Empire of Silver. Conn Iggulden
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The world seemed to strain and then burst, leaving him almost dazed. Ahead of him were men who stared and then deliberately turned away, their reaction marking them out like a raised flag. Ogedai saw no signal, but almost as one they drew knives from their clothing; short, hacking blades of the sort carpenters used to trim posts. The crowd began to swirl as more and more people realised what was happening. Voices cried out hoarsely, but Ogedai remained very still, the centre of the growing storm. He had locked eyes with the closest of the men as he shoved his way past others, his blade held high.
Ogedai watched the man approach. Slowly, he opened his arms wide, then wider, his outstretched hands buffeted by the fleeing crowd. The attacker shouted something, a wild sound lost in the clamour. Ogedai showed his teeth as the man was struck from the side, his body crumpling away from the armoured Guard who had hit him.
As his Guards trampled and slaughtered the men in the shadowy tunnel, Ogedai slowly lowered his arms, watching coldly. They left two alive, as he had ordered, clubbing them down with sword hilts until their faces were swollen masks. The rest were killed like goats.
In just moments, the first officer stood before him, his chest heaving and his pale face spattered with filth.
‘Lord, are you well?’ the man said, a study of confusion.
Ogedai turned his gaze away from the soldiers still thumping at the dead flesh of men who had dared to attack their master.
‘Why would you think otherwise, Huran? I am unharmed. You have done your work.’
Huran bowed his head and almost turned away, but he could not.
‘My lord, there was no need for this. We have followed these men for two days. I have searched their lodgings myself and there has never been a moment in Karakorum when I did not have eyes on them. We could have taken them without any risk to you.’
He was clearly struggling to find the right words, but Ogedai felt lighter and stronger than he had in too long. His mood was mellow as he replied.
‘Say what you have to say, Huran. You will not offend me.’ He had released the man from any need to guard his speech, and he watched the tension and stiffness vanish.
‘I live, I work, to protect you, lord,’ Huran said. ‘On the day you die, I die, I have sworn it. But I cannot protect you if you are…if you are in love with death, lord, if you want to die…’ Under Ogedai’s cool gaze, Huran stumbled over the last words and fell silent.
‘Put your fears to rest, Huran. You have served me since I was a boy. I took risks then, did I not? Like any other lad who thinks he will live for ever?’
Huran nodded. ‘You did, but you would not have stood with your arms wide then, not with a killer running at you. I saw it, lord, but I did not understand it.’
Ogedai smiled, as if instructing a child. Perhaps it was his closeness to eternity in those moments, but he felt almost light-headed.
‘I do not want to die, I promise you, Huran. But I am not afraid of it, not at all. I held open my arms because, in that moment, I did not care. Can you understand that?’
‘No, lord,’ Huran said.
Ogedai sighed, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood and excrement in the tunnel.
‘The air is foul here,’ he said. ‘Walk out with me.’
He skirted the heaped bodies. Many had been killed by accident in the fray, simple workmen trying to get out of the darkness. He would have some payment made to their families, he thought.
Huran stayed at his side as the light brightened and Ogedai’s gaze fell on the completed arena. His mood soared higher at the sight of the tiered seating, thousands upon thousands of benches stretching into the distance. After the bloodshed at the entrance, it had emptied at astonishing speed, so that Ogedai could hear the song of a bird in the distance, clear and sweet. He was tempted to call across the space to see if his voice would echo. Thirty thousand of his people could sit and watch races and wrestling and the archery wall. It would be glorious.
A spot on his face itched and he rubbed it, raising a reddened finger before his eyes. Someone else’s blood.
‘Here, Huran, in this place, I will be khan. I will take the oath from my people.’
Huran nodded stiffly and Ogedai smiled at him, knowing his loyalty was absolute. Yet he did not mention the weakness of the heart that could take his life at any moment. He did not tell Huran that he woke each morning with sharp relief that he had survived the night to see one more dawn, nor how he stayed awake later and later each evening in case that day was his last. The wine and the foxglove powder had brought him relief, but he knew every day, every breath, was a blessing. How could he fear a killer when he was always in death’s shadow? It was amusing and he chuckled until he felt the ache in his chest again. He considered taking a pinch of the powder under his tongue. Huran would not dare ask about it.
‘There are three days until the new moon, Huran. You have kept me alive until now, have you not? How many attacks have you thwarted?’
‘Seven, lord,’ Huran said softly.
Ogedai looked sharply at him. ‘I know of only five, including today. How do you make seven?’
‘My man in the kitchens stopped a poisoning this morning, lord, and I had three warriors of your brother murdered in a brawl.’
‘You were not certain that they were here to kill me?’
‘No, lord, not certain,’ Huran admitted. He had left one alive and worked on him for part of the morning, earning nothing but screaming and insults for his trouble.
‘You have been rash, Huran,’ Ogedai said, without regret. ‘We have planned for such attacks. My food is tasted, my servants are hand-picked. My city is under siege from the sheer number of spies and warriors pretending to be simple painters and carpenters. Yet I have opened Karakorum and people are still flooding in. I have three Chin lords staying in my own palace and two Christian monks who have taken a vow of poverty, so bed down in the straw of my royal stables. The oath-taking will be…an interesting time, Huran.’ He sighed at the soldier’s grim worry. ‘If all we have done is not enough, perhaps I am not meant to survive. The sky father loves a good game, Huran. Perhaps I will be taken from you, despite all your efforts.’
‘Not while I live, lord. I will call you khan.’
The man spoke with such assurance that Ogedai smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Escort me back to the palace then, Huran. I must resume my duties, after this small amusement. I have kept Orlok Tsubodai waiting long enough, I think.’
Tsubodai had left his armour in the palace rooms he had been given. Every warrior in the tribes knew that Genghis had once approached an enemy without weapons, then used a scale of his armour to cut the man’s throat. Instead, Tsubodai wore a light deel robe over leggings and sandals. They had been laid out for him, clean and new, of the best materials. Such luxury in those rooms! Ogedai had borrowed from every culture they had encountered in conquest. It made Tsubodai uncomfortable to see it, though he could not find words for his discomfort. Worse was the bustle and hurry of the palace corridors, packed with people, all intent on errands and work he did not understand. He had not realised there were so many involved in the oath-taking. There were Guards at every corner and alcove, but with so many strange faces, Tsubodai felt a constant itch of worry. He preferred open spaces.
The day had half gone when he grabbed a servant running past him, making the man yelp in surprise. It seemed Ogedai had been busy with some task in the city, but he knew Tsubodai was waiting.
Tsubodai could not leave without giving insult, so he stood in a silent audience room, his impatience growing harder to mask as the hours fled.
The room was empty, though Tsubodai still felt crawling eyes on him as he strolled to a window and looked over the new city and beyond to the tumans on the plains. The sun was setting, throwing long lines