Conn Iggulden - Lords of the Bow

"My father, Yesugei, wore it on the day he died," Genghis said softly. " His father had it made at a time when the Wolves were the enemy of every other tribe. It has taken lives and seen the birth of a nation. Be sure you do not dishonor it."

Chagatai bowed where he sat, overcome. "I will not, lord," he replied.

Genghis did not look at Jochi's white face. "Now go. When you return to your generals, I will sound the horn. We will see each other again when you are men and we can meet as equals."

"I look forward to that day, Father," Jochi said suddenly.

Genghis raised his pale gaze to him, but said nothing. The boys did not speak to each other as they galloped away on the hard ground and they did not look back.

When Genghis was once again alone with Kachiun, he felt his brother's stare.

"Why did you not give the blade to Jochi?" Kachiun asked.

"To a Tartar bastard?" Genghis snapped. "I see his father looking back at me whenever we meet."

Kachiun shook his head, saddened that Genghis could be so blind in this one thing and see so far in all the rest.

"We are a strange family, brother," he said. "If you leave us alone, we grow weak and soft. If you challenge us, make us hate, we grow strong enough to strike back." Genghis looked at him questioningly and Kachiun sighed.

"If you truly wanted to weaken Jochi, you should have given him the sword," Kachiun said. "Now he will think of you as an enemy and he will make himself iron, just as you did. Is that what you intended?"

Genghis blinked, astonished at the idea. Kachiun saw things with painful clarity and he could not find a response.

Kachiun cleared his throat. "It was interesting advice, brother," he said, "especially the bit about spilling their seed."

Genghis ignored him, watching the distant figures rejoin the squares of warriors.

"It didn't seem to do Khasar any harm," Kachiun said.

Genghis chuckled, holding out his hand for Kachiun's horn. He rose to his feet then and blew a long deep note across the plain. Before it had died away, the tumans rumbled into movement, his people riding to conquer. He ached to be with them, but he would yet see Yenking fall.

Temuge groaned as his servant massaged the cares of the day from his shoulders. The Chin people seemed to have an idea of civilization that no one among the tribes could match. He smiled sleepily at the thought of a warrior being asked to work the muscles of his calves with oil. The man would either take it as an insult or pound them like a woolen fleece.

At first he had regretted the loss of his first servant. The man had rarely spoken and indeed knew nothing of the Mongol tongue. Yet he had introduced Temuge to a structured day, so that events seemed to flow around him without tension. Temuge had become accustomed to waking after dawn and bathing. His servant would then dress him and prepare a light breakfast. He would read the reports of his men until late morning, then begin the proper business of the day. Losing such a man to an assassin's blade had seemed a tragedy at first.

Temuge sighed in pleasure as the new servant worked at a muscle, his thumbs digging deeply. Perhaps it was not such a loss, after all. Old Sen had known nothing of oils and massage, and though his presence had been relaxing, the new man talked whenever Temuge allowed him to speak, explaining any aspect of Chin society that caught Temuge's attention.

"That is very good, Ma Tsin," he murmured. "The tenderness is almost gone."

"My master is welcome," the spy replied. He did not enjoy rubbing the man's back, but he had once spent almost a year as a brothel guard and he knew how the girls relaxed their customers.

"I saw the armies move away this morning, master," he said lightly. "I have never seen so many horses and men in one place."

Temuge grunted. "It makes my life simpler to have them far away. I have had enough of their complaints and bickering. I think my brother has as well."

"They will bring back gold for the khan, I do not doubt it," the spy went on. He began to pummel the heavy muscles of Temuge's back, before finding another knot to work with stiff fingers.

"We do not need more of it," Temuge muttered. "There are already carts of coins and only the Chin recruits seem interested."

The spy paused for a moment. This was one aspect of the Mongol mind that confused him. Temuge was already relaxed, but he continued to work, trying to understand.

"It is true, then, that you do not seek wealth?" he asked. "I have heard it said."

"What would we do with it? My brother has collected gold and silver because there are some who look greedily on such hoards. But what use is it? Real wealth is not found in soft metals."

"You could buy horses with it, though, weapons, even land," the spy persisted. Under his hands, he felt Temuge shrug.

"From whom? If a pile of coins will make another man give us his horses, we take them from him. If he has land, it is ours anyway, to ride as we please."

The spy blinked in irritation. Temuge had no reason to lie to him, but bribery was not going to be easy if he spoke the truth. He tried again, suspecting it was hopeless.

"In Chin cities, gold can buy huge houses by a lake, delicate foods, even thousands of servants." He struggled for more examples. For one who had been born into a society that used coins, it was difficult to explain something so obvious. "It can even buy influence and favors from powerful men, lord. Rare pieces of art, perhaps as gifts for your wives. It makes all things possible."

"I understand," Temuge replied irritably. "Now be silent."

The spy almost gave up. The khan's brother could not grasp the concept. In truth, it made him realize the artificial nature of his own world. Gold was too soft for any real use. How had it ever been seen as valuable?

"What if you wanted a man's horse in the tribes, master? Let us say it is a horse better than all the others."

"If you value your hands, you will not speak again," Temuge snapped. The spy worked in silence for a time and Temuge sighed. "I would give him five horses of lesser breed, or two captured slaves, or six bows, or a sword made by a skilled man, whatever he wanted, depending on my need." Temuge chuckled, drifting toward sleep. "If I told him I had a bag of valuable metal that would buy him another horse, he would tell me to try it on some other fool."

Temuge sat up then. The evening sky was clear and he yawned. It had been a busy day, arranging the departure of so many.

"I think I will take a few drops of my medicine tonight, Ma Tsin, to help me sleep."

The spy helped Temuge into a silk robe. The man's pretensions amused him, but he could not escape the frustration he felt. The power of the small khans had been strangled when Genghis gave the order for the tumans to form. It was no loss. None of them had real influence in the camp. The spy had cut his losses and worked quickly to replace the servant killed by the assassin. Moving at such a speed brought many dangers, and he felt the strain grow daily. He still thought Temuge a vain and shallow man, but he had not found a lever that might tempt him into a betrayal, nor any better candidate. The black tent had to come down, but Genghis could not know the agony of Yenking. The spy considered the lord regent had set him a near-impossible task.

Lost in his own thoughts, the spy prepared the draught of hot airag and added a spoonful of the shaman's black paste, scraping it out of a pot. When Temuge wasn't looking, he sniffed at it, wondering if it was an opiate. The nobles smoked opium in the cities and seemed attached to their pipes, much as Temuge was to the drink.

"We are almost at the end of the supply, master," he said.

Temuge sighed. "Then I will have to ask for more from the shaman."