Conqueror. Conn Iggulden

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      The riders swore as they came to an open area that no one recognised, but at the same moment, one of the Guards shouted, pointing. They wheeled round and drew to a sharp halt at the ger camp of Baidur. His banners fluttered in the night wind above their heads, lit by torches. As Guyuk helped his mother to dismount, he saw how many men had gathered to see what was happening. Row upon row waited with weapons drawn. Guyuk recalled that Baidur’s father Chagatai had attempted a coup in Karakorum years before, on just such a night. Of all men, Baidur would be suspicious of betrayal.

      Guyuk saw the man he had once called friend, made distant by the tides of the nation and his own father’s murder. Baidur stood as if he expected to be attacked, his sword drawn and raised to his shoulder. His yellow eyes were cold in the torchlight and Guyuk showed him empty palms, though he would not unbuckle the wolf’s-head sword he wore, not for any man. Baidur was khan of a vast region to the west and Guyuk swallowed bitterness as he realised he had to speak first, as supplicant. It did not matter that he was the one marked to be the gur-khan, over all the lesser khanates. On that night, he was merely an heir.

      ‘I come with empty hands, Baidur. I still remember our friendship, when we were little more than boys with swords.’

      ‘I thought all the dealing was done,’ Baidur replied, his voice harsh. ‘Why have you come to disturb my sleep, to set my people in disarray?’

      Guyuk blinked, revising his opinion of the man he faced. He almost turned to his mother for guidance, but he knew it would have made him look weak. He had last seen Baidur riding home with his tuman, stiff with the knowledge that his father was considered a traitor. There had been a time when Baidur could have been khan in Karakorum, if the sky father had willed a change in fortune for his family. Instead, he had inherited and lived quietly in the western khanate. Guyuk hardly thought of him as a threat, but authority had changed Baidur. He spoke as a man used to seeing others leap to do his bidding, as if there could be no possible alternative. Guyuk wondered if he too had that air. In the gloom, he grimaced to himself as doubt struck him.

      ‘I have asked that Mongke join us … my lord.’ Guyuk bit his lip. He saw Baidur had noticed the hesitation, but they stood before Karakorum! It was almost painful to give the man his titles when Guyuk had none of his own. He sensed his mother shift her weight at his side and remembered her words. He was not yet khan. Until then, he would be humble.

      Instead of answering, Baidur also reacted to the movement. He bowed deeply to Torogene.

      ‘My apologies, my lady. I did not expect you to be part of a group riding at night. You are all welcome in my home. The tea is cold, but I will have new leaves boiled.’

      Guyuk seethed to himself. The greeting to his mother merely highlighted his own lack of status. He wondered if Baidur had ignored him deliberately, or whether it was genuine respect for the most senior woman in the nation. He followed his mother to Baidur’s ger and watched impatiently as she ducked her head to walk in. Baidur’s soldiers were staring at him. No, not at him, but at the sword on his hip. Guyuk bristled at their attempt to intimidate him. As if he would be foolish enough to draw a blade with his own mother in the ger.

      To his astonishment, one of Baidur’s guards stepped close to him and bowed deeply. Guyuk’s men pressed around him at the threat, but he waved them back.

      ‘What is it?’ he asked, a trace of his irritation still showing.

      ‘My lord, I wondered if I could touch the sword you wear, just the hilt. It would be something to tell my children one day.’

      Guyuk suddenly understood the fixed gaze of Baidur’s warriors and he smiled patronisingly. The wolf’s-head sword had been carried by his father Ogedai, and also by Genghis. He had seen other men gaze on it before with reverent awe. However, he did not want it to be pawed by common warriors. The very idea made him shudder.

      ‘I have much to discuss with your master …’ he began.

      To his anger, the warrior reached out, gazing in a trance at the hilt as if it were one of the Christian relics. Guyuk took a step back. He imagined cutting the hand off to show the man his impertinence, but he was very aware of the staring faces around him, most of them loyal to Baidur rather than himself.

      ‘Another time,’ he snapped, ducking into Baidur’s ger before the warrior could press him further.

      In the ger, Baidur and Torogene were seated close together. It had been some time since Guyuk had seen the inside of one of the felt and wicker homes. He felt cramped and saw with fresh senses how small it was, how it reeked of damp wool blankets and mutton. A battered old kettle hissed in the middle of the space, tended by a servant girl who fussed with cups and made them clink together in her nervousness. There was little space for the trappings of wealth and power in a ger. It was easier to live simply rather than be tripping over some expensive Chin pot at every turn. Guyuk struggled with himself for a moment. It felt like an intrusion to sit on Baidur’s other side, but if he took a place next to his mother, he would be forever subordinate in the conversation. With ill-will, he lowered himself onto the bed by her.

      ‘It changes nothing,’ Torogene was saying in a low voice. ‘The entire nation has come to Karakorum – every man and woman of power, except for one. We have enough for an oath-taking.’

      ‘If you go on, it is a risk,’ Baidur replied. ‘I know Batu well, Torogene. You dare not leave him outside the nation.’

      His face was thoughtful, troubled. Guyuk watched the older man closely, but he saw no sign of delight or treachery.

      They all heard the sound of approaching horses and Baidur stood. He glanced at the kettle coming to the boil.

      ‘Stay here. Serve them salt tea, Erden.’

      Baidur left them alone, though Guyuk was not so naive as to believe they could not be overheard. He kept his silence, taking a bowl of tea from the girl. She presented it in the aspect of a slave, her head down between her outstretched arms. Guyuk almost reached for it before he realised it was held out for his mother. He clenched his jaw as he waited for his own. Status, once again. Well, that would all change soon enough. He would not let Batu ruin his chance to become khan, no matter what the rest of them planned.

      Baidur entered with Mongke, and Guyuk rose to his feet to greet them. Torogene stayed where she was, sipping her tea. The ger was already crowded, but Mongke’s presence made it stifling. He had a huge breadth of shoulder and had somehow found the time to dress in his armour. Guyuk wondered if the man slept in it. Nothing would surprise him on such a night.

      Mongke greeted Torogene first and then Guyuk, bowing deeply and properly, as an oath-sworn man to his master. The gesture would not be wasted on Baidur, and Guyuk felt his spirits lift in response. He opened his mouth to speak and to his irritation his mother began while he was still drawing breath.

      ‘Batu will not be coming to this gathering, Mongke,’ she said. ‘I have had word from him.’

      ‘What reason did he give?’ Baidur said across Mongke’s stunned silence.

      ‘Does it matter? He claims a hunting wound that means he cannot travel. It changes nothing.’

      ‘It changes everything,’ Mongke said. His voice was slow and deliberate. Guyuk found himself leaning forward to catch every word. ‘It means this gathering is at an end. What else can we do? Batu is not some minor family head. He is a powerful voice in the nation, though he does not use his influence. If Guyuk is made khan without him, it could lead to civil war in the СКАЧАТЬ