Conn Iggulden - Lords of the Bow

The heart jolted again and Genghis gasped aloud, his open eyes staring blindly. Kokchu felt the fluttering pulse settle, suddenly slowing as if a door had shut inside. He shivered in the cold, thinking that for a few moments, he had held the future of the tribes in his hands.

"Enough now, his heart is stronger," he said hoarsely. Jelme sat back. As he would have done with a gashed horse, the general made a paste of dust and spit and pressed it over the wound. Kokchu leaned over to observe the process, relieved to see the blood slow to a trickle. None of the major veins had been cut and he began to rejoice at the thought that Genghis might still live.

Once more Kokchu began to pray aloud, forcing the spirits of the dead to attend the man who had formed a nation. They would not want such a man with them while he took their people onwards. He knew it with a certainty that frightened him. The tribesmen watched in awe as Kokchu ran his hands over the supine form, gathering invisible strands as if his trailing fingers wrapped the khan in a web of spirits and faith.

Kokchu looked up at Borte as she stood red-eyed and swaying in shock. Hoelun too was there, desperately pale as she recalled the death of another khan many years before. Kokchu gestured for them to come closer.

"The spirits hold him here, for now," he told them, his eyes shining. "Yesugei is here, with his father Bartan. Bekter is here to hold the khan, his own brother." He shuddered in the cold, his eyes glazing for a moment. "Jelme has sucked out a great deal of poison, but the heart is fluttering; sometimes strong, sometimes weak. He needs rest. If he will eat, give him blood and milk for strength." Kokchu could no longer feel the deep coldness of the spirits clustering around him, but they had done their work. Genghis still lived. He called the man's brothers forward to carry him into the ger. Kachiun broke from his trance to order the camp searched for any other enemy still hiding. After that, he shouldered his brother's limp weight with Khasar and carried Genghis into Borte's ger.

Jelme was left kneeling, shaking his head in distress. His father, Arslan, reached him just as the young general vomited over the bloody ground.

"Help me with him," Arslan ordered, heaving his son to his feet. Jelme's face was slack and his full weight fell on his father before two warriors stepped in and draped his arms over their shoulders.

"What is wrong with him?" Arslan demanded of Kokchu. The shaman broke his gaze from the ger of Genghis. He used his fingers to open Jelme's eyes to their widest, staring into them. The pupils were large and dark and Kokchu swore softly.

"He may have swallowed the blood. Some of the poison has entered him also." Kokchu shoved a hand under Jelme's wet tunic, feeling his chest.

"It cannot be much and he is strong. Keep him awake if you can. Walk him. I will bring a draft of charcoal for him to drink."

Arslan nodded. He motioned to one of the warriors supporting Jelme and took his place, pulling his son's arm around his neck like an embrace. With the other man, he began walking Jelme between the gers, talking to him as he went.

The growing crowd of warriors, women, and children did not move. They would not go back to sleep until they were certain their khan would live. Kokchu turned from them, filled with the need to make a paste of charcoal that could soak up whatever poison Jelme had taken in. It would be little use to Genghis, but he would bring a second bowl for him as well. As he approached the ring of staring faces, they gave way before him and it was then that he saw Temuge pushing his way through to the front. Malice sparkled in Kokchu's eyes.

"You are too late to help the khan," Kokchu said softly as Temuge came close. "His brothers killed the assassin and Jelme and I kept him alive."

"Assassin?" Temuge exclaimed, staring around at the misery and fear on so many faces. His gaze passed over the dark-clad figure lying sprawled on the ground, and he swallowed in horror.

"Some things must be handled in the old ways," Kokchu told him. "They cannot be counted or put into one of your lists."

Temuge reacted to the shaman's scorn as if he had been struck. "You dare to speak so to me?" he said.

Kokchu shrugged and strode away. He had not been able to resist the barb, though he knew he would regret it. That night, death had walked the camp and Kokchu was in his element.

The crowd became thicker as late arrivals pressed forward, desperate for news. Torches were lit across the camp as they waited for dawn. The body of the assassin lay crushed and broken on the ground, and they stared at it in simple dread, unwilling to come too close.

When Kokchu returned with two bowls of thick black liquid, he thought they resembled a herd of yaks on a day of slaughter, miserable and dark-eyed but unable to understand. Arslan held his son's jaw and tilted his head as Kokchu forced the bitter liquid into him. Jelme choked and coughed, spattering black drops onto his father's face. He had regained some awareness in the time it had taken to grind the charcoal, and Kokchu did not linger with him. He pressed the half-empty bowl into Arslan's free hand and went on with the other. Genghis could not die, not in the shadow of Yenking. Kokchu was filled with a cold dread as he considered the future. He crushed his own fear as he entered the tiny ger, dipping his head to pass under the lintel. Confidence was part of his trade and he would not let them see him so shaken.

As dawn approached, Khasar and Kachiun came out, blind to the thousands of eyes that fastened on them. Khasar retrieved his sword from where it had stuck in the dead man's chest and kicked the lolling head before sheathing the blade.

"Does the khan live?" someone called.

Khasar cast a weary gaze over them, not knowing who had spoken. "He lives," he said. His words were repeated as a whisper until they all knew.

Kachiun picked up his own blade from where it had fallen and raised his head at the sound. He was helpless to aid his brother in the ger, and perhaps that was why his temper kindled at the sight of them.

"Will our enemies sleep while we are gathered here?" Kachiun snapped. "They will not. Go home to your gers and wait for news." Under his fierce gaze, the warriors turned away first, pressing through the throng of women and children. They too began to drift away, staring backwards as they went.

Kachiun stood with Khasar as if they guarded the ger where Genghis lay. The khan's second wife, Chakahai, had come, her face a mask of pale fear. All the men had looked to Borte to see how she would react, but she had only nodded to the Xi Xia woman, accepting her presence. In the silence, Kachiun could hear the drone of Kokchu's chanting in the ger. For a moment, he did not want to return to the fetid interior, packed with those who loved his brother. His own grief felt undermined somehow by the presence of the others. He breathed deeply in the cold air, clearing his head.

"There is nothing more we can do," he said. "Dawn is not far off and there are things we must discuss. Walk with me, Khasar, for a little while."

Khasar followed him to where they would not be heard. It was a long time before they were clear of the camp, their footsteps crunching on frozen grass.

"What is it? What do you want?" Khasar said at last, stopping his brother with a hand on his arm.

Kachiun turned to him, his face darkly furious. "We failed tonight. We failed to keep the camp safe. I should have considered that the emperor would send assassins. I should have had more guards watching the walls."

Khasar was too tired to debate the point. "You cannot change it now," he said. "If I know you, it will not happen again."

"One time could be enough," Kachiun snapped. "If Genghis dies, what then?"