Читать книгу Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection - Conn Iggulden - Страница 39

Temujin and Arslan trotted across the sea of grass. To Arslan’s surprise, he had found he was comfortable with the silence between them. They talked at night around the fire, and practised with swords until they had built a fine sweat. The blade Temujin carried was beautifully balanced and cut with a blood channel that allowed it to slide free from a wound without snagging. Arslan had made it for him and instructed him in maintaining its edge and oiling the steel against rust. The muscles of Temujin’s right arm stood out in ridges as he became completely familiar with the weight, and with Arslan as his tutor, his skill improved daily.

The days riding were spent if not in thought then in the peaceful absence of it. To Arslan, it was just as he had travelled with his son Jelme and he found it restful. He watched as Temujin rode a little ahead or scouted up a hill to see the best route south. The young raider had a quiet assurance about him, a confidence that could be read in every movement. Arslan considered the twists of fate that had led him to rescue Temujin from the Wolves. They called him khan in their little camp, though there were barely twenty men to follow him and only a handful of women and children. Still, Temujin walked with pride amongst them and they fought and won raid after raid. There were times when Arslan wondered what he had unleashed.

The Olkhun’ut had moved camp many times since Temujin had ridden away from them with Basan, the news of his father’s injury still fresh. It took two moons just to reach the lands around the red hill and still Temujin did not know where to find them. It was even possible that they had begun another drift to the south as they had years before, putting them beyond reach. Arslan saw the tension grow in his young companion as they questioned each wanderer and herdsman they met, searching for any word of them.

It was no easy task for Temujin to approach strangers with Arslan at his side. Even when he strapped his bow to his saddle and rode up with his hands in the air, they were met with drawn arrows and the frightened eyes of children. Temujin dismounted to speak to the tribeless as he found them, though more than one galloped away as soon as he and Arslan were spotted. Some he directed north, promising them a welcome in his name. He did not know if they believed him. It was a frustrating business, but a fearless old woman finally nodded at the name and sent them east.

Temujin found no peace for his spirit in riding lands he had known as a child. He also asked for news of the Wolves, to avoid them. Eeluk was still somewhere in the area and it would not do for Temujin to come across a hunting party unprepared. There would be a reckoning between them, he knew, but not until he had gathered enough warriors to tear through the gers of the Wolves like a summer storm.

When they sighted the vast camp of the Olkhun’ut after another month of riding, Temujin reined in, overcome with memory. He could see the dust of outriders as they came out, buzzing like wasps around the edges of the tribe.

‘Keep your hand away from your sword when they come,’ he murmured to Arslan.

The swordsmith suppressed a grimace at the unnecessary advice, sitting like stone. Temujin’s pony tried to munch a patch of brown grass and he slapped it on the neck, keeping the reins tight. He remembered his father as clearly as if he were there with him and he kept a tight hold on his emotion, showing a cold face of which Yesugei would have approved.

Arslan felt the change in the younger man, seeing the tension in his shoulders and the way he sat his horse. A man’s past was always full of pain, he thought, deliberately relaxing as he waited for the yelling warriors to finish their display of bravery.

‘What if they refuse to give her up?’ Arslan asked.

Temujin turned his yellow eyes on the swordsmith and Arslan felt a strange emotion under that cold stare. Who was the boy to disturb him in such a way?

‘I will not leave without her,’ Temujin said. ‘I will not be turned away without a death.’

Arslan nodded, troubled. He could still remember being eighteen, but the recklessness of those years was long behind him. He had grown in skill since his youth and he had yet to meet a man who could beat him with a sword or a bow, though he assumed such a man existed. What he could not do was follow Temujin into his coldness, to the sheer indifference to death that was only possible for the very young. He had a son, after all.

Arslan showed nothing of his internal struggle, but by the time the Olkhun’ut warriors were on them, he had emptied his mind and was perfectly still.

The riders screamed and whooped as they galloped close with bows drawn and arrows fitted to the strings. The display was meant to impress, but neither Arslan nor Temujin paid it any heed. Arslan saw one of the riders check and yank on the reins as he caught sight of Temujin’s face. The sharp movement almost brought his pony to its knees and the warrior’s face grew tight with astonishment.

‘It is you,’ the rider said.

Temujin nodded. ‘I have come for my wife, Koke. I told you I would.’

Arslan watched as the Olkhun’ut warrior hawked his throat clear of phlegm and spat on the ground. Pressure from his heels brought his gelding close enough for him to reach out. Temujin looked on impassively as Koke raised his arm as if to strike him, his face working in pale rage.

Arslan moved, kicking his pony into range. His sword licked out so that its razor tip sat snugly under Koke’s throat, resting there. The other warriors roared in anger, milling around them. They bent their bows ready to fire and Arslan ignored them as if they were not there. He waited until Koke’s eyes flickered towards him, seeing the sick fear there.

‘You do not touch the khan,’ Arslan said softly. He used his peripheral vision to watch the other men, seeing how one bow bent further than the others. Death was close enough to feel on the breeze and the day seemed to grow still.

‘Speak carefully, Koke,’ Temujin said, smiling. ‘If your men shoot, you will be dead before we are.’

Arslan saw that Temujin had noted the bending bow, and wondered again at his calm.

Koke was like a statue, though his gelding shifted nervously. He took a tighter grip on the reins rather than have his throat cut by a sudden jerk of his mount.

‘If you kill me, you will be cut to pieces,’ he said in a whisper.

Temujin grinned at him. ‘That is true,’ he replied, offering no further help. Though he smiled, he felt a cold lump of anger surface deep inside. He had no patience for the ritual humiliation of strangers, not from these people.

‘Remove the sword,’ Koke said.

To his credit, his voice was calm, but Temujin could see sweat appear on his forehead, despite the wind. Coming close to death would do that for a man, he thought. He wondered why he felt no fear himself, but there was not a trace of it in him. A vague memory of wings beating his face came back to him and he had a sense of being detached from the moment, untouched by danger. Perhaps his father’s spirit watched him still, he thought.

‘Welcome me to your camp,’ Temujin said.

Koke’s gaze jumped back from Arslan to the young man he had known from so long before. He was in an impossible position, Temujin knew. Either he had to back down and be humiliated, or he would die.

Temujin waited, uncaring. He glanced around him at the other men, spending a long moment looking at the warrior who had drawn an arrow back to his ear. The man was ready to loose and Temujin raised his chin in a small jerk, showing he knew.

‘You are welcome in the camp,’ Koke whispered.

‘Louder,’ Temujin said.

‘You are welcome,’ Koke said again, through gritted teeth.

‘Excellent,’ Temujin replied. He turned in the saddle to the man who still waited with a drawn bow.

‘If you loose that arrow, I will pull it out and shove it down your throat,’ he told him. The man blinked and Temujin stared until the needle-sharp point was lowered almost sheepishly. He heard Koke’s gasp behind him as Arslan removed the blade and he took a deep breath, finding to his surprise that he was enjoying himself.

‘Ride in with us then, Koke,’ he said, clapping his cousin on the back. ‘I have come for my wife.’

There was no question of entering the camp without visiting the khan of the Olkhun’ut. With a pang of memory, Temujin remembered Yesugei’s games of status with Sansar, as one khan to another. He kept his head high, but he felt no shame as Koke led him to Sansar’s ger in the centre of the camp. Despite his successes against the Tartars, he was not Sansar’s equal, as his father had been. At best, he was a war leader, a raider barely approaching the level where he could be received. If he had lacked even that status, Temujin knew that only his father’s memory would have granted him an audience and perhaps not even then.

He and Arslan dismounted and allowed their ponies to be taken away, their bows with them. Koke had grown into a man in the years since they had last met and Temujin was interested to see how the khan’s bondsmen accepted his cousin’s right to enter the ger after just a few murmured words. Koke had come up in the world, Temujin realised. He wondered what service he had performed for the khan of the Olkhun’ut.

When Koke did not return, Temujin was struck by a memory and chuckled suddenly, startling Arslan from his silent tension.

‘They always make me wait, these people,’ Temujin said. ‘But I have patience, do I not, Arslan? I bear their insults with great humility.’ His eyes glittered with something other than amusement and Arslan only bowed his head. The cool control he had seen in Temujin was under strain in that camp. Though he showed no sign of it, Arslan considered there was a chance of them both being killed through a rash word.

‘You honour your father with your restraint,’ he said softly. ‘Knowing it is not from weakness, but from strength.’

Temujin glanced sharply at him, but the words seemed to settle his nerves. Arslan kept his face clear of any relief. For all his ability, Temujin was only eighteen. Wryly, Arslan admitted that Temujin had chosen his companion well for the trip south. They had ridden into terrible danger and Temujin was as prickly as any other young man with his new status and pride. Arslan readied himself to be the calming force Temujin had known he needed when his judgement was clear.

Koke returned after an age, stiff disdain in every movement.

‘My lord Sansar will see you,’ he said, ‘but you will give up your weapons.’

Temujin opened his mouth to object, but Arslan untied his scabbard with a flick of his fingers and slapped the hilt of his sword into Koke’s open hand.

‘Guard the blade well, boy,’ Arslan told him. ‘You will not see another of that quality in your lifetime.’

Koke could not resist feeling the balance of the sword, but Temujin spoiled his attempt by pressing the second of Arslan’s blades into his arms, so that he had to take it or drop them both. Temujin’s hand felt empty as he let it go and his gaze remained fixed on the weapons as Koke stepped back.

It was Arslan who faced one of the khan’s bondsmen at the door, opening his arms wide and inviting a search. There was nothing passive in the way he stood there, and Temujin was reminded of the deadly stillness of a snake about to strike. The guard sensed it too and patted down every inch of the swordsmith, including the cuffs of his deel and his ankles.

Temujin could do no less and he endured the search without expression, though inwardly he began to simmer. He could not like these people, for all he dreamed of forming a great tribe of tribes across the land. When he did, the Olkhun’ut would not be part of it until they had been bled clean.

When the bondsmen were satisfied, they ducked into the ger and, in an instant, Temujin was back on the night he had learned of his father’s injury. The polished wooden floor was the same and Sansar himself seemed unmarked by the passage of years.

The khan of the Olkhun’ut remained seated as they approached, his dark eyes watching them with a hint of jaded amusement.

‘I am honoured to be in your presence, lord,’ Temujin said clearly.

Sansar smiled, his skin crinkling like parchment.

‘I had not thought to see you here again, Temujin. Your father’s passing was a loss for all our people, all the tribes.’

‘There is a high price still to pay for those who betrayed him,’ Temujin replied. He sensed a subtle tension in the air then as Sansar leaned forward in his great chair, as if expecting something more. When the silence had become painful, Sansar smiled.

‘I have heard of your attacks in the north,’ the khan said, his voice sibilant in the gloom. ‘You are making a name for yourself. I think, yes, I think your father would be proud of you.’

Temujin lowered his gaze, unsure how to respond.

‘But you have not come to me to boast of little battles against a few raiders, I am sure,’ Sansar went on.

His voice held a malice that set Temujin on edge, but he replied with calm.

‘I have come for what I was promised,’ he said, looking Sansar squarely in the eye.

Sansar pretended to be confused for a moment.

‘The girl? But you came to us then as the son of a khan, one who might well inherit the Wolves. That story has been told and ended.’

‘Not all of it,’ Temujin replied, watching as Sansar blinked slowly, his inner amusement sparkling in his gaze. The man was enjoying himself and Temujin wondered if he would be allowed to leave alive. There were two bondsmen in the ger with their khan, both armed with swords. Koke stood to one side with his head bowed. In a glance, Temujin saw that the swords he held could be snatched from his grip. His cousin was still a fool.

Temujin forced himself to relax. He had not come to die in that ger. He had seen Arslan kill with blows from his hands and he thought they might survive the first strikes of the bondsmen. Once the warriors gathered in his defence, it would be the end. Temujin dismissed the idea. Sansar was not worth his life; not then, or ever.

‘Is the word of the Olkhun’ut not good, then?’ he said softly.

Sansar drew in a long breath, letting it hiss over his teeth. His bondsmen shifted, allowing their hands to touch the hilts of their swords.

‘Only the young can be so careless with their lives,’ Sansar said, ‘as to risk insulting me in my own home.’ His gaze dropped to Koke and sharpened at the sight of the twin swords.

‘What can a mere raider offer me for one of the Olkhun’ut women?’ he said.

He did not see Arslan close his eyes for a moment, struggling with indignation. The sword he carried had been with him for more than a decade, the best he had ever made. They had nothing else to offer. For an instant, he wondered if Temujin had guessed there would be a price and chosen not to warn him.

Temujin did not reply at first. The bondsmen at Sansar’s side watched him as a man might watch a dangerous dog, waiting for it to bare its fangs and be killed.

Temujin took a deep breath. There was no choice, and he did not look at Arslan for approval.

‘I offer you a perfect blade made by a man without equal in all the tribes,’ he said. ‘Not as a price, but as a gift of honour to my mother’s people.’

Sansar bowed his head graciously, gesturing at Koke to approach him. Temujin’s cousin covered his smile and held out the two swords.

‘It seems I have a choice of blades, Temujin,’ Sansar said, smiling.

Temujin watched in frustration as Sansar fingered the carved hilts, rubbing the balls of his thumbs over bone and brass. Even in the gloom of the ger, they were beautiful and Temujin could not help but remember his father’s sword, the first that had been taken from him. In the silence, he recalled the promise to his brothers and spoke again before Sansar could reply.

‘As well as the woman I was promised, I need two more to be wives for my kin.’

Sansar shrugged, then drew Arslan’s blade and held it up to his eye to look along its length.

‘If you will make me a gift of both blades, I will find your offer acceptable, Temujin. We have too many girls in the gers. You may take Sholoi’s daughter if she will have you. She has been a thorn in our side for long enough and no man can say the Olkhun’ut do not honour their promises.’

‘And two more, young and strong?’ Temujin said, pressing.

Sansar looked at him for a long time, lowering the swords to his lap. At last, he nodded, grudgingly.

‘In memory of your father, Temujin, I will give you two daughters of the Olkhun’ut. They will strengthen your line.’

Temujin would have liked to reach out and grab the khan by his skinny throat. He bowed his head and Sansar smiled.

The khan’s bony hands still fondled the weapons and his gaze became distant, as he seemed almost to have forgotten the men who stood in front of him. With an idle gesture, he signalled the pair to be removed from his presence. The bondsmen ushered them out into the cold air and Temujin took a deep draught of it, his heart hammering in his chest.

Arslan’s face was tight with anger and Temujin reached out to touch him lightly on the wrist. The swordsmith seemed to jump at the contact and Temujin remained still, sensing the inner force of the man as it coiled and uncoiled within him.

‘It was a greater gift than you know,’ Arslan said.

Temujin shook his head, seeing Koke come out behind them, his arms empty. ‘A sword is just a sword,’ he replied. Arslan turned a cold expression on him, but Temujin did not flinch. ‘You will make a better one, for both of us.’

He turned to Koke then, who was watching the exchange with fascination.

‘Take me to her, cousin.’

Though the Olkhun’ut had travelled far in the years since he had last stood in their camp, it seemed the status of Sholoi and his family had remained the same. Koke led Temujin and Arslan to the very edge of the gers, to the same patched and mended home that he remembered. He had spent just a few short days there, but they were still fresh in his mind and it was with an effort that Temujin shook off his past. He had been little more than a child. As a man, he wondered if Borte would welcome his return. Surely Sansar would have said if she had been married in his absence? Temujin thought grimly that the khan of the Olkhun’ut might very well enjoy gaining two fine swords for nothing.

As Koke approached, they saw Sholoi duck out from the little door, stretching his back and hitching up a belt of string. The old man saw them coming and shaded his eyes against the morning sun to watch. The years had left more of a mark on Sholoi than on the khan. He was skinnier than Temujin remembered and his shoulders sagged under an ancient, grubby deel. When they were close, Temujin could see a web of blue veins on his knotted hands and the old man seemed to start, as if he had only just recognised them. No doubt his eyes were failing, though there was still a hint of strength in those legs, like an old root that would stand right up to the moment it broke.

‘Thought you were dead,’ Sholoi said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Temujin shook his head.

‘Not yet. I said I would come back.’

Sholoi began to wheeze and it took a moment or two before Temujin realised he was laughing. The sound ended in choking and he watched as Sholoi hawked and spat a lump of ugly-looking brown phlegm onto the ground.

Koke cleared his own throat, irritably.

‘The khan has given his permission, Sholoi,’ Koke said. ‘Fetch your daughter.’

Sholoi sneered at him. ‘I didn’t see him here when my seam split last winter. I didn’t see old Sansar out in the wind with me then, with a patch and some thread. Now I think of it, I don’t see him here now; so keep your tongue still while we talk.’

Koke flushed, his eyes darting to Temujin and Arslan.

‘Fetch the other girls, Koke, for my brothers,’ Temujin said. ‘I’ve paid a high price; so make sure they’re strong and pretty.’

Koke struggled with his temper, irritated at being dismissed. Neither Temujin nor Arslan looked at him as he strode away.

‘How is your wife?’ Temujin asked when his cousin had gone.

Sholoi shrugged. ‘Dead two winters back. She just lay down in the snow and went. Borte is all I have now, to look after me.’

Temujin felt his heart thump at the mention of her name. Until that moment, he had not known for certain she was even alive. He had a flash of understanding for the old man’s loneliness, but there was no help for it, nor for all the blows and hard words he had used with his children. It was too late to have regrets, though that seemed to be the way of the elderly.

‘Where …?’ Temujin began. Before he could go on, the door of the ger swung open and a woman stepped out onto the cold ground. As she straightened, Temujin saw Borte had grown tall, almost as tall as he was himself. She stood at her father’s side and met his gaze with frank curiosity, finally dipping her head in greeting. Her gesture broke the spell and he saw she was dressed to travel, with a deel lined with fur and her black hair tied back.

‘You were a long time coming,’ she said to Temujin.

He remembered her voice and his chest grew tight with memory. She was no longer the bony child he had known. Her face was strong, with dark eyes that seemed to look right into him. He could tell nothing else about her under the thick deel, but she stood well and her skin was unmarked by disease. Her hair gleamed as she bent and kissed her father on the cheek.

‘The black colt has a hoof that needs lancing,’ she said. ‘I would have done it today.’

Sholoi nodded miserably, but they did not embrace. Borte picked up a cloth bag from inside the door and slung it over her shoulder.

Temujin was mesmerised by her and hardly heard Koke returning with their ponies. Two young girls walked at his side, both red-faced and weeping. Temujin only glanced at them when one coughed and held a dirty cloth to her mouth.

‘This one is sick,’ he said to Koke.

His cousin shrugged insolently and Temujin’s hand dropped to where his blade should have been. Koke saw the fingers close on air and grinned.

‘She is the one Sansar told me to fetch for you, with her sister,’ he replied.

Temujin set his mouth in a hard line and reached out to take the girl by her chin, raising her face to him. Her skin was very pale, he realised, his heart sinking. It was typical of Sansar to seek a bargain even after the terms had been sealed.

‘How long have you been ill, little one?’ Temujin asked her.

‘Since spring, lord,’ she answered, clearly terrified of him. ‘It comes and goes, but I am strong.’

Temujin let his gaze fall on Koke and held it until his cousin lost his smile. Perhaps he was remembering the beating he’d had at Temujin’s hands on a night long before. Temujin sighed. She would be lucky to survive the trip back to his camp in the north. If she died, one of his brothers would have to find a wife among the Tartar women they captured.

Arslan took the reins and Temujin mounted, looking down at Borte. The wooden saddle did not have room for two, so he held out an arm and she scrambled up to sit across his lap, clutching her bag to her. Arslan did the same with the girl who coughed. Her sister would have to walk behind them. Temujin realised he should have brought other ponies, but it was too late for regrets.

He nodded to Sholoi, knowing they would not meet again.

‘Your word is good, old man,’ he said.

‘Look after her,’ Sholoi replied, though his gaze did not leave his daughter.

Without replying, Temujin turned with Arslan and they made their way back through the camp, the girl of the Olkhun’ut trotting behind.