Conn Iggulden - Lords of the Bow

"You are welcome in my home, Kokchu," he whispered hoarsely. "What new herbs will you try tonight?"

It may have been his imagination, but the shaman seemed strangely nervous. Kokchu's forehead glistened with sweat and Genghis wondered if he too was falling ill.

"Nothing I have will make you better, lord. I have tried everything I know," he said. "I have wondered if there is something else that prevents you from becoming well again."

"Something else?" Genghis asked. His throat tickled infuriatingly and he swallowed hard against it, the action now part of his usual manner, so that he gulped constantly.

"The emperor has sent assassins, lord. Perhaps he has other ways to attack you, ways that cannot be seen and killed."

Genghis considered this, interested. "You think he has magic workers in his city? If the best they can do is a cough, I will not fear them."

Kokchu shook his head. "A curse can kill you, lord. I should have considered it before this."

Genghis sat back on his bed wearily. "What do you have in mind?"

Kokchu gestured for his khan to stand and looked away rather than see Genghis struggle up.

"If you will come to my ger, lord, I will summon the spirits and see if you are marked by some dark work of the city."

Genghis narrowed his eyes, but he nodded. "Very well. Send one of my guards for Temuge to join us."

"That is not necessary, lord. Your brother is not as accomplished in these matters…"

Genghis coughed, a sound which he turned into a furious growl of anger at his failing body.

"Do as I tell you, shaman, or get out," he said.

Kokchu tightened his mouth and bowed briefly.

Genghis followed Kokchu to the tiny ger, waiting in the snow and wind as Kokchu ducked inside. Temuge was not long in coming, accompanied by the warrior who had fetched him from his sleep. Genghis drew his brother aside where Kokchu could not hear.

"It seems I must endure his smoke and rituals, Temuge. Do you trust the man?"

"No," Temuge snapped, still irritable at being woken.

Genghis grinned at his brother's waspish expression in the moonlight. "I thought you might not, which is why you are here. You will accompany me, brother, and watch him all the while I am in his ger." He gestured to the warrior standing nearby and the man came quickly.

"You will guard this ger, Kuyuk, against anyone who might disturb us."

"Your will, lord," the warrior replied, bowing his head.

"And if Temuge or I do not walk out, your task is to kill the shaman," Genghis said. He felt Temuge's gaze on him and he shrugged. "I am not a trusting man, brother."

Taking a deep breath of the freezing air, Genghis stifled his twitching throat and entered the ger of the shaman, Temuge behind him. There was barely room for three in that tiny space, but they sat on the silk floor with their knees touching, waiting to see what Kokchu could do.

Kokchu lit cones of powder in gold dishes on the floor. They sparked and spat, producing a thick cloud of narcotic smoke. As the first wisps reached Genghis he doubled over in a fit of coughing. Every gasp made it worse and Kokchu grew visibly nervous that the khan would collapse. At last Genghis took a clean breath and felt coolness in his tortured throat, like stream water on a hot day. He took another breath and another, rejoicing at the numbness that flowed in him.

"That is better," he admitted, staring at the shaman with bloodshot eyes.

Kokchu was in his element, despite Temuge's hard gaze on him. He produced a pot of the black paste and reached out to Genghis's mouth. He jerked as a hand snapped around his wrist.

"What is that?" Genghis said, suspiciously.

Kokchu swallowed. He had not seen him move. "It will help you to break the bonds of flesh, lord. Without it, I cannot bring you onto the paths."

"I have had it," Temuge said suddenly, his eyes brighter than before. "It does no harm."

"You will not, tonight," Genghis replied, ignoring his brother's disappointment. "I want you to observe, Temuge, that is all."

Genghis opened his mouth and endured the shaman's black-nailed fingers rubbing the paste into his gums. At first there was no effect, but as Genghis began to mention this, he noticed the dim light of the shaman's lamp had become brighter. He stared at it in wonderment and the light swelled to fill the little ger, bathing them all in gold.

"Take my hand," Kokchu whispered, "and walk with me."

Temuge watched mistrustfully as his brother's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped. Kokchu had closed his own so that Temuge felt oddly alone. He winced as Genghis's mouth flopped open, made black by the paste. The silence stretched and Temuge lost some of his tension as he remembered his own visions in that small ger. His gaze drifted to the pot of black paste, and with the two men deep in a trance, he replaced the lid and made it disappear inside his deel. His servant Ma Tsin had secured a regular supply for a time before the man vanished. Temuge had long ceased to wonder where he had gone, though he suspected Kokchu had some hand in it. There were other servants to be found among the Chin soldiers Genghis had taken in, though none were as adept.

Temuge had no way to judge the passage of time. He sat for an age in perfect stillness, then was jerked out of his reverie by Kokchu's voice, hoarse and distant. The words filled the ger and Temuge inched back from the rush of nonsense syllables. Genghis too stirred at the sound, opening glassy eyes as Kokchu began to talk louder and faster.

Without warning, the shaman collapsed, breaking his hold on Genghis's hand. Genghis felt the fingers slip away and blinked slowly, still deep in the grip of the opiate.

Kokchu lay on his side, spittle dribbling from his mouth. Temuge stared at him in distaste. Without warning, the babble of alien sounds ceased and Kokchu spoke without opening his eyes in a firm, low voice.

"I see a white tent raised before the walls. I see the emperor talking to his soldiers. Men pointing and pleading with him. He is a little boy and there are tears on his face."

The shaman fell silent and Temuge leaned close to him, worried that his stillness meant the man's heart had given way. He touched the shaman's shoulder lightly, and as he did so, Kokchu jerked, writhing, producing sounds that had no meaning. Once more he fell silent and the low voice spoke again.

"I see treasures, a tribute. Thousands of carts and slaves. Silk, weapons, ivory. Jade in mountains, enough to fill the sky. Enough to build an empire. It gleams so!"

Temuge waited for more, but no more came. His brother had slumped against the wicker-braced wall of the ger and was snoring softly. Kokchu's breathing relaxed and his clenched fists fell loose as he too slept. Once more Temuge was alone and in awe of what he had heard. Would either of the men remember the words? His own recollection of visions was patchy at best, but he recalled that Kokchu had not taken the black paste into his own mouth. No doubt he would tell the khan everything he had seen.

Temuge knew he could not shake his brother awake. He would sleep for many hours, long after the camp had risen around him. Temuge shook his head wearily. Genghis was sick of the siege as the end of the second year approached. He might well grasp at any chance. Temuge grimaced to himself. If Kokchu's vision was true, Genghis would turn to him in future, in all things.

Temuge considered cutting Kokchu's throat as he lay in sleep. For a man who dabbled in dark magics, it would not be too hard to explain away. Temuge imagined telling Genghis how a red line appeared on Kokchu's throat while he watched in horror. It would be Temuge who told Genghis what the shaman had seen.

Temuge drew his knife slowly, making no sound. His hand shook slightly, even as he told himself to act. He leaned over the shaman, and at that moment, Kokchu's eyes snapped open, warned by some sense. He jerked his arm to knock the blade aside, trapping it in the folds of his robe.