The Tiger Queens (42 page)

What was left of her, at least.

I nodded. “Daughter of Checheyigen, blood leader of the Oirat.”

“Then we shall have to make her look like it.”

I expected Oghul Ghaimish to let us peel the ruined silk from her thin frame, but the moment we touched the fabric she gave a screech like giant
claws ripping the air and attacked us with some hidden well of strength. Her nails tore away my veil and sliced open my cheek so I felt the slick warmth of fresh blood on my skin.

A fighter, then, but only once cornered.

It took both of us to subdue the frightened animal of a girl, pinning her to the ground with the full weight of our bodies. “Wine,” I said to Toregene. “A full bowl.”

She nodded and maneuvered herself off Oghul Ghaimish, leaving the panting girl pinned beneath me. “Drink,” I said, as Toregene tilted her head forward and pressed the golden bowl to her lips. “It will make things easier.”

I’d have plugged her nose so Toregene could pour the wine down her throat, but Oghul Ghaimish opened her mouth and gulped the ruby-hued liquid like a fish left too long out of water. Toregene and I sat back on our haunches, flushed from the fight.

Oghul Ghaimish held out the empty bowl, entranced by the ram’s head hanging from the ceiling, its blanket fallen to the ground in the melee. “More.”

I arched an eyebrow and replaced the blanket, but Toregene filled the golden bowl to its rim and handed it back to the girl. Letting Oghul Ghaimish drink herself into oblivion likely wasn’t the wisest strategy for her wedding night, and I wondered with a fresh pang of guilt what she’d do once she’d met her husband. All the wine in the empire wouldn’t be enough to drown her misery then.

She thrust the bowl back at me when she finished, a red tinge of liquid glistening on her upper lip. I shook my head. “You can have more once you’ve let us clothe you and dress your hair.”

Oghul Ghaimish studied me, her scrutiny disconcerting. “You told the guard I might one day be Khatun. Is that true?”

Toregene’s eyes widened, but she was seized by a coughing fit from her lingering illness and the exertion of the fight. I nodded to Oghul Ghaimish. “You’ll marry the Great Khan’s eldest son tonight,” I said. “Güyük may one day become Khan.”

May Allah strike us dead before that happened.

Oghul Ghaimish seemed to ponder that, scratching at a bleeding patch of skin on her neck and staining her nails scarlet. “You may dress me, then.”

I stoked the fire, ready to pin Oghul Ghaimish to the ground again as we stripped her, but this time she didn’t fight. I cringed when she finally stood naked before us. What might have once been a slight and pretty young Oirat girl was now a ghost of a child, stinking of old urine with feces and blood matted in the hair between her legs and the stench of fear clinging to her like an invisible cloak.

We scrubbed her gently, washing away the evidence of her ordeal, although I knew there were other invisible wounds that would never heal. She moaned several times, and her eyes fluttered open to reveal the whites of her eyes and swollen pupils.

“Are you sure Ogodei won’t change his mind?” I whispered, but Toregene shook her head.

So we trussed up Ogodei’s broken niece to sacrifice her to Güyük. She greedily slurped down one more bowl of wine before stepping from Toregene’s grand tent.

Oghul Ghaimish held her chin high as she greeted Güyük outside the wedding tent erected on the banks of the artificial river being dug. The felt walls were darkened by the shadows of what would one day be the Khan’s palace, and during the ceremony Oghul Ghaimish bit her lip so a thin ribbon of blood unfurled down her chin. Güyük didn’t seem to notice, for his eyes remained on me for the whole of the ceremony. He strummed his fingers impatiently against his leg while the shaman intoned a blessing and Toregene invoked a Christian prayer for her son and new daughter. I was glad for the barrage of throat singers, lutes, and horsehair fiddles that burst into sound at a flick of Ogodei’s wrist, the cacophony of music ringing in my ears and making it impossible to think of what I’d done to this frail girl.

Toregene beckoned to me when Güyük and his new bride walked between the purification fires, pressing into my hand a rumpled paper that had been folded and refolded many times. “I’ve had a message from Al-Altun,” she whispered. “She claims to have need of Ogodei’s army to quell resistance from her own people.”

My mouth went dry as Oghul Ghaimish stumbled, then hesitated at the entrance of her new
ger
. “Will Ogodei do as she asks?”

“It may be a trap,” Toregene said. “She likely heard of Ogodei’s plans to wage war against the Uighurs and thinks to lure her brother to her and then destroy him. She may have massed superior forces against us.”

“Or she may need him.”

Toregene shrugged. “Either way, Ogodei has already agreed to ride for the Uighurs. This time we’ll both accompany him—”

“You’re not to leave the borders of this camp,” I said. “Not until you’ve recovered from your illness.”

“I’ll be fine. I won’t allow Ogodei to treat the Uighur women as he did the Oirat.”

Güyük and Oghul Ghaimish entered the wedding tent then amidst shouts of joy and drunken laughter. Ogodei and his people wrestled, drank, and feasted so loudly that few heard the bride’s screams later that night as the stars danced merrily overhead.

T
he wind’s cold breath screamed down from the snowcapped mountains to cut through our felt cloaks and steal the feeling from our fingers and toes. I reproached myself every day for abandoning Oghul Ghaimish to Güyük while we traveled to Al-Altun’s lands, but I’d made Toregene swear to leave behind a contingent of soldiers to guard the Oirat princess. I prayed to Allah every night that Oghul Ghaimish’s heart might heal even as Toregene’s illness worsened and the bones in my legs threatened to collapse from the frantic pace Ogodei insisted we keep.

Finally, the Mongol army came to a stop outside Al-Altun’s walled city of Gobalik, yet the town remained silent, as if it had already been abandoned. Only gray wisps of smoke and the occasional snorts of horses and oxen brought inside for safekeeping betrayed the presence of life. As night fell on the empty plain, Ogodei discussed plans for a siege, instructing his engineers to strip the surrounding countryside of its trees for catapults and battering rams so he might better conquer his half sister and her people.

Instead, Gobalik’s gates creaked open and a boy on horseback cantered out, flanked by twenty of the largest guards I’d ever seen, all Uighurs with white felt hats rimmed with thick sable. I felt for the protective dagger Toregene insisted I wear in my boot, but then I recognized the arrogant
sweep of the child’s cheekbones and his full lips. The leather of my gloves creaked as I gripped my pommel.

“Welcome, Khan of Khans,” said Al-Altun’s son to his uncle, his voice high with boyhood and his smooth chin tilted with the pride granted only to the privileged and powerful, a conceit I recognized from my own youth.

“My mother asked that I apologize for her absence.” The boy hesitated and received an indecipherable nod from the man at his right. “The uprising on the frontiers became critical and she rode out to contain it only days ago.”

The councilor at the boy’s side urged his horse forward and spoke. “Al-Altun bids the Gur-Khan, the Golden Family, and their soldiers welcome to the fair city of Gobalik,” the Uighur said, but his speech was quickly interrupted.

“If I am welcome,” Ogodei growled, “then why are the gates barred to me?”

“We are honored by your presence, but the foundations of our meager city would crumble beneath the hooves and boots of your great army.” The man held his pommel lightly, but his posture was rigid. “Surely the plains have everything you require to pitch your tents and pasture your animals?”

“I am impatient to greet my sister,” Ogodei said, directing his horse to trot around the man and Al-Altun’s son. I could hear his mind calculating how simple it would be to seize his sister’s city while her back was turned. “When do you expect her homecoming?”

The councilor lifted a hand to his heart and bowed over his saddle. “Al-Altun anticipated the Khan’s wrath at her absence and thus left behind two contingents of her own men. Our soldiers would be honored to travel with you to launch a winter campaign against Wien while you wait for your sister’s return.”

The name Uighur meant
united
, and it appeared that Al-Altun’s people had rallied together to thwart the Great Khan and his ambitions, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist the generous bone they threw him in the direction of Wien, also known as Vienna, and, beyond that, the Great Sea.

“Al-Altun plays a dangerous game,” I muttered to Toregene under my breath. She gave a tight nod in reply.

Ogodei had sent Korguz to oversee Persia—much to my dismay—and
ordered Güyük in Karakorum to oversee the remainder of the building projects, so now he beckoned to Shigi and his newest adviser, a sallow-faced Christian who had forgotten what it was to bathe. It was rumored that the Englishman had forced his sovereign, King John, to sign a charter stripping away the crown’s power and then traveled through the Holy Lands before seeking out the Khan of Khans. He had a knack for languages after his itinerant traveling, and thus Ogodei had plucked him into his service despite his ragged nails, grime-coated ears, and ever-present stench. Now the Khan leaned toward him, his black eyes gleaming. “First I shall conquer Wien with the help of my sister’s forces,” he whispered. “And then we shall seize Al-Altun’s holdings out from under her.”

I was under no illusions that the Khan would stop there; he’d soon turn his eyes to the only lands still outside his grasp, those belonging to Alaqai and Sorkhokhtani.

“Do you think it wise—,” Shigi began, but Ogodei cut him off.

“Let my half sister play the warrior and stamp out her insurrection,” the Khan said. “Once she’s returned, she must meet me outside Wien.”

Once I would have cackled with glee to watch Ogodei and Al-Altun destroy each other. I no longer burned with a desire for revenge as I had in the early years after Nishapur.

Instead, I worried that their desire for power and conquest would destroy us all in the process.

*   *   *

Winter followed us across the plains, but the chill was almost pleasant compared to the misery I’d survived during winters on the steppes. The barren grasslands gave way to rugged valleys, snow-smeared mountains, and fallow fields with fences and idle irrigation ditches. The horses grew thin from the lack of grasses, and the animals learned to give wide berth to the leafless bushes that sometimes hid venomous blunt-nosed vipers. A hapless mare’s scream when she was bitten by one of the serpents brought back flashes of Nishapur, made worse when Shigi speared the mare to put her out of her misery. A second spear killed the striped gray viper, but for days after that I started at every rustle of grass. Nothing good could come of such a vile and barren land.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach so fiercely that I deigned to eat plates of greasy boiled meat after the reserve horses were butchered. Toregene laughed at me from beneath the cocoon of blankets she now required to keep her teeth from chattering, for I refused to eat with my hands like a common soldier. Instead, I became adept at using two daggers to both cut the foul meat and eat it. It was better than starving, but only just.

Finally, we neared Wien with its gateway toward the Great Sea. Mongol scouts prowled over the city’s outlying districts, causing the pale-skinned Viennese to flee behind the supposed safety of their walls. They raided us only once, killing a handful of Mongol archers and capturing the sallow-faced Englishman. I was almost relieved to hear of the Englishman’s death, for now he had a reasonable excuse for subjecting us to his pervasive odor, but Ogodei roared with anger when messengers brought news of the man’s demise. I gritted my teeth as he raged against the Viennese, for Ogodei’s anger stemmed not from the needless bloodshed or even from the loss of his valuable adviser, but instead because he’d been deprived of his rare toy. This entire campaign was only a game to Ogodei, a giant checkered board of
chatrang
scattered with us, his pawns, while he attempted to checkmate the queen and end the match.

Still, the Khan ordered more horses butchered despite the damp air that seeped into our bones and loosened the men’s bowstrings. Tempers flared until the blare of countless curved horns interrupted the soldiers’ grumbles and the whine of the winds, the
burees
announcing the approach of the Khatun of the Uighurs. It was Azar, the ninth month in the Persian calendar, which was named in ancient days for the time of worshipping fire, yet the youngest daughter born of Genghis Khan’s seed was more destructive than any flames.

Al-Altun arrived amidst the razing of several tall pine trees and the steady scrape of saws and pounding hammers, for Ogodei’s men were busy building ballistas and catapults to bring Wien to its knees. Genghis’ youngest daughter dressed not as a warrior that day, but as a perfumed and harmless queen. She wore a crimson robe in the Uighur style with white braid down the front and thin sleeves, and a red scarf wound around her head that fell to her feet, topped with a gold crown resembling a boat with
high points fore and aft. I waited for the surge of hatred at seeing my husband’s murderer again, but I felt only its dull flicker deep in my heart, surrounded by a deep well of emptiness. Toregene drew closer and clasped my gloved hand with her own, as if sensing my sadness.

“You’ve done well, brother,” Al-Altun said, grasping Ogodei’s hands. She stepped back to survey his fine silks and his double chin. “At least when it comes to seizing the larders of those you’ve conquered.”

Several Mongols gasped, but the Khan threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I’m surprised these Uighurs haven’t relieved you of that sharp tongue of yours yet.”

“A situation I’m sure you would have rectified long ago,” she answered, rare dimples cleaving her cheeks, although I saw the way her eyes lingered at the golden dagger tucked into her brother’s belt. There were no guarantees that she wouldn’t find the weapon buried in her heart before this night ended.

“And Toregene Khatun,” Al-Altun said, careful to emphasize Toregene’s new title as she clasped her close. “I heard of Borte’s passing. May her spirit continue to guide you in your new role as Khatun of the Thirteen Nations.”

Toregene arched an eyebrow, but the effect was ruined as she bent double in a coughing fit. Tonight I would make sure she had a draught of columbine and chamomile, despite our dwindling herb supplies. “As I hope the spirit of your father, the Great Genghis Khan, guides you as well,” she said.

I prayed that the spirits of Genghis and Borte protected their family even now, so far from the windswept plain where they’d been laid to rest.

Al-Altun shrugged. “The Golden Family rarely paid me much heed in life, except to marry me off to the first man who offered our father a profitable alliance. Why should things change in death?”

I realized then that Al-Altun was a bitter woman, grown from the bitter and abandoned daughter of Genghis’ least important wife, but that did little to soften my heart toward her.

To me, Al-Altun paid no attention, but I preferred that she ignore me rather than remember me from Nishapur.

“The glorious Golden Family shall once again dine together,” Ogodei
announced. “In my Great White Tent, as my siblings and I used to do when we were children in my mother’s
ger
.”

I wondered if Ogodei’s slight was intentional, for I knew from Toregene that Al-Altun had rarely been included in anything having to do with the Golden Family. Even I was aware that Ogodei had created his own camp before Al-Altun’s birth. Their age difference and their different mothers meant that this dinner tonight might well be only the second time the half siblings had shared a meal together, aside from Genghis’ funeral feast. Of course, there was the chance that Ogodei was truly so oblivious as not to realize the insult.

“I shall be glad to join you after I’ve seen to my own tent,” Al-Altun said, withdrawing from her brother’s touch and hiding her arms inside her wide sleeves. Her sharp chin jutted toward Ogodei’s Great White Tent. “Not all of us are fortunate enough to have our
gers
hauled fully assembled across the empire.”

Ogodei wrapped his meaty arm around her slim shoulders, his free hand on the hilt of his dagger. “Nonsense, sister,” he said, pulling her to him as if he might ruffle her hair. “My slaves will erect your tent. You may join us right now.”

No one could mistake the command in his voice, and not even Al-Altun dared contradict the Khan of Khans. “As you wish, brother,” she said. “I believe we even have an oxcart of Alaqai’s famed Onggud wine.”

Ogodei grinned at that. “I believe you’ve just become my favorite sister.”

Al-Altun smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I always thought Alaqai was your favorite sister.”

“You may be right. But for today I believe you’re my favorite sister.” Ogodei led Al-Altun toward the looming Great White Tent. Toregene and the Khan’s advisers followed, and I trailed in their shadows.

The Great White Tent smelled of burning dung and quickly filled with a fug of smoke and the odor of too many unwashed bodies. The thick haze from the center fire stung my eyes as I found a seat near the door while Ogodei settled his great girth on the golden bench, brought all the way from Karakorum. A parade of food arrived moments later, the usual mutton and boiled horsemeat, but also fresh venison and roasted hare
dressed with juniper berries. Slaves filled the Khan’s iron bowl, a cauldron large enough to hold a full-grown goat. The gorge in my throat rose when Ogodei scooped up the rice and meat with his dirty hands, shoveling them into his mouth, while Al-Altun speared tiny pieces of horsemeat onto her knife. Countless jugs of Onggud wine splashed into Ogodei’s golden bowls, and he slurped them down with relish.

“There’s my Rose of Nishapur,” Ogodei hollered, his words already slurred as he beckoned to me with the greasy haunch of what appeared to have been a lamb. Tiny pearls of sweat beaded at his temples from the heat, and wine stained the front of his golden
deel
. “Come and tell my father’s daughter of the wonders being created in my new city, the capital that shall dominate the world in culture, art, and beauty!”

I wished a djinn might steal me away then, so I might avoid sitting next to the woman I’d once tried to kill. But one could scarcely disobey the Khan’s direct command.

“It will indeed be a beautiful city,” I said as I took my chair, arranging the pleats of my skirt and avoiding looking at Al-Altun. I waved away the bowl a slave offered me and leaned away from the Khan, trying hard not to breathe in his sour smell. Toregene picked at her food as well, as if the family strife had driven away her appetite.

“I doubt it could rival Nishapur.” Al-Altun squinted at me so I wondered for a moment if she was nearsighted. “I remember you from atop the walls, as your city fell to its knees.”

I didn’t wish to discuss the fall of my city. I’d fought hard these many years to let go of my hatred and make a new life for myself. Al-Altun’s careless words threatened to destroy all that, leaving my hands shaking with fresh anger and bitterness.

“The Great Khatun saved my life,” I said between clenched teeth. “I was one of the few to survive that day, and for that I owe her my gratitude.”