Khan: Empire of Silver

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘Be grateful for one thing,’ Kachiun said softly, watching the general stride away. ‘If he wanted to be khan, it would be even harder.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ogedai stood in shadows, at the base of the ramp that led to light and air above. The great oval was finished at last, the smell of wood, paint and varnish strong in the air around him. It was easy to imagine the athletes of his people walking out to the roar of thirty thousand men and women. Ogedai saw it all in his mind and he realised he was feeling better than he had for many days. The Chin healer had spoken much about the dangers of foxglove powder, but Ogedai only knew that it eased the constant ache in his chest. Two days before, a sharp pain had driven him to his knees in his private apartments. He grimaced at the remembered pressure, like being trapped in a small space and unable to open his lungs to air. A pinch of the dark powder mixed in red wine had brought release like ropes snapping around his chest. He walked with death, he was certain of it, but it was still two steps behind.

  The builders were leaving the great stadium in their thousands, though Ogedai barely looked at the river of exhausted faces passing him. He knew they had worked all night so he would be satisfied, and that was only right. He wondered how they felt about the emperor of the Chin kneeling to his father. If Genghis had been forced to such a shame, Ogedai doubted he could be so calm, so accepting. Genghis had told him that the Chin had no concept of nation. Their ruling elite talked of empires and emperors, but the peasants could not stand high enough to see so far. Instead, they found smaller loyalties to cities and local men. Ogedai nodded to himself. It was not so long since the tribes of his people had done the same. His father had dragged them all into a new era and many of them still did not understand the breadth of his vision.

  Most of the crowd stared at the ground as they walked past, terrified of attracting his notice. Ogedai’s heart began to beat faster as he saw a different reaction in some of those approaching him. He felt the need to walk out of the shadows into light and had to strangle the urge. His chest ached, but there was none of the terrible weariness that usually dogged him no matter how much he slept. Instead, his senses were alive. He could smell and hear everything around him, from the garlic-laced food of the workmen, to the whispered voices.

  The world seemed to strain and then burst, leaving him almost dazed. Ahead of him were men who stared and then deliberately turned away, their reaction marking them out like a raised flag. Ogedai saw no signal, but almost as one they drew knives from their clothing; short, hacking blades of the sort carpenters used to trim posts. The crowd began to swirl as more and more people realised what was happening. Voices cried out hoarsely, but Ogedai remained very still, the centre of the growing storm. He had locked eyes with the closest of the men as he shoved his way past others, his blade held high.

  Ogedai watched the man approach. Slowly, he opened his arms wide, then wider, his outstretched hands buffeted by the fleeing crowd. The attacker shouted something, a wild sound lost in the clamour. Ogedai showed his teeth as the man was struck from the side, his body crumpling away from the armoured Guard who had hit him.

  As his Guards trampled and slaughtered the men in the shadowy tunnel, Ogedai slowly lowered his arms, watching coldly. They left two alive, as he had ordered, clubbing them down with sword hilts until their faces were swollen masks. The rest were killed like goats.

  In just moments, the first officer stood before him, his chest heaving and his pale face spattered with filth.

  ‘Lord, are you well?’ the man said, a study of confusion.

  Ogedai turned his gaze away from the soldiers still thumping at the dead flesh of men who had dared to attack their master.

  ‘Why would you think otherwise, Huran? I am unharmed. You have done your work.’

  Huran bowed his head and almost turned away, but he could not.

  ‘My lord, there was no need for this. We have followed these men for two days. I have searched their lodgings myself and there has never been a moment in Karakorum when I did not have eyes on them. We could have taken them without any risk to you.’

  He was clearly struggling to find the right words, but Ogedai felt lighter and stronger than he had in too long. His mood was mellow as he replied.

  ‘Say what you have to say, Huran. You will not offend me.’ He had released the man from any need to guard his speech, and he watched the tension and stiffness vanish.

  ‘I live, I work, to protect you, lord,’ Huran said. ‘On the day you die, I die, I have sworn it. But I cannot protect you if you are…if you are in love with death, lord, if you want to die…’ Under Ogedai’s cool gaze, Huran stumbled over the last words and fell silent.

  ‘Put your fears to rest, Huran. You have served me since I was a boy. I took risks then, did I not? Like any other lad who thinks he will live for ever?’

  Huran nodded. ‘You did, but you would not have stood with your arms wide then, not with a killer running at you. I saw it, lord, but I did not understand it.’

  Ogedai smiled, as if instructing a child. Perhaps it was his closeness to eternity in those moments, but he felt almost light-headed.

  ‘I do not want to die, I promise you, Huran. But I am not afraid of it, not at all. I held open my arms because, in that moment, I did not care. Can you understand that?’

  ‘No, lord,’ Huran said.

  Ogedai sighed, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood and excrement in the tunnel.

  ‘The air is foul here,’ he said. ‘Walk out with me.’

  He skirted the heaped bodies. Many had been killed by accident in the fray, simple workmen trying to get out of the darkness. He would have some payment made to their families, he thought.

  Huran stayed at his side as the light brightened and Ogedai’s gaze fell on the completed arena. His mood soared higher at the sight of the tiered seating, thousands upon thousands of benches stretching into the distance. After the bloodshed at the entrance, it had emptied at astonishing speed, so that Ogedai could hear the song of a bird in the distance, clear and sweet. He was tempted to call across the space to see if his voice would echo. Thirty thousand of his people could sit and watch races and wrestling and the archery wall. It would be glorious.

  A spot on his face itched and he rubbed it, raising a reddened finger before his eyes. Someone else’s blood.

  ‘Here, Huran, in this place, I will be khan. I will take the oath from my people.’

  Huran nodded stiffly and Ogedai smiled at him, knowing his loyalty was absolute. Yet he did not mention the weakness of the heart that could take his life at any moment. He did not tell Huran that he woke each morning with sharp relief that he had survived the night to see one more dawn, nor how he stayed awake later and later each evening in case that day was his last. The wine and the foxglove powder had brought him relief, but he knew every day, every breath, was a blessing. How could he fear a killer when he was always in death’s shadow? It was amusing and he chuckled until he felt the ache in his chest again. He considered taking a pinch of the powder under his tongue. Huran would not dare ask about it.

  ‘There are three days until the new moon, Huran. You have kept me alive until now, have you not? How many attacks have you thwarted?’

  ‘Seven, lord,’ Huran said softly.

  Ogedai looked sharply at him. ‘I know of only five, including today. How do you make seven?’

  ‘My man in the kitchens stopped a poisoning this morning, lord, and I had three warriors of your brother murdered in a brawl.’

  ‘You were not certain that they were here to kill me?’

  ‘No, lord, not certain,’ Huran admitted. He had left one alive and worked on him for part of the morning, earning nothing but screaming and insults for his trouble.

  ‘You have been rash, Huran,’ Ogedai said, without regret. ‘We have planned for such attacks. My food is tasted, my servants are hand-picked. My city is under siege from the sheer number of spies and warriors pretending to be simple painters and carpenters. Ye
t I have opened Karakorum and people are still flooding in. I have three Chin lords staying in my own palace and two Christian monks who have taken a vow of poverty, so bed down in the straw of my royal stables. The oath-taking will be…an interesting time, Huran.’ He sighed at the soldier’s grim worry. ‘If all we have done is not enough, perhaps I am not meant to survive. The sky father loves a good game, Huran. Perhaps I will be taken from you, despite all your efforts.’

  ‘Not while I live, lord. I will call you khan.’

  The man spoke with such assurance that Ogedai smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Escort me back to the palace then, Huran. I must resume my duties, after this small amusement. I have kept Orlok Tsubodai waiting long enough, I think.’

  Tsubodai had left his armour in the palace rooms he had been given. Every warrior in the tribes knew that Genghis had once approached an enemy without weapons, then used a scale of his armour to cut the man’s throat. Instead, Tsubodai wore a light deel robe over leggings and sandals. They had been laid out for him, clean and new, of the best materials. Such luxury in those rooms! Ogedai had borrowed from every culture they had encountered in conquest. It made Tsubodai uncomfortable to see it, though he could not find words for his discomfort. Worse was the bustle and hurry of the palace corridors, packed with people, all intent on errands and work he did not understand. He had not realised there were so many involved in the oath-taking. There were Guards at every corner and alcove, but with so many strange faces, Tsubodai felt a constant itch of worry. He preferred open spaces.

  The day had half gone when he grabbed a servant running past him, making the man yelp in surprise. It seemed Ogedai had been busy with some task in the city, but he knew Tsubodai was waiting.

  Tsubodai could not leave without giving insult, so he stood in a silent audience room, his impatience growing harder to mask as the hours fled.

  The room was empty, though Tsubodai still felt crawling eyes on him as he strolled to a window and looked over the new city and beyond to the tumans on the plains. The sun was setting, throwing long lines of gold and shadow on the ground and streets below. Ogedai had chosen the site well, with the mountains to the south and the nearby river wide and strong. Tsubodai had ridden along part of the canal Ogedai had built to bring water into the city. It was astonishing, until you considered that a million men had worked for almost two years. With enough gold and silver, anything was possible. Tsubodai wondered if Ogedai would survive to enjoy it.

  He had lost track of time when he heard voices approaching. Tsubodai watched closely as Ogedai’s Guards entered and took positions. He felt their gaze pass over him and then settle, as the only possible threat in the room. Ogedai came last, his face puffier and far paler than Tsubodai remembered. It was hard not to remember Genghis in those yellow eyes, and Tsubodai bowed deeply.

  Ogedai returned the bow, before taking a seat on a wooden bench under the window. The wood was polished and golden and he let his hands enjoy the feel of it as he glanced out at Karakorum. He closed his eyes for a moment as the setting sun cast a last glimpse of gold into the high room.

  He had no love for Tsubodai, for all he needed him. If the general had refused Genghis’ most brutal order, Ogedai’s older brother Jochi would have been khan long since. If Tsubodai had stayed his hand, disobeyed just once, there would be no crisis of leadership heading towards them, threatening to destroy them all.

  ‘Thank you for waiting. I hope my servants have made you comfortable?’ he asked at last.

  Tsubodai frowned at the question. He had expected the rituals of ger courtesy, but Ogedai’s face was open and visibly weary.

  ‘Of course, lord. I need very little.’

  He paused as footsteps sounded outside the doors and Ogedai rose as new Guards entered, followed by Tolui and his wife Sorhatani.

  ‘You are welcome in my home, brother,’ Ogedai said, ‘but I did not expect your beautiful wife to attend me.’ He turned to Sorhatani smoothly. ‘Your children are well?’

  ‘They are, my lord. I brought only Mongke and Kublai. I do not doubt they are causing trouble for your men at this very moment.’

  Ogedai frowned delicately. He had asked for Tolui to come to the palace for his own safety. He knew of at least two plots that sought to dispose of the younger brother, but he had expected to explain in private. He glanced at Tolui and saw his brother’s gaze rise and drop for a moment. Sorhatani was hard to refuse in anything.

  ‘Your other sons? They are not with you?’ Ogedai said to his brother.

  ‘I have sent them to a cousin. He is taking a fishing trip out west for a few months. They will miss the oath-taking, but I will have them make it good when they return.’

  ‘Ah,’ Ogedai said, understanding. One pair of sons would survive, no matter what happened. He wondered if it had been Sorhatani who had changed his order for the whole family to appear at the palace. Perhaps she was right to be less than trusting in such bleak times.

  ‘I have no doubt General Tsubodai is bursting with news and dire warnings, brother,’ Ogedai said. ‘You may return to your rooms, Sorhatani. Thank you for taking a moment to visit me.’

  The dismissal could not be refused and she bowed stiffly. Ogedai noticed the furious glance she shot at Tolui as she turned. The gates swung open again and the three men were left alone, with eight Guards along the walls.

  Ogedai gestured to a table and they sat, all warier than he could once have believed possible. Losing patience with it all, Ogedai clinked cups together and filled each one, pushing them towards his guests. They reached for them at the same time, knowing that to hesitate would show they feared poison. Ogedai did not give them long, emptying his own in three quick gulps.

  ‘You two I trust,’ he said bluntly, licking his lips. ‘Tolui, I have stopped one attempt to kill you, or your sons.’ Tolui narrowed his eyes a fraction, growing tense. ‘My spies have heard of one other, but I do not know who it is and I am out of time. I can deal with those who seek my death, but I must ask that you stay in the palace. I cannot protect you otherwise, until I am khan.’

  ‘Is it so bad then?’ Tolui asked, astonished. He had known the camp was in turmoil, but to hear of open attacks had shaken him. He wished that Sorhatani were there to hear it. He would only have to repeat it all later.

  Ogedai turned to Tsubodai. The general sat in simple clothes, but he radiated authority. Ogedai wondered for a moment if it was simply reputation. It was difficult not to look on Tsubodai with awe if you knew what he had achieved in his life. The army owed their success to him as much as to Genghis. Yet for Ogedai it was harder not to look on him with hatred. He locked it away, as he had for more than two years. He still needed this man.

  ‘You are loyal, Tsubodai,’ he said softly, ‘to my father’s will, at least. From your hand, I have word of this “Broken Lance” each day.’ He hesitated, struggling for calm. Part of him wanted to leave Tsubodai outside Karakorum on the plains, to ignore the strategist his father had valued over all others. Yet only a fool would waste such a talent. Even then, challenged openly, Tsubodai had not confirmed he was the source of the messengers who appeared at the palace, though Ogedai was almost certain.

  ‘I serve, lord,’ Tsubodai said. ‘You had my oath, as heir. I have not wavered in that.’

  For an instant, Ogedai’s anger rose in him like a white spike in his head. This was the man who had cut Jochi’s throat in the snow, sitting there and talking of his oath. Ogedai took a deep breath. Tsubodai was too valuable to waste. He had to be managed, thrown off balance.

  ‘My brother Jochi heard your promises, did he not?’ he said softly. To his pleasure, the colour fled from the general’s face.

  Tsubodai remembered every detail of the meeting with Jochi in the northern snows. The son of Genghis had exchanged his life for his men and their families. Jochi had known he was going to die, but he had expected a chance to speak again to his father. Tsubodai was too much of a man to quibble over the rights and wron
gs of it. It felt like a betrayal then and it still did. He nodded, jerkily.

  ‘I killed him, lord. It was wrong and I live with it.’

  ‘You broke your word, Tsubodai?’ Ogedai pressed, leaning across the table.

  His cup fell with a metallic clang and Tsubodai reached out and set it upright. He would not take less than his full share of blame; he could not.

  ‘I did,’ Tsubodai replied, his eyes blazing with anger or shame.

  ‘Then redeem your honour!’ Ogedai roared, slamming his fists into the table.

  All three cups crashed over, spilling wine in a red flood. The Guards drew swords and Tsubodai came to his feet in a jerk, half expecting to be attacked. He found himself staring down at Ogedai, still seated. The general knelt as suddenly as he had risen.

  Ogedai had not known how the death of his brother had troubled Tsubodai. The general and his father had kept all that between them. It was a revelation and he needed time to think about what it meant. He spoke instinctively, using the man’s own chains to bind him.

  ‘Redeem your word, general, by keeping another son of Genghis alive long enough to be khan. My brother’s spirit would not want to see his family torn and abandoned. My father’s spirit would not. Make it so, Tsubodai, and find peace. After that, I do not care what happens, but you will be among the first to take the oath. That would be fitting.’

  Ogedai’s chest hurt and he could feel sour sweat under his arms and on his brow. A great lethargy settled across his shoulders as his heart thumped slower and slower, reducing him to dizzy exhaustion. He had not slept well for weeks and the constant fear of death was wearing him to a shadow, until only his will remained. He had shocked those present with his sudden rage, but at times he could barely control his temper. He had lived under a great weight for too long and sometimes he simply could not remain calm. He would be khan, if even for just a day. His voice was slurred as he spoke. Both Tsubodai and Tolui watched him with worried expressions.