Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

A crease appeared on Salsanan’s brow.

‘Then I do not understand, my lord. If they found you, why have you not begun the journey home? The nation is gathering at Karakorum. The funeral of the khan …’

‘My brother Mongke gave me a task, general. I have made the decision to finish it.’

Salsanan did not respond at first. He was a man used to authority and comfortable in a chain of command. With the khan dead, it was as if a vital support beam had been removed and his habitual certainty was gone. He stammered slightly as he tried again, unnerved under the pale stare of the khan’s brother.

‘My lord, I was given the task of escorting you home. Those are my only orders. Are you saying you will not come?’

‘I am saying I cannot ,’ Kublai snapped, ‘until I have brought the Sung to heel. The sky father has sent you to me, Salsanan. Your tumans are a gift, when I thought there could be none.’

Salsanan saw Kublai’s assumption and spoke quickly to head him off before he gave orders that could not be undone.

‘We are not reinforcements, my lord. My orders were to bring you home to Karakorum. Tell me where your camp is and I will begin the preparations. The khan is dead. There will be a gathering in Karakorum …’

Kublai had flushed again as he spoke, this time in anger.

‘Are you deaf? I have said I will not come back until my work is finished. Until I have the Sung emperor’s head. Whatever your orders were, I countermand them. You are my reinforcements, sorely needed. With you, I will complete the khan’s wishes.’

Salsanan clenched his jaw, seeking for calm and finding it difficult to grasp. He found his own anger rising and his voice hardened as he replied.

‘With respect, I am not yours to command, my lord. Neither are the tumans under me. If you will not come home, I must leave you here and make my way back. I will carry whatever messages you want me to take to Karakorum.’

Kublai turned away, taking a moment to wrap his reins around his hand. He could see Salsanan’s tumans in silent ranks stretching into the distance. He hungered to have them with him, doubling his forces at a stroke. At his back, his veterans were waiting in good spirits, certain that this new army had come to bolster their strength. To see them march away would be a small death, abandoned at the moment of triumph. Kublai shook his head. He could not allow it. Every mile to the east had brought a greater density of towns, better roads and teeming people. Hangzhou was barely five hundred miles on, but already he could see the wealth and strength of the outlying cities. He needed Salsanan’s men. They were the answer to prayers, the sign of benevolent spirits bringing him aid when he needed it most.

‘You leave me no choice, general,’ Kublai said, his eyes glinting with anger. He mounted his horse easily, leaping into the saddle. ‘General Bayar, Orlok Uriang-Khadai, bear witness.’ Kublai raised his voice, making it carry to both sides of waiting warriors.

‘I am Kublai of the Borjigin. I am grandson to Genghis Khan. I am eldest brother to Mongke Khan.’

‘My lord!’ Salsanan said in shock, as he realised what was happening. ‘You can’t do this!’

Kublai went on as if he had not spoken.

‘Before you all, in the lands of my enemies, I declare myself great khan of the nation, of the khanates under my brothers Hulegu and Arik-Boke, of the Chagatai khanate and all others. I declare myself great khan of the Chin lands and the Sung. I have spoken and my word is iron!’

Deep silence followed his words for a beat, then his tumans bellowed in joy, raising their weapons. On the other side, Salsanan’s men responded in a great roar of acclamation.

Salsanan tried to speak again, but his voice was lost in the tumult. Kublai drew his sword and held it high. The noise seemed to double in volume, crashing against them.

Kublai looked down at Salsanan as he sheathed his sword.

‘Tell me again what I can’t do, general,’ he said. ‘Well? I have the right. I claim it by blood. Now I will take your oath, or I will have your head.’ He shrugged. ‘It is nothing to me.’

Salsanan stared, slack-jawed at what he had witnessed. He looked around at his cheering men and the last of his resistance faded. Slowly, he knelt on the grass, looking up at the khan of the nation.

‘I offer you gers, horses, salt and blood, my lord khan,’ he said, glassy-eyed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

At dawn, Arik-Boke stood on the plains before Karakorum. Mongke’s two oldest sons had been granted a place close by their uncle. Asutai was sixteen and Urung Tash fourteen, but in their wide shoulders they showed signs of what would become their father’s massive strength. They were still red-eyed from grief. Arik-Boke had been kind to them in the days after the terrible news had come home and both young men looked up to him in simple hero worship.

Hulegu stood at his brother’s right hand, still darkly tanned from his time in Persia and Syria. He had left only a small force behind with General Kitbuqa to guard the new cities, the new khanate he had won there. Arik-Boke could practically feel his brother’s pride. Hulegu had done well with Baghdad, but the region was far from pacified. He could not stay long in Karakorum.

Arik-Boke rubbed the scar across his ruined nose. He caught himself in the habit and took his hand away, determined to be dignified on this of all days. He looked out at the massed tumans of the nation, the princes who had crossed half the world to be there when they heard of the khan’s death. They had come a long, long way from the fledgling nation Genghis had created from far-flung tribes. It showed in their numbers and in their obvious wealth.

The body of Mongke Khan lay hidden in a huge covered cart, specially built for that task, for that day. It was to be drawn by forty white horses and followed on foot by thousands of men and women. Their tears would salt the ground as they returned to the last resting place of Mongke’s grandfather. Proud princes would walk in its wake, putting aside the signs of their rank as they mourned the father of the nation.

Arik-Boke watched as the sun began to set. In the dark, torches would be lit along a path that stretched away from the city and they would begin. Before that, they waited for him. He turned to Hulegu and his brother nodded to him. Arik-Boke smiled, recalling the first tense meeting after Hulegu’s return. For the first time in years, they had walked out of the city like a pair of poor herdsmen, bearing skins of airag on their shoulders. There were many fires around the city, many men and women huddling around them against the cold. Hulegu and Arik-Boke had sat down to join the vigil, talking all the while of the khan and brother they had lost. They had honoured Mongke with mouthfuls of airag spat into the air and both of them had drunk themselves into a bleary stupor.

Hulegu had been burnt dark under a harsh sun. He even smelled different, an odour of cloves and strange spices coming off his skin. As that first night had gone on, his eyes were bright as he described the lands he had seen, with sunlit mountains and ancient secrets. He told Arik-Boke of kohl-eyed Persian women he had seen dance to exhaustion, flinging sweat like bright jewels in the light of feast fires. He spoke of the great markets; of snakes and magicians, of brass and of gold. His voice had grown hoarse with recollection and awe.

Before the sun had risen, Arik-Boke had understood that Hulegu did not want the empire of the great khan. His brother had fallen in love with the desert lands and itched even then to return to them, begrudging every day spent on the cold plains of home. In the morning, they had risen to their feet with groans and creaking joints, but they were at peace with each other.