idea where he was, even with the maps he had in his head. The air was clean and cold and he could see for miles as they walked or trotted their mounts.
‘I’ve already lost a day with that lame horse,’ Kublai said after a time. ‘We need to go faster.’
‘Why’s that, then?’ Tarrial asked immediately. He glowered at the mysterious rider who ordered men about as if they were his personal servants. Tarrial could hardly believe the way Parikh almost came to attention every time the stranger looked at him. No yam rider was that used to authority. Tarrial knew he had to be some sort of officer, perhaps on his own business and using the yam lines without permission. He thought Kublai wasn’t going to reply – until he did, grudgingly.
‘There is an army behind me. A week, maybe ten days, and they’ll be here. Your lord will want every moment of warning I can give him.’
Parikh gaped and Tarrial lost his frown, suddenly worried.
‘How big an army?’ he said.
In answer, Kublai dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, kicking it on.
‘Find out when I give my message to your lord,’ he called over his shoulder.
Tarrial and Parikh looked at each other for a moment, then both men broke into a canter to reach and overtake him.
As Kublai rode, he tried to assess the defensive qualities of the land around him. It looked as if Batu had made himself a camp in the valleys of the range of hills, unless the scouts were lying to him about distances. He thought back to the accounts he had read in the library of Karakorum. Under Genghis, the tumans had once destroyed an Assassin fortress, taking it down, stone by stone. No stronghold Batu could have built would stand for longer than that one. Kublai brought the worst possible news, that Batu had to move his people away. With the khan’s army coming, Batu had to run and keep running, with only a small chance he would not be caught and slaughtered.
At a better pace, the scouts led him over a series of ridges and the valleys beyond. Most of them were thick with trees. There were small animal paths and they followed those, but the forests would slow Guyuk’s army and force them into single file. They would expect ambushes and traps and lose days as a result. Kublai shook his head as he trotted his mount through the gloom, the canopy of branches blocking the sun. He lost track of time and distance, but the sun was setting as they reached an inner ring of scout camps and Tarrial halted to refill his waterskin, empty his bladder and change horses. Kublai dismounted to do the same, his bones creaking. He could feel the hostile stares of Batu’s warriors as they nodded to Tarrial and Parikh. Perhaps a dozen or so men lived in that damp place, rotated on constant watch. Kublai doubted anyone could approach Batu without him hearing of it, but it would not help him.
Wearily, Kublai mounted his new pony and followed Tarrial and Parikh, leaving the inner scout camp behind. Darkness came quickly after that and he was completely lost. If Tarrial hadn’t been leading, Kublai knew he’d never have been able to find his way through. The forest seemed endless and he became suspicious that Tarrial was deliberately leading him in a twisting path, so he could not find his way back, or lead anyone else in.
They rode all night, until Kublai was dozing as his horse walked, his head nodding in time to its steps. He had never been so tired. The last paths had vanished and Kublai began to wonder if Tarrial was as lost as he was. They could not see the stars to guide them and it seemed a walking dream as their horses clambered over unseen obstacles and pushed their way through bushes with sharp commands from the three men to drive them on. Branches and thorns scratched them as they forced their way in deeper.
Dawn came slowly, the grey light returning the forest to reality. Kublai was drenched in sour sweat and he could hardly raise his head. His back ached terribly and he straightened and slumped at intervals, trying to ease the stabs of pain. Tarrial watched him with barely hidden scorn, but then the scout had not ridden hard for a month before that, burning through his reserves and eating little until the bones of his skull showed. Kublai had reached a point where he resented Batu bitterly, without reason. He knew the man would never appreciate what he had gone through to bring him the news ahead of Guyuk’s army and his temper grew with the light. At times, it was all that sustained him.
As the sun rose, Kublai had a sense that the trees were thinning from the impossible tangle of the night before. Already that was becoming a strange memory, in incoherent flashes. He raised his face to the sun when it grew warmer, opening his bloodshot eyes to see they had passed out of the trees at last.
A gentle valley lay beyond the forest. Kublai strained his eyes into the distance and saw the wall of trees begin again. It was not a natural meadow, but the work of years and thousands of men, clearing land where Batu’s families could settle in peace. Around them, the forest stretched for many miles in all directions. For the first time, Kublai wondered how Guyuk would find such a place. Among the oaks and beeches, Kublai had not even smelled the smoke of their fires.
Their arrival had not gone unmarked. No sooner had the three men walked their mounts out of the trees than there were shouts and cries, echoing far. From among the clustered homes and gers, warriors gathered and rode towards them. Kublai shook the weariness away, knowing he had to remain alert for the meeting to come. He took his waterskin and squeezed a jet of warm water onto his face, rubbing hard at the bristles on his lip and chin. He could only imagine how bedraggled and dirty he looked. His disguise as a poor yam rider had become the reality.
The warriors cantered in on fresh mounts, looking disgustingly alert. Kublai massaged his eye sockets as they approached, easing a headache. He knew he would need food soon, or he’d be likely to pass out some time that afternoon.
As the jagun officer opened his mouth, Kublai raised his hand.
‘My name is Kublai of the Borjigin, cousin to Batu and prince of the nation.’ He was aware of Tarrial and Parikh jerking round in their saddles. He had not told them his name.
‘Take me to your master immediately. He will want to hear what I have to say.’
The officer shut his mouth with a click of teeth, trying to reconcile the idea of a prince with the filthy beggar he saw before him. The yellow eyes glared through the dirt and the officer recalled the descriptions of Genghis he had heard. He nodded.
‘Come with me,’ he said, wheeling his mount.
‘And food,’ Kublai muttered, too late. ‘I would like food and perhaps a little airag or wine.’
The warriors didn’t answer and he rode after them. Tarrial and Parikh watched him go with wide eyes. They felt responsible for the man and they were reluctant to leave and go back to their lonely post in the hills.
After a time, Tarrial sighed irritably. ‘Might be an idea to stay here and find out what’s happening. We should wet our throats before reporting in, at least.’
As Kublai entered the encampment proper, he saw there were wide dirt roads running past the homes. Some of them were gers in the style he knew, but many more had been built of wood, perhaps even from the great trunks they had cut to make the clearing in the first place. There were thousands of them. Batu’s original ten thousand families had raised children in the years in the wilderness. He had expected a lonely camp, but what he saw was a fledgling nation. Lumber was plentiful and the buildings were tall and strong. He looked with interest at the ones with two storeys and wondered how the occupants would escape in a fire. Stone was rare there and the whole camp smelled of pine and oak. He realised his weary thoughts had been drifting as the officer halted before a large home somewhere near the centre of the camp. With shattering relief, Kublai saw Batu standing in front of
