Empire of Silver

‘Keep it open as long as you can,’ he said. Surely there were more of his Guards on their way? How could such an attempt have slipped past him?

Somewhere nearby, they heard more running footsteps, the echoes clattering from all directions. Huran put his shoulder to the door. From the blackness, a figure loomed suddenly and Huran struck with his sword blade, grunting as it slid off scaled armour.

‘Put that away, Huran,’ a voice came, slipping into the room.

In the dim light, Ogedai breathed in relief. ‘Tsubodai! What is happening outside?’

The general said nothing. He dropped his sword on the stone floor and helped Huran bar the door, before taking up the blade once again.

‘The corridors are full of men; they’re searching every room,’ he said. ‘If it were not for the fact that they have never been inside your palace before, they would be here already.’

‘How did you get past?’ Huran demanded.

Tsubodai scowled in angry memory. ‘Some of them recognised me, but the common warriors have not yet been told to cut me down. For all they know, I am part of the plot.’

Ogedai sagged as he stared round at the small group who had run to his rooms.

‘Where is my son Guyuk?’ he said. ‘My daughters?’

Tsubodai shook his head. ‘I did not see them, lord, but there is every chance they are safe. You are the target tonight, no one else.’

Tolui winced as he understood. He turned to his wife. ‘Then I have brought you and my sons to the most dangerous place.’

Sorhatani reached out to touch his cheek.

‘Nowhere is safe tonight,’ she said softly.

They could all hear voices and running feet coming closer. Outside the city, the tumans of the nation slept on, oblivious to the threat.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fb8c1702-5230-54a9-a31e-f956ad19fc6a)

Kachiun walked his pony across the churned grass of the encampment, listening to the sounds of the nation all around him. Despite the stillness of the night, he did not ride alone. Thirty of his personal bondsmen went with him, alert for any attack. No one travelled alone in the camps any more, not with the new moon almost upon them. Lamps and mutton fat torches spat and fluttered at every intersection of paths, revealing dark groups of warriors watching him as he passed.

He could hardly believe the current level of suspicion and tension in the camps. At three points, he was challenged by guards as he approached Khasar’s ger. In the night breeze, two lamps cast writhing yellow shadows at his feet. Even as Khasar came yawning out onto the cart, Kachiun could see bows drawn and sighted on him.

‘We need to talk, brother,’ he said.

Khasar stretched, groaning. ‘Tonight?’

‘Yes, tonight,’ Kachiun snapped.

He didn’t want to say more, with so many listeners nearby. For once, Khasar sensed his mood and nodded without any more argument. Kachiun watched as his brother whistled softly. Men in full armour walked in from the outer darkness, hands near their swords. They ignored Kachiun and walked to their general, standing close by his feet and looking up at him for orders. Khasar crouched and murmured to them.

Kachiun mastered his impatience until the men bowed their heads and moved away. One of them brought Khasar’s current mount, a gelding near black in colour that whickered and kicked out as they saddled it.

‘Bring your bondsmen, brother,’ Kachiun said to him.

Khasar peered at him in the dim light, seeing the strain in Kachiun’s face. He shrugged and gestured to the officers nearby. Another forty warriors trotted to his side, long woken from sleep by the presence of armed men near their master. It seemed that even Khasar was taking no chances on those nights while they waited for the new moon.

Dawn was still hours away, but with the camp in such a state, the movement of so many men woke everyone they passed. Voices called out around them and somewhere a child began wailing. Grim-faced, Kachiun trotted his mount beside his brother, silent as they headed towards Karakorum.

Torches lit the gates in dim gold that night. The walls were pale grey shadows in the darkness, but the western gate gleamed, oak and iron, and clearly shut. Khasar frowned, leaning forward in his saddle to strain his eyes.

‘I haven’t seen it closed before,’ he said over his shoulder. Without thought, he dug in his heels and increased his pace. The warriors around him matched him so smoothly it could have been a battlefield manoeuvre. The noises of the camp, the calling voices, all were lost in the thump of hooves, the breath of horses, the jingle of metal and harness. The western gate of Karakorum grew before them. Khasar could now see ranks of men, facing outwards as if challenging him.

‘This is why I woke you,’ Kachiun replied.

Both men were brothers to the great khan, uncles to the next. They were generals of proven authority, their names known to every warrior who fought for the nation. When they reached the gate, a visible ripple ran through the ranks of men there, vanishing into the darkness. The bondsmen halted around their masters, hands on sword hilts. On both sides, the men were strung as tightly as their bows. Kachiun and Khasar glanced at each other, then dismounted.

They stood on dusty ground, the grass long since worn away by traffic through the gate. Both men felt the sullen gaze of those who faced them. The men at the gate bore no marks of rank, no flags or banners to identify them. For Kachiun and Khasar, it was as if they looked upon the raiders of their youth, with no allegiance to the nation.

‘You know me,’ Khasar roared suddenly over their heads. ‘Who dares to stand in my way?’

The closest men jerked under a voice that could carry across battlefields, but they did not respond, or move.

‘I see no signs of tuman or minghaan in your ranks. I see no flags, just dog-meat wanderers with no master.’ He paused and glared at them. ‘I am General Khasar Borjigin, of the Wolves, of the nation under the great khan. You will answer to me tonight.’

Some of the men shuffled nervously in the lamplight, but they did not flinch from his gaze. Khasar guessed the best part of three hundred men had been sent to close the gate and no doubt it was the same on the other four walls of Karakorum. The bondsmen snarling at his back were outnumbered, but they were the best swordsmen and archers he and Kachiun could field. At a word from either of them, they would attack.

Khasar looked at Kachiun once again, controlling his anger at the dumb insolence of the warriors facing them. His hand dropped to his sword hilt in unmistakable signal. Kachiun held his gaze for a moment and the warriors on both sides tensed for bloodshed. Almost imperceptibly, Kachiun moved his head a finger’s width left and right. Khasar frowned, showing his teeth in frustration for an instant. He leaned in to the closest of those before the gate, breathing into his face.

‘I say you are tribeless wanderers, without marks of rank or blood,’ Khasar said. ‘Don’t leave your posts while I am gone. I am going to ride into the city over your bodies.’

The man was sweating and he blinked at the growling voice too close to his neck.

Khasar remounted and he and Kachiun swung away from the pools of light and the promise of death. As soon as they were clear, Kachiun edged his mare over and tapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder.

‘It has to be the Broken Lance. Ogedai is in the city and someone does not want us riding to his aid tonight.’

Khasar nodded, his heart still hammering. It had been years since he had seen such a show of rebellion from warriors of his people. He was raging, his face flushed.

‘My ten thousand will answer the insult,’ he snapped. ‘Where is Tsubodai?’

‘I have not seen him since he went to Ogedai today,’ Kachiun replied.

‘You are senior. Send runners to his tuman and to Jebe. With them or without them, I am going into that city, Kachiun.’

The brothers and their bondsmen split up, riding different paths that would bring forty thousand men back to the gates of Karakorum.

For a time, the noises on the other side of the door died almost to nothing. With silent gestures, Tsubodai and Tolui lifted a heavy couch, grunting with the effort. It took both of them to shove it across the entrance.

‘Are there any other ways in?’ Tsubodai murmured.

Ogedai shook his head, then hesitated.

‘There are windows in my sleeping chamber, but they open onto a sheer wall.’

Tsubodai cursed under his breath. The first rule of battle was to choose the ground. The second was to know the ground. Both had been taken from him. He looked around at the shadowy gathering, judging their mood. Mongke and Kublai were wide-eyed and thrilled to be part of an adventure. Neither realised the danger they were in. Sorhatani returned his gaze steadily. Under that silent stare, he took a long knife from his boot and passed it into her hands.