shadows lengthen before him and as his mood cleared, he was tempted to chase them, like a boy. It was good to be able to put aside the seriousness of his life, just for a time. That too was something he missed when he returned to the camps. When he came back, he could always feel responsibilities closing in on him like a heavy cloak. The days would be filled with tactical discussions, reports and punishments. Guyuk sighed to himself at the thought. He lived for the golden moments away from it all, where he could be his own man, at least for a time.
Some half a dozen miles to the east of the camp, he and Anar found a stream trickling through the plains, running almost dry in its course. There were a few trees by the banks and Guyuk chose a spot where the shadows were gathering, enjoying the utter peace and isolation. Such things were precious to a khan. Guyuk was always surrounded by men and women, from the first moments of waking, to the last torch-lit meetings before he went to bed. Just to stand and listen to the stream and the breeze was a simple joy.
He untied the jesses that snared the eagle’s legs and waited until the bird was ready before he raised his arm and threw her into the air. She rose quickly on powerful wings, circling hundreds of feet above him. It was too late in the day to hunt and he thought she would not go far from him. Guyuk untied his lure and spun out the cord, watching her with pride. Her dark feathers were tinged with red and she was of a bloodline as fine as his own, descended from a bird caught by Genghis himself as a boy.
He began to whirl the lure around him, the cord invisible as he swung the weight in faster and faster circles. Above his head, he saw her wheel and drop, vanishing for a moment behind a hill. He smiled, knowing the bird’s tactics. Even then, she surprised him, coming from his side rather than where he was staring. He had time to see a blur that braked with outstretched wings as she plunged into the lure and bore it to the ground with a shriek. He cried out, complimenting the bird as she held it down. He fed her a scrap of fresh meat from his leather-bound hand and she gulped it hungrily as he retied the jesses and raised her up. If there had been more light, he might have ridden with her to take a fox or hare, but the evening was closing in. He left her tied to his saddle horn, silent and watchful.
While he exercised the bird, Anar had laid thick horse blankets on the soft turf. The young man was nervous, as he had learned to be. Guyuk removed his stiff leather glove and stood for a time, watching him. When the khan showed his teeth, it was the slow smile of a predator.
The expression was wiped from his face at the sound of distant hooves and faintly jingling bells. Guyuk looked up, furious that anyone dared to approach. Even a yam rider should have been told not to interrupt him that evening. With clenched fists, he stood self-consciously, awaiting the newcomer. Whatever it was about, he would send the man back to camp to wait for the morning. For a heartbeat, he wondered if some fool had enjoyed the thought of the khan being disturbed. It was the sort of simple malice that appealed to the common men and he vowed to get the name from the yam rider. He would enjoy administering punishment for the jest.
He did not recognise Batu at first in the darkening twilight. Guyuk had not seen him since they had returned from the Great Trek into the west, and the rider approached with his head down, barely trotting. When Batu raised his head, Guyuk’s eyes widened. In that instant, he knew he was more alone than he had been for years. His precious army was out of reach, too far to call. He saw Batu smile grimly and dismount. Anar called some question, but Guyuk did not hear as he raced to his own horse and drew his sword from where it lay strapped to the saddle. His eagle was fussing, disturbed by the stranger. On impulse, Guyuk tugged loose the cord that held her legs before he walked clear, giving himself space.
‘There is no need to rush, my lord,’ Batu called. He waited until he saw Guyuk was not going to try and ride away, then dismounted. ‘This has been a long time coming. A few moments more won’t hurt.’
With dismay, Guyuk saw Batu wore a sword belted to his hip. As he stared, Batu drew the blade and examined its edge.
Guyuk held the wolf’s-head sword he had inherited, a blade of blued steel with a carved hilt. It had been in his family for generations, khan to khan. He took strength from the feel of it in his hand as he threw the scabbard aside into the grass.
Batu approached slowly, perfectly balanced and every pace sure on the ground. The light was poor and darkness was coming swiftly, but Guyuk could see his eyes gleam. He snarled, throwing off his fear. He was younger than Batu and he had been trained by masters of the sword. He rolled his shoulders lightly, feeling the first light perspiration break on his brow as his heart rate increased. He was no lamb to be cut down without a fight. Batu seemed to sense his confidence and paused, his eyes flickering to Anar. Guyuk’s companion stood in shock a dozen paces away, his mouth open like a thirsty bird. Guyuk realised with a pang that he too would be killed if Batu succeeded in his madness. He set his jaw and raised his blade.
‘You would attack the khan of the nation? Your own cousin?’
‘Not my khan,’ Batu said, taking another step. ‘You’ve had no oath from me.’
‘I was coming to you to accept that oath, Batu,’ Guyuk said.
Batu paused again and Guyuk was pleased to see he had worried him. Any small advantage would matter. For unarmoured men, both of them knew a fight might last only a few heartbeats. Perhaps two masters could hold each other off for a time, but for normal warriors, the lengths of razor steel they held were too deadly. A single gash could bite to the bone or remove a limb.
Batu stalked past Guyuk’s pony and Guyuk barked a command.
‘Strike!’
Batu lurched away from the animal, expecting it to kick out. They had both seen the warhorses of the Christian cavalry, trained to be weapons in battle. Guyuk’s pony did nothing and instead the eagle on its back launched with a huge spread of wings. Guyuk leapt forward at the same time, roaring at the top of his lungs.
In fear, Batu struck out at the bird, his sword coming down and across the eagle before its claws could reach him. The wings hid the wound from Guyuk’s sight, but it screeched and fell almost at Guyuk’s feet. He lunged for Batu’s chest and knew a moment of exultation as he saw Batu’s blade was too low to block.
Batu sidestepped, pulling his sword free from the crippled bird. It had landed on its back, its talons still raking the air and its head straining to reach him. For an instant, his arm was away from his body, outstretched. Guyuk had put everything into the lunge and could barely recover his balance, but he jerked his blade up and caught Batu along the ribs with the edge as he pulled back for another blow. The light deel opened in a gash and blood showed beneath it. Batu cursed and kept moving out of range, away from the bird and its master.
Guyuk smiled, though inwardly he was raging at the damage done to his eagle. He dared not glance down at it, but its cries were already weakening.
‘Did you think this would be easy?’ he taunted Batu. ‘I am the khan of the nation, cousin. I carry the spirit and the sword of Genghis. He will not let me fall to some dog-meat traitor.’
Without taking his eyes from Batu, Guyuk called over his shoulder: ‘Anar! Take your horse and ride back to camp. Bring my bondsmen. I will finish this scavenger while I wait.’
If he had hoped to provoke Batu into an attack, he got his wish. As Anar moved to his white mare, Batu surged forward, his sword alive in his hand. Guyuk brought his own blade across to block and grunted as he felt the man’s strength behind the blow. His confidence was jolted and he stepped back a pace before holding his ground. A memory flashed from his earliest lessons, that once you have started to retreat, it is hard to stop.
Batu’s blade was too quick to see and only his childhood training saved Guyuk
