Khasar winced at hearing his name. Under Genghis’ stare, he considered his words carefully. The entire camp would hear eventually and he could not be seen to complain like a child to his father. Not if he expected to lead them in war afterwards.
‘I am satisfied with my part in this, brother,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘If I have need to discuss it further with these men, I will do so on another day.’
‘You will not,’ Genghis snapped, understanding the implied threat as well as the Woyela sons did themselves. ‘I forbid it.’
Khasar bowed his head.
‘As you say, lord,’ he replied.
Genghis looked at Temuge, seeing the shame at his public beating, coupled with the bright rage that had surprised Khasar and Kachiun before.
‘You too are marked, Temuge. I cannot believe you were part of this.’
‘He tried to stop it,’ Kachiun replied. ‘They knocked him to his knees and …’
‘Enough!’ Temuge snapped. ‘In time, I will return every blow.’ Blushing red, he seemed close to tears, like a child. Genghis stared at him and his own anger suddenly broke free. With a grunt, he shook his head and strode through the brothers of the Woyela. One of them was too slow and Genghis barged him down with his shoulder, barely seeming to feel the impact. The khan raised his hands in a plea, but Genghis grabbed his deel and yanked him forward. As he unsheathed his sword, the Woyela warriors drew their own in a rasp of metal.
‘Hold!’ Genghis roared at them, a voice that had carried across a hundred battles. They ignored the order and, as they closed, Genghis jerked the khan upwards like a marmot in his grip. In two quick slashes, he brought his sword across the man’s thighs, gashing the muscles.
‘If my brother was made to kneel, Woyela, you will not stand again,’ he said. The khan was bellowing and blood poured over his feet as he fell. Before the warriors could reach him, Genghis raised his gaze to stare them down.
‘If I see one sword in a hand in ten heartbeats more, not a single Woyela man, woman or child will live past this evening.’
The officers amongst the warriors hesitated, raising their arms to hold back the others. Genghis stood before them without a trace of fear while the khan at his feet fell to one side, moaning. The sons still stood frozen, horrified at what they had seen. With an effort of will, the khan made a gesture that his officers chose to interpret as assent. They sheathed their swords and the warriors followed, their eyes wide. Genghis nodded.
‘When we ride, you Woyela will be the guards for my brother,’ he said. ‘If you will have them?’ Khasar murmured assent, his swollen face blank.
‘Then this is finished. There is no blood feud and I have seen justice served.’
Genghis caught the eyes of his brothers and they fell in with him as he strode back to the great ger and the business of the day. Khasar clapped a hand on the young man who had helped him, taking him along rather than leaving him to be beaten again.
‘This one came to help me,’ Khasar said as they walked. ‘He knows no fear, brother.’
For an instant, Genghis glanced at the young man, seeing his pride.
‘What is your name?’ he asked gruffly, still seething at what he had seen.
‘Tsubodai of the Uriankhai, lord.’
‘Come and see me when you want a good horse and armour,’ Genghis said. Tsubodai beamed and Khasar punched him lightly in the shoulder, approving. Behind them, the Woyela khan was left to be tended by his women. With such wounds, he would never stand straight, or perhaps even walk again.
As Genghis and his brothers strode through the tribes gathered in the shadow of the black mountain, there were many who looked on them with awe and approval. He had shown he would not be challenged and one more small victory had been won.
The Uighurs were sighted as the summer waned and the floodwaters from the hills swelled the Onon River to bursting point. The plains were still a vivid green and skylarks leaped and fluttered as the Uighur carts passed them.
It was an impressive display of strength and Genghis answered it with five thousand of his horsemen in ranks before the great camp. He did not come to meet them himself, knowing that his absence would be taken as subtle disapproval for their lateness. Instead, the Woyela took a position around Khasar as he rode to meet the new arrivals and none of the khan’s sons dared do more than stare at the back of his head.
As the Uighurs drew close, Khasar approached the cart that led the dark snake of people and animals. His eyes flickered over the warriors, judging their quality. They were well armed and seemed fierce and alert, though he knew appearances could be deceiving. They would learn the tactics that had brought victory to Genghis, or be reduced to carrying messages amongst the host.
The Uighurs were horse traders as well as scholars and Khasar was pleased to see the vast herd that accompanied them. There had to be three ponies for every warrior and he knew the camp would be busy over the next month as the other tribes came to bargain and replenish their blood lines.
At his raised hand, the warriors around the lead cart drew up in a defensive position, their hands on the hilts of swords. The Uighurs must have had a good supply of ore for so many to carry blades, Khasar thought. Perhaps there would be trade in steel as well. There were still too many in the camp with nothing but a knife to complement their bows. Khasar directed his gaze to a small grey-haired man on the front of the cart. It was he who had held up an arm to halt the column and Khasar saw how the warriors looked to him for orders. Though the man’s deel was of simple cut, it had to be the Uighur khan, Barchuk. Khasar decided to give him honour by speaking first.
‘You are welcome in the camp, lord,’ he said formally. ‘You are the last of the great tribes to arrive, but my lord Genghis has received your message in goodwill and allocated grazing land for your families.’
The small man nodded thoughtfully as he looked past Khasar to the riders who waited in formation.
‘I can see we must be the last. I can hardly believe there are any more warriors in the world, given the size of the host on this plain. You are the first men we have seen in many days of travel.’ He shook his head in wonder at the thought. ‘The Uighurs will pledge to Genghis, as I have promised. Show us where to pitch our gers and we will do the rest.’
In comparison to some of the pricklier khans, Khasar appreciated the man’s bluntness. He smiled.
‘I am his brother, Khasar,’ he said. ‘I will show you myself.’
‘Step up beside me then, Khasar. I am hungry for news.’ The khan patted the wooden bench of the cart and Khasar dismounted, sending his horse back to the first rank of Woyela warriors with a slap on its rump.
‘If we are the last, perhaps it will not be long before Genghis points this great arrow at his enemies,’ the khan said as Khasar clambered up beside him. Barchuk clicked in his cheek at the oxen and the cart moved off with a lurch. Khasar watched how the Uighur warriors kept formation around them and was pleased. They could ride, at least.
‘Only he can say, lord.’ The bruises he had taken from the Woyela had almost faded, though he felt Barchuk’s eyes drift over them without comment. The camp had been quiet for a time after seeing the Woyela humbled, but with the end of summer, they were restless again and, now that the Uighurs had arrived, he thought his brother would move in just a few days. He felt his own excitement mounting at the idea. They had the tribes and Genghis would take their oaths of loyalty. After that, war would come and he and his brothers would take the Chin foot off the necks of their people.
‘You seem cheerful, Khasar,’ Barchuk observed as he guided the cart around a hump in the grass. The older man was wiry with strength and his eyes seemed constantly amused.
‘I was thinking that we have never