The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle: Genghis: Birth of an Empire, Genghis: Bones of the Hills, Genghis: Lords of the Bow, Khan: Empire of Silver, Conqueror (148 page)

“How long have you known of the weakness?” he asked.

Ogedai shrugged. “I’ve had twinges as long as I can remember, but it has grown worse in the last few years. There have been … more serious pains. Without the Chin powders, I do not think I have much time.”

“Wait,” Chagatai said, frowning. “You say I am safe? You will let me leave with this information? I don’t understand.”

It was Tsubodai who replied and he too stared at Ogedai as if seeing him for the first time.

“If you died, Chagatai, if you were killed as you deserve for the attacks last night, who would keep the nation whole when the khan falls?” Tsubodai’s face twisted into a furious sneer. “It seems you will be rewarded for your failures, my lord.”

“That is why you too had to hear this, Tsubodai,” Ogedai said. “You must put aside your anger. My brother will be khan after me, and you will be his first general. He too is a son of Genghis, the bloodline of the man you gave oath to serve.”

Chagatai struggled to take in what he had heard. “You expect me to wait then, to be quiet and peaceful while I wait for you to die? How do I know this is not some ruse, something dreamed up by Tsubodai?”

“Because I could kill you
now,
” Ogedai snapped, his temper fraying visibly. “I still could, Chagatai. Why else would I offer you your life, after last night? I speak from a position of strength, brother, not failure. That is how you should judge my words.”

Reluctantly, Chagatai nodded. He needed time to think and he knew he was not going to be given that luxury.

“I have made promises to those who have supported me,” he said. “I cannot simply live the life of a herder while I wait. It would be a living death, unworthy of a warrior.” He paused for a moment, thinking quickly. “Unless you make me your heir, publicly. Then I will have the respect of my generals.”

“That I will not do,” Ogedai said immediately. “If I die in the next few months, you will be khan whether I have made you heir or not. If I survive longer, I will not deny the chance to my son. You must take your chances with him, as he must with you.”

“Then you offer me nothing!” Chagatai replied, raising his voice almost to a shout. “What sort of a deal is this, based on empty promises? Why even tell me? If you die soon, yes, I will be khan, but I will not spend my life waiting for a messenger who might never come. No man would.”

“After the attacks last night, you had to be told. If I let it pass, if I just sent you back to your tuman, you would see only weakness. How long before you or another challenged me then? Yet I am not leaving you with
nothing
, Chagatai. Far from it. My task is to expand the lands we have conquered, to make the nation safe to thrive and grow by doing so. To our brother Tolui, I will give the homeland, though I will keep Karakorum as my own city.” He took a deep breath, seeing the light of anticipation and greed in his brother’s eyes. “You will take Khwarezm as the center of your lands, with the cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and Kabul. I will give to you a khanate two thousand miles across, from the Amu Darya river to the Altai mountains. You and your descendants will rule there, though you will pay tribute to me and to mine.”

“My lord …” Tsubodai began, appalled.

Chagatai chuckled derisively. “Let him speak, General. This is a matter for family, not for you.”

Ogedai shook his head. “I have planned this for almost two years, Tsubodai. My challenge is to put aside the rage I feel for the attacks on my family and make the right choices, even now.”

He raised his head to stare at Chagatai, and his brother felt the surging emotions in his gaze.

“My son and daughters survived, Chagatai. Did you know that? If they had been killed by your warriors, I would be watching you slow-roasted at this moment and listening to you scream. Some things I will not bear in the name of my father’s empire, his vision.” He paused, but Chagatai said nothing. Ogedai nodded, satisfied he had been understood.

“You have a position of strength,
brother,
” Ogedai said. “You have generals loyal to you, while I have a vast empire that must be administered and controlled by able men. After today I will be the gur-khan, the leader of nations. I will take your oath and honor mine to you and your descendants. The Chin showed us how to rule many lands, Chagatai, with tribute flowing back to the capital.”

“You have not forgotten what happened to that capital?” Chagatai asked.

Ogedai’s eyes glinted dangerously. “I have
not
, brother. Do not think that one day you will lead an army into Karakorum. Our father’s blood runs in my veins as much as it does in yours. If you ever come to me holding a sword, it will be against the
khan
, and the nation will answer. I will destroy you then with your wives and children, your servants and followers. Do not forget, Chagatai, that I survived the night. Our father’s luck is mine. His spirit watches over me. Yet I am offering you an empire greater than anything outside the lands of the Chin.”

“Where I will
rot,
” Chagatai said. “You would have me lock myself in a pretty palace, surrounded by women and gold …” he struggled for something suitably appalling, “…   chairs and crowns?”

Ogedai smiled slightly to see his brother’s horror at such a prospect. “No,” he said. “You will raise an army for me there, one I may call on. An army of the West, as Tolui will create an army of the Hearth and I will gather one of the East. The world has grown too large for one army of the nation, my brother. You will ride where I tell you to ride, conquer where I tell you to conquer. The world is yours, if you can put aside the base part of you that tells you to rule it all. That you may not have. Now give me an answer and your oath. Your word
is
iron, brother, and I
will
take it. Or I can just kill you now.”

Chagatai nodded, overcome with the sudden shift from fatalistic numbness to new hope and new suspicions.

“What oath will you accept?” he said at last, and Ogedai knew he had won. He held out the wolf’s-head sword that Genghis had worn.

“Swear with your hand on this sword. Swear by our father’s spirit and honor that you will never raise a hand in anger against me. That you will accept me as gur-khan and be a loyal vassal as khan of your own lands and peoples. Whatever else happens is the will of the sky father, but on that, you can make an oath I will respect. There will be many others today, Chagatai. Be the first.”

The nation knew that Chagatai had gambled for the horse tails, throwing his men at the city of Karakorum. When Ogedai and his officers rode around the city that morning in a show of strength, they saw that the attempt had failed. Yet somehow Chagatai too rode proudly as he rejoined his tuman outside the city. He sent his bondsmen to collect the corpses and carry them far beyond Karakorum, out of sight. In just a short time, only rusty marks were left on the streets, the dead as well hidden as the plans and stratagems of great men. The warriors of the nation shrugged and continued to prepare for the festival and the great games that would begin that day.

For Kachiun and Khasar, it was enough for the moment to know Ogedai had survived. The games would go ahead and there would be time to think of the future once he was made khan. Tumans that had faced each other in anger the night before sent teams of bowmen to the archery wall outside Karakorum. For those men, the battles of princes were a different world. They were pleased their own generals had survived; more pleased that the games had not been called off.

Tens of thousands gathered to watch the first event of the day. No one wanted to miss the early rounds, especially as the final would be seen by only thirty thousand, in the center of the city. Temuge had organized the paper tokens that gained entry to that final enclosure. They had been changing hands for horses and gold for days before the event. While Ogedai had fought for his life,
women, children, and the elderly were quietly sitting in darkness where they could watch the greatest skills of their people demonstrated. Even the game of thrones had come second place to that desire.

The archery wall loomed above the east gate of Karakorum, bright in the rising sun. It had been built over the previous days, a massive construction of wood and iron that could hold more than a hundred small shields, each no larger than a man’s head. Around it, a thousand iron stoves added smoke to the air, cooking a feast for those who watched. The smell of fried mutton and wild onions was strong around the camp, and the knowledge that civil war had been as close as a breath the night before did not diminish their appetites or still the ready laughter as the wrestlers practiced with friends on the dry grass. It was a good day, with the sun strong on their backs as the nation prepared to celebrate a new khan.

K
hasar stood with nine of his tuman’s best archers, waiting for his turn. He had to struggle to find the calm he needed, and he took long, slow breaths while he held up each of the four arrows he had been given. In theory, they were all identical, products of the best fletcher in the tribes. Even so, Khasar had rejected the first three he had been handed. It was nerves in part, but he had not slept and he knew the day would be hard as it caught up with him. He was already sweating more than usual as his body complained and ached. The only consolation was that every other archer had been awake as well. Yet the young ones were bright-faced and cheerful as they saw the gray pallor of more senior men. For them it was a day of great potential, a better chance than they could have hoped to win recognition and Temuge’s precious medals of gold, silver, and bronze, each stamped with the face of Ogedai. While he waited, Khasar wondered what Chagatai would have done if he had been successful. No doubt the heavy discs would have been quietly taken away and lost. Khasar shook his head to clear it. Knowing Chagatai, he would have used them anyway. The man felt no embarrassment about small things. In that at least, he was the true son of his father.

The festival would last for three days, though Ogedai would be khan at sunset on the first. Khasar had already seen Temuge running himself ragged trying to organize the events so that all those
who qualified to compete could do so. Temuge had complained to Khasar about the difficulties, saying something about archers who were also riding in the horse races, and runners who were wrestling. Khasar had waved him away rather than listen to the tedious detail. He supposed someone had to organize it all, but it did not sound like a warrior’s work. It was well suited to his scholarly brother, who could use a bow hardly better than a child.

“Step forward, Bearskin tuman,” the judge called.

Khasar looked up from his thoughts to watch the competition. Jebe was a talented archer. His very name meant “arrow” and had been given to him after a shot that brought down Genghis’s own horse. The word was that his men would be in the final. Khasar noted that Jebe did not seem to be suffering after the night’s exertions, though he had fought through the night to save Ogedai. Khasar felt a twinge of envy, remembering when he too could have ridden all night and still fought the following day, without rest or food beyond a few gulps of airag, blood, and milk. Still, he knew he had not wasted the good times. With Genghis, he had conquered nations and made a Chin emperor kneel. It had been the proudest moment of his life, but he could have wished for a few more years of uncaring strength, without the painful clicking of his hip as he rode, or the sore knee, or even the small, hard lumps under his shoulder where a lance tip had broken off years before. He rubbed at the spot absently, as Jebe and his nine toed the line, a hundred paces from the archery wall. At that distance, the targets looked tiny.

Jebe laughed at something and clapped one of his men on the back. Khasar watched as the general bent and slow-released his bow a few times, limbering up his shoulders. Around them, thousands of warriors, women, and children had gathered to watch, growing still and silent as the team waited for the breeze to die.

The wind dropped to nothing, seeming to intensify the sun on Khasar’s skin. The wall had been placed so the archers cast long shadows, but their aim was not spoiled by light in their eyes. Temuge had planned such tiny details.

“Ready,” Jebe said, without turning his head.

His men stood on either side of him, one arrow on the string
and three on the ground before them. There were no marks for style, only accuracy, but Khasar knew Jebe would make it as silky smooth as he could, as a matter of pride.

“Begin!” the judge called.

Khasar watched closely as the team breathed out together, drawing at the same time and loosing just before they took the next breath. Ten arrows soared out, curving slightly as blurs in the air before they thumped home on the wall. More judges ran out and held up flags to show the hits. Their voices carried in the silent air, calling
“Uukhai!
” for every shot in the center of the target.

It was a good start. Ten flags. Jebe grinned at his men and they loosed again as soon as the judges were clear. To go on to the next round, they had to hit only thirty-three shields with forty arrows. They made it look easy, hitting a perfect thirty and only missing two on the last shot for a score of thirty-eight. The crowd cheered and Khasar glowered at Jebe as he passed back through the other competitors. The sun was hot, but they were alive.