He saw Basan frown and knew his point had struck home. It was true that the family of old Horghuz would not have survived the season. Temujin knew Yesugei might even have given the same order, but with regret and an understanding that it would be a sort of mercy in a hard land. Temujin sneered as the bondsman rode back to them. Tolui was a little man despite his frame and his great strength. He had taken their lives to satisfy his own frustration, and he was beaming as he returned to those who had watched him. Temujin hated him then, but he made his vows in the privacy of his own thoughts and he did not speak to Basan again.
Tolui and Basan took turns to ride the piebald mare, while Temujin staggered and fell behind them. The bodies were left for scavengers once Tolui had recovered his arrows from their flesh. The little cart caught the bondsman’s interest long enough to look through it, but there was little more than dried meat and ragged clothes. Wanderers like Horghuz did not have hidden treasures. Tolui cut the throat of a kid goat and drank the blood with obvious enjoyment before tying the body behind the saddle and driving the others along with them. They would have more than enough fresh meat to reach the gers of the Wolves.
Temujin had looked at the still, pale faces of Horghuz and his family as he passed them. They had made him welcome and shared salt tea and meat when he was hungry. He felt stunned and weak from the emotions of the day, but as he left them behind, he knew in a moment of revelation that they had been his tribe, his family. Not by blood, but by friendship and a wider bond of survival in a hard time. He accepted their revenge as his own.
Hoelun took Temuge by the shoulders and shook him. He had grown like spring grass in the years since they had left the Wolves, and there was no sign of his puppyish fat any longer. Yet he was not strong where it mattered. He helped his brothers work, but did only what he was told to do, and more often than not he would wander away and spend a day swimming in a stream, or climbing a hill for the view. Hoelun could have dealt with simple laziness as long as she had a switch to beat him. Temuge was an unhappy little boy, though, and he still dreamed of going home to the Wolves and everything they had lost. He needed time away from his family, and if it was denied him, he would grow nervous and sullen until Hoelun lost patience and sent him out to let clean air blow his thoughts like cobwebs.
Temuge was crying as the evening came, sobbing to himself in the tiny ger until Hoelun lost patience with him.
“What are we going to do?” he sobbed, wiping at a shining trail of mucus almost as wide as his nose.
Hoelun suppressed her irritation and smoothed down his hair with her hard hands. If he was too soft, it was no more than Yesugei had warned her would happen. Perhaps she had indulged him.
“He will be all right, Temuge. Your brother would never be easily caught.” She tried to keep her voice cheerful, though she had already begun to consider their future. Temuge could weep, but Hoelun had to plan, and be clever, or she might lose them all. Her other sons were stunned and miserable at this blow to their lives. With Temujin, they had begun to know a little hope. To lose him was a return to the absolute despair of the first days alone, and the dark cleft in the hills brought it all back, like a stone hanging on their spirits.
Outside the ger, Hoelun heard one of the ponies whicker softly to itself. She considered the sound as she made decisions that seemed to tear the heart from her chest. At last, when Temuge was sniffing in a corner and staring at nothing, she spoke to them all.
“If Temujin has not come back to us by tomorrow night, we will have to leave this place.” She had all their attention then, even little Temulun, who ceased playing with her colored bones and stared wide-eyed at her mother. “We have no choice now that the Wolves are coming back to the red hill. Eeluk will scout the area for a hundred miles and he will find our little hideaway here. That will be the end of us.”
It was Kachiun who replied, choosing his words carefully.
“If we leave, Temujin will not be able to find us again, but you know that,” he said. “I could stay and wait for him, if you take the ponies. Just tell me a direction and I will follow when he comes.”
“And if he does not come?” Khasar said.
Kachiun frowned at him. “I will wait as long as I can. If the Wolves come looking in the cleft, I will hide myself or travel by night after you. If we just leave, he might as well be dead. We will not find each other again.”
Smiling, Hoelun clasped Kachiun by his shoulder, forcing herself to ignore her despair. Though she smiled, her eyes glittered uncomfortably.
“You are a good brother, and a fine son,” she said. “Your father would be proud of you.” She leaned forward, her intensity disturbing. “But do not risk your life if you see him caught, you understand? Temujin was born with blood in his hand—perhaps this is his fate.” Her face crumpled without warning. “I cannot lose all my sons, one by one.” The memory of Bekter brought a spasm of sudden weeping, shocking them all. Kachiun reached out and wrapped his arms around his mother’s shoulders, and in the corner, Temuge began to sob on his own once more.
CHAPTER 17
EELUK SAT IN A GER twice the size of any other in the camp, on a throne of wood and polished leather. Yesugei had disdained such symbols of power, but Eeluk took comfort from being raised above his bondsmen. Let them remember who was khan! He listened to the crackle of torches and the far-off voices of the tribe. He was drunk again, or close to it, so that his hand blurred as he passed it in front of his eyes. He considered calling for enough airag to smash him into sleep, but instead, he sat in sullen silence, staring at the floor. His bondsmen knew better than to try to raise the spirits of their khan when he was brooding on better days.
His eagle perched on a wooden tree at his right hand. The hooded bird was a brooding presence that could be as still as bronze for the longest time, then suddenly jerk at a sound, tilting her head as if she could see through the thick leather. The red tinge to her feathers had remained, shimmering when her wings caught the light of torches. Eeluk was proud of her size and power. He had watched her strike a kid goat and struggle into the air with the limp flesh dangling. He had not allowed her more than a single scrap of flesh for the kill, of course, but it had been a glorious moment. He had given Yesugei’s eagle to another family, binding them in gratitude for a khan’s gift. He longed to show the pair to Temujin or Bekter, and almost wished them alive just to experience their anger one more time.
He remembered the day he had been given the red bird by Yesugei’s own hand. Against his will, sudden tears came to his eyes and he swore aloud and cursed the airag for bringing on his melancholy. He had been younger then and for the young everything is better, cleaner, and finer than for those who have let themselves grow thick-bodied and drunk every evening. Yet he was still strong, he knew it. Strong enough to break anyone who dared to test him.
Eeluk looked blearily around him for Tolui, forgetting for a moment that he had not returned. The Wolves had traveled slowly, drifting farther north since Tolui had left with Basan and Unegen. It should have been a simple enough matter to determine whether Yesugei’s children still lived, or at least to find their bones. Eeluk thought back to his first winter as khan and shuddered. It had been bitter even on the trip south. For those in the north, it would have been cruelly hard, on the young and the old alike. Hoelun and her children would not have lasted long, he was almost certain. Yet it nagged at him. What could have delayed Tolui and the other men? The young wrestler was a useful man to have close, Eeluk knew. His loyalty was unquestioning, in comparison with some of the older men. Eeluk knew there were those who still denied his right to lead the tribe, fools who could not accept the new order. He made sure they were watched and, when the time came, they would find men like Tolui outside their gers one dawn. He would take their heads himself, as a khan should. It was never far from his thoughts that he had won the tribe with strength—and only strength could hold it. Disloyalty could grow unchecked until they found the courage to challenge him. Had he not felt the see
ds of it long before Yesugei was killed? In his most secret heart, he had.
When the warning horns sounded, Eeluk lurched to his feet, taking his sword from where it lay propped against the arm of his chair. The red bird screeched, but he ignored it, shaking his head to clear it of fumes as he strode out into the cold air. He could already feel the rush of blood and excitement he relished. He hoped for raiders, or Tolui’s return with the children of the old khan. One or the other would bring blood to his sword, and he never found sleep so sweet and dreamless as when he had killed a man.
His horse was brought for him and he mounted carefully rather than stumble. He could feel the airag in him, but it just made him stronger. He turned bleary red eyes on his bondsmen as they gathered and then dug in his heels, sending his stallion careering out to meet the threat.
Eeluk whooped into the cold wind as the riders formed around him in perfect formation. They were Wolves and they were to be feared. He never felt as alive as at that moment, when disloyalties were forgotten and a single enemy had to be faced. That was what he craved, rather than the petty problems and feuds of the families. What did he care about those? His sword and bow were ready for their defense, and that was all he had to give them. They could grow and increase their numbers, just as the goats did in their care. Nothing else mattered as long as the warriors rode and he led them.
At full gallop, Eeluk lowered his sword over the stallion’s ears and called “Chuh!” for more speed, feeling the airag burn out of him. He wished there could be an enemy host coming against them, a battle to test his courage and make him feel again the intoxication of walking close to death. Instead, he saw only two figures on the plain, riding dark brown ponies too heavily laden to be a threat. The disappointment was bitter in his throat, but he quelled it, forcing the cold face. The Wolves would take whatever the two men owned, leaving them with their lives unless they chose to fight. Eeluk hoped they would as he drew close, his men riding around and taking positions.
With drunken care, Eeluk dismounted and walked to face the strangers. To his surprise, he saw that they were both armed, though they were not fool enough to draw their swords. It was rare to see long blades in the hands of wanderers. The skill to fold and beat steel was highly sought after amongst the tribes, and a good sword would be a valuable possession. Yet the pair did not look prosperous. Their clothes may once have been good quality, but were filthy with ancient dust and dirt. Through the vagueness of the black airag in his blood, Eeluk’s interest was aroused.
As he strode closer, he watched the men carefully, remembering Yesugei’s lessons on judging his enemies. One was old enough to be father to the second, but he looked strong despite his gray hair, braided and oiled into a queue down his back. Eeluk felt a prickling sense of danger in the way he was standing, and ignored the younger one, knowing by instinct to watch the elder for a first move. He could not have explained his decision, but it had saved his life more than once.
Despite being surrounded by mounted warriors, neither man bowed his head. Eeluk frowned at them, wondering at their strangeness and their confidence. Before he could speak, the older of the two men seemed to start, his sharp eyes picking out the leaping wolf on Eeluk’s armor. He murmured something to his companion and both relaxed visibly.
“My name is Arslan,” the older said clearly, “and this is my son, Jelme. We are pledged to the Wolves and we have found you at last.” When Eeluk did not reply, the man looked around him at the faces of the bondsmen. “Where is the one called Yesugei? I have honored my vow. I have found you at last.”
Eeluk glowered at the strangers as they sat in the warmth of his ger. Two of his bondsmen stood outside the door in the cold, ready to come at his call. Inside, only Eeluk was armed. Despite that, he felt a constant tension in their presence, for no reason he could bring clearly to his thoughts. Perhaps it was the utter lack of fear in both of them. Arslan had shown no surprise or awe at the great ger Eeluk had had constructed. He had handed over his own sword without a backwards glance. When Arslan’s gaze drifted over the weapons on the walls, Eeluk was almost sure he had seen a faint sneer appear on his face, gone as quickly as it came. Only the red bird had held his attention, and to Eeluk’s irritation, Arslan had made a clicking sound in the back of his throat and run a hand down the red-gold feathering of her chest. She had not reacted and Eeluk felt his own simmering anger increase.
“Yesugei was killed by Tartars almost five years ago,” Eeluk said, when they had settled themselves and drunk their bowls of tea. “Who are you to come to us now?”
The younger man opened his mouth to answer, but Arslan touched him lightly on the arm and he subsided.
“It would have been earlier if you had stayed in the north. My son and I have ridden more than a thousand days to find you and honor the vow I made to your father.”
“He was not my father,” Eeluk snapped. “I was first among his bondsmen.” He saw the two men exchange glances.
“It was no idle rumor then, that you abandoned Yesugei’s sons and wife on the plain?” Arslan asked softly.
Eeluk found himself becoming defensive under the man’s quiet scrutiny.
“I am khan of the Wolves,” he replied. “I have ruled them for four years and they are stronger than they have ever been. If you are pledged to the Wolves, you are pledged to me.”
Once again, he saw Arslan and his son glance at each other, and Eeluk grew angry.
“Look at me when I am talking to you,” he ordered.
Obediently, Arslan faced the man on the throne of wood and leather, saying nothing.
“How did you come by long blades like the ones you carried?” Eeluk asked.
“It is my craft to make them, my lord,” Arslan said softly. “I was once the armorer for the Naimans.”
“You were banished?” Eeluk asked immediately. He wished he had not drunk as much before they came. His thoughts felt sluggish and he still sensed danger from the older man, for all his calm speech. There was an economy of movement about him, a suggestion of hardness that Eeluk recognized. The man may have been a swordsmith, but he was a warrior also. His son was as lean as a rope, but whatever it was that made a man dangerous was not there in him, and Eeluk could dismiss him from his thoughts.
“I left the khan after he took my wife for his own,” Arslan replied.
Eeluk started suddenly, remembering a story he had heard years before.
“I have heard of this,” he began, straining his memory. “You are the one who challenged the khan of the Naimans? You are the oath-breaker?”
Arslan sighed, remembering old pain. “It was a long time ago and I was younger, but yes. The khan was a cruel man and, though he accepted my challenge, he returned first to his ger. We fought and I killed him, but when I went to claim my wife, I found he had cut her throat. It is a tired story and I have not thought of it for many years.”
Arslan’s eyes were dark with grief but Eeluk did not believe him.
“I heard of it even in the south where the air is hot and wet. If you are the same man, you are said to be very skilled with the blade. Is it true?”
Arslan shrugged. “Stories always exaggerate. Perhaps I was once. My son is better than I am now. Yet I have my bellows and I can build a forge. I have my skills and I can still make weapons of war. I met Yesugei when he was hunting with his hawk. He saw the value for his families and offered to break tradition, to bring us back into a tribe.” He paused for a moment, looking back over the years. “I was alone and despairing when he found me. My wife had been taken by another and I did not want to live. He offered me sanctuary with the Wolves, if I could bring her out with my son. He was a great man, I think.”
“I am greater,” Eeluk replied, irritated to have Yesugei praised in his own ger. “If you have the skills you claim, the Wolves will still welcome you with honor.”
For a long time, Arslan did not respond or look away. Eeluk could feel the tension grow in the ger, and he had to force himself not to let his f
ingers drop to his sword hilt. He saw the red bird look up in her hood, as if she too felt the strained air between them.
“I pledged myself to Yesugei and his heirs,” Arslan said.
Eeluk snorted. “Am I not khan here? The Wolves are mine and you have offered yourself to the Wolves. I accept you both and I will offer you a ger, sheep, salt, and safety.”
Once again, the silence stretched and became uncomfortable, until Eeluk wanted to curse. Then Arslan nodded, bowing his head.
“You do us a great honor,” he replied.
Eeluk smiled. “Then it is settled. You have come at a time when I will need good weapons. Your son will be one of my bondsmen if he is as quick with a sword as you say. We will ride to war with blades from your forge. Believe me when I say it is time for the Wolves to rise.”
In the musty darkness of a new ger, Jelme turned to his father, keeping his voice low.
“Are we staying here, then?”
His father shook his head unseen in the gloom. Aware of the possibility of listening ears, he pitched his voice at barely more than a breath.
“We are not. This man who calls himself khan is just a yapping dog with blood on his hands. Can you see me serving another like the khan of the Naimans? Yesugei was a man of honor, a man I could follow without regret. He came across me when I was picking wild onions, with just a little knife. He could have stolen everything I had, yet he did not.”
“You would have killed him if he had tried,” Jelme said, smiling in the darkness. He had seen his father fight and knew that, even unarmed, he was more than a match for most swordsmen.
“I might have surprised him,” Arslan replied without pride, “but he did not know that. He was hunting alone, and I sensed he did not want company, but he treated me with honor. He shared meat and salt with me.” Arslan sighed, remembering. “I liked him. I am sorry to hear he has gone from the plains. This Eeluk is weak where he, Yesugei, was strong. I will not have my beautiful swords in his hands.”
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