Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection

‘I have not harmed her. She stopped me fighting Koke. That is all.’

Sholoi frowned.

‘I told her not to leave the tent, boy. That’s what matters.’

Temujin stepped closer to the old man.

‘I’ve learned more tonight than I wanted to know. Whatever the truth of it, I am not my brother. I will return for your daughter when the moon’s blood is on her. I will take her for my wife. Until then, you will not lay a hand on her again. You will make an enemy of me if she takes a single bruise from you, old man. You do not want me as an enemy. If you give me cause, the Olkhun’ut will suffer.’

Sholoi listened with a sour expression on his face, his mouth working. Temujin waited patiently for him to think it through.

‘She needs a strong man, boy, to control her.’

‘Remember that,’ Temujin said.

Sholoi nodded, watching as the two Wolves walked away, the sight of the drawn sword scattering Olkhun’ut children before them. Sholoi hefted the axe onto his shoulder and hitched up his leggings, sniffing.

‘I know you’re here, girl, creeping around,’ he said to the empty air. There was no response, but the silence became strained and he grinned to himself, revealing black gums. ‘I think you’ve found yourself a good one, if he survives. Mind you, I wouldn’t take a wager on those odds.’

CHAPTER TEN

Temujin heard the horns of the Wolves sound as he and Basan rode into view with the setting sun behind them. A dozen warriors galloped in perfect formation to intercept him, a spearhead of seasoned warriors well able to deal with a raiding party. He could not help comparing the instant response with the panic of the Olkhun’ut he’d left behind. It was hard to draw his mount back to a walk, but only a fool would risk being killed before he had been recognised.

He glanced at Basan, seeing a new tension there, overlaying the exhaustion. Temujin had pushed him hard to cover the distance home in only two days. Both of them had gone without sleep, surviving on water and draughts of sour yoghurt. Their time together had not begun a friendship, and as they came back into familiar territory, Temujin had sensed a growing distance between them. The warrior had been reluctant to speak, and his manner worried Temujin more than he cared to admit. It occurred to him that the arban of galloping warriors could now be enemies. He had no way of telling, and all he could do was sit tall and straight in the saddle, as his father would have wanted, while they came on.

When the warriors were within hailing distance, Basan raised his right arm, showing he did not carry a blade. Temujin recognised Eeluk amongst them and saw instantly how the others deferred to his father’s bondsman. It was he who gave the signal to halt, and something about his confidence brought Temujin close to humiliating tears. He had come home, but everything had changed. He refused to weep in front of them all, but his eyes shone.

Eeluk laid a claiming hand on Temujin’s reins. The others fell in around them and they began to trot as one, Temujin’s mount matching the pace without a command from him. It was a small thing, but Temujin felt like yanking the reins away in childish anger. He did not want to be led back to his father’s tribe like a small boy, but his wits seemed to have deserted him.

‘Your father still lives,’ Eeluk said. ‘His wound was poisoned and he has been delirious for many days.’

‘He is awake, then?’ Temujin said, hardly daring to hope.

Eeluk shrugged. ‘At times, he cries out and struggles against enemies only he can see. He is a strong man, but he takes no food and the flesh has melted off him like wax. You should prepare yourself. I do not believe he will live much longer.’

Temujin bowed his head to his chest, overcome. Eeluk looked away rather than shame him at his moment of weakness. Without warning, Temujin reached out and tugged his reins away from Eeluk’s grip.

‘Who is responsible? Has he named them?’

‘Not yet, though your mother has asked him whenever he wakes. He does not know her.’

Eeluk sighed to himself and Temujin saw his own strain mirrored in the man. The Wolves would be stunned and fearful with Yesugei raving and close to death. They would be looking for a strong leader.

‘What about my brother Bekter?’ Temujin said.

Eeluk frowned, perhaps guessing the path of Temujin’s thoughts.

‘He has ridden out with the warriors to search the plains.’ He hesitated then, as if deciding how much he should share with the boy. ‘You should not hope to find your father’s enemies now. Those that survived will have scattered days ago. They will not wait for us to find them.’

His face was a mask, but Temujin sensed some hidden anger in him. Perhaps he did not like the thought of Bekter’s influence on the warriors. The search had to be at least attempted and Bekter was an obvious choice, but Eeluk would not want new loyalties being forged away from him. Temujin thought he could read his father’s bondsman well enough, despite his attempts to hide his private self. A man would have to be a fool not to think of the succession at such a time. Temujin was almost certainly too young and Bekter was on the edge of manhood. With Eeluk’s support, either could rule the Wolves, but the alternative was obvious and chilling. Temujin forced a smile as he faced a man who was more of a threat than any of the Olkhun’ut he had left behind.

‘You have loved my father, even as I have, Eeluk. What would he want for the Wolves if he dies? Would he want you to lead them?’

Eeluk stiffened as if he had been struck, turning a murderous expression on the boy who rode at his side. Temujin did not flinch. He felt almost light-headed, but in that moment, he did not care if Eeluk killed him. No matter what the future held, he found he could return the gaze without a trace of fear.

‘I have been loyal all my life,’ Eeluk said, ‘but your father’s day has come and gone. Our enemies will be watching us for weakness as word spreads. The Tartars will come in the winter to raid our herds, perhaps even the Olkhun’ut, or the Kerait, just to see if we can still defend what is ours.’ He took a white-knuckled grip on his reins and turned away from Temujin, unable to go on with the pale yellow eyes watching him.

‘You know what he would have wanted, Eeluk. You know what you must do.’

‘No. No, I do not know, boy. I do know what you are thinking, and I tell you now, you are too young to lead the families.’

Temujin swallowed bitterness and pride in a hard knot.

‘Bekter, then. Do not betray our father, Eeluk. He treated you like a brother all his life. Honour him now by helping his son.’

To Temujin’s astonishment, Eeluk kicked his heels in and rode ahead of the group, his face flushed and furious. Temujin did not dare look at the men around him. He did not want to see their expressions and know his world had crumbled. He did not see the questioning glances they shared, nor their sorrow.

The camp of the Wolves was still and quiet as Temujin dismounted by his father’s ger and took a deep breath. He felt as if he had been away for years. The last time he had stood on that spot, his father had been vital and strong, a certainty in all their lives. It was just not possible to think that world had gone and could not be recalled.

He stood stiffly in the open, looking out over the gers of the families. He could have named every man, woman and child with just a glance at the design of their door. They were his people and he had always known his place amongst them. Uncertainty was a new emotion for him, as if there was a great hole in his chest. He found he had to summon all his courage just to enter the ger. He might have stood there even longer if he had not seen the people beginning to gather as the sun’s rays faded. He could not bear their pity, and with a grimace, he ducked through the low door and closed it against their staring faces.

The night felt had not yet been placed over the smoke hole above his head, but the ger was stifling with heat and a smell that made him want to gag. He saw his mother’s paleness when she turned to him and his defences crumbled as he rushed to her and fell into her embrace. Tears came beyond his control and she rocked him in silence as he gazed on his father’s withered body.

Yesugei’s flesh shuddered like a horse twitching at flies. His stomach was bound in crusted bandages, stiff as reeds with old fluids. Temujin saw a line of pus and blood move like a worm across the skin and into the blankets. His father’s hair had been combed and oiled, but it seemed thin and there was more grey than he remembered in the wisps that reached down to his cheekbones. Temujin saw the ribs were starkly outlined. The face was sunken and dark in hollows, a death mask for the man he had known.

‘You should speak to him, Temujin,’ his mother said. As he raised his head to respond, he saw her eyes were as red as his own. ‘He has been calling your name and I did not know if you would come in time.’

He nodded, wiping a silvery trail of mucus from his nose onto his sleeve as he looked at the one man he had thought would live for ever. The fevers had burnt the muscle off his bones and Temujin could hardly believe it was the same powerful warrior who had ridden so confidently into the camp of the Olkhun’ut. He stared for a long time, unable to speak. He hardly noticed his mother wet a cloth in a bucket of cold water and press it into his hand. She guided his fingers to his father’s face and, together, they wiped the eyes and lips. Temujin breathed shallowly, struggling against revulsion. The smell of sick flesh was appalling, but his mother showed no distaste and he tried to be strong for her.

Yesugei shifted under the touch and opened his eyes, looking directly at them.

‘It is Temujin, husband; he has come home safe,’ Hoelun said gently.

The eyes remained blank and Temujin felt fresh tears starting.

‘I don’t want you to die,’ he said to his father, beginning to sob in spasms. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

The khan of the Wolves took in a sharp breath, so that his ribs stood out like a cage. Temujin leaned over him and pressed his hand into his father’s. The skin was impossibly hot and dry, but he did not let go. He saw his father’s mouth move and dropped his head to hear.

‘I am home, father,’ he said. The grip tightened enough to hurt. Temujin brought his other hand over to hold his father’s fingers, and for a moment their eyes met and he thought he saw recognition.

‘The Tartars,’ Yesugei whispered. His throat seemed to close on the words and the pent-up air released in a great sigh that ended in a dry clicking. Temujin waited for the next breath, and when it did not come, he realised the hand he held had fallen limp. He held it even harder in a rush of despair, aching to hear another breath.

‘Don’t leave us here,’ he begged, but he knew he could not be heard. Hoelun made a choking sound behind him, but he could not tear himself away from the sunken face of the man he adored. Had he told him? He could not remember saying the words and he had a sudden fear that his father would go to the spirits without knowing how much he had meant to his sons.

‘Everything I am comes from you,’ he whispered. ‘I am your son and nothing else. Can you hear me?’

He felt his mother’s hands on his own.