that made him itch. When little Jochi stumbled into him in some game with his brothers, Genghis cuffed him hard, sending him weeping to his mother for solace. They were all short-tempered in the desert heat and only Barchuk’s promises of a green plain and a river at the end kept their eyes on the horizon, reaching out to it in imagination.
On the sixteenth day, a low rise of black hills appeared. The Uighur warriors riding as scouts came back at a canter, their mounts sending up puffs of sand and labouring through its grip. Around them, the land was almost green with copper and black rocks poked through like sharp blades. Once more, the families could see lichen and scrub bushes clinging to life in the shadow of the rocks and, at dawn, the hunters brought hares and voles caught in their night traps. The mood of the families lifted subtly, but they were all suffering from thirst and sore eyes so that tempers remained foul in the camp. Despite their tiredness, Genghis increased the patrols around the main force and had the men drill and practise with their bows and swords. The warriors were dark and whip-thin from the desert, but they took to the work with grim endurance, each man determined not to fail under the eyes of the great khan. Slowly, imperceptibly the pace increased once more, while the heavier carts drifted to the rear of the procession.
As they drew closer to the hills, Genghis saw that they were far higher than he had realised. They were made of the same black rock that broke through the sand around him, sharp and steep. Climbing them was impossible and he knew there would have to be a pass through the peaks or he would be forced to travel right around their length. With their water supply almost gone, the carts were lighter, but he knew they had to find Barchuk’s valley quickly or they would begin to die. The tribes had accepted him as khan, but if he had brought them to a place of heat and death, if he had killed them, they would take revenge while they still had the strength. Genghis rode straight-backed in the saddle, his mouth a mass of sores. Behind him, the tribes muttered sullenly.
Kachiun and Khasar squinted through the heat-hazed air at the foot of the cliffs. With two of the scouts, they had ridden ahead of the main army to look for a pass. The scouts were experienced men and the sharp eyes of one had pointed out a promising cut between peaks. It started well enough as the steep slopes gave way into a narrow canyon that echoed to the hooves of the four riders. On either side, the rocks extended up towards the sky, too high for a man to climb alone, never mind with carts and horses. It took no special skill in tracking to see the ground had been worn away in a wide path and the small group kicked their mounts into a canter, expecting to be able to report a way through to the Xi Xia kingdom beyond the hills
As they rode around a kink in the trail, the scouts drew rein in astonishment, awed to silence. The end of the canyon was blocked by a huge wall of the same black stone as the mountains themselves. Each block on its own would have been heavier than anything the tribes could move and the wall seemed strange, somehow wrong to their eyes. They had no craftsmen who worked in stone. With its neat lines and smooth surfaces, it was clearly the work of man, but the sheer size and scale was something they had only seen in wild rocks and valleys. At the base was the final proof that it was not a natural thing. A gate of black iron and wood was set into the base of the wall, ancient and strong.
‘Look at the size of it!’ Kachiun said, shaking his head. ‘How are we going to get through that?’
The scouts merely shrugged and Khasar whistled softly to himself.
‘It would be easy to trap us in this spiritless place. Genghis must be told quickly, before he follows us in.’
‘He’ll want to know if there are warriors up there, brother. You know it.’
Khasar eyed the steep slopes at either side, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It was easy to imagine men dropping stones from the top and there would be no way to avoid them. He considered the pair of scouts who had accompanied them into the canyon. They had been warriors of the Kerait before Genghis had claimed them. Now, they waited impassively for orders, hiding their awe at the size of the wall ahead.
‘Perhaps they just built it to block an army from the desert,’ Khasar said to his brother. ‘It might be unmanned.’
As he spoke, one of the scouts pointed, directing their gaze to a tiny figure moving along the top of the wall. It could only be a soldier and Khasar felt his heart sink. If there was another pass, Barchuk did not know of it and finding a way past the mountains would see the army of Genghis begin to wither. Khasar made his decision, knowing it could mean the lives of the two scouts.
‘Ride to the foot of the wall, then come straight back,’ he said to them. The two men bowed their heads, exchanging a glance in expressionless faces. As one, they dug in their heels and called ‘Chuh!’ to make their mounts run. Sand spattered into the air as they began their race to the foot of the black wall and Khasar and Kachiun watched through eyes slitted against the glare.
‘Do you think they will reach it?’ Kachiun asked. Khasar shrugged without speaking, too intent on watching the wall.
Kachiun thought he saw a sharp gesture from the distant guard. The scouts had the sense not to ride together, taking a split path at full gallop and veering right and left to spoil the aim of any archers. For a long time, there was no sound but the echoes of their hooves and the brothers watched with held breath.
Kachiun swore as a line of archers appeared on the wall.
‘Come on,’ he urged under his breath. Dark specks flashed down at the two scouts riding wildly in and Kachiun saw one of them swerve recklessly as he reached the great gate. They could see him slam his fist into the wood as he turned his mount, but the archers were loosing in waves and, an instant later, he and his horse were pinned with a dozen shafts. The dying man cried out and his mount began the trip back, missing a step and stumbling as it was hit again and again. They fell at last almost together, lying still on the sand.
The second scout was luckier, though he had not touched the wall. For a time, it looked as if he might escape the shafts and Khasar and Kachiun shouted to him. Then he jerked in the saddle and his horse reared and collapsed, its legs kicking as it rolled over him.
The horse made it to its feet and limped back to the brothers, leaving the scout’s body broken behind it.
Khasar dismounted and took the loose reins. The leg was broken and the pony would not be ridden again. In silence, Khasar tied the reins to his saddle. He wasn’t going to leave the animal behind with so many mouths to feed in the camp.
‘We have our answer, brother,’ Khasar muttered, ‘though it’s not the one I wanted. How are we going to get through them?’
Kachiun shook his head.
‘We will find a way,’ he said, glancing back to the dark line of archers watching them. Some of them raised their arms, though whether in mockery or salute, he could not tell. ‘Even if we have to take it down, stone by stone.’
As soon as Khasar and Kachiun were sighted riding alone, the forces of Genghis were halted in their tracks. Before they could reach the outer lines of mounted warriors, the brothers passed skirmishing groups who remained staring outwards at the mountains they left behind. Genghis and his officers had learned hard lessons in the years of building the tribes into a single army and galloping boys raced ahead to tell him they were coming in.
Neither man replied to those who called to them. Grim and silent, they rode to their brother’s ger, sitting like a white limpet on its cart. When they reached it, Khasar dismounted in a jump and glanced at the man who stepped forward to take the reins.
‘Tsubodai,’ he said in greeting, forcing a smile. The young warrior seemed nervous and Khasar recalled he had been promised armour and a good horse. He grimaced
