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 (27 page)

They had been traveling for almost three months away from the Olkhun’ut when she slumped in the saddle, leaning to the side against the ropes, so that Eluin could not pull her upright. Arslan had lowered her down then and Eluin had begun to sob, the sound almost lost in the face of the howling wind.

“We must go on,” Borte told Eluin, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Your sister is gone from here now.”

Eluin nodded, red-eyed and silent. She arranged her sister’s body with the hands crossed on her chest. The snow would cover her, perhaps before the wild animals found another meal, in their own struggle to survive.

Still weeping, Eluin allowed Arslan to lift her into the saddle. She looked back at the tiny figure for a long time before distance hid her from sight. Temujin saw Arslan had given her a spare shirt that she wore under her deel. They were all cold despite the layers and the furs. Exhaustion was close, but Temujin knew his camp could not be far away. The Pole Star had risen as they traveled north, and he judged that they had come into Tartar lands. At least the snow hid them from their enemies, as well as it hid them from his brothers and Jelme.

As they rested the ponies and trudged through the snow on frozen feet, Borte walked with Temujin, their arms entwined in each other’s wide sleeves, so that at least one part of them felt warm.

“You will have to find a shaman to marry us,” Borte said without looking at him.

They walked with their heads bowed against the wind and snow crusted on their eyebrows like winter demons. He grunted assent and she felt his grip tighten briefly on her arm.

“My blood has not come this month,” she said.

He nodded vaguely, putting one foot in front of the other. The horses were skeletal without good grass and they too would be falling soon. Surely it was time to ride them again for a few hours? His legs ached and his broken rib still pained him with every jerk of the reins.

He drew up short in the snow and turned to her.

“You are pregnant?” he said incredulously.

Borte leaned forward and rubbed her nose against his.

“Perhaps. There has been so little food, and sometimes the blood doesn’t come because of that. I think I am, though.” She saw him surface from his walking trance and a smile come to his eyes.

“It will be a strong son to have had his beginnings on such a journey,” he said. The wind roared in a great gust as he spoke, so that they had to turn away. They could not see the sun, but the day was fading and he shouted to Arslan to look for shelter.

As Arslan began to scout around them for somewhere out of the wind, Temujin caught a glimpse of movement through the sheets of snow. He felt a prickle of danger at his neck and gave a low whistle for Arslan to come back. The wanderer looked quizzically at him and drew his knife in silence, staring into the snow.

The three of them waited in tense silence for Arslan to return while the snow whipped and flailed around them. They were almost blind in its midst, but again Temujin thought he saw the shape of a mounted man, a shadow. Borte asked him a question, but he did not hear it as he shook ice from the wrappings around his bow and attached the horsehide string to one end. With a grunt of effort, he realized the string had grown damp despite the oilcloth. He managed to fit the loop over the nocked end, but it creaked ominously and he thought it could easily snap on the first pull. Where was Arslan? He could hear the rumble of horses galloping nearby, the sound echoing in the whiteness until he could not be sure which way they were coming. With an arrow on the string, he spun, listening. They were closer. He heard the wanderer give a hiss of breath through his teeth, readying himself for an attack. Temujin noted how the man held his ground, and he gave thanks that there was one more with courage to stand at his side. Temujin raised the creaking bow. He saw dark shapes and heard shouting voices, and for a heartbeat, he imagined the Tartars coming for his head.

“Here!” he heard a voice. “They are here!”

Temujin almost dropped the bow in relief as he recognized Kachiun and knew he was back amongst his people. He stood numbly as Kachiun leapt from his saddle into the snow and thumped into him, embracing his brother.

“It has been a good winter, Temujin,” Kachiun said, hammering him excitedly on the back with his gloved hand. “Come and see.”

CHAPTER 23

T
EMUJIN AND THE OTHERS MOUNTED
for the last mile, though their ponies were dropping in exhaustion. The camp they came to was set against the dark face of an ancient landslip, sheltered from the worst of the wind by an overhang above and the hill at their back. Two dozen gers clustered there like lichen, with wild dogs and tethered ponies in every available spot out of the wind. Despite aching for rest and hot food, Temujin could not help glancing around at the bustling place hidden away in the snow. He could see Jelme kept the camp on a war footing. Warriors on their way to a long watch strode by with their heads down against the wind. There were far more men than women and children, Temujin noticed, seeing the camp with the fresh eyes of a stranger. That was a blessing when they were ready to ride and fight at a moment’s notice, but it could not go on forever. Men followed their leaders to war, but they wanted a home to return to, with a woman’s touch in the dark and children round the feet like puppies.

Those who had known hunger and fear as wanderers might be satisfied with the fledgling tribe in the snow, though even then they were as wary of each other as wild dogs. Temujin repressed his impatience. The wanderers would learn to see a brother where once had stood an enemy. They would learn the sky father knew only one people and saw
no
tribes. It would come in time, he promised himself.

As he walked through the camp, he became more alert, shrugging off his weariness as the details caught his interest. He saw watchers high on the cliff above his head, bundled against the wind. He did not envy them and he thought they would see little in the constant snow. Still, it showed Jelme’s thoroughness and Temujin was pleased. The camp had a sense of urgency in every movement, rather than the usual winter lethargy that affected the tribes. He felt the suppressed excitement as soon as he was amongst them.

There were new faces there, men and women who looked at him as if he were a stranger. He imagined they saw his ragged group as another wanderer family brought into the fold. Temujin looked at Borte to see how she was taking her first sight of his little tribe in the north. She too was pale with tiredness, but she rode close to his side and her sharp eyes took it all in. He could not tell if she approved. They passed a ger where Arslan had built a brick forge months before, and Temujin saw the glow from its flame, a tongue of light on the snow. There were men and women in there for the warmth, and he heard laughter as he trotted by. He turned to the swordsmith to see if he had noticed, but Arslan was oblivious. His gaze searched ceaselessly among the tribe, looking for his son.

Jelme came out to meet them as soon as he heard Kachiun shout. Khasar too came skidding from a different ger, beaming in delight at the sight of the small party who had been gone half a year. As they dismounted, grinning boys ran to take their ponies without having to be summoned. Temujin cuffed at one, making him duck. He was pleased with Jelme’s stewardship of the tribe. They had not grown fat and slow in his absence.

Arslan’s pride in his son was obvious and Temujin saw Jelme nod to his father. To Temujin’s surprise, Jelme went down on one knee and reached out for Temujin’s hand.

“No, Jelme, stand up,” Temujin said, half irritably. “I want to get out of the wind.”

Jelme remained where he was, though he raised his head.

“Let the new men see, my lord khan. They do not know you yet.”

Temujin understood and his appreciation of Jelme went up a degree. Some of the wanderer families would have known Jelme as the closest thing to a khan for the months Temujin had been away. It was important to show them the true leader had returned. He did not argue again, and allowed Jelme to place his hand on his head before lifting him up and embracing him.

“Did you find a shaman amongst these new arrivals?” Temujin asked.

Jelme winced at the question as he rose. “There is one, though he stole the supply of airag and bargains his ration for more whenever he can.”

“Keep him sober for a few days, then,” Temujin said. “As long as he can dedicate my marriage to the sky father and earth mother, I’ll keep him drunk for a month afterwards.”

He looked around him once more, seeing how many faces had stopped in the snow and wind to watch the scene. As he caught the eyes of those he knew, they bowed their heads in acknowledgment. Jelme’s gaze fell on Borte and Eluin and he bowed low at the waist.

“We are honored to have you with us, daughters of the Olkhun’ut,” he said.

Borte did not know what to make of the confident stranger. She dipped her head jerkily in return, flushing as she looked away. Nothing in her life had prepared her to be treated with respect, and for a moment, she had to blink back tears.

Released from the formalities of his welcome, Jelme was finally free to take his father’s arm and embrace him.

“I have bled the Tartars,” he told Arslan, struggling not to seem too proud. His father chuckled and slapped his son on the back. Perhaps in time, he too would become comfortable with the easy manner Temujin encouraged amongst his men.

“I am home,” Temujin said, under his breath and unheard by the others. It was little more than a raiding camp on frozen ground, with barely enough food or shelter for any of them, but there was no question. He had brought Borte home.

“Take me to my mother, Jelme,” he said, shivering in the wind. “She will be hungry for news of the Olkhun’ut.” He caught a glimpse of Borte’s nervousness at his words and sought to reassure her.

“She will welcome you, Borte, as if you were her own daughter.”

As Jelme began to lead the way, Temujin saw the raider he had taken under his wing standing uncomfortably on the outskirts of their little group. His mind swam with a hundred things to remember, but he could not leave the man standing amongst strangers.

“Kachiun? This is Barakh, a fine warrior. He needs work with the bow and he has never used a sword. He is brave and strong, however. See what you can make of him.” He frowned to himself as he spoke, remembering yet another debt.

“Make sure that Arslan is given everything he needs to forge new swords. Have men sent out to dig for ore.”

Kachiun nodded. “There is a seam in this hill. We have the gray stones piled ready for him. Jelme wouldn’t let anyone touch it until his father returned.”

Temujin saw that Arslan and his son were both listening.

“That was right,” he said immediately. “Arslan will make two swords as great as any we have ever seen, is that not so?”

Arslan was still reeling from the pleasure of seeing his son alive and strong, a leader of men. He bowed his head.

“I will make them,” he said.

“Now, by the sky father, let us get out of this wind,” Temujin said. “I thought it would be spring by now.”

Khasar shrugged. “We think this is the spring, as far north as we are. I am enjoying the milder weather, myself.”

Temujin looked around at Khasar, Kachiun, Jelme, and Arslan. They were fine warriors and his heart soared at the thought of what they might accomplish together. He was home.

Hoelun had a ger to herself, with a young girl from the wanderer families to help her. She was in the process of rubbing clean mutton fat into her skin when she heard the commotion. Her servant went out into the snow for news, returning red-faced and gasping from the cold.

“Your son is in the camp, mistress,” she said.

Hoelun let the pot of grease fall from her hands and wiped them on an old cloth. She made a clicking sound in her throat to hurry the girl along as she held out her arms and shrugged herself into the deel. The strength of her emotions surprised her, but her heart had leapt at the news. Temujin had survived again. Though she could not forget what he had done in the darkest times, he was still her son. Love was a strange and twisted thing for any mother, beyond all reason.

By the time she heard his voice outside, Hoelun had composed herself, taking little Temulun on her lap and combing her hair to calm her shaking hands. The girl seemed to sense her mother’s strange mood and looked around wide-eyed when the door opened. Temujin brought the winter in with him in a gust of snow and bitter air that made Hoelun shiver and Temulun cry out with happiness at the older brother she had not seen for such a long time.

Hoelun watched as Temujin embraced his sister, complimenting her on her beautiful hair, as he always did. The girl chattered while Hoelun drank in every detail of the young man who inspired such mixed feelings in her. Whether he knew it or not, he was very much the son Yesugei would have wanted. In her darkest moments, she knew Yesugei would have approved the death of Bekter when they were close to starving. Her sons had inherited their father’s ruthlessness, or perhaps had it hammered into them by the lives they had led.

“It is good to see you, my son,” Hoelun said formally. Temujin only smiled, turning aside to bring in a tall young woman and another behind her. Hoelun’s eyes widened as she took in the delicate features of her own people. It brought a pang of homesickness, surprising after so many years. She rose and took the two younger women by their hands, bringing them into the warmth. Temulun came to join them, snuggling in between and demanding to know who they were.

“More wood on the fire there,” Hoelun told her girl. “You must both be freezing. Which of you is Borte?”

“I am, Mother,” Borte responded shyly. “Of the Olkhun’ut.”

“I knew that from your face and the markings on your deel,” Hoelun said as she turned to the other. “And you, daughter, what is your name?”

Eluin was still stunned with grief, but she did her best to reply. Hoelun sensed her misery and embraced her on an impulse. She brought them both to where they could sit, calling for bowls of hot tea to warm them. Temulun was kept quiet with a bag of sweet yoghurt curds and sat in the corner, digging deeply into it. Temujin watched as the women of the Olkhun’ut talked together and was pleased to see Borte begin to smile at his mother’s recollections. Hoelun understood their fears amongst the strangeness. She had felt the same way herself, once. While they thawed, she questioned them endlessly, her voice slipping into an old accent Temujin recognized from the Olkhun’ut. It was strange to hear it from his mother, and he was reminded again of the life she had led before Yesugei or her children.

“Is Sansar still the khan? What of my nephew, Koke, and his father, Enq?”

Borte answered Hoelun easily, responding to her motherly ways without embarrassment. Temujin looked on with pride, as if he were responsible. His mother seemed to have forgotten him, so he seated himself and nodded to the servant girl for a bowl of tea, accepting it gratefully and closing his eyes in pleasure as its warmth worked through him. Eluin too began to join the conversation and he allowed himself to relax at last and close his eyes

“…this cannot go on much longer, this storm,” he heard his mother saying. “The thaw has already begun and the hill passes have begun to clear.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold,” Borte replied, rubbing her hands together. The women seemed to like each other and Temujin settled back gratefully.

“I brought Eluin to be a wife to Khasar or Kachiun. Her sister died on the trip,” he said, opening his eyes a fraction. Both women looked at him, then the conversation began again as if he had not spoken. He snorted softly to himself. No man could be a khan to his mother. The warmth made him drowsy and, with their soft voices in his ears, he dropped off to sleep.

Kachiun and Khasar sat in a neighboring ger, chewing on hot mutton that had been simmering in broth for the best part of a day. With the cold, it was necessary to keep a stew on the fire the whole time so that there was always a bowl to warm them before they went out again. There had been little chance to relax while Temujin was away. The brothers tolerated Jelme’s orders with good nature, knowing it was what Temujin would have wanted. In private, though, they dropped all masks and pretenses, talking long into the night.

“I liked the look of that Eluin,” Khasar said.

Kachiun rose to the bait immediately, as his brother had known he would. “
Your
girl died, Khasar. Eluin was promised to me and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything like it, little brother. The eldest gets his tea and stew first, have you noticed? It is the same with wives.”

Kachiun snorted, half in amusement. He had seen Eluin first, when he rode out to answer the scout’s call. He had hardly noticed her then, bundled up against the cold, but he felt it gave him some sort of finder’s rights. It was certainly a stronger claim than Khasar’s, who had just stumbled out of a ger and met her.

“Temujin will decide,” he said.

Khasar nodded, beaming. “I am glad we will not argue. I am the eldest, after all.”

“I said he will decide, not choose you,” Kachiun replied, sourly.

“She was pretty, I thought. With long legs.”

“What could you see of her legs? She looked like a yak in all those layers.”

Khasar looked off into the distance. “She was tall, Kachiun, didn’t you notice? Unless you think her feet don’t reach to the ground, there must be long legs in there somewhere. Strong legs to wrap around a man, if you know what I mean.”

“Temujin could marry her to Jelme,” Kachiun replied, more to sting his brother than because he believed it.

Khasar shook his head. “Blood comes first,” he said. “Temujin knows that better than anyone.”

“If you took a moment to listen to him, you’d hear he claims a blood tie to every man and woman in camp, regardless of tribe or family,” Kachiun said. “By the spirits, Khasar, you think more of your stomach and loins than of what he’s trying to do here.”

The two brothers stared balefully at each other.

“If you mean I don’t follow him around like a lost dog, then you’re right,” Khasar said. “Between you and Jelme, he has his own adoring little pack these days.”

“You are an idiot,” Kachiun told him, slowly and deliberately.

Khasar flushed. He knew he lacked the keen intelligence of Temujin and perhaps even Kachiun, but the world would freeze solid before he would admit it.