Chagatai glanced once more at the dawn and nodded to himself.
‘I have done my duty, uncle. I have protected his city from those who might have run riot inside on the eve of the oath-taking. Come, ride with me to my brother’s palace. I must be certain he is safe.’ He grinned as he spoke the last words and Kachiun looked away rather than see. He watched the gates begin to open, laying the empty streets of Karakorum bare before them.
Tsubodai was no longer a young man, but he wore full armour and he had been a soldier longer than most of the attackers had been alive. As they came in a welter of limbs and blades, he darted six steps away from the door. Without warning, he spun and lunged, taking the closest man to him through the throat. Two more brought their blades down in reaction, hacking wildly at his scaled armour and leaving bright marks in the tarnish. Tsubodai’s mind was perfectly clear, faster than their movements. He had expected to retreat immediately, but the hurried blows showed him their weariness and desperation. He struck again, reversing his blade for a pull stroke that jerked the steel across a man’s forehead, opening a flap so that he was blinded with blood. It was a mistake. Two men grabbed hold of Tsubodai’s right arm. Another kicked his legs away and he fell with a crash.
On the ground, Tsubodai exploded into a frenzy. He lashed out in all directions, using his armour as a weapon and always moving, making himself harder to hit. The metal plates on his leg opened a gash in someone’s thigh and then he heard roaring and still more men poured into the room, more than it could hold. Tsubodai struggled on desperately, knowing he had lost and Ogedai had lost. Chagatai would be khan. He tasted his own blood in the back of his throat, as bitter as his rage.
At the barricade, Ogedai and Tolui waited shoulder to shoulder. Sorhatani stood with the bow, unable to shoot while Tsubodai still lived. When he went down, she sent two shafts between her husband and his brother. Her arms were nowhere near strong enough for a full draw, but one of the arrows checked a man in his rush while the other ricocheted away into the ceiling. Ogedai stepped in front of her as she struggled to notch a third with shaking fingers. The view beyond the barricade was blocked with grasping hands and blades and bloody faces. She did not understand what was happening at first. She flinched at a roar as more men came into the outer room. Some of those struggling with Ogedai and Tolui turned at the sound and then they were yanked back. Sorhatani saw a sword appear through the throat of a man facing her, as if he had grown a long and bloody tongue. He fell jerking and the view was suddenly clear.
Ogedai and Tolui panted like dogs in the sun. In the other room, a group of armoured men were finishing off the attackers with quick, efficient blows.
Jebe stood there, and at first he ignored the survivors, even Ogedai. He had seen Tsubodai on the ground and knelt at his side just as the general struggled to his knees. Tsubodai was shaking his head; dazed and gashed, but alive.
Jebe rose and saluted Ogedai with his sword.
‘I am pleased to see you well, my lord,’ he said, smiling.
‘How are you here?’ Ogedai snapped, his blood still surging with anger and fear.
‘Your uncles sent me, lord, with forty bondsmen. We had to kill a lot of men to reach you.’
Tolui clapped his brother on the back in delight before he turned and embraced Sorhatani. Kublai and Mongke punched each other on the shoulders and mock-scuffled until Kublai was in Mongke’s headlock.
‘Tsubodai? General?’ Ogedai said.
He watched as Tsubodai’s glazed eyes cleared. A warrior put out his hand to steady the general and Tsubodai batted it away irritably, still shaken by how close he had come to death at the feet of the attackers. When Tsubodai got to his feet, Jebe turned to him, as if reporting.
‘The Broken Lance closed the gates of the city. All the tumans are outside, on the plain. It may be war yet.’
‘How then did you get inside my city?’ Ogedai demanded. He looked for Huran and remembered with a pang of loss that the man had given his life at the first door.
‘We climbed the walls, my lord,’ Jebe said. ‘General Kachiun sent us before he rode to try and force his way in.’ He saw Ogedai’s look of surprise and shrugged. ‘They are not so very high, my lord.’
The rooms were lighter, Ogedai realised. Dawn had come to Karakorum and the day promised to be fine. With a start, he remembered this was the day of the oath-taking. He blinked, trying to put his thoughts in some sort of order, to see a way through after such a night. That there even was an ‘after’ was more than he had expected in the last moments. He felt dazed, lost in events beyond his control.
In the corridor outside, running footsteps could be heard. A messenger came pelting into the room and skidded to a halt, shocked by the mass of dead flesh and the collection of blades levelled at him. The room stank of opened bowels and urine, thick and choking in the enclosed space.
‘Report,’ Jebe said, recognising the scout.
The young man steadied himself. ‘The gates have reopened, general. I ran all the way, but there is an armed force coming.’
‘Of course there is,’ Tsubodai said, his deep voice startling everyone there. They all looked to him and Ogedai felt a surge of relief that he was there. ‘Everyone who was outside the walls last night will be coming here to see who survives.’ He turned to Ogedai then.
‘My lord, we have just moments. You must be clean and changed when they see you. This room must be sealed. It will keep for today at least.’
Ogedai nodded gratefully and Tsubodai snapped quick orders. Jebe went first, leaving six men to form a guard for the one who would be khan. Ogedai and Torogene followed, with Tolui and his family close behind. As they hurried down a long corridor, Ogedai saw that Tolui’s hand kept drifting to his wife or his sons as he strode, still hardly able to believe they were all safe.
‘The children, Ogedai,’ Torogene said.
He glanced at her and saw that her face was pale and drawn with worry. He put his arm around her shoulders and both of them took comfort from the other. Looking over her head, Ogedai could see no one who knew the palace well. Where was his servant, Baras’aghur? He addressed Jebe, as the closest man.
‘General, I must know if my son Guyuk survived the night. My daughters also. Have one of your men find their quarters – ask a servant. Bring me the news as quickly as you can. And find my chancellor, Yao Shu – and Baras’aghur. Get them moving. See who still lives.’
‘Your will, my lord,’ Jebe said quickly, bowing his head. Ogedai seemed almost manic, his mood hard to read. It was more than the excitement that can come after a battle, when life courses more strongly in the veins.
Ogedai rushed on, his wife and Guards struggling to keep up. Somewhere ahead, he could hear marching feet and he darted down another corridor away from the sound. He needed fresh clothes and to wash the blood and filth off him. He needed time to think.
Kachiun had become cold and pale as they rode through the streets, approaching Ogedai’s palace. There seemed to be bodies everywhere, with pools of darkening blood staining the polished stone gutters. Not all of them bore the marks of Ogedai’s Guard tuman. Others wore dark deels or armour rubbed with lamp-black, dull and greasy in the dawn light. The night had been bloody and Kachiun dreaded what he would see in the palace itself.
Chagatai rode lightly, shaking his head at such destruction until Khasar considered cutting his throat and wiping the expression off his face. The presence of three of Chagatai’s bondsmen kept his hand from his sword hilt. They did not stare at the dead. Their eyes were only for the two men riding with their lord, the man who would be khan before the end of the day.
The streets were silent. If any workers had left their homes after the clashes and screams of the night, the sight of so many bodies had sent them scurrying back to bar the doors. The six horsemen made their way to the steps leading up to the palace doors. Dead men lay splayed on the pale marble, their blood in patterns along the veins of stone.
Chagatai did not dismount, but
urged his pony up the steps, clicking his tongue as it trod gingerly past the corpses. The main door to the first courtyard stood open and there was no one to challenge his right to enter. Crows called to each other and there were hawks and vultures already overhead, drawn by the scent of death on the breeze. Kachiun and Khasar looked at each other in grim surmise as they passed under a bar of shadow into the yard beyond. The tree of silver shone there in the dawn, beautiful and lifeless.
The generals could read the patterns of dead well enough. There had been no fixed battle, with lines of men cut down. Instead, the bodies lay randomly, killed from behind or taken by shafts they never saw. They could almost sense the defenders’ surprise as men dressed in shadows had appeared and killed, cutting through them before anyone could organise a defence. In the silence, Chagatai was rapt as he dismounted at last. His pony was skittish with the smell of blood and he made a point of tying the reins securely to a post.
‘I begin to fear for my brother,’ Chagatai said.
Khasar tensed and one of the bondsmen raised a hand to him, reminding him of their presence. The man was grinning, enjoying his master’s show.
‘You need not fear,’ came a voice, making them all jump.
Chagatai spun instantly, his sword leaping out of its scabbard in one movement. His bondsmen were barely slower, ready for any attack.
Tsubodai stood there under an arch of carved limestone. He wore no armour and the morning breeze had not dried the patches of sweat on his silk tunic. A strip of cloth bound his left forearm and Chagatai could see a smear of blood seeping through it. Tsubodai’s face was weary but strong and his eyes were terrible as they met those of the man responsible for the death and destruction all around them.
Chagatai opened his mouth to demand some explanation, but Tsubodai went on.
‘My lord Ogedai is waiting for you in his audience hall. He bids you welcome in his home. He guarantees your safety.’ He spoke the last words as if they stuck in his throat.
Chagatai looked away from the rage he saw in the general. For an instant, his shoulders sagged as he understood his defeat. He had gambled it all on a single night. He did not look up at the slight sound of boots on stone above his head as archers appeared. He bit his lower lip and nodded to himself. Even so, he was his father’s son. He stood straight and sheathed his sword with the care of ritual. No trace of his shock or disappointment showed on his face as he smiled wryly at Tsubodai.
‘Thank the spirits he has survived,’ Chagatai said. ‘Take me to him, general.’
CHAPTER SIX
Chagatai’s bondsmen remained in the courtyard. They would have fought if he had asked them. Instead, he clapped one of them on the shoulder and shook his head before striding into the cloister behind Tsubodai. Chagatai did not look back as his men were surrounded by warriors of Ogedai and beaten to the ground. When one of them cried out, Chagatai set his jaw, disappointed the man could not die quietly for the honour of his master.
Khasar and Kachiun followed in silence. They watched Chagatai fall in beside Tsubodai, neither man looking at the other. At the audience chamber, Guards were all around and Chagatai merely shrugged and gave up his sword.
The door was of polished copper, red-gold in the morning light. Chagatai expected to enter, but the Guard officer tapped him on the armour and stood back, waiting. Chagatai grimaced, but he removed his long, scaled jacket and thigh pieces, as well as the heavy gloves and arm protectors. It was not long before he stood in just his jerkin, leggings and boots. It might have diminished another man to be so stripped, but Chagatai had been training for the festival for many months, wrestling, running and shooting hundreds of arrows each day. He was in superb physical condition and he made most of those around him look smaller and weaker than they were.
Not so Tsubodai. None of the Guards dared to come close to that man as he stood and silently dared Chagatai to protest. Though Tsubodai remained still, it was the stillness of a snake, or a sapling bent and ready to spring back.
Finally, Chagatai faced the Guard officer with one eyebrow raised. He endured being patted down, but he had no hidden weapons and the door swung open. He walked in alone. As it closed behind him, he heard Khasar begin to argue as he was held back. Chagatai was pleased Tsubodai and his uncles would not be witnesses. He had gambled and lost, but there was no shame in it, no humiliation. Ogedai had gathered loyal men to him, just as Chagatai had. His brother’s generals had proved more resourceful than his own. As it had been the night before, one brother would still be khan, and the other? Chagatai grinned suddenly as he saw Ogedai at the far end of the hall, sitting on a throne of white stone inlaid with patterns of gold. It was an impressive sight, as it was intended to be.
As he walked closer, Chagatai saw Ogedai’s hair was damp, loose and black on his shoulders. A purple mark on his cheek was the only visible proof of the night before. Despite the grandeur of the throne, his brother wore a simple grey deel over leggings and a tunic, with no more decoration than any herder of the plains.
‘I am glad to see you well, brother,’ Chagatai said.
Ogedai tensed as Chagatai walked smoothly towards him, his steps echoing.
‘Let us not play games,’ he replied. ‘I have survived your attacks. I will be khan at sunset today.’
Chagatai nodded, still smiling. ‘No games then, but you know, the strange thing is I spoke the truth. Part of me was dreading finding you killed. Ridiculous, yes?’ He chuckled, amused at the complexity of his own emotions. Family was a peculiar thing. ‘Still, I did what I thought best. I have no regrets or apologies. I think father would have enjoyed the risks I took.’ He bowed his head. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t congratulate you on your triumph.’
Ogedai relaxed subtly. He had spent years thinking of Chagatai as an arrogant idiot. He had almost missed him growing into a man used to responsibility and power. As Chagatai came to stand before him, Ogedai’s Guards stepped out and commanded him to kneel. He ignored them, remaining on his feet and looking around the room with an interested expression. It was a huge space to a warrior more used to the gers of the plains. The morning light flooded in from a window overlooking the city.
One of the Guards turned to Ogedai for permission and Chagatai smiled slightly. With any other prisoner, the man would have struck him down, or even hamstrung him to make him kneel. The hesitation acknowledged Chagatai’s power even as they sought to humble him.
Ogedai could almost admire his brother’s careless courage. No, he could admire it, even after such a night. The shadow of Genghis hung over them both and perhaps it always would. Neither they nor Tolui could ever match their father’s achievement. By any standard, they were lesser souls and had been from the moment they were born. Yet they had to live and grow and become men, skilful in their crafts. They had to thrive in that shadow – or let it smother them.
No one else understood Ogedai’s life as Chagatai did, not even their brother Tolui. He wondered again if he was making the right decision, but in that too he had to be strong. A man could waste his life worrying, that was all too clear. Sometimes you simply had to choose and shrug, however it came out, knowing that you could not have done more with the bones you were given.
Ogedai faced his brother and wished one last time that he could know how long he had to live. Everything depended on it. His son did not have the ruthless will to inherit. If Ogedai died that very day, Guyuk would not follow in the line of their father, the line of Genghis. It would pass to the man standing before him. Ogedai searched for calm, though his heart thumped and pattered in his chest, spreading a constant ache until it became like a blade between his ribs. He had not slept and he knew he ran the risk of collapse in dealing with Chagatai that morning. He had drunk a jug of red wine to steady his nerves and used a pinch of the foxglove powder. He could still taste the bitterness on his tongue and his head ached as if it was being slowly crushed.
For all he knew, he might rule as khan for just days before his heart gave out a
nd burst in his chest. If that was his fate and he had killed Chagatai, the nation would tear itself apart in civil war. Tolui was not strong enough to hold them together. Neither he nor Ogedai’s son had gathered loyal generals to protect them through such an upheaval. Power would triumph over blood in that struggle.
The man who stood before him, his tension hidden, was perhaps the best hope for the nation. More, Chagatai was the one Genghis would have chosen if their brother Jochi had never been born. Ogedai felt his damp hair itch and he rubbed it unconsciously. The Guards still looked to him, but he would not let them beat Chagatai to his knees, not that day, though part of him yearned to see it.
‘You are safe here, brother,’ he said. ‘I have given my word.’
‘And your word is iron,’ Chagatai murmured, almost automatically.
Both of them recalled their father’s beliefs and honoured them. The great khan’s shadow clung to them like a cloak. The shared memories made Chagatai look up and frown, suddenly at a loss. He had expected to be killed, but Ogedai seemed troubled rather than triumphant or even vengeful. He watched with interest as Ogedai turned to his Guard officer.
‘Clear the room. What I have to say is for my brother alone.’ The man began to move but Ogedai stopped him with a raised hand. ‘No, bring Orlok Tsubodai as well.’
‘Your will, my lord,’ the officer replied, bowing deeply.
In just moments, the Guards along the walls were marching to the great copper doors. Tsubodai came in at their call. Outside, Khasar could be heard still arguing with the officers before the door swung shut, leaving the three men alone in the echoing space.
Ogedai rose from the throne and stepped down so that he was at Chagatai’s level. He crossed to a small table and poured himself a cup of airag from a jug, drinking deeply and wincing as it stung ulcers in his mouth.