Conn Iggulden - Lords of the Bow

"You are Woyela," he said, looking to break the tension. "I will have your horse recaptured and brought to you."

They said nothing as they exchanged glances. Each of them shared a resemblance and Khasar realized they were the sons of the Woyela khan. Their father had arrived only a few days before, bringing five hundred warriors as well as the families. He had a reputation for quick temper and a prickly sense of honor. As the men crowded around Khasar he thought the same traits had been passed to his sons.

Khasar hoped for a moment that they would let him go without a fight, but the one he had struck was wild with anger and it was he who pressed closest, bolstered by the presence of his brothers. A livid mark showed on the side of his face where Khasar had hit him.

"What right do you have to interfere?" one of the others snapped. They were deliberately crowding him and Khasar could see the bustle of the camp had stopped around them. There were many families watching the exchange, and with a sinking feeling, he knew he could not back away without shaming Genghis, perhaps even risking his hold on the camp.

"I was trying to get past," he ventured through gritted teeth, readying himself. "If your bullock of a brother had not struck me, you would have had that pony on the ground by now. Next time, truss his legs first."

One of the largest spat on the ground near his feet, and Khasar clenched his fists as a voice cut through the air.

"What is this?" The effect on the men was instant and they stood still. Khasar glanced at an older man who bore the same stamp of features. It could only be the khan of the Woyela, and Khasar could do nothing but bow his head. It had not yet come to blades and he knew better than to insult the one man who might control his sons.

"You are brother to the man who calls himself Genghis," the khan said. "Yet this is a Woyela camp. Why are you here to anger my sons and spoil their work?"

Khasar flushed in irritation. No doubt Kachiun would have been informed of the confrontation and would have men on the way, but he did not trust himself to answer at first. The khan of the Woyela was clearly enjoying the situation, and Khasar did not doubt he had seen it from the beginning. When he had mastered his temper, he spoke slowly and clearly to the khan.

"I struck the man who struck me. There is no cause to see blood spilled today."

In reply the khan's mouth twisted into a sneer. He had a hundred warriors within easy call, and his sons were ready to beat humility into the man who stood so proudly before him.

"I might have expected such a response. Honor cannot be set aside when it is not convenient. This part of the camp is Woyela land. You trespass upon it."

Khasar assumed the cold face of the warrior to hide his irritation. "My brother's orders were clear," he said. "All tribes may use the land while we gather. There is no Woyela ground here."

The khan's sons muttered amongst themselves as they heard his words, and the khan himself seemed to stiffen.

"I say there is and I see no one of rank to challenge my word. Yet you will hide in your brother's shadow."

Khasar took a slow breath. If he claimed the protection of Genghis, the incident would end. The khan of the Woyela was not such a fool as to challenge his brother in the camp, with a vast army at his call. Yet the man watched him like a snake ready to strike, and Khasar wondered if it had been chance that put the brothers and the wild stallion in his path that morning. There would always be those willing to test men who presumed to lead them in war. Khasar shook his head to clear it. Kachiun enjoyed politics and maneuvering, but he had no taste for it, nor for the posturing of the khan and his sons.

"I will not spill blood here," he began, seeing the triumph in the khan's eyes, "but I will not need my brother's shadow." As he spoke he slammed his fist into the chin of the nearest brother, knocking him cold. The others roared and leaped at him almost as one. Blows rained on his head and shoulders as he moved backwards, then braced his legs and struck hard into a face, feeling the nose break. Khasar enjoyed fighting as much as any man who had grown up amongst brothers, but the odds were impossible and he almost went down as his head was snapped back and hard thumping blows crashed against his armor. At least he was protected there, and as long as he remained on his feet, he could duck and slip their punches while hammering back at them with everything he had.

Even as he formed the thought, one of them took him around the waist and dumped him on the ground. Khasar kicked out hard, hearing a yelp as he covered his head against their stamping boots. Where was Kachiun, by the spirits? Khasar could feel blood pouring from his nose, and his lips had begun to swell. His head was ringing from a kick to his right ear. Much more of this and he would be permanently injured.

He felt the weight of one of them straddling him, trying to pull Khasar's arms away from his face. Khasar peered through a gap at the man. He chose his moment and shoved a thumb hard into his attacker's eye. It seemed to give under his strike, and he hoped he had blinded him. The Woyela son rolled off with a cry, and if anything, the kicks intensified.

A shout of pain came from somewhere close and, for a moment, Khasar was left alone to try to get to his feet. He saw a stranger had leaped among the Woyela brothers, knocking one to the ground and kicking another hard in the knee. The newcomer was little more than a boy, but he could punch with all his weight behind a blow. Khasar smiled at him through broken lips, but he was too dazed to rise.

"Stop this!" ordered a voice behind him, and Khasar knew a moment of hope before he realized Temuge had not arrived with a dozen men to help him. His younger brother ran straight up to the struggling mass and heaved one of the Woyela men away.

"Get Kachiun," Khasar shouted, his heart sinking. Temuge would accomplish nothing but getting himself beaten, and then there would be blood. Genghis might accept one brother fighting, but a second would be a personal attack on his family too great to ignore. The khan of the Woyela seemed oblivious to the danger, and Khasar heard him laugh as one of his sons smashed a fist into Temuge's face, knocking him to his knees. The young stranger too had lost the advantage of surprise, and he was suffering under a rain of kicks and punches. The Woyela sons were laughing as they transferred their efforts to the two newcomers, and Khasar raged to hear Temuge cry out in pain and humiliation, fending off their kicks as he struggled to rise.

Another sound came then, a series of hard cracks that had the sons of the Woyela yelping and falling back. Khasar continued to protect his head on the ground until he heard Kachiun's voice, tight with fury. He had brought men with him and it had been their sticks Khasar had heard.

"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.