Lords of the Bow (4 page)

“Stand, if you can, brother. Tell me who you want dead,” Kachiun snapped to Khasar.

As Khasar lowered his hands, he spat red phlegm onto the grass and levered himself to his feet. His face was a mass of bruising and blood, and the khan of the Woyela stiffened at the sight, his amusement fading.

“This was a private matter,” the khan said quickly as Kachiun glared at him. “Your brother claimed no formal rank.”

Kachiun looked at Khasar, who shrugged, wincing as his bruised body protested.

Temuge too had regained his feet, looking as pale as milk. His eyes were cold and his shame made him angrier than Khasar or Kachiun had ever seen him. The third man straightened painfully and Khasar nodded to him in thanks. He too had been battered, but he grinned infectiously as he rested his hands on his knees and panted.

“Be careful,” Kachiun murmured to his brothers, barely loud enough to hear. He had brought a bare dozen of his workers, all he could grab when he heard of the fight. They would last only moments before the armed men of the Woyela. Hard eyes in the crowd watched the scene, and the khan regained some of his confidence.

“Honor has been satisfied,” he declared. “There is no grudge between us.” He turned to Khasar to see how his words had been received. Khasar stood smiling crookedly. He had heard the sound of marching feet coming closer. All of those who stood there stiffened in alarm at the jingling approach of armored warriors. It could only be Genghis.

“There is no grudge?” Kachiun hissed at the khan. “That is not for you to decide, Woyela.”

All eyes turned to see Genghis coming. He walked with Arslan and five other men in full armor. All carried drawn blades and the Woyela sons glanced at each other in dawning worry at what they had done. They had talked of testing one of the brothers of Genghis, and that part had gone beautifully. Only the arrival of Temuge had dragged them into deeper water, and none of them knew how it would be resolved.

Genghis took in the scene, his face a mask. His gaze lingered on Temuge and for a moment the yellow eyes tightened at the sight of his little brother’s trembling hands. The khan of the Woyela spoke before anyone else.

“This is already settled, lord,” he said. “It was merely a diversion, a fight over a horse.” He swallowed dryly. “There is no need for you to rule on this.”

Genghis ignored him.

“Kachiun?”

Kachiun controlled his anger to reply in a calm voice. “I do not know what started it. Khasar can tell you that.”

Khasar winced at hearing his name. Under Genghis’s stare, he considered his words carefully. The entire camp would hear eventually and he could not be seen to complain like a child to his father. Not if he expected to lead them in war afterwards.

“I am satisfied with my part in this, brother,” he said through gritted teeth. “If I have need to discuss it further with these men, I will do so on another day.”

“You will not,” Genghis snapped, understanding the implied threat as well as the Woyela sons did themselves. “I forbid it.”

Khasar bowed his head. “As you say, lord,” he replied.

Genghis looked at Temuge, seeing the shame at his public beating, coupled with the bright rage that had surprised Khasar and Kachiun before.

“You too are marked, Temuge. I cannot believe you were part of this.”

“He tried to stop it,” Kachiun replied. “They knocked him to his knees and—”

“Enough!” Temuge snapped. “In time, I will return every blow.” Blushing red, he seemed close to tears, like a child. Genghis stared at him and his own anger suddenly broke free. With a grunt, he shook his head and strode through the brothers of the Woyela. One of them was too slow and Genghis barged him down with his shoulder, barely seeming to feel the impact. The khan raised his hands in a plea, but Genghis grabbed his deel and yanked him forward. As he unsheathed his sword, the Woyela warriors drew their own in a rasp of metal.

“Hold!” Genghis roared at them, a voice that had carried across a hundred battles. They ignored the order and as they closed, Genghis jerked the khan upwards like a marmot in his grip. In two quick slashes, he brought his sword across the man’s thighs, gashing the muscles.

“If my brother was made to kneel, Woyela, you will not stand again,” he said. The khan was bellowing and blood poured over his feet as he fell. Before the warriors could reach him, Genghis raised his gaze to stare them down.

“If I see one sword in a hand in ten heartbeats more, not a single Woyela man, woman, or child will live past this evening.”

The officers amongst the warriors hesitated, raising their arms to hold back the others. Genghis stood before them without a trace of fear while the khan at his feet fell to one side, moaning. The sons still stood frozen, horrified at what they had seen. With an effort of will, the khan made a gesture that his officers chose to interpret as assent. They sheathed their swords and the warriors followed, their eyes wide. Genghis nodded. “When we ride, you Woyela will be the guards for my brother,” he said. “If you will have them?”

Khasar murmured assent, his swollen face blank.

“Then this is finished. There is no blood feud and I have seen justice served.”

Genghis caught the eyes of his brothers and they fell in with him as he strode back to the great ger and the business of the day. Khasar clapped a hand on the young man who had helped him, taking him along rather than leaving him to be beaten again.

“This one came to help me,” Khasar said as they walked. “He knows no fear, brother.”

For an instant, Genghis glanced at the young man, seeing his pride. “What is your name?” he asked gruffly, still seething at what he had seen.

“Tsubodai of the Uriankhai, lord.”

“Come and see me when you want a good horse and armor,” he said.

Tsubodai beamed and Khasar punched him lightly in the shoulder, approving. Behind them, the Woyela khan was left to be tended by his women. With such wounds, he would never stand straight, or perhaps even walk again.

As Genghis and his brothers strode through the tribes gathered in the shadow of the black mountain, there were many who looked on them with awe and approval. He had shown he would not be challenged, and one more small victory had been won.

The Uighurs were sighted as the summer waned and the floodwaters from the hills swelled the Onon River to the bursting point. The plains were still a vivid green and skylarks leaped and fluttered as the Uighur carts passed them.

It was an impressive display of strength and Genghis answered it with five thousand of his horsemen in ranks before the great camp. He did not come to meet them himself, knowing that his absence would be taken as subtle disapproval for their lateness. Instead, the Woyela took a position around Khasar as he rode to meet the new arrivals, and none of the khan’s sons dared do more than stare at the back of his head.

As the Uighurs drew close, Khasar approached the cart that led the dark snake of people and animals. His eyes flickered over the warriors, judging their quality. They were well armed and seemed fierce and alert, though he knew appearances could be deceiving. They would learn the tactics that had brought victory to Genghis, or be reduced to carrying messages amongst the host.

The Uighurs were horse traders as well as scholars, and Khasar was pleased to see the vast herd that accompanied them. There had to be three ponies for every warrior, and he knew the camp would be busy over the next month as the other tribes came to bargain and replenish their bloodlines.

At his raised hand, the warriors around the lead cart drew up in a defensive position, their hands on the hilts of swords. The Uighurs must have had a good supply of ore for so many to carry blades, Khasar thought. Perhaps there would be trade in steel as well. There were still too many in the camp with nothing but a knife to complement their bows. Khasar directed his gaze to a small gray-haired man on the front of the cart. It was he who had held up an arm to halt the column, and Khasar saw how the warriors looked to him for orders. Though the man’s deel was of simple cut, it had to be the Uighur khan, Barchuk. Khasar decided to give him honor by speaking first.

“You are welcome in the camp, lord,” he said formally. “You are the last of the great tribes to arrive, but my lord Genghis has received your message in goodwill and allocated grazing land for your families.”

The small man nodded thoughtfully as he looked past Khasar to the riders who waited in formation.

“I can see we must be the last. I can hardly believe there are any more warriors in the world, given the size of the host on this plain. You are the first men we have seen in many days of travel.” He shook his head in wonder at the thought. “The Uighurs will pledge to Genghis, as I have promised. Show us where to pitch our gers and we will do the rest.”

In comparison to some of the pricklier khans, Khasar appreciated the man’s bluntness. He smiled. “I am his brother, Khasar,” he said. “I will show you myself.”

“Step up beside me, then, Khasar. I am hungry for news.” The khan patted the wooden bench of the cart and Khasar dismounted, sending his horse back to the first rank of Woyela warriors with a slap on its rump.

“If we are the last, perhaps it will not be long before Genghis points this great arrow at his enemies,” the khan said as Khasar clambered up beside him. Barchuk clicked in his cheek at the oxen, and the cart moved off with a lurch. Khasar watched how the Uighur warriors kept formation around them and was pleased. They could ride, at least.

“Only he can say, lord.” The bruises he had taken from the Woyela had almost faded, though he felt Barchuk’s eyes drift over them without comment. The camp had been quiet for a time after seeing the Woyela humbled, but with the end of summer, they were restless again and, now that the Uighurs had arrived, he thought his brother would move in just a few days. He felt his own excitement mounting at the idea. They had the tribes and Genghis would take their oaths of loyalty. After that, war would come and he and his brothers would take the Chin foot off the necks of their people.

“You seem cheerful, Khasar,” Barchuk observed as he guided the cart around a hump in the grass. The older man was wiry with strength and his eyes seemed constantly amused.

“I was thinking that we have never before come together, lord. Always there has been some blood feud or Chin bribery to keep us at each other’s throats.” He waved an arm to encompass the camp on the plain. “This? This is a new thing.”

“It may end in destruction for our people,” Barchuk murmured, watching him closely.

Khasar grinned. He remembered Kachiun and Genghis debating the same point and he echoed their words. “Yes, but not one of us, not one man, woman, or child, will be alive in a hundred years. Everyone you see here will be bones.”

He saw Barchuk frown in puzzlement and wished he had Kachiun’s ability to speak as he went on.

“What is the purpose of life if not to conquer? To steal women and land? I would rather be here and see this than live out my life in peace.”

Barchuk nodded. “You are a philosopher, Khasar.”

Khasar chuckled. “You are the only one who thinks it. No, I am the geat khan’s brother and this is our time.”

CHAPTER 3

B
ARCHUK OF THE
U
IGHURS SPOKE FOR HOURS
as the sun set outside the great ger. Genghis was fascinated by the man’s knowledge, and if he came across a concept he did not understand, he made the khan go over and over it until the meaning was clear.

Of all subjects, anything to do with the Chin had Genghis leaning forward in his seat like a hawk, his eyes bright with interest. The Uighurs had come from land to the far southwest, bordering the Gobi Desert and the Chin kingdom of Xi Xia. Genghis reveled in every detail Barchuk could provide of Chin trade caravans, their dress and customs, and, most of all, their weapons and armor. It was true that merchants may not have had the best of guards, but each scrap of information fell upon the desert of Genghis’s imagination like spring water, vanishing deep.

“Peace has brought you wealth and security,” Genghis said as Barchuk paused to clear his throat with a gulp of tea. “Perhaps you could have approached the king of the Xi Xia to ally against me. Did you consider it?”

“Of course,” Barchuk replied, disarming him with honesty. “But if I have given you the impression of their friendship, it is false. They trade with us because they have markets for the skins of snow leopards from the mountains, for hard woods, even seeds of rare plants to aid them in their study of healing. In return, they sell us raw iron, carpets, tea, and sometimes a scroll they have already copied many times.” He paused and smiled wryly at the gathering of men. “They bring their litters and their guards into Uighur towns, but their distaste can be read on every face, even those they call slaves.” The memories had brought a flush of irritation to his face and he wiped his brow before continuing. “Since I have learned their language, I know them too well to ask for support. You have to see them to understand, lord. They care nothing for those who are not Xi Xia subjects. Even the Chin regard them as a separate people, though they share many of the same customs. They pay tribute to the Chin emperor and, though under his protection, still consider themselves apart from their powerful neighbor. Their arrogance is colossal, lord.”

Barchuk leaned forward, reaching out to tap Genghis on his knee. He did not seem to notice the way the surrounding men bristled.

“We have had their scraps for many generations, lord, while they kept the best meat behind their forts and walls.”

“And you would see them broken,” Genghis murmured.

“I would. All I ask is that their libraries are turned over to the Uighur for study. In addition, we have seen rare gems and a stone that is like milk and fire. They do not trade such items no matter what we offer.”

Genghis watched the khan closely as he spoke. Barchuk knew he had no right to demand spoils from war. The tribes were not paid to fight and anything they won or looted was theirs by tradition. Barchuk asked a great deal, but Genghis could not think of another group who might want the libraries of the Xi Xia. The very idea made him want to smile.

“You may have the scrolls, Barchuk. My word on it. Anything else goes to the victors and is in the hands of the sky father. I can give you no special claim.”

Barchuk sat back and gave a reluctant nod. “It is enough, with everything else we will win from them. I have seen my people ridden down in the road by their horses, lord. I have seen them starve while the Xi Xia grew fat on crops they would not share. I have brought my warriors to extract a price for their arrogance and our towns and fields are empty behind us. The Uighur are with you, gers, horses, salt, and blood.”

Genghis reached out and the two men bound the oath with a quick clasp that hid the seriousness of such a declaration. The tribes waited outside the ger and Genghis would demand a similar oath from them all as soon as he was ready. To offer it in private was a demonstration of support that Genghis did not treat lightly.

“I ask one thing of you, Barchuk, before we go out to them,” he said.

Barchuk paused in the middle of rising and his face became a mask as he realized the talk was not over.

“My youngest brother has expressed an interest in learning,” Genghis said. “Stand, Temuge, where he can see you.” Barchuk looked round at the slender young man who rose and bowed to him. He acknowledged the gesture with a stiff dip of his head before turning back to Genghis.

“My shaman, Kokchu, will lead him in this, when the time comes, but I would like them to read and learn whatever they think is worthwhile. I include the scrolls you already own as well as any we might win from our enemies.”

“The Uighurs are yours to command, lord,” Barchuk said. It was not too much to ask and he did not understand why Genghis seemed ill at ease bringing up the subject. Temuge beamed at his back and Kokchu bowed his head as if he had received a great honor.

“It is settled, then,” Genghis said. His eyes were shadowed, flickering in the lamps that had been lit against the evening gloom. “If the Xi Xia are as rich as you say, they will be the first to see us on the move. Will the Chin support them?”

Barchuk shrugged. “I cannot say for certain. Their lands border one another, but the Xi Xia have always been separate in their kingdom. The Chin may raise an army against you to counter any later threat. Or they may let them die to the last man without lifting a hand. No one can say how their minds work.”

Genghis chuckled. “If you had told me ten years ago that the Kerait were facing a great host, I would have laughed and counted myself lucky not to be in the path of the battle. Now I call them brothers. It does not matter if the Chin come against us. If they do, I will break them all the faster. In truth, I would rather face them on a plain than have to climb the walls of their cities.”

“Even cities can fall, lord,” Barchuk said softly, his own excitement mounting.

“And they will,” Genghis replied. “In time, they will. You have shown me the underbelly of the Chin in these Xi Xia. I will gut them there and then pull their heart out.”

“I am honored to serve, lord,” Barchuk replied. He stood and bowed low, holding the pose until Genghis made a gesture for him to rise.

“The tribes have assembled,” Genghis said, standing and stretching his back. “If we are to cross the desert, we will need to collect water and feed for the horses. Once I have the oath, there is nothing more holding us to this place.” He paused for a moment.

“We came here as tribes, Barchuk. We leave as a nation. If you are recording events in those scrolls as you describe, be sure to write that.”

Barchuk’s eyes shone, fascinated by the man who commanded the great host. “I will see it done, lord. I will teach the script to your shaman and your brother that they might read them to you.”

Genghis blinked in surprise, intrigued at the image of his brother repeating words trapped on stiff calfskin.

“It would be interesting to see such a thing,” he said. He took Barchuk by the shoulder, giving him honor by letting him leave the great ger in his company. The generals fell in behind. Outside, they could hear the hushed murmur of the gathered tribes as they waited for the one who would lead them.

Even in the summer darkness, the camp glowed yellow under the stars, lit by ten thousand fluttering flames. The center had been cleared in a vast ring around the ger of Genghis, and the warriors of a hundred factions had left their families to stand together in the flickering light. From one man to the next, their armor could be a piece of stiff leather or the helmets and neat sets of iron scales copied from the Chin. Some carried the stamp of their tribes, while most were blank, showing that they were new and that there was only one tribe under the sky. Many of them held swords, fresh from the forges that had been working night and day since coming to the plain. Huge holes had been dug by sweating men under the sun while others carted ore back to the flames and watched in excitement as the swordsmiths turned out weapons they could hold. More than one man had burned his fingers reaching for them before they had cooled properly, but they had never dreamed of owning a long blade and they did not mind.

The wind always blew across the plain, but that evening the breeze was gentle as they waited for Genghis.

When the khan came out, Barchuk of the Uighurs was guided down the steps of the cart and stood in the first rank around the wheels of wood and iron. Genghis stood for a moment, looking over the heads of the crowd and marveling at the size of it. His brothers, Arslan and Jelme, and last the shaman, Kokchu, stepped down from the height, each one pausing to take in the ranks stretching away in pools of light.

Then he was alone and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gave thanks to the sky father for bringing him to that place, with such an army to follow him. He said a few brief words to the spirit of his father in case that man could see him. Yesugei would be proud of his son, he knew. He had broken new ground for his people, and only the spirits could tell where the path would end. As he opened his eyes he saw Borte had brought his four sons to stand in the front rank, three of them too young to be left on their own. Genghis nodded sharply to them, his gaze lingering on the eldest, Jochi, and Chagatai, whom he had named after the shaman of the Wolves. At almost nine, Jochi was in awe of his father and he lowered his eyes, while Chagatai merely stared, his nervousness obvious.

“We came here from a hundred different tribes,” Genghis roared. He wanted his voice to carry, but even a throat trained on the field of battle could only reach so far. Those who could not hear would have to follow the lead of those who could.

“I have brought Wolves to this plain, Olkhun’ut and Kerait. I have brought Merkit and Jajirat, Uirat and Naimans. Woyela have come here, Tuvan, Uighurs and Uriankhai.” As he named each group, there was a stir from where they sat. He noticed how they remained together even for that night. There would be no easy assimilation for those who counted tribal honor above all else. It did not matter, he told himself. He would raise their gaze higher. His memory was faultless as he named each tribe that had ridden to join him in the shadow of the black mountain. He left no one out, knowing that the omission would be noted and remembered.

“More, I have called those who had no tribe,” he went on, “but still had honor and heeded the call of blood to blood. They rode to us in trust. And I say to you all, there are no tribes under the sky father. There is only one Mongol nation and it begins this night, in this place.”

Some of those who listened cheered, while others remained stony-faced. Genghis kept the warrior’s mask on his own features. He needed them to understand there was no loss of honor in what he asked.

“We are brothers in blood, separated too long ago for anyone here to know. I claim a greater family of all tribes, a blood tie to you all. I call you as brothers to my standard and we will ride as one family, one nation.” He paused, judging the response. They had heard the idea before, whispered in the gathering from tribe to tribe. Still, it shook them to hear it from him. The bulk of the men did not cheer, and he had to crush a sudden spike of irritation. The spirits knew he loved them, but his own people were maddening at times.

“We will pile spoils enough to equal the mountain at your backs. You will have ponies and wives and gold, oils and sweetmeats. You will take lands for your own and you will be feared wherever they hear your names. Every man here will be a khan to those who bow to him.”

They cheered that, at least, and Genghis risked a small smile, pleased he had found the right tone. Let the lesser khans worry about the ambition of those around them. He meant every word of it.

“To the south is the great desert,” he called to them. Silence fell on the instant and he could feel their attention like a force. “We will cross it at a speed the Chin kingdoms cannot imagine. We will fall on the first of them like wolves on lambs and they will scatter before our swords and bows. I will give you their riches and their women for your own. That is where I will plant my standard, and the ground will shake as I do. The earth mother will know her sons and brothers have found their inheritance and she will rejoice to hear thunder on the plains.”

The cheering came again and Genghis raised his arms for quiet, though it pleased him.

“We will ride into the dry country, taking all the water we need for one sudden strike. After that, we will not stop until the sea bounds us in every direction. I am Genghis who say this and my word is iron.”

They roared in appreciation and Genghis snapped his fingers at Khasar, who stood waiting on the ground below. Khasar handed up a heavy pole of silver birch onto which eight horse tails had been tied. The crowd murmured as they saw it. Some recognized the black of the Merkit, or the red tail of the Naimans, bound with the others. Every one of them had been the khan’s standard for one of the great tribes, and Genghis had them all on the plain. As he took the staff, Khasar handed up a horse tail dyed with Uighur blue.

Barchuk’s eyes narrowed at this most potent of symbols, but with the host at his back, he was still filled with excitement and the vision of the future. As he felt Genghis’s eyes flicker over him, he bowed his head.

With nimble fingers, Genghis bound the tip of the last horse tail to the others and planted the butt on the wood at his feet. The breeze caught the colored standard, so that the tails whipped and twisted as if alive.

“I have bound the colors,” he called to them. “When they are bleached white, there will be no difference between them. They will be the standard of a nation.” At his feet, his officers raised their swords and the host responded, caught up in the moment. Thousands of weapons jabbed the sky and Genghis nodded to them, overwhelmed. It took a long time for the noise to end, though he held up his free hand and patted the air with it.

“The oath you will take is binding, my brothers. Yet it is no stronger than the blood that binds us already. Kneel to me.”

The front ranks dipped immediately and the rest followed in ripples outward as they saw what was happening. Genghis watched closely for hesitation, but there was none. He had them all.