Читать книгу Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection - Conn Iggulden - Страница 35

Temujin watched the sun pass overhead, its fire damped by heavy cloud, so that he was able to gaze on the orange disc with only a little discomfort. The thin warmth was welcome each morning after the frozen night. When he drifted back to consciousness, his first act was to pull his feet free of the slurry of ice and mud, then stamp and pump his limbs until his blood began moving again. He had used one corner of the little pit for his wastes, but it was still practically underfoot and, by the third day, the air was thick and nauseating. Flies buzzed down through the lattice overhead and he spent time batting gently at them, keeping them alive as long as possible for sport.

They had thrown bread and mutton down to him, laughing at his attempts to catch the pouches before they fell into the slop. His stomach had squeezed painfully the first time he had eaten one from the ground, but it was that or starve, and he forced it down with nothing more than a shrug. Every day, he marked the moving shadows cast by the sun with small stones in the mud; anything to dull the passage of time and his own misery.

He did not understand why Eeluk had left him in the pit rather than give him a quick death. In the hours alone, Temujin fantasised about Eeluk being overcome with shame, or finding himself unable to hurt a son of Yesugei. Perhaps he had even been struck down by a curse or a disfiguring disease. It amused Temujin to imagine it, but in reality, Eeluk was probably just away hunting, or planning something vicious. He had long ago found the real world much less satisfying than his own imagination.

When the rock was removed and the lattice thrown aside, it was almost with a sense of relief that he realised death was coming at last. Temujin raised his arms and allowed himself to be dragged out. He had heard the voices of the families as they gathered and guessed something of the sort was coming. It did not help that one of the men pulling him out took a grip on his broken finger, leaving him gasping as the bone grated.

Temujin fell to his knees as they let go. He could see more than a hundred faces around him and, as his eyes cleared, he began to recognise people he had once known. Some of them jeered and the smallest children threw sharp-edged stones at him. Others looked troubled, the strain forcing them into the cold face.

He prepared himself for death, an ending. The years since the abandonment had been a gift, despite their hardship. He had known joy and sorrow, and he vowed to give up his spirit with dignity intact. His father and his blood demanded it, no matter what the cost.

Eeluk sat in his great chair, brought into the sun for the occasion. Temujin glanced at him before looking away, preferring to watch the faces of the families. In spite of everything he had suffered, it was strangely comforting to see them all again. Ignoring Eeluk, Temujin nodded and smiled at some of the ones he had known well. They did not dare return his gestures, but he saw their eyes soften slightly.

‘I would have brought him here in honour,’ Eeluk bellowed suddenly to the crowd. He lowered his great head and wagged it seriously back and forth. ‘But I found him living like an animal without the graces of men. Yet even a rat can bite, and when he killed my bondsman, I had this tribeless wanderer dragged back for justice. Shall we give it to him? Shall we show him the Wolves have not grown soft?’

Temujin watched the families as Eeluk’s bondsmen cheered mindlessly. Some of them yelled agreement, but many more stood in silence and watched the dirty young man who stared back with his yellow eyes. Slowly, Temujin rose to his feet. He stank of his own filth and he was covered in fly bites and sores, but he stood unbending and waited for the blade to come.

Eeluk drew the sword with a wolf’s head carved into the bone hilt.

‘The spirits have abandoned his family, my Wolves. Look at his state now and believe it. Where is the luck of Yesugei?’

It was a mistake to mention the old khan’s name. Many heads bowed automatically at its sound and Eeluk flushed in anger. It was suddenly not enough to take Temujin’s head and he sheathed the blade.

‘Tie him to a pony,’ he said. ‘Drag him bloody and then leave him in the pit. Perhaps I will kill him tomorrow.’

As he watched, Tolui backed up a brown gelding and tied a long rope to the saddle. The crowd parted excitedly, craning to see this strange sport. As his wrists were fastened to the rope, Temujin turned his pale gaze on Eeluk for a few moments, then spat on the ground. Eeluk grinned hugely.

Tolui turned round in the saddle, his expression a mixture of smugness and malice.

‘How fast can you run?’ he said.

‘Let’s find out,’ Temujin said, licking cracked lips. He could feel sweat break out in his armpits. He had been able to summon courage to stand before a blade. The thought of being torn behind a galloping horse was more than he could bear.

He tried to brace himself, but Tolui dug his heels into the pony’s flanks and yelled wildly. The rope snapped tight and Temujin was jerked into a run, his weak legs already stumbling. Tolui rode recklessly, enjoying himself. It did not take long for Temujin to fall.

When Tolui finally returned to the encampment, Temujin was a dead weight on the rope. It was difficult to see a patch of skin that was not scraped raw and bloody. His clothes had been reduced to dusty rags that fluttered in the breeze as Tolui cut the rope at last. Temujin did not feel it as he slumped to the ground. His hands were almost black and his mouth hung open, red spittle drooling from where he had bitten his tongue. He saw Basan standing at the door of his family ger, his face pale and strained as Temujin stared at him.

Eeluk strode out to greet Tolui, casting an amused glance at the torn figure he had once considered important. He was glad he had not ended it too quickly. He felt lighter in step for the decision, as if a weight had been lifted. In fact, he was in the best of spirits and mock-wrestled with Tolui for a moment before the bondsman returned Temujin to the hole in the ground and dropped the lattice back into place.

Temujin sat in the icy filth, barely conscious of his surroundings. He had found a tooth in the muck at the bottom, large enough to have come from the jaw of a man. He did not know how long he had been sitting staring at it. Perhaps he had slept; he couldn’t be certain. Pain and despair had exhausted his senses to the point where he could not be sure if he dreamed or was awake. He ached in every bone, and his face was so fat with bruising that he could only see through a slit around one eye. The other was still crusted with thick blood and he dared not pick at it. He did not want to move at all, in fact, with the threat of pain from endless scrapes and cuts. He had never felt so battered in his life and it was all he could do not to cry out or weep. He kept his silence, finding a strength of will he had not known he possessed until that moment. It was made hard in a furnace of hatred, and he relished the core of him that would not bend, nurturing it as he found he could endure and live.

‘Where is my father? Where is my tribe?’ he murmured, screwing his face up against the grief. He had ached to be returned to the Wolves, but they cared nothing for him. It was no small thing to cast off the last threads of his childhood, the shared history that bound him to them. He remembered the simple kindness of old Horghuz and his family, when he and his brothers were alone. For a time he could not measure, he stood slumped against the walls of earth, thoughts moving slowly like ice on a river.

Something grated above his head and he jerked in fear, coming awake as if he had been dreaming. Some part of him had been aware of a moving shadow on the floor of the pit. He looked blearily upwards and saw to his dull astonishment that the lattice had vanished. The stars shone down without restriction and he could only stare, unable to understand what was happening. If he had not been wounded, he might have tried to climb, but he could barely move. It was excruciating to see a chance to escape and not be able to take it. He had done his best to spread the damage as much as possible, but his right leg felt as if it had been shredded. It still seeped blood sluggishly into the muck around him and he could no more jump than fly out of the hole like a bird.

He found himself chuckling almost hysterically at the thought that his unknown saviour had left, expecting him to make his own way out. In the morning, the fool would find him still in the pit, and Eeluk would not leave him unguarded again.

Something came slithering down the wall and Temujin jerked away, thinking it was a snake. His mind was playing tricks as he felt the rough fibres of a braided rope and the beginnings of hope. Above him, he saw the shadow block the stars and he strained to keep his voice low.

‘I can’t climb out,’ he said.

‘Tie yourself on,’ came the voice from the night before, ‘but help me as I pull.’

With clumsy fingers, Temujin tied it round his waist, wondering again who would risk Eeluk’s wrath. He did not doubt that if they were discovered, his rescuer would join him in the pit and suffer the same fate.

As the rope bit into his back, Temujin’s legs scrabbled uselessly at the earth walls. He found he could dig his hands in as he climbed, though the effort was like setting his skin on fire. He felt a scream bubbling along inside him until involuntary tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Still he made no sound until, at last, he lay on the frozen ground in a silent encampment.

‘Get away as far as you can,’ his rescuer said. ‘Use the mud of the river banks to hide your scent. If you survive, I will come to you and take you further away.’ In the starlight, Temujin could see he was grey-haired and had powerful shoulders, but to his surprise, he did not know the man. Before he could respond, the stranger pressed a bag into his hand and Temujin’s mouth watered at the odour of onions and mutton. The bag was warm and he gripped it as if it was his last hope.

‘Who are you to save me?’ he whispered. Part of him was yelling that it didn’t matter, that he had to run, but he couldn’t bear not knowing.

‘I was pledged to your father, Yesugei,’ Arslan replied. ‘Now go, and I will follow you in the confusion of the search.’

Temujin hesitated. Could Eeluk have staged it all to find the location of his brothers? He could not risk telling a stranger of the cleft in the hills.

‘When you leave,’ Temujin said, ‘ride five days north, sunset to sunset. Find a high hill to watch for me. I will come if I can and lead you to my family. You have my thanks for ever, nameless one.’

Arslan smiled at the courage of the younger man. In many ways, he reminded the swordsmith of his son, Jelme, though there was a fire in this one that would be hard to extinguish. He had not intended to give his name, in case the young warrior was captured and forced to reveal it. Under Temujin’s gaze he nodded, making a decision.

‘My name is Arslan. I travel with my son, Jelme. If you live, we will meet again,’ he said, taking Temujin’s arm in a brief clasp that almost made him cry out in sudden pain. Arslan replaced the lattice and stone, then walked away, moving like a cat in the frozen starlight. Temujin could do no more than shuffle as he took a different direction, concentrating on staying alive and going as far as he could before the hunt began.

In the blue-grey light of dawn, two young boys dared each other to go to the edge of the pit and stare down at the captive. When they finally found the courage to peer over the edge, there was no one there looking back and they ran for their parents, calling an alarm.

When Eeluk came from his ger, his face was tight with excitement. The powerful red bird gripped a leather sleeve around his right forearm, its dark beak open far enough to show a sliver of dark tongue. Two hunting dogs leapt around him, sensing his mood and barking madly.

‘Go out in threes,’ Eeluk shouted to his warriors as they gathered. ‘I will take the western point – and whoever brings him back will have a new deel and two knives with horn handles from my hand. Tolui, you are with me. Mount up, my brothers. Today we hunt.’

He watched as the bondsmen and the lesser warriors formed their groups, checking equipment and supplies before leaping into the saddles of their ponies. Eeluk was pleased to see their mood was light and he congratulated himself on the decision to bring Temujin back to the camp. Perhaps seeing him beaten and dragged bloody was a final proof that the sky father loved the new khan of the Wolves. There had been no lightning strike to punish Eeluk, after all. Even the oldest of the crones should be satisfied with what he had achieved.

It crossed his mind to wonder how Temujin had escaped the pit, but that was a problem for his return. The young man could not have gone far with his injuries. When they brought him in, Eeluk would ask him how he had climbed the slick walls, or who had helped him. He frowned at that thought. Perhaps there were traitors among the families. If there were, he would root them out.

He wound his reins around his fist and mounted, enjoying the feeling of strength in his legs. The red bird spread its wings to balance as he settled himself. Eeluk grinned tightly, feeling his heart begin to beat faster. It usually took a little time for him to come fully awake, but the prospect of hunting a wounded man had fired his blood and he was ready to gallop. The red bird sensed it in him and ducked its head, tugging at the hood with a long claw. Eeluk pulled away the leather restraint and the eagle flew from his forearm, lunging upwards with a screech. He watched her beat the air for height, his arm rising without her weight until it was almost a greeting or a farewell. On such a morning, he could feel the land. Eeluk glanced around the camp and nodded to Tolui.

‘Come. Let’s see how far he has managed to run.’

Tolui grinned at his lord and master, digging in his heels and sending his mount surging forward. The hunting dogs broke off their howling to run alongside, hungry for a kill. The air was cold, but the warriors wore padded deels and the sun was on the rise.

Temujin lay very still and watched a fly crawl across the mud in front of his face. He had slathered himself in river clay to mask his scent, but he did not know whether it would work or not. He had gone as far as he could in the dark, though by the end he was limping and sobbing with every step. It was strange how much weakness he could show when he was on his own. He did not mind the sting of his tears on his raw skin when there was no one else to witness it. Every step was an agony and yet he had pushed himself on, remembering Hoelun’s words on the first nights in the cleft in the hills. There would be no rescue; no end to their suffering unless they made it themselves. He kept going, relying on the dark to hide his movement from the watchers on the hills.

By the time dawn had come, he had been hobbling like a wounded animal, almost doubled over with pain and weakness. He had collapsed at last by the bank of a stream, lying panting there with his head turned to the pale sky that heralded the sunrise. They would discover his escape by first light, he realised. How far had he come? He watched the first gold spark touch the dark horizon, instantly too harsh on his eyes. He began digging his swollen hands into the clay, crying out as his broken finger jarred yet again.

He was mindless for a time and there was relief in that. The mud worked loose in a paste he could squeeze between his fingers as he smeared it over his skin and clothes. It was cool, but it itched appallingly as it dried.

He found himself staring at his broken finger, seeing the swollen joint and the purple skin beneath the mud. He jerked from a daze then, suddenly afraid that time was slipping away in his exhaustion. His body was at the very end of its endurance and all he wanted to do was give up and pass out. At the heart of him, at the deepest part, there was still a spark that wanted to live, but it had been smothered in the muddy, dumb thing that wallowed on the bank and could barely turn its face to feel the sun move in the sky.

In the distance he heard dogs baying and he surfaced from the cold and the exhaustion. He had eaten Arslan’s ration of food long before and he was starving again. The dogs sounded close and he feared suddenly that the stinking river mud would be no protection at all. He heaved himself along the slope of the bank, hidden by the grasses on the edge as he moved in spasms, flopping and weak. The howling dogs were even closer and his heart beat in fluttery panic, terrified at the thought of them tearing at him, ripping his flesh from his bones. He could not yet hear the hooves of riders, but he knew he had not made it far enough.

With a groan at the icy sting, he pulled himself into the water, heading out to the deepest point and a thick bed of reeds. The part of him that could still think forced him to ignore the first patch. If they saw where he had been lying, they would search all around it.

The river numbed the worst of his pain and, though it was still shallow, he used the current to push himself downstream on his hands and knees, scrabbling in the soft mud. He felt live things move between his fingers, but the cold had reduced him to a core of sensation that had no link to the world. They would see the cloud he had disturbed. It was surely hopeless, but he did not stop, searching for deeper water.

The river wound around a corner, under ancient overhanging trees. On the other side was a bank of blue ice that had survived the winter in constant shadow. The rushing water had eaten a shelf beneath it and, though he feared the biting cold, he made for it without hesitation.

He wondered vaguely how long he could survive in the freezing water. He forced his way in under the ridge of ice and knelt in the mud with just his eyes and nose above the surface. They would have to enter the water to see him, but he did not doubt the hunters would send dogs up and down the stream.

The cold had numbed every part of him and he thought he was probably dying. He jammed his jaw shut against chattering teeth and, for a little while, he forgot what was happening and simply waited like a fish, frozen and blank of thought. He could see his breath as mist on the surface of the clear water as the cloud of muck settled around him.

He heard the excited yelping of dogs nearby, but his thoughts moved too slowly to feel fear. Was that a shout? He thought it was. Perhaps they had found the trail he had made across the clay. Perhaps they had recognised it as the mark a man would make if he dragged himself on his belly like a beast. He did not care any longer. The cold seemed to have reached inside him and clutched at his heart, slowing it with a terrible force. He could feel each beat as a burst of warmth in his chest, but it was growing weaker with every passing moment.

The yelping of the dogs grew quieter after a time, though he remained where he was. In the end, it was not a conscious decision that made him move, more the impulse of flesh that did not want to die. He almost drowned as a wave of weakness struck and he struggled to keep his head above the water. Slowly, he pushed himself out into the deeper water, sitting in it with limbs so heavy he could barely move them.

He pushed himself to the far bank and lay on the dark clay again, scoring its perfect smoothness as he pulled himself up under the overhanging grass and passed out at last.

When he woke, it was still light, but there was no sound near him but the river itself, rushing past with snow melt from the mountains. Pain had woken him as the blood moved in his limbs, weeping into the water from his torn skin. He flopped one arm over and dragged himself a little further from the water, almost sobbing at the pain of his awakening flesh. He managed to raise himself enough to peer through the trees and saw no one close.

Eeluk would not give up, Temujin was certain. If the first hunt failed, he would send the entire tribe out to search for him, covering the land for a day’s ride around the camp. They knew he could not have gone further and they would certainly find him eventually. He lay staring up at the sky and realised there was only one place to go.

As the sun set, Temujin staggered to his feet, shivering so powerfully it felt as if he would shake himself apart. When his legs failed him, he crawled for a time across the grass. The torches of the camp could be seen from far away and he realised he had not come such a great distance in his weakened state. Most of the hunters had probably taken a wider path to search for him.

He waited until the last rays of the sun had gone and the land was dark again and cold. His body seemed to be willing to bear him onwards for a little longer and he had long ceased to wonder at how far he could push his broken, damaged limbs. The river had unstuck his swollen eye and he found with relief that he could see out of it a little, though everything was blurred and it watered constantly, like tears.

He dreaded the dogs of the camp, though he hoped the river mud would keep his scent down. The thought of one of those vicious animals running out to savage him was a constant fear, but he had no other choice. If he stopped his hobbling crawl, he would be found in the second sweep of hunters in the morning. He went on, and when he looked back, he was surprised to see how far he had come.

He knew the ger he wanted and thanked the sky father that it was close to the edge of the quiet camp. He lay on his belly for a long time, at the edges, watching for the slightest movement. Eeluk had placed his sentries looking outwards, but they would have needed the sight of an owl to see the muddy figure creeping forward on the dark earth.

After an age, Temujin reached out to touch the felt wall of a ger, feeling its dry coarseness with something like ecstasy. Every sense was heightened, and though his pain had returned, he felt alive and light-headed. He thought of trying to gain an entry under the wall, but it would have been pegged down and he did not want someone to shout in fear or think he was a wolf. He grinned to himself at the thought. He made a very ragged wolf, stealing down from the hills for warmth and milk. Clouds hid the stars and, in the darkness, he reached the little door to the ger and pushed it open, closing it behind him and standing panting in the deeper dark within.

‘Who is it?’ he heard a woman ask. To his left, he heard a rustle of blankets and another deeper voice.

‘Who is there?’ Basan said.

He would be reaching for a knife, Temujin knew.

‘Temujin,’ he whispered.

Silence greeted his name and he waited, knowing his life hung in the balance. He heard the strike of flint on steel, the flash lighting their faces for an instant. Basan’s wife and children were all awake and Temujin could only stare dully at them while Basan lit an oil lamp and shuttered the flame down to barely more than a glowing cinder.

‘You cannot stay here,’ Basan’s wife said.

Temujin saw the fear in her face, but he turned in mute appeal to his father’s bondsman and waited.

Basan shook his head, appalled at the shambling figure that stood hunched in his home.

‘They are looking for you,’ Basan said.

‘Hide me, then, for a day, until the search is over,’ Temujin replied. ‘I claim guest rights.’ He did not hear an answer and he slumped suddenly, the last of his strength vanishing. He slid to his knees and his head lolled forward.

‘We cannot send him away,’ he heard Basan tell his wife. ‘Not to be killed.’

‘He will kill us all,’ she said, her voice rising in volume.

Blearily, Temujin watched Basan cross the ger to her, holding her face in both his hands.

‘Make him tea and find something to eat,’ he told her. ‘I will do this for his father.’

She did not respond, though she moved to the kettle and began stoking the little iron stove, her face hard. Temujin felt himself lifted in Basan’s strong arms and then darkness overwhelmed him.

Eeluk did not think to search the gers of the families. His initial good humour faded visibly as the second day passed and then the third with no sign of the fugitive. At the end of the fourth day, Basan returned to Temujin to report that Arslan and his son had also vanished. They had ridden north that morning with one of the bondsmen, but none of them had returned by sunset and Eeluk was beside himself with rage. He had sent men to the ger he had given the swordsmith and found that his most valuable tools had vanished along with him. No one was expecting the bondsman to come back and the wailing of his family could be heard long into the night. The mood of the Wolves had soured and Eeluk had knocked a man unconscious for questioning his decision to send them out again.

Temujin could barely remember the first two days. A fever had set in, perhaps from the stinking air of the pit. The freezing river had cleaned his skin and perhaps that had saved him. Basan’s wife had tended his wounds with stern efficiency, bathing away the worst of the remaining filth and dabbing at the blood and pus with a cloth dipped in boiled airag. He had groaned at her touch and had a memory of her hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Basan had left them to join the other men each morning, after stern warnings to his two sons not to say a word to anyone. They watched Temujin with owlish curiosity, frightened by the stranger who said nothing and bore such awful wounds. They were old enough to understand that their father’s life depended on their silence.

Eeluk had taken to drinking more and more heavily as his search parties returned empty-handed day after day. By the end of a week, he gave a drunken order for the families to continue further north, leaving the pit and their bad luck behind them. That night, he retired to his ger with two of the youngest girls in the tribe, and their families had dared not complain. Basan took a late watch from midnight until dawn, seeing a chance to spirit Temujin out of the camp at last. The families were unhappy and nervous and he knew there would be eyes watching and listening whenever he moved. Though it was fraught with danger, Temujin would be discovered when the gers were dismantled, so it was that night or nothing.

It was hard to do anything in the tight-knit society of the tribe without it being noticed. Basan waited as close to midnight as he could, leaving the top felt off the ger and peering up at the stars as they crept across the bowl of sky above. As a result, they were all shivering by the time he judged the tribe was as quiet and still as it was going to get. Those who were still awake would not remark on a trusted bondsman going out to take his watch, though Basan had agonised over giving Temujin one of his ponies. He had eleven and loved them all as his children. In the end, he had chosen a small black mare and brought her to the door of his ger, tying on saddlebags with enough food to keep Temujin alive for the trip.

Temujin stood in the deepest shadow and struggled to find words to express his gratitude. He had nothing to give even the children and he felt ashamed for the burden and fear he had brought into their home. Basan’s wife had not warmed to him, though Basan’s oldest son seemed to have lost his nervousness and replaced it with awe when he heard who the stranger was in their home. The little boy had visibly summoned his courage when Basan told them it would be that night, and approached Temujin with all the self-consciousness of his twelve years. To Temujin’s surprise, the boy had gone down on one knee and reached out for his hand, pressing it down on the top of his head, where Temujin could feel his scalp lock of hair against the bristly skin.

Temujin found his throat tight with emotion at the boy’s simple gesture. ‘Your father is a brave man,’ he murmured. ‘Be sure to follow his steps.’

‘I will, my khan,’ the boy replied.

Temujin stared at him and Basan’s mother hissed in a breath. At the door, Basan heard the exchange and shook his head, troubled. Before Temujin could reply, the bondsman crossed the ger to his son and lifted him to his feet.

‘You cannot give an oath to this man, little one. When the time comes, you will pledge your sword and your life to Eeluk, as I have.’ He could not meet Temujin’s eyes as he spoke, but the little boy’s resistance fled in his father’s strong grip. He ducked away and scurried to his mother’s embrace, watching them both from under the crook of her arm.

Temujin cleared his throat.

‘My father’s spirit watches us,’ he murmured, seeing his frozen breath like a plume of mist. ‘You do him honour in saving me.’

‘Walk with me now,’ Basan said, embarrassed. ‘Do not speak to anyone and they will think you are another of the guards on the hills.’ He held open the door and Temujin ducked through it, wincing at the pain from his scabs. He wore a clean tunic and leggings under a padded winter deel that belonged to Basan. Beneath the thick layers, the worst of his wounds were heavily bandaged. He was far from healed, but he yearned to be placed in a saddle. He would find his tribe among the wanderers of the plains and the Wolves would not catch him again.

Basan walked deliberately slowly through the encampment, trusting in the dark to hide the identity of his companion if anyone was fool enough to brave the cold. There was a chance someone might notice that he returned without his mare, but he had no choice. It did not take long to leave the gers behind and no one challenged them. The two men walked together in silence, leading the pony by the reins until the camp of the Wolves was far behind. It was late and Basan would have to work up a sweat to reach his post without causing comment. When they were hidden in the shadow of a hill, he pressed the reins into Temujin’s hands.

‘I have wrapped my second bow and placed it here,’ he said, patting a bundle tied to the saddle. ‘There is a little food, but I have left you two arrows with it, for when you need to hunt. Lead her on foot until you are far away, or the watchers will hear your hooves. Stay in the shadow of the hills as long as you can.’

Temujin nodded, reaching out to clasp the bondsman by his arm. The man had been his captor with Tolui and then saved his life and risked his own family to do it. He did not understand him, but he was grateful.

‘Watch for me on the horizon, Basan,’ he said. ‘I have scores to settle with the Wolves.’

Basan looked at him, seeing again the determination that reminded him chillingly of Yesugei when he was young.

‘That is your father talking,’ he said, shivering suddenly.

Temujin returned his gaze for a long moment, then clapped him on the shoulder.

‘When you see me again, I promise your family will be safe,’ he said, then clicked in his throat to start the mare walking once more. Basan watched him go before he realised he was late and began to run. By the time Temujin passed out of the hill shadow, only Basan would be there to see him go and his horn would remain silent.