needed to know.
“And Oghul Ghaimish?” I asked over my shoulder. “Did the Khan’s first wife travel with him on his expedition from the city?”
The messenger nodded. “She did. It was the Great Khatun who sent me to ride for your army, to thank you for the gift you gave h
er, and to spread news of her ascension to the Horse Throne.”
I whirled around at that, my horse prancing beneath me. “What did you say?”
The slave cringed at my tone. “Oghul Ghaimish has claimed the green headdress of the Great Khatun and the regency as well.” He rifled through his saddlebags, then produced a crumpled paper. “She’s proclaimed the family of Tolui to be outcasts of the Golden Family and offers a reward for anyone who would bring the heads of Möngke and Kublai to her.”
My heart ceased beating and ice flowed through my veins. I glanced back to where my sons waited with Batu. Only Möngke and Kublai might challenge Oghul Ghaimish’s right to rule, or her sons’ eventual succession, so of course she would seek to rid herself of that threat. “Then you’ve come to kill my sons?”
The slave shook his head. “I served Shigi and Toregene Khatun faithfully, and witnessed the purges ordered by Güyük Khan and the glee with which Oghul Ghaimish carried out his commands. I wish only to continue in peace with the rest of my mission.”
“And what might that be?” Alaqai asked.
“I’m to travel west with the proclamation of Oghul Ghaimish’s coronation, and from there to the court of King Louis IX, to demand that the French king come to Karakorum to surrender to her, and to bring crates of silver and gold to ensure her goodwill.”
I laughed aloud at the audacity of the mad bitch and the lunacy of her demands of the far-flung kingdom of France. It would take years for the slave to deliver his message to King Louis and return with an answer. No wonder he was content to leave us and continue on his way.
Next to me, Alaqai snorted in derision. “You’d best go, then. Be well, messenger.”
The slave mounted his gelding, offering bows to both Alaqai and myself before kicking his horse and galloping onward.
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