Empire of Silver

Chagatai rode in like a khan, his bondsmen surrounding him in square formation. Some of the men at the gate went sprawling as horses knocked them down, but he did not look round. His gaze was fixed firmly on the two older generals, his father’s brothers, and the only men who mattered in the camp that night. He and his horse were armoured and the air was cold enough for Kachiun to see plumes of mist from man and beast alike. Chagatai wore an iron helmet, with a horse’smane crest whipping through the air as he came in. He was no longer the boy they had known and both men tensed under his flat stare.

Khasar made a hissing sound under his breath, signalling his anger to his brother. They knew Chagatai was there to prevent them entering Karakorum. They were not yet sure how far he would go to keep them outside.

‘It is late to be training your men, Chagatai,’ Khasar snapped, his voice loud.

They were separated by less than fifty paces, closer than he had been allowed to the man in a month. Khasar ached to reach for his bow, though the armour would likely save his target and then there would be a blood-letting on a scale unseen since they had destroyed the Xi Xia. The prince shrugged as he sat his horse, smiling with cold confidence.

‘I am not training, uncle. I am riding to see who threatens the peace of the camp in darkness. I find it is my own uncles, moving armies in the night. What am I to make of it, eh?’ He laughed and the men around him showed their teeth, though their hands never left the bows, swords and lances with which they fairly bristled.

‘Be careful, Chagatai,’ Khasar said.

The prince’s expression went hard at the words. ‘No, uncle. I will not be careful when armies ride through my land. Return to your ger, your wives and children. Tell your men to go back to theirs. You have no business here tonight.’

Khasar took a breath to roar an order and Kachiun shouted before he unleashed the tumans.

‘You have no authority over us, Chagatai! Your men are outnumbered, but there is no need for blood to be spilled. We will enter the city tonight, now! Stand aside and there will be no strife between us.’

Chagatai’s horse sensed his surging emotions and he had to turn it on the spot to stay in position, sawing its mouth with the reins. They could read the triumph on his face and, privately, both men despaired for Ogedai in the city.

‘You misjudge me, uncle,’ Chagatai shouted, making sure he was heard by as many ears as possible. ‘You are the ones trying to force your way into Karakorum! For all I know, you are planning bloody murder in the city, a coup, with my brother’s head as the prize. I have come to stop you entering, to keep the peace.’ He sneered at their surprise, his face savage as he waited for the arrows to fly.

Kachiun heard movement on his right and jerked in the saddle to see vast ranks of men moving into position around him, their officers lit with torches. He could not judge the numbers in the starlight, but his heart sank as he saw the banners of those loyal to Chagatai. The two sides glowered at each other, roughly equal, but Chagatai had done enough and he knew it. Kachiun and Khasar could not begin a civil war in the shadow of Karakorum. Kachiun looked east for the first signs of dawn, but the sky was dark and Ogedai was on his own.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Down, Huran!’ Tsubodai snapped.

He notched an arrow on the string as he ran. Huran dropped flat below the hole in the door and Tsubodai sent a shaft hissing through into the darkness beyond. He was rewarded by a choking cry as he drew and loosed again. The distance was no more than ten paces. Any warrior of the tribes could have hit the gap, even under pressure. As soon as Tsubodai shot the second arrow, he dropped to one knee and rolled out of the way. Before he had stopped moving, a shaft buzzed into the room, going almost too fast to see. It struck behind Tsubodai with a loud thump, quivering in the wooden floor.

Huran had taken up a position with his back flat to the door, his head turned towards the hole. He was rewarded as a hand darted through, fingers scrabbling for the locking bar below. Huran swung his sword horizontally, cutting through meat and bone and almost jamming the blade into the wood. The hand and part of the forearm dropped to the ground and an unearthly screaming sounded before it too was choked off. Perhaps those outside had led the man away to be tended, or killed him themselves.

Tsubodai nodded to Huran as their eyes met. Regardless of rank, they were the two most capable warriors in the room, able to remain calm and think, even when the smell of blood was thick.

Tsubodai turned to Ogedai. ‘We need a second position, lord.’

The man who would be khan was standing with his father’s wolf’s-head sword drawn, breathing too shallowly and looking paler than Tsubodai had seen him before. Tsubodai frowned to himself as Ogedai didn’t respond. He spoke louder, using his voice to snap the younger man out of his trance.

‘If the door goes, they will rush us, Ogedai. You understand? We need a second place, a line of retreat. Huran and I will stay by this door, but you must get the boys and women back to the inner rooms and block the door as best you can.’

Ogedai turned his head slowly, dragging his eyes away from the dark hole that seemed to vomit forth the hatred of those behind it.

‘You expect me to burrow myself away to gain a few more heartbeats of life? With my own children being hunted somewhere out there? I would rather die here, on my feet and facing my enemies.’

He meant it, Tsubodai saw, but Ogedai’s gaze drifted over Sorhatani and her two sons. For a moment, he locked eyes with his younger brother Tolui. Ogedai wilted under the stares of the family.

‘Very well, Tsubodai, but I will return here. Tolui, bring your wife and sons and help me block up the inner door.’

‘Take the bow with you,’ Tsubodai said, yanking the quiver from his shoulders and tossing it to Ogedai.

The group of five moved back carefully, always aware of the line of sight for an archer in the halls outside. They knew a bowman was waiting in the darkness and they knew the patience of their people, used to hunting marmots on the plains. The archer’s field of vision formed a cone that crossed the outer room down the centre.

Without warning, Ogedai darted across the space and Sorhatani rolled, coming smoothly to her feet like a dancer. No arrow came as they reached a safe spot and turned.

Tolui stood on the other side. He had found a place in the shelter of a heavy beam with his sons, his face stiff with fear for them.

‘I will go last, lads, understand?’ he told them.

Mongke nodded immediately, but Kublai shook his head.

‘You are the largest and the slowest,’ he said, his voice quavering. ‘Let me go last.’

Tolui considered. If the archer was waiting with an arrow on the string and the bow half bent, he could loose a shot in an eye-blink, almost without aiming. Any of the men there would have wagered on the archer over them. The crashing at the door had stopped, as if the men outside were waiting. Perhaps they were. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ogedai’s wife Torogene beckoning to him.

It was just a few feet across a room, but it had become a chasm. Tolui took a deep, slow breath, calming himself and thinking of his father. Genghis had told him about breath, how men will hold theirs when they are frightened, or take a sudden breath before they launch an attack. It was a sign to watch for in an enemy. In yourself, it was a tool to manage fear. He took another slow breath and his hammering heart eased slightly in his chest. Tolui smiled at Kublai’s nervous defiance.

‘Do as you’re told, boy. I’m quicker than you think.’ He laid a hand on each son’s shoulder and whispered. ‘Go together. Ready? Now!’

Both boys sprinted across the innocent-looking space. An arrow flashed through the gap, passing behind Kublai’s back. He fell sprawling and Sorhatani dragged him clear, hugging him to her in desperate relief. She turned with her sons to look at Tolui, who nodded to them, sweat beading his brow. He had married a woman of aching beauty and he smiled at her fierce expression, like a mother wolf with her cubs. The archer was clearly ready and they had been lucky. He cursed himself for not following immediately, before the archer could notch another shaft. He had lost the moment and perhaps his life as a result. He looked around for some sort of shield – a table, or even a thick cloth to spoil the man’s aim. The corridor was still silent as the attackers let their bowman work. Tolui took another slow breath, readying his muscles to spring across the gap and dreading the thought of a shaft tearing into him, smashing him off his feet in front of his family.

‘Tsubodai!’ Sorhatani called.

The general glanced back at her, catching her beseeching gaze and understanding. He had nothing to block the hole for the time they needed. His gaze fell on the single lamp. He hated the thought of plunging the room into darkness once again, but there was nothing else. He swept it up, flinging it through the hole from the side of the door. The crash sent Tolui safely across the gap to his family and Tsubodai heard the thump of an arrow released into the door itself, the aim ruined. Kublai cheered the act and Mongke joined him.

For a few moments, the room remained lit by the flaming oil on the other side, but the men there stamped the flames out and they were left in blackness once again, far deeper than before. There was still no sign of dawn. The furious crashing resumed and splinters flew as the door groaned in its frame.

Tolui worked quickly at the entrance to the inner room. The door there had none of the strength of the outer one. It would not delay the attackers beyond the first few moments. Instead, Tolui kicked out the delicate hinges and began to make a barricade across the doorway. As he worked, he gripped his sons by the neck in quick affection, then sent them scurrying into Ogedai’s sleeping chamber to gather anything they could lift. He saw Torogene murmuring to them and they relaxed as she directed them. Both young men were used to their mother’s commands and Torogene was a large woman, motherly and brisk in her manner.

There was another small lamp there. Torogene handed it out to Sorhatani, who placed it so that some of its light reached Tsubodai. It made huge shadows in the rooms, great dark figures that leapt and danced, dwarfing them all.

They worked in grim concentration. Tsubodai and Huran knew they would have just moments to retreat when the outer door gave way. The couch braced against it would be no more than a nuisance to the attackers as they poured in. Behind them, Sorhatani and Tolui built their barricade without speaking, jittery from fear and lack of sleep. The boys brought them wood panelling, bedclothes, even a heavy pedestal that had to be dragged over the floor, leaving a long scar. It would not hold against determined men. Even young Kublai understood that, or saw it in his parents’ bleak expressions. When their pitiful collection of debris was in place, they stood behind it with Ogedai and Torogene, panting and waiting.

Sorhatani rested one hand on Kublai’s shoulder, holding Tsubodai’s long knife in the other. She wished desperately for more light, terrified of being killed in the gloom, overwhelmed by struggling, bloody bodies. She could not consider losing Kublai and Mongke. It was as if she stood on the edge of a high cliff and to look at them was to step off and drop. She heard Tolui’s long, slow breaths and copied him, breathing through her nose. It helped a little, in the dark, as the outer door cracked suddenly down its length and the men outside grunted and howled in anticipation.

Tsubodai and Huran were both wary of the archer on the other side of the door. Each man had to judge when the blows against the rapidly splintering wood would obstruct the hidden man, then strike a blow into the faces in the dark. The attackers were pressing, knowing they were near to getting in at last. More than one fell back with a cry from a sword blade, licking out like a fang and withdrawing before the archer could see through his own people. Someone out there was dying noisily and Huran was panting. He was in awe of the ice general fighting at his side. Tsubodai could have been at a training bout for all the emotion his face showed.

Yet they could not hold the door. Both men tensed as a low panel broke into splinters. Half the door remained, cracked and loose. Crouching men came struggling under the locking bar and both Huran and Tsubodai stood their ground, plunging their blades into exposed necks. Blood splashed them both as they refused to yield, though the archer had moved and sent a shaft that spun Huran around, winding him.

He knew his ribs had broken. Every breath was agony, as if his lungs inflated against a shard of glass, but he could not even check the wound to see if his armour had saved him. More men were kicking at the bar, loosening its bolts in the wall. When that finally gave way, the two warriors would be swallowed in the flood.

Huran gasped hoarsely as he continued to strike out, seeking bare necks and arms beyond the hole. He saw blades jabbing at him and felt blows on his shoulders and legs. He could taste iron bitterness in his mouth and his arms seemed slower as he swung and swung, each breath burning him with its sweetness and heat.

He fell then, thinking he must have slipped in someone’s blood. Huran saw the iron bar spring out. The room seemed lighter somehow, as if the wolf’s dawn had come at last. Huran gasped as someone trod on his outstretched hand, breaking bones, but the pain was fleeting. He was dead before Tsubodai had turned at bay to face the men who roared into that room, wild with release and hungry to do their work.

The stalemate at the gates had become Chagatai’s triumph. He had enjoyed his uncles’ expressions as Jelme brought a tuman up to his side. Tolui’s tuman had matched him on the other side, its men straining at the leash with knowledge that their lord and his family were trapped in the city, perhaps already dead.

One by one, all the generals of the nation brought their men to the city walls, stretching away into the darkness. More than a hundred thousand warriors stood ready to fight if they had to, but there was no battle heat in them while their commanders sat and stared coldly at each other.

Jochi’s son Batu had declared for Kachiun and Khasar. He was barely seventeen years old, but his thousand men followed his lead and he rode with his head high. He was a prince of the nation despite his youth and his father’s fate. Ogedai had seen to that, promoting him as Genghis would never have done. Even so, Batu had chosen to stand against the most powerful man in the tribes. Kachiun sent a runner to him to thank him for the gesture.

In Tsubodai’s absence, Kachiun’s mind was running faster than his peaceful look suggested. He thought Jelme was still loyal to Ogedai, though Chagatai had accepted him. It was no small thing to have perhaps a sixth of an enemy’s army ready to turn against him at a crucial point. Yet the sides were too evenly matched. Kachiun had a vision of the army falling in on itself until there were just hundreds left alive, then dozens, then just one or two. What then of the great dream Genghis had given them? He at least would never have countenanced such a waste of life and strength – not among their own people.

The wolf dawn showed in the east, the faint greying of the land before the sun rose above the horizon. The light spread over the host gathered by Karakorum, illuminating the faces of the generals and their men so that there was no need for torches. Even then, they did not move and Chagatai sat and chatted with his bondsmen, barking out laughter as he enjoyed the new day and everything it would bring.

When the first thin line of gold appeared in the east, Chagatai’s second in command clapped him on the back and the men around him cheered. The sound was quickly taken up by the other tumans on his side. Those with Khasar and Kachiun sat in sullen and thoughtful silence. It did not take a mind like Tsubodai’s to interpret Chagatai’s pleasure. Kachiun watched with narrow eyes as Chagatai’s men began to dismount, so that they could kneel to him as khan. He pursed his mouth in rising fury. He had to stop it, before it became a wave across all the tumans and Chagatai was made khan on a wave of oaths, before Ogedai’s fate was even known.

Kachiun moved his horse forward, holding up a hand to the men who would have followed him. Khasar too came forward, so that they rode alone through the ranks of men towards Chagatai.

Their nephew was ready from the first step they took in his direction, as he had been all night. Chagatai drew his sword in unmistakable threat, but he still smiled as he gestured to his bondsmen to let them through. The rising sun lit the host of warriors. Their armour glimmered like a sea of iron fish, scaled and dangerous.

‘It is a new day, Chagatai,’ Kachiun said. ‘I will see your brother Ogedai now. You will open the city.’

Chagatai glanced once more at the dawn and nodded to himself.

‘I have done my duty, uncle. I have protected his city from those who might have run riot inside on the eve of the oath-taking. Come, ride with me to my brother’s palace. I must be certain he is safe.’ He grinned as he spoke the last words and Kachiun looked away rather than see. He watched the gates begin to open, laying the empty streets of Karakorum bare before them.

Tsubodai was no longer a young man, but he wore full armour and he had been a soldier longer than most of the attackers had been alive. As they came in a welter of limbs and blades, he darted six steps away from the door. Without warning, he spun and lunged, taking the closest man to him through the throat. Two more brought their blades down in reaction, hacking wildly at his scaled armour and leaving bright marks in the tarnish. Tsubodai’s mind was perfectly clear, faster than their movements. He had expected to retreat immediately, but the hurried blows showed him their weariness and desperation. He struck again, reversing his blade for a pull stroke that jerked the steel across a man’s forehead, opening a flap so that he was blinded with blood. It was a mistake. Two men grabbed hold of Tsubodai’s right arm. Another kicked his legs away and he fell with a crash.

On the ground, Tsubodai exploded into a frenzy. He lashed out in all directions, using his armour as a weapon and always moving, making himself harder to hit. The metal plates on his leg opened a gash in someone’s thigh and then he heard roaring and still more men poured into the room, more than it could hold. Tsubodai struggled on desperately, knowing he had lost and Ogedai had lost. Chagatai would be khan. He tasted his own blood in the back of his throat, as bitter as his rage.

At the barricade, Ogedai and Tolui waited shoulder to shoulder. Sorhatani stood with the bow, unable to shoot while Tsubodai still lived. When he went down, she sent two shafts between her husband and his brother. Her arms were nowhere near strong enough for a full draw, but one of the arrows checked a man in his rush while the other ricocheted away into the ceiling. Ogedai stepped in front of her as she struggled to notch a third with shaking fingers. The view beyond the barricade was blocked with grasping hands and blades and bloody faces. She did not understand what was happening at first. She flinched at a roar as more men came into the outer room. Some of those struggling with Ogedai and Tolui turned at the sound and then they were yanked back. Sorhatani saw a sword appear through the throat of a man facing her, as if he had grown a long and bloody tongue. He fell jerking and the view was suddenly clear.

Ogedai and Tolui panted like dogs in the sun. In the other room, a group of armoured men were finishing off the attackers with quick, efficient blows.

Jebe stood there, and at first he ignored the survivors, even Ogedai. He had seen Tsubodai on the ground and knelt at his side just as the general struggled to his knees. Tsubodai was shaking his head; dazed and gashed, but alive.

Jebe rose and saluted Ogedai with his sword.

‘I am pleased to see you well, my lord,’ he said, smiling.

‘How are you here?’ Ogedai snapped, his blood still surging with anger and fear.

‘Your uncles sent me, lord, with forty bondsmen. We had to kill a lot of men to reach you.’

Tolui clapped his brother on the back in delight before he turned and embraced Sorhatani. Kublai and Mongke punched each other on the shoulders and mock-scuffled until Kublai was in Mongke’s headlock.

‘Tsubodai? General?’ Ogedai said.

He watched as Tsubodai’s glazed eyes cleared. A warrior put out his hand to steady the general and Tsubodai batted it away irritably, still shaken by how close he had come to death at the feet of the attackers. When Tsubodai got to his feet, Jebe turned to him, as if reporting.

‘The Broken Lance closed the gates of the city. All the tumans are outside, on the plain. It may be war yet.’

‘How then did you get inside my city?’ Ogedai demanded. He looked for Huran and remembered with a pang of loss that the man had given his life at the first door.

‘We climbed the walls, my lord,’ Jebe said. ‘General Kachiun sent us before he rode to try and force his way in.’ He saw Ogedai’s look of surprise and shrugged. ‘They are not so very high, my lord.’

The rooms were lighter, Ogedai realised. Dawn had come to Karakorum and the day promised to be fine. With a start, he remembered this was the day of the oath-taking. He blinked, trying to put his thoughts in some sort of order, to see a way through after such a night. That there even was an ‘after’ was more than he had expected in the last moments. He felt dazed, lost in events beyond his control.

In the corridor outside, running footsteps could be heard. A messenger came pelting into the room and skidded to a halt, shocked by the mass of dead flesh and the collection of blades levelled at him. The room stank of opened bowels and urine, thick and choking in the enclosed space.

‘Report,’ Jebe said, recognising the scout.

The young man steadied himself. ‘The gates have reopened, general. I ran all the way, but there is an armed force coming.’

‘Of course there is,’ Tsubodai said, his deep voice startling everyone there. They all looked to him and Ogedai felt a surge of relief that he was there. ‘Everyone who was outside the walls last night will be coming here to see who survives.’ He turned to Ogedai then.

‘My lord, we have just moments. You must be clean and changed when they see you. This room must be sealed. It will keep for today at least.’

Ogedai nodded gratefully and Tsubodai snapped quick orders. Jebe went first, leaving six men to form a guard for the one who would be khan. Ogedai and Torogene followed, with Tolui and his family close behind. As they hurried down a long corridor, Ogedai saw that Tolui’s hand kept drifting to his wife or his sons as he strode, still hardly able to believe they were all safe.

‘The children, Ogedai,’ Torogene said.

He glanced at her and saw that her face was pale and drawn with worry. He put his arm around her shoulders and both of them took comfort from the other. Looking over her head, Ogedai could see no one who knew the palace well. Where was his servant, Baras’aghur? He addressed Jebe, as the closest man.

‘General, I must know if my son Guyuk survived the night. My daughters also. Have one of your men find their quarters – ask a servant. Bring me the news as quickly as you can. And find my chancellor, Yao Shu – and Baras’aghur. Get them moving. See who still lives.’

‘Your will, my lord,’ Jebe said quickly, bowing his head. Ogedai seemed almost manic, his mood hard to read. It was more than the excitement that can come after a battle, when life courses more strongly in the veins.

Ogedai rushed on, his wife and Guards struggling to keep up. Somewhere ahead, he could hear marching feet and he darted down another corridor away from the sound. He needed fresh clothes and to wash the blood and filth off him. He needed time to think.