Conn Iggulden - Empire of Silver

'It is said that the kirpan dagger is so very sharp that little pain attends a death,' Suntai said. 'I have never had the opportunity to ask. Its name translates as "hand of mercy" for that reason.'

The servant leaned closer as he saw Chagatai's lips move, though a low gargling was the only sound he could make. Suntai stood well back as his master sank to one knee, still clutching his throat.

'The wound is mortal, my lord. Try to be calm. Death is coming swiftly.'

Chagatai's head sank slowly to his chest. His right hand came away bloody and reached for the sword on his hip, but he did not have the strength to draw it beyond the first gleaming line of steel.

'I was told to pass on a message to you, my lord, if there was a chance to do so. I have memorised the words. Can you still hear?'

Suntai watched as Chagatai fell forward in a clatter. Someone shouted nearby and Suntai frowned at the thought of what must come.

'The message is from Ogedai Khan, my lord, to be given at the moment of your death: "This is not vengeance, Chagatai. It is for my son. I am no longer the man who let you live. By my hand striking far, you will not be khan."' Suntai sighed. 'I have never been truly your servant, my lord, but you were a fine master. Go with God.'

Chagatai's hands fell limp and his guards came storming into the room, drawing their blades as they saw Suntai kneeling and whispering into the ear of their master. He stood as they rushed towards him, his face peaceful as the swords swung. On a cold, clear morning, Tsubodai mounted his horse and looked back. There were no clouds and the sky was a perfect blue. Seven tumans were waiting in formation, the best warriors of his nation. Behind them, the baggage and carts stretched for miles. He had taken generals, some of them almost boys, and he had shown them their strengths. Despite his flaws, Guyuk would be a better khan because of what he had learned on the great trek. Baidur would be more of a man than his father before him. Mongke would make his father's soul proud. Tsubodai sighed. He knew he would never see such an army again. Old age had crept up on him and he was tired. For a time, he had thought he could ride for ever with the young men, the lure of the sea bringing him further from home than he could once have dreamed. When Guyuk had called a halt, it was like a whisper of death in his ears, an ending. He stared into the distance, imagining cities with spires of gold. He knew their names, but he would never see them: Vienna, Paris, Rome.

It was done. He knew he would take arms if Chagatai challenged for Ogedai's khanate. Perhaps he would see battle one last time. With the princes, he would take the field in glory and show Chagatai why Tsubodai Bahadur had been the general of Genghis Khan.

The thought lifted him for an instant, enough to raise his hand and drop it. At his back, the Mongol tumans began the journey of five thousand miles that would take them home at last.

Xuan looked out of the windows in a long cloister as he walked. Each one revealed a view of Hangzhou, with the river leading out into the bay. He had been moved often since coming into Sung lands, as if they could not think what to do with him. On rare occasions, he was even allowed to sail on the river, and he saw his wives and children twice a year, in strained meetings, with Sung officials watching on all sides.

The cloister ran along the spine of yet another official building. Xuan amused himself by timing his steps so that his left foot hit the stone at the centre of each pool of sunlight. He did not expect great news from the summons. Over the years, he had realised the Sung officials delighted in demonstrating their power over him. For too many times to count, his presence had been demanded in some private office, only to find the official had no connection with the court. On two occasions, the men involved had brought their mistresses or children to observe as they fussed with permissions and the allocation of his small income. The meeting itself was irrelevant. They had just wanted to parade the Chin emperor, the Son of Heaven himself, for their wide-eyed dependents.

Xuan was surprised when the small group of officials did not stop at the usual branching corridors. The apartments of more important men lay beyond, and Xuan controlled the first stirring of excitement as they went further and further still. More than one door was open, as dedicated scholars and bureaucrats laboured inside, peering out at the footsteps they heard. Xuan took a grip on his hopes. They had been dashed too many times to expect his letters to have been answered at last, though he still wrote every day.

Despite his forced calm, he felt his heart beat faster as the bowing servants brought him to the door of the man who administered the examinations for almost all the posts in Hangzhou. Sung Kim had taken the name of the royal house as his own, though Xuan suspected he had been born a commoner. As one who controlled the funds Xuan was given to maintain his small household, Sung Kim had received many of his letters over the years. Not a single one had been answered.

The servants announced him and then stood back with their heads bowed. Xuan walked into the room, pleasantly surprised to see how it opened up before him. The administrator lived in luxury, amidst sculpture and art of better than average taste. Xuan smiled to himself at the thought of complimenting Sung Kim. In such a way, he could force the odious little man to make him a present of whatever he admired, but it was just a spiteful thought. His upbringing would not allow him to be rude, despite his circumstances.

While other servants trotted away to announce his arrival, Xuan wandered from one painting to another, taking care not to linger too long on each. Time was something he had in abundance and he knew Sung Kim would make him wait.

To his intense surprise, Sung Kim himself came out of the inner rooms almost immediately. Xuan inclined his head and accepted an equally brief bow from the other man. He endured the polite observances with his usual restraint, showing no sign of his mounting impatience.

At last, he was guided into the inner rooms and tea was brought for him. Xuan settled himself comfortably, waiting.

'I have extraordinary news, Son of Heaven,' Sung Kim began. He was a very old man, with white hair and wrinkled skin, but his own excitement was visible. Xuan raised an eyebrow as if his heart did not beat harder with every moment. It was all he could do to remain silent.

'The Mongol khan is dead, Son of Heaven,' Sung Kim went on.

Xuan smiled, then chuckled, confounding the older man. 'Is that all?' he said bitterly.

'I thought…I must offer my apologies, Son of Heaven. I thought the news would bring you great joy. Does it not signal the end of your time of exile?' Sung Kim shook his head in confusion and tried again. 'Your enemy is dead, your majesty. The khan has fallen.'

'I meant no offence, Sung Kim. I have outlived two Mongol khans and that is indeed welcome news.'

'Then…I do not understand. Does it not fill your heart with happiness?'

Xuan sipped the tea, which was excellent.

'You do not know them as I do,' he said. 'They will not mourn the khan. Instead, they will raise one of his sons and they will look for new enemies. One day, Sung Kim, they will come here, to this city. Perhaps I will still be a prisoner here when that time comes. Perhaps I will stare down from these very corridors as they bring their armies to the city walls.'

'Please, Son of Heaven. You are the guest of the emperor, never a prisoner. You must not say such things.'

Xuan grimaced and set his cup down gently.

'A guest can walk away when he pleases. A guest can ride without guards. Let us be honest with one another, Sung Kim.'