style="font-size:15px;"> Baabgai waited impassively for Khasar’s order. Few others could have supported a grown warrior for so long and Baabgai’s face was pink and shiny with sweat.
Khasar stared through the big wrestler, his thoughts returning to the message from Genghis. The scout his brother had sent still stood where Khasar had placed him hours before. Flies were sucking at the salt on the scout’s skin, but the young man dared not move.
Khasar’s good mood vanished and he gestured irritably to his wrestling champion.
‘Break him,’ he snapped.
The crowd took a sharp breath as Baabgai dropped suddenly to one knee, bringing his opponent down on the outstretched thigh. The crack of a broken spine sounded across the clearing and all the men roared and exchanged betting tokens. Baabgai beamed toothlessly at them. Khasar looked away as the crippled man’s throat was cut. It was a kindness not to leave him alive for dogs and rats.
Sensing his thoughts turning darker, Khasar signalled for the next bout and a skin of black airag: anything to distract him from his gloom. If he’d known Genghis would be recalling the armies, he’d have made better time heading into Chin lands. With Ho Sa and Genghis’ son Ogedai, he’d spent leisurely years burning cities and executing their populations, all the time moving closer to where the boy emperor had taken refuge. It had been a very happy time for him.
He was not a man given to thinking too hard about himself, but Khasar had come to enjoy being in command. For men like Genghis, it came naturally. Khasar could not imagine Genghis allowing anyone to lead him to a toilet pit, never mind a battle. For Khasar, it had come slowly, the need growing like moss. For three years, he had not spoken to any of his brothers, Genghis, Kachiun or Temuge. His warriors had expected him to know where to ride and what to do once they arrived. Khasar had found it exhausting at first, just as a lead dog will last only so long at the head of a pack. He knew that well, but he discovered another truth, that leading was as exciting as it was exhausting. His mistakes were his own, but his triumphs were also his own. As the seasons passed, Khasar had changed subtly and he did not want to go home. Waiting for Kaifeng to fall, he was father to ten thousand sons.
He looked around at the men he had brought so far from home. His second in command, Samuka, was sober as always, watching the wrestling with detached amusement. Ogedai was yelling and sweating with drink, looking small at the shoulder of warriors. Khasar let his gaze drift over the boy, wondering how he would take the news of their return. At Ogedai’s age, everything was new and exciting and Khasar thought he would be pleased. His mood soured further as he studied his men. Every one of them had proved his worth. They had taken women by the thousand, horses, coins and weapons, too much to spend a lifetime cataloguing. Khasar let out a long sigh. Yet Genghis was the great khan and Khasar could no more imagine rebelling against his older brother than he could sprout wings and fly across the walls of Kaifeng.
Ho Sa seemed to sense the general’s mood and raised a skin of black airag to him, the noise of the wrestling bout swelling around them both. Khasar smiled tightly, without pleasure. With Samuka, Ho Sa had heard the scout’s message. The day had been ruined and both men knew it.
The Xi Xia officer would once have shuddered at the thought of drinking with lice-ridden tribesmen. Before the Mongols had come, Ho Sa had lived a life of simple austerity, proud of his place in his king’s army. He had woken each dawn for an hour of exercise before bathing, then begun the day with black tea and bread dipped in honey. Ho Sa’s life had been almost perfect and he sometimes longed for it, while dreading its dullness at the same time.
On very dark nights, when all the pretences of men are laid bare, Ho Sa knew he had found a place and a life he would never have enjoyed in the Xi Xia. He had risen to third in command of a Mongol army and men like Khasar trusted him with their lives. The bites of fleas and lice were a small price to pay in return. Following Khasar’s black gaze, Ho Sa too glowered drunkenly at Kaifeng. If all an emperor could do was cower behind high walls, he was no emperor as far as Ho Sa could see. He took another gulp of the clear airag and winced as it stung a cut on his gums.
Ho Sa did sometimes miss the peace and routines of his old life, but he knew they continued somewhere. That thought brought him comfort when he was tired or wounded. It also helped that he had a fortune in gold and silver. If he ever did return home, he would have wives, slaves and wealth.
The second match finished with a broken arm and both men bowed to Khasar before he gave them leave to have their wounds treated. The day’s events would cost him perhaps a dozen injured and a few killed, but it was worth it to inspire the others. They were not delicate young girls, after all.
Khasar glared at the scout. It had been Khasar himself who had taken the lonely forts the Mongols now used as way stations for their messengers. They stretched in an unbroken line all the way back to the charred remains of Yenking in the north. If Khasar had realised the new trade road would enable Genghis to send a recall order only eighteen days before, he might not have done it. Would his brother understand if he waited another year for the fortress city to fall? Khasar kicked at a stone, startling the scout as he stood there. He knew the answer. Genghis would expect him to drop everything and return, bringing the khan’s son, Ogedai, with him. It was galling and Khasar stared at Kaifeng as if he could bring the walls down with anger alone. He hardly saw the third bout of wrestling, though the hard-drinking crowd appreciated it.
‘Recite the orders again,’ Khasar said suddenly. Over the yelling warriors, he had to repeat himself twice to be heard.
The scout bowed his head, at a loss to understand the mood his message had created.
‘Come home and drink black airag with our people, my brother. In the spring, we will drink milk and blood.’
‘That is all?’ Khasar snapped. ‘Tell me how he looked when he sent you out.’
The scout shifted uncomfortably.
‘The Great Khan was discussing plans, lord, with his senior men. They had maps weighted with stones of lead, but I did not hear what they said before I was summoned.’
Ho Sa raised his head at that, his eyes glassy with drink.
‘Milk and blood will mean he plans a new war,’ he called.
The noise of the crowd dropped suddenly at his words. Ogedai had frozen to listen. Even the wrestlers paused, unsure whether they should go on. Khasar blinked and then shrugged. He didn’t care who heard.
‘If my brother had his precious maps out, that must be it.’ He sighed to himself. If Genghis knew he stood before the walls of Kaifeng, surely he would wait. The boy emperor had escaped them at Yenking. The thought of the Imperial Chin court watching the Mongols leave was almost unbearable.
‘Has my brother summoned Tsubodai and Jelme?’ Khasar said.
The messenger swallowed nervously under the eyes of so many.
‘I did not carry the messages, lord.’
‘You know, though. Scouts always know. Tell me, or I will have your tongue.’
The young messenger swallowed his doubts and spoke quickly.
‘Two other men rode out to bring the generals back to the khan, lord. This I heard.’
‘And the armies at home? Are they drilling and making ready, or just waiting?’
‘They
