Genghis: Birth of an Empire (48 page)

Sansar grew very still, watching Temujin from the recesses of his dark eyes.

“I know no brothers in the Kerait,” he said at last, his voice almost a whisper. “The Olkhun’ut have grown strong without their help. You must stand or run on your own, Temujin. You will not have my warriors with you. That is my answer. There will be no other from me.”

For a moment, Temujin was silent. When he spoke, it was as if each word were wrung out of him.

“I have bags of silver ingots, captured from the Tartars. Give me a price per man and I will buy them from you.”

Sansar threw his head back to laugh and Temujin moved. With a savage jerk, he snapped one of the iron plates from his armor and leapt forward, jamming it into Sansar’s bare throat. Blood splashed his face as he ripped the metal edge back and forth, ignoring Sansar’s hands as they clawed at him.

The bondsmen were not ready to deal with sudden death. As they broke from shock and drew their swords, Khasar was already there, his fist hammering into the nose of the closest man. He too held a piece of sharpened iron torn from where he and Temujin had weakened the threads in the armor. He used it to cut the throat of the second bondsman in a vicious swipe. The man staggered backwards, falling with a crash on the wooden floor. A bitter smell filled the air as the bondsman’s bowels released, his legs still kicking in spasms.

Temujin pulled back from the broken body of the khan, panting and covered with blood. The bondsman Khasar had punched surged forward in mindless rage, but Khasar had taken the sword from his companion. As they met, Temujin leapt from the chair, hammering into Sansar’s man and taking him to the polished floor. While Temujin held him, Khasar plunged his blade through the bondsman’s heaving chest, working it back and forth until he too was still.

Only Koke stood then, his mouth open in speechless horror. As Temujin and Khasar turned their hard eyes on him, he backed away to the wall, his feet knocking against the Tartar swords. He grabbed at one in desperate fear, pulling the blade free of its scabbard with a jerk.

Temujin and Khasar met each other’s gaze. Temujin picked up the second sword and both men stepped toward him with deliberate menace.

“I am your cousin,” Koke said, his sword hand visibly shaking. “Let me live, for your mother, at least.”

Outside, Temujin could hear shouts of alarm. The warriors of the Olkhun’ut would be gathering, and his life hung in the balance.

“Drop the sword and you will live,” he said.

Khasar looked at his brother, but Temujin shook his head. Koke’s blade clattered on the floor.

“Now get out,” Temujin said. “Run if you want, I do not need you.”

Koke almost broke the hinges in his hurry to get the door open. Temujin and Khasar stood for a moment in silence, looking at the gaping throat of the khan of the Olkhun’ut. Without a word, Khasar approached the chair and kicked the body, the force of the blow making it slide down to sprawl bonelessly at their feet.

“When you see my father, tell him how you died,” Khasar muttered to the dead khan.

Temujin saw two swords he knew on the wall and he reached for them. They could both hear the shouts and clatter of assembling men outside. He looked at Khasar, his yellow eyes cold.

“Now, brother, are you ready to die?”

* * *

T
hey stepped out into the spring sunshine, eyes shifting quickly to judge what waited for them. Arslan stood a pace away from the door, two bodies lying at his feet. The night before, they had talked through every detail of the plan, but there was no way of knowing what would happen next. Temujin shrugged as he met Arslan’s eyes. He did not expect to survive the next few moments. He had given them both a chance to ride away, but they had insisted on coming with him.

“Is he dead?” Arslan said.

“He is,” Temujin replied.

He held Arslan’s old swords and he pressed the one the swordsmith had carried into his hand. Arslan knew he might not hold it for long, but he nodded as he took it, dropping a Tartar blade to the ground. Temujin looked past the swordsmith to the chaos of the Olkhun’ut warriors. Many of them held drawn bows, but they hesitated without orders and Temujin took the chance before they could find calm and shoot them down.

“Stand still and be silent!” he roared at the crowd.

If anything, the noise of fear and shouting increased, but those who were close by paused and stood watching. Temujin was reminded of the way animals could freeze in the stare of a hunter until it was too late.

“I claim the Olkhun’ut by right of conquest,” he bellowed, trying to reach as many of them as he could. “You will not be harmed, on my oath.”

He looked around them, judging the level of their fear and rage. Some of the warriors seemed to be urging the others on, but no one was willing yet to rush the khan’s ger and kill the men who stood so confidently before them.

On instinct, Temujin took two paces forward, moving toward a group of Sansar’s bondsmen. They were seasoned warriors and he knew the risk was greatest there. A single missed word or hesitation and they would erupt into a spasm of violence, too late to save the man they were sworn to protect. Humiliation battled with anger in their faces as Temujin raised his voice again over their heads.

“I am Temujin of the Wolves. You know my name. My mother was Olkhun’ut. My wife is Olkhun’ut. My children will be. I claim the right of inheritance through blood. In time, I will bring all the other tribes under my banners.”

Still the bondsmen did not respond. Temujin kept his blade low, by his feet, knowing that to raise it would trigger his death. He saw drawn bows sighted at him and forced calm onto his face. Where was Kachiun? His brother must have heard the disturbance.

“Do not fear when you hear the horns of the watchers,” he said in a lower voice to the bondsmen. “It will be my men, but they have orders not to touch my people.”

They had begun to lose the pale shock of the first moments and he did not know what they would do. The closest ones seemed to be listening.

“I know you are furious, but you will be honored as I take my people north against the Tartars,” he told them. “You will revenge my father’s death and we will be one tribe across the face of the plains, one people. As it should always have been. Let the Tartars fear us then. Let the Chin fear us.”

He saw their tense hands begin to relax and struggled to keep his triumph from showing on his face. He heard the alarm horns sound and once more sought to reassure the crowd.

“Not one of the Olkhun’ut will be harmed, I swear it on my father’s soul. Not by my men. Let them through and consider the oath I will ask you to take.” He looked around at the crowd and found them staring back at him, every eye on his.

“You have heard I am a wild wolf to the Tartars, that I am a scourge to them. You have heard my word is iron. I tell you now, the Olkhun’ut are safe under my hand.”

He watched as Kachiun and his ten men rode slowly through the crowd, relieved beyond words to see them. Some of the Olkhun’ut still stood rooted to the spot and had to be gently nudged out of the way by their ponies. The crowd held its silence as Kachiun and his men dismounted.

Kachiun did not know what he had expected, but he was amazed at the frozen Olkhun’ut staring at his brother. To his surprise, Temujin embraced him quickly, overcome with emotions that threatened to spoil what he had won.

“I will see the bondsmen privately and take their oath,” Temujin said to the crowd. In the silence, they could all hear him. “At sunset, I will take yours. Do not be afraid. Tomorrow, the camp will move north to join the Kerait, our allies.” He looked around, seeing that the drawn bows had been lowered at last. He nodded stiffly to the archers.

“I have heard the Olkhun’ut are feared in battle,” he said. “We will show the Tartars that they may not come into our lands unpunished.”

A heavyset man shouldered his way through the crowd from the rear. One boy was too slow to move and he smacked the back of his hand against the boy’s head, knocking him down.

Temujin watched him come, his triumph evaporating. He had known Sansar had sons. The one who approached bore the same features as his father, though on a more powerful frame. Perhaps Sansar himself had once been as strong.

“Where is my father?” the man demanded as he came forward.

The bondsmen turned to see him and many of them bowed their heads automatically. Temujin set his jaw tight, ready for them to rush him. His brothers tensed at his side and every man there was suddenly holding a blade or an axe.

“Your father is dead,” Temujin said. “I have claimed the tribe.”

“Who are you to speak to me?” the man demanded. Before Temujin could reply, Sansar’s son snapped a command at the bondsmen standing ready. “Kill them all.”

No one moved and Temujin felt a spark of hope come back to his battered spirit.

“It is too late,” he said softly. “I have claimed them by blood and conquest. There is no place for you here.”

Sansar’s son opened his mouth in amazement, looking round at the people he had known all his life. They would not meet his eyes and his face slowly became a cold mask. He did not lack courage, Temujin could see. His eyes were his father’s, roving constantly as he weighed the new situation. At last, he grimaced.

“Then I claim the right to challenge you, in front of them all. If you would take my father’s place, you will have to kill me, or I will kill you.” He spoke with absolute certainty and Temujin felt a pang of admiration for the man.

“I accept,” he said. “Though I do not know your name.”

Sansar’s son rolled his shoulders, loosening them. “My name is Paliakh, khan of the Olkhun’ut.”

It was a brave statement and Temujin bowed his head rather than refute it. He walked back to Arslan and took the fine sword from his fingers.

“Kill him quickly,” Arslan hissed under his breath. “If they start to cheer him, we are all dead.”

Temujin met his eyes without replying, turning back to Paliakh and tossing him the sword. He watched to see how well Sansar’s son caught it, and frowned to himself. All their lives depended now on his skill and the endless training bouts with Arslan and Yuan.

Paliakh swept the blade through the air, his teeth bared. He sneered as Temujin came to face him.

“With that armor? Why don’t you just have me shot from a distance? Are you afraid to face me without it?”

Temujin would have ignored the words if the Olkhun’ut bondsmen had not murmured their approval. He held out his arms and waited as Arslan and Kachiun untied the panels. When they were gone, he wore only a light silk tunic and thick cotton trousers. He raised his blade under the eyes of every man and woman of the Olkhun’ut.

“Come at me,” Temujin said.

Paliakh roared and darted forward, aiming in his fury to cut Temujin’s head from his shoulders with a single downward strike. Temujin stepped left on the outside of the blow, chopping quickly at Paliakh’s chest. He opened a gash on the man’s side which he didn’t seem to feel. The blade came round at blinding speed and Temujin was forced to parry it. They struggled face to face for a moment before Paliakh shoved him away with his free hand. In that instant, Temujin struck, bringing his edge sharply through the man’s neck.

Sansar’s son tried to spit the blood welling in his throat. Arslan’s sword dropped from his fingers and he held both hands up to his neck with a grip of terrible force. Under Temujin’s stare, he turned as if to walk away, then fell headlong and was still. A sigh went through the crowd and Temujin watched them coldly, wondering if they would tear him to pieces. He saw Koke there amongst them, his mouth open in horror. As Temujin met his eyes, his cousin turned and shoved through the crowd.

The rest of the Olkhun’ut stared like sheep and Temujin found his patience fraying. He strode through them to a cooking fire, taking a burning brand from under the pot. Turning his back on them all, he touched it to the khan’s ger along the edges, watching grimly as the flames took hold and began to lick upwards on the dry felt. It would burn well, and he would not shame the bondsmen by making them see their khan in death.

“Leave us now, until sunset,” he called to the crowd. “There is always work to be done and we will leave at dawn. Be ready.”

He glared at them until the stunned crowd began to move away, breaking into smaller groups to discuss what had happened. They looked back many times at the figures around the burning ger, but Temujin did not move until only the bondsmen remained.

The men Sansar had chosen as his personal guard were fewer in number than Temujin had realized. The Olkhun’ut had not ridden to war in a generation, and even the Wolves kept more armed men around their khan. Still, they outnumbered the ones Kachiun had brought and there was an uneasy tension between the two groups as they were left alone.

“I will not disturb Sansar’s wives and young children on this night,” Temujin said to them. “Let them mourn his passing with dignity. They will not suffer by my hand, nor be abandoned as I once was.”

Some of the bondsmen nodded their approval. The story of Yesugei’s sons and wife was known to them all. It had passed around the tribes until it had become one with a thousand other tales and myths from the storytellers.

“You are welcome at my fire,” Temujin told them. He spoke as if there were no possibility of being refused, and perhaps that was why they did not protest. He did not know, or care. A great weariness had descended on him and he found he was hungry and so thirsty he could barely speak.

“Have food brought to us while we discuss the war to come,” he said. “I need sharp-witted men to be my officers, and I do not yet know which of you will command and which will be led.”

He waited until Kachiun and Khasar had layered wood in a lattice on the cooking fire, building it high and fierce. At last, Temujin took a seat on the ground by the flames. His brothers and Arslan went with him, then the others followed, until they were all sitting on the cold ground, warily watching the new force in their lives.

E
XCEPT FOR WAR, there was no precedent for the Olkhun’ut to approach the Kerait on their own, and the warriors on each side showed their nervousness. Both tribes were on the move, as Togrul kept a gap between his own people and the Tartar invaders coming south.