Читать книгу Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection - Conn Iggulden - Страница 34

Eeluk sat in a ger twice the size of any other in the camp, on a throne of wood and polished leather. Yesugei had disdained such symbols of power, but Eeluk took comfort from being raised above his bondsmen. Let them remember who was khan! He listened to the crackle of torches and the far-off voices of the tribe. He was drunk again, or close to it, so that his hand blurred as he passed it in front of his eyes. He considered calling for enough airag to smash him into sleep, but instead, he sat in sullen silence, staring at the floor. His bondsmen knew better than to try to raise the spirits of their khan when he was brooding on better days.

His eagle perched on a wooden tree at his right hand. The hooded bird was a brooding presence that could be as still as bronze for the longest time, then suddenly jerk at a sound, tilting her head as if she could see through the thick leather. The red tinge to her feathers had remained, shimmering when her wings caught the light of torches. Eeluk was proud of her size and power. He had watched her strike a kid goat and struggle into the air with the limp flesh dangling. He had not allowed her more than a single scrap of flesh for the kill, of course, but it had been a glorious moment. He had given Yesugei’s eagle to another family, binding them in gratitude for a khan’s gift. He longed to show the pair to Temujin or Bekter, and almost wished them alive just to experience their anger one more time.

He remembered the day he had been given the red bird by Yesugei’s own hand. Against his will, sudden tears came to his eyes and he swore aloud and cursed the airag for bringing on his melancholy. He had been younger then and for the young everything is better, cleaner and finer than for those who have let themselves grow thick-bodied and drunk every evening. Yet he was still strong, he knew it. Strong enough to break anyone who dared to test him.

Eeluk looked blearily around him for Tolui, forgetting for a moment that he had not returned. The Wolves had travelled slowly, drifting further north since Tolui had left with Basan and Unegen. It should have been a simple enough matter to determine whether Yesugei’s children still lived, or at least to find their bones. Eeluk thought back to his first winter as khan and shuddered. It had been bitter even on the trip south. For those in the north, it would have been cruelly hard, on the young and the old alike. Hoelun and her children would not have lasted long, he was almost certain. Yet it nagged at him. What could have delayed Tolui and the other men? The young wrestler was a useful man to have close, Eeluk knew. His loyalty was unquestioning, in comparison with some of the older men. Eeluk knew there were those who still denied his right to lead the tribe, fools who could not accept the new order. He made sure they were watched and, when the time came, they would find men like Tolui outside their gers one dawn. He would take their heads himself, as a khan should. It was never far from his thoughts that he had won the tribe with strength – and only strength could hold it. Disloyalty could grow unchecked until they found the courage to challenge him. Had he not felt the seeds of it long before Yesugei was killed? In his most secret heart, he had.

When the warning horns sounded, Eeluk lurched to his feet, taking his sword from where it lay propped against the arm of his chair. The red bird screeched, but he ignored it, shaking his head to clear it of fumes as he strode out into the cold air. He could already feel the rush of blood and excitement he relished. He hoped for raiders, or Tolui’s return with the children of the old khan. One or the other would bring blood to his sword, and he never found sleep so sweet and dreamless as when he had killed a man.

His horse was brought for him and he mounted carefully rather than stumble. He could feel the airag in him, but it just made him stronger. He turned bleary red eyes on his bondsmen as they gathered and then dug in his heels, sending his stallion careering out to meet the threat.

Eeluk whooped into the cold wind as the riders formed around him in perfect formation. They were Wolves and they were to be feared. He never felt as alive as at that moment, when disloyalties were forgotten and a single enemy had to be faced. That was what he craved, rather than the petty problems and feuds of the families. What did he care about those? His sword and bow were ready for their defence and that was all he had to give them. They could grow and increase their numbers, just as the goats did in their care. Nothing else mattered as long as the warriors rode and he led them.

At full gallop, Eeluk lowered his sword over the stallion’s ears and called ‘Chuh!’ for more speed, feeling the airag burn out of him. He wished there could be an enemy host coming against them, a battle to test his courage and make him feel again the intoxication of walking close to death. Instead, he saw only two figures on the plain, riding dark brown ponies too heavily laden to be a threat. The disappointment was bitter in his throat, but he quelled it, forcing the cold face. The Wolves would take whatever the two men owned, leaving them with their lives unless they chose to fight. Eeluk hoped they would as he drew close, his men riding around and taking positions.

With drunken care, Eeluk dismounted and walked to face the strangers. To his surprise, he saw that they were both armed, though they were not fool enough to draw their swords. It was rare to see long blades in the hands of wanderers. The skill to fold and beat steel was highly sought after amongst the tribes and a good sword would be a valuable possession. Yet the pair did not look prosperous. Their clothes may once have been good quality, but were filthy with ancient dust and dirt. Through the vagueness of the black airag in his blood, Eeluk’s interest was aroused.

As he strode closer, he watched the men carefully, remembering Yesugei’s lessons on judging his enemies. One was old enough to be father to the second, but he looked strong despite his grey hair, braided and oiled into a queue down his back. Eeluk felt a prickling sense of danger in the way he was standing, and ignored the younger one, knowing by instinct to watch the elder for a first move. He could not have explained his decision, but it had saved his life more than once.

Despite being surrounded by mounted warriors, neither man bowed his head. Eeluk frowned at them, wondering at their strangeness and their confidence. Before he could speak, the older of the two men seemed to start, his sharp eyes picking out the leaping wolf on Eeluk’s armour. He murmured something to his companion and both relaxed visibly.

‘My name is Arslan,’ the older said clearly, ‘and this is my son, Jelme. We are pledged to the Wolves and we have found you at last.’ When Eeluk did not reply, the man looked around him at the faces of the bondsmen. ‘Where is the one called Yesugei? I have honoured my vow. I have found you at last.’

Eeluk glowered at the strangers as they sat in the warmth of his ger. Two of his bondsmen stood outside the door in the cold, ready to come at his call. Inside, only Eeluk was armed. Despite that, he felt a constant tension in their presence, for no reason he could bring clearly to his thoughts. Perhaps it was the utter lack of fear in both of them. Arslan had shown no surprise or awe at the great ger Eeluk had had constructed. He had handed over his own sword without a backward glance. When Arslan’s gaze drifted over the weapons on the walls, Eeluk was almost sure he had seen a faint sneer appear on his face, gone as quickly as it came. Only the red bird had held his attention and, to Eeluk’s irritation, Arslan had made a clicking sound in the back of his throat and run a hand down the red-gold feathering of her chest. She had not reacted and Eeluk felt his own simmering anger increase.

‘Yesugei was killed by Tartars almost five years ago,’ Eeluk said, when they had settled themselves and drunk their bowls of tea. ‘Who are you to come to us now?’

The younger man opened his mouth to answer, but Arslan touched him lightly on the arm and he subsided.

‘It would have been earlier if you had stayed in the north. My son and I have ridden more than a thousand days to find you and honour the vow I made to your father.’

‘He was not my father,’ Eeluk snapped. ‘I was first among his bondsmen.’ He saw the two men exchange glances.

‘It was no idle rumour then, that you abandoned Yesugei’s sons and wife on the plain?’ Arslan asked softly.

Eeluk found himself becoming defensive under the man’s quiet scrutiny.

‘I am khan of the Wolves,’ he replied. ‘I have ruled them for four years and they are stronger than they have ever been. If you are pledged to the Wolves, you are pledged to me.’

Once again, he saw Arslan and his son glance at each other and Eeluk grew angry.

‘Look at me when I am talking to you,’ he ordered.

Obediently, Arslan faced the man on the throne of wood and leather, saying nothing.

‘How did you come by long blades like the ones you carried?’ Eeluk asked.

‘It is my craft to make them, my lord,’ Arslan said softly. ‘I was once the armourer for the Naimans.’

‘You were banished?’ Eeluk asked immediately. He wished he had not drunk as much before they came. His thoughts felt sluggish and he still sensed danger from the older man, for all his calm speech. There was an economy of movement about him, a suggestion of hardness that Eeluk recognised. The man may have been a swordsmith, but he was a warrior also. His son was as lean as a rope, but whatever it was that made a man dangerous was not there in him, and Eeluk could dismiss him from his thoughts.

‘I left the khan after he took my wife for his own,’ Arslan replied.

Eeluk started suddenly, remembering a story he had heard years before.

‘I have heard of this,’ he began, straining his memory. ‘You are the one who challenged the khan of the Naimans? You are the oath-breaker?’

Arslan sighed, remembering old pain.

‘It was a long time ago and I was younger, but yes. The khan was a cruel man and, though he accepted my challenge, he returned first to his ger. We fought and I killed him, but when I went to claim my wife, I found he had cut her throat. It is a tired story and I have not thought of it for many years.’

Arslan’s eyes were dark with grief and Eeluk did not believe him.

‘I heard of it even in the south where the air is hot and wet. If you are the same man, you are said to be very skilled with the blade. Is it true?’

Arslan shrugged. ‘Stories always exaggerate. Perhaps I was once. My son is better than I am now. Yet I have my bellows and I can build a forge. I have my skills and I can still make weapons of war. I met Yesugei when he was hunting with his hawk. He saw the value for his families and offered to break tradition, to bring us back into a tribe.’ He paused for a moment, looking back over the years. ‘I was alone and despairing when he found me. My wife had been taken by another and I did not want to live. He offered me sanctuary with the Wolves, if I could bring her out with my son. He was a great man, I think.’

‘I am greater,’ Eeluk replied, irritated to have Yesugei praised in his own ger. ‘If you have the skills you claim, the Wolves will still welcome you with honour.’

For a long time, Arslan did not respond or look away. Eeluk could feel the tension grow in the ger and he had to force himself not to let his fingers drop to his sword hilt. He saw the red bird look up in its hood, as if she too felt the strained air between them.

‘I pledged myself to Yesugei and his heirs,’ Arslan said.

Eeluk snorted. ‘Am I not khan here? The Wolves are mine and you have offered yourself to the Wolves. I accept you both and I will offer you a ger, sheep, salt and safety.’

Once again, the silence stretched and became uncomfortable, until Eeluk wanted to curse. Then Arslan nodded, bowing his head.

‘You do us great honour,’ he replied.

Eeluk smiled. ‘Then it is settled. You have come at a time when I will need good weapons. Your son will be one of my bondsmen if he is as quick with a sword as you say. We will ride to war with blades from your forge. Believe me when I say it is time for the Wolves to rise.’

In the musty darkness of a new ger, Jelme turned to his father, keeping his voice low.

‘Are we staying here, then?’

His father shook his head unseen in the gloom. Aware of the possibility of listening ears, he pitched his voice at barely more than a breath.

‘We are not. This man who calls himself khan is just a yapping dog with blood on his hands. Can you see me serving another like the khan of the Naimans? Yesugei was a man of honour, a man I could follow without regret. He came across me when I was picking wild onions, with just a little knife. He could have stolen everything I had, yet he did not.’

‘You would have killed him if he had tried,’ Jelme said, smiling in the darkness. He had seen his father fight and knew that, even unarmed, he was more than a match for most swordsmen.

‘I might have surprised him,’ Arslan replied without pride, ‘but he did not know that. He was hunting alone, and I sensed he did not want company, but he treated me with honour. He shared meat and salt with me.’ Arslan sighed, remembering. ‘I liked him. I am sorry to hear he has gone from the plains. This Eeluk is weak where Yesugei was strong. I will not have my beautiful swords in his hands.’

‘I knew it,’ Jelme said. ‘You did not give him your oath, and I guessed. He did not even hear the words you used. The man is a fool, but you know he will not let us go.’

‘No, he will not,’ Arslan said. ‘I should have listened to the rumours about the new khan. I should not have brought you into danger.’

Jelme snorted. ‘Where else would I go, father? My place is at your side.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Shall I challenge him?’

‘No!’ Arslan said in a harsh whisper. ‘A man who could leave children on the plains to freeze with their mother? He would have you taken and beheaded without even drawing his own blade. We have made a mistake coming here, but now all we can do is watch for a time to leave. I will build my forge with new bricks of clay and that will take time. I will send you out for wood and herbs, anything to get you away from the camp. Learn the names of the guards and have them become used to you foraging for materials. You can find a place to store what we need and, when the time is right, I will bring the ponies out.’

‘He will send guards with us,’ Jelme answered.

Arslan chuckled. ‘Let him. I have not met a man I cannot kill. We will be gone from here by the end of summer and the forge I will leave them will be useless for anything except scrap iron.’

Jelme sighed for a moment. It had been a long time since he had seen the inside of a ger and part of him did not relish the thought of returning to hard nights and the bitterness of the winters.

‘There are some pretty women here,’ he said.

His father sat up as he heard the longing in his son’s voice. He did not reply for some time.

‘I have not given thought to it, my son. Perhaps I am being foolish. I will not marry again, but if you want to remain and make a place amongst these people, I will stay with you. I cannot drag you behind me for the rest of my life.’

Jelme reached out in the dark to find his father’s arm.

‘I go where you go, you know that. Your vow binds me as much as it does you.’

Arslan snorted. ‘A vow to the dead binds no one. If Yesugei had lived, or if his children survived, I would go to them with a clear heart. As it is, there is no life for us but here or on the plains with the real wolves. Do not answer me tonight. Sleep and we will talk again in the morning.’

Eeluk rose at dawn, his head hammering with pain and slick sweat foul on his skin. He had called for more airag after Arslan and Jelme had gone to the ger and at most he had slept for a hand’s-breadth of the stars moving on the sky. He felt terrible, but as he came out of his ger and surveyed the camp, he was startled to see Arslan and his son already awake. The two newcomers were exercising together, their swords drawn as they stretched and moved in what looked like a dance, to Eeluk’s sleepy eyes.

Already, a few of the bondsmen had gathered around them, some of them laughing and making crude comments. The two men ignored the others as if they did not exist and, for those with an eye to see, the balance and agility they practised revealed a very high level of skill. Arslan was bare-chested and his skin was a patchwork of scarring. Even Eeluk was impressed at the markings, from the white lattice of old cuts on his arms, to knots of burns and arrowheads on his shoulders and chest. The man had fought and, as he spun in the air, Eeluk saw only a few wounds in the paler skin of his back. The pair were impressive, Eeluk admitted reluctantly. Arslan shone with sweat, though he was not breathing heavily. Eeluk watched glowering, trying to recall the conversation of the previous night. He noticed that the bondsmen had fallen silent and he snorted to himself as father and son finished the routine. He did not trust them. As he stood and scratched himself, he saw two of his bondsmen engage Arslan in conversation, clearly asking questions about the exercises they had seen. Eeluk wondered if the newcomers could be spies, or even assassins. The older man, in particular, had the look of a killer and Eeluk knew he would have to force a little obedience, or have his authority questioned in his own camp.

Despite his misgivings, their arrival was a blessing from the sky father, at a time when he planned a campaign against the Olkhun’ut. The Wolves were growing and he felt the spring tide in his gut and blood, calling him to war. He would need good swords for every young warrior of the families, and perhaps Arslan was the man to produce them. The armourer they had was an old drunk and only his valuable craft prevented him being left out in the snow each winter. Eeluk smiled to himself at the thought that Arslan would make chain mail and blades for the Wolves to grow in strength.

When Eeluk dreamed, it was always of death. The oldest woman had cast the bones in his ger and prophesied a great blood-letting under his banners. Perhaps Arslan was a messenger from the spirits, as the legends told. Eeluk stretched, feeling his strength as his bones cracked and his muscles tightened deliciously. He had woken his ambition after the death of Yesugei. There was no telling where it would take him.

It was four days after the arrival of Arslan and his son that Tolui and Basan returned to the gers of the Wolves, dragging a battered figure behind them. Eeluk rode out with the others and he yelled hoarsely when he saw his men had returned with a live captive. He wanted it to be Bekter, but somehow it was sweeter still to see Temujin staring back at him through swollen eyes.

The journey had been hard on Temujin, but he stood as straight and tall as he could as Eeluk dismounted. He had been dreading the moment ever since they had caught him and, now that it had come, exhaustion and pain made him numb.

‘Am I granted guest rights, then?’ he said.

Eeluk snorted and backhanded a blow across his face that tumbled him to the ground.

‘Welcome home, Temujin,’ Eeluk said, showing strong white teeth. ‘I have waited a long time to see you with your belly on the ground.’ As he spoke, he raised his leg and pressed Temujin face-down into the dust. Little by little he increased the pressure, and there was a light in his eye that made the other warriors silent.

It was Basan who broke the silence. ‘My lord, Unegen is dead. The others escaped.’

Eeluk seemed to drag himself back from far away to answer, releasing the silent figure under his boot.

‘They all survived?’ he said, surprised.

Basan shook his head. ‘Bekter is dead. I understand the others still live. We found their camp and burned it.’

Eeluk did not care that Unegen had fallen. The man had been one of the old bondsmen. None of them could truly see Eeluk as khan, he knew. As the years passed, he was slowly leavening their numbers with younger men, hungry for blood and conquest.

‘You have done well,’ he said, addressing Tolui and seeing how he swelled his chest with pride. ‘You may have the pick of my own horses and a dozen skins of airag. Get yourself drunk. You have earned a khan’s praise.’

Tolui was pleased and bowed as low as he could.

‘You honour me, my lord,’ he said, stealing a sideways look at Temujin. ‘I would enjoy seeing him humbled.’

‘Very well, Tolui. You shall be there. The spirits need blood to feed their hunger. He shall be the stain on the ground that sends us on to victory and greatness. We have a swordsmith come to us. The son of a khan will be our sacrifice. The sky father will bring us sweet women and a thousand tribes under our feet. I can feel it in my blood.’

Temujin struggled to his knees. His body was raw and aching from the journey and his wrists felt as if they were on fire. He spat on the ground and thought of his father as he looked around him.

‘I have known sheep shit with more honour than you,’ he told Eeluk slowly. He tried not to wince as one of the bondsmen approached and used the hilt of his sword to batter him unconscious. It took three blows before he fell, his eyes still open on the dusty ground.

Temujin woke again with warm water spattering his clothes and face. He gasped and struggled to his feet, crying out in pain as he found one of his fingers had been broken and his right eye was too clotted with blood to open. He hoped they had not blinded him, but part of him was past caring. It was so dark, he could not understand where he was. Above his head, he could see bars blocking the distant starlight and he shivered. He was in a frozen hole, the wooden lattice too far above for him to jump. He pressed his good hand to the walls and found the earth was slick with wetness. His feet were submerged in water and above him he heard low chuckles.

To his horror, a soft grunt was followed by another rain of stinking liquid. The bondsmen were urinating into the hole and laughing as they did so.

Temujin covered his head with his hands and fought against a black despair. He knew he could end his life in that filthy hole, perhaps with rocks dropped in to break his legs and arms. There was no justice in the world, but he had known that ever since the death of his father. The spirits took no part in the lives of men once they had been born. A man either endured what the world sent his way, or was crushed.

The men grunted as they lifted a heavy stone onto the criss-cross of branches. When they had gone, Temujin tried to pray for a little while. To his surprise, it gave him strength and he crouched against the frozen muddy walls until dawn, unable to do more than drift in and out of sleep. It was a small comfort that his bowels had nothing in them. He felt as if he had always been hungry and sore. There had been a life once where he was happy and could ride to the red hill with his brothers. He held on to the thought like a light in the darkness, but it would not stay with him.

Before dawn, he heard footsteps approach and a dark figure leaned out over the lattice, blocking more of the stars. Temujin winced in anticipation of another emptying bladder, but instead the dark figure spoke.

‘Who are you?’ came a low voice.

Temujin did not look up, but he felt his pride rekindle and he replied, ‘I am the eldest surviving son of Yesugei, who was khan to the Wolves.’

For an instant, he saw flashing lights at the edges of his vision and he thought he might pass out. He remembered old words his father had used and he spoke them recklessly.

‘I am the land, and the bones of the hills,’ he said fiercely, ‘I am the winter. When I am dead, I will come for you all in the coldest nights.’

He stared up defiantly, determined not to show his misery. The shadow did not move, but after a time, it murmured a few words and then vanished, letting the light of the stars shine down into the pit.

Temujin hugged his knees and waited for the dawn.

‘Who are you to tell me not to despair?’ he murmured.