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.
Kachiun had become cold and pale as they rode through the streets, approaching Ogedai’s palace. There seemed to be bodies everywhere, with pools of darkening blood staining the polished stone gutters. Not all of them bore the marks of Ogedai’s Guard tuman. Others wore dark deels or armour rubbed with lamp-black, dull and greasy in the dawn light. The night had been bloody and Kachiun dreaded what he would see in the palace itself.
Chagatai rode lightly, shaking his head at such destruction until Khasar considered cutting his throat and wiping the expression off his face. The presence of three of Chagatai’s bondsmen kept his hand from his sword hilt. They did not stare at the dead. Their eyes were only for the two men riding with their lord, the man who would be khan before the end of the day.
The streets were silent. If any workers had left their homes after the clashes and screams of the night, the sight of so many bodies had sent them scurrying back to bar the doors. The six horsemen made their way to the steps leading up to the palace doors. Dead men lay splayed on the pale marble, their blood in patterns along the veins of stone.
Chagatai did not dismount, but urged his pony up the steps, clicking his tongue as it trod gingerly past the corpses. The main door to the first courtyard stood open and there was no one to challenge his right to enter. Crows called to each other and there were hawks and vultures already overhead, drawn by the scent of death on the breeze. Kachiun and Khasar looked at each other in grim surmise as they passed under a bar of shadow into the yard beyond. The tree of silver shone there in the dawn, beautiful and lifeless.
The generals could read the patterns of dead well enough. There had been no fixed battle, with lines of men cut down. Instead, the bodies lay randomly, killed from behind or taken by shafts they never saw. They could almost sense the defenders’ surprise as men dressed in shadows had appeared and killed, cutting through them before anyone could organise a defence. In the silence, Chagatai was rapt as he dismounted at last. His pony was skittish with the smell of blood and he made a point of tying the reins securely to a post.
‘I begin to fear for my brother,’ Chagatai said.
Khasar tensed and one of the bondsmen raised a hand to him, reminding him of their presence. The man was grinning, enjoying his master’s show.
‘You need not fear,’ came a voice, making them all jump.
Chagatai spun instantly, his sword leaping out of its scabbard in one movement. His bondsmen were barely slower, ready for any attack.
Tsubodai stood there under an arch of carved limestone. He wore no armour and the morning breeze had not dried the patches of sweat on his silk tunic. A strip of cloth bound his left forearm and Chagatai could see a smear of blood seeping through it. Tsubodai’s face was weary but strong and his eyes were terrible as they met those of the man responsible for the death and destruction all around them.
Chagatai opened his mouth to demand some explanation, but Tsubodai went on.
‘My lord Ogedai is waiting for you in his audience hall. He bids you welcome in his home. He guarantees your safety.’ He spoke the last words as if they stuck in his throat.
Chagatai looked away from the rage he saw in the general. For an instant, his shoulders sagged as he understood his defeat. He had gambled it all on a single night. He did not look up at the slight sound of boots on stone above his head as archers appeared. He bit his lower lip and nodded to himself. Even so, he was his father’s son. He stood straight and sheathed his sword with the care of ritual. No trace of his shock or disappointment showed on his face as he smiled wryly at Tsubodai.
‘Thank the spirits he has survived,’ Chagatai said. ‘Take me to him, general.’
Chagatai’s bondsmen remained in the courtyard. They would have fought if he had asked them. Instead, he clapped one of them on the shoulder and shook his head before striding into the cloister behind Tsubodai. Chagatai did not look back as his men were surrounded by warriors of Ogedai and beaten to the ground. When one of them cried out, Chagatai set his jaw, disappointed the man could not die quietly for the honour of his master.
Khasar and Kachiun followed in silence. They watched Chagatai fall in beside Tsubodai, neither man looking at the other. At the audience chamber, Guards were all around and Chagatai merely shrugged and gave up his sword.
The door was of polished copper, red-gold in the morning light. Chagatai expected to enter, but the Guard officer tapped him on the armour and stood back, waiting. Chagatai grimaced, but he removed his long, scaled jacket and thigh pieces, as well as the heavy gloves and arm protectors. It was not long before he stood in just his jerkin, leggings and boots. It might have diminished another man to be so stripped, but Chagatai had been training for the festival for many months, wrestling, running and shooting hundreds of arrows each day. He was in superb physical condition and he made most of those around him look smaller and weaker than they were.
Not so Tsubodai. None of the Guards dared to come close to that man as he stood and silently dared Chagatai to protest. Though Tsubodai remained still, it was the stillness of a snake, or a sapling bent and ready