Part 25 (1/2)
Unaware of them all, Temujin began to chant words he had not heard since old Chagatai had whispered them on a frozen night long before. The shaman's chant spoke of loss and revenge, of winter, ice, and blood. He did not have to struggle to recall the words; they were ready on his tongue as if he had always known them.
The last Tartar moaned in terror, his hands clawing at Temujin's arm and scratching the skin with broken nails. Temujin looked down at him.
”Come closer, Borte,” he said, holding the man's gaze.
Borte stepped into the firelight, the shadows of the flames playing on her skin. Her eyes caught the flickering light, so that she seemed to have flames within her.
Temujin looked up at his wife and drew his knife again from his belt, already slick with dark life. In a sharp jerk, he opened a gash in the Tartar's chest, ripping the weapon back and forth to slice through muscle. The Tartar's mouth opened, but no sound came out. s.h.i.+ning organs pulsed as Temujin reached in, gripping and sawing. Between two fingers, he pulled out a piece of streaming flesh from the heart. He pressed it onto the tip of his blade and held it into the flames, so that his own skin blistered as the meat sizzled and spat. He grunted at the pain, aware of it but uncaring. He let the Tartar fall onto the crisping leaves, his eyes still open. Without a word, Temujin pulled the seared flesh from the blade and held it out to Borte, watching as she held it to her lips.
It was still almost raw and she chewed hard to swallow it, feeling hot blood dribble over her lips. She had not known what to expect. This was the oldest magic: the eating of souls. She felt the meat slide down her throat and with it came a sense of great lightness, and of strength. Her lips slid back to show her teeth and Temujin seemed to slump as if something had gone out of him. Before, he had been a worker of dark incantations, a bringer of retribution. In an instant, he was no more than a tired man, worn out by grief and pain.
Borte raised her hand to her husband's face, touching his cheek and leaving a smear of blood there.
”It is enough,” she said over the crackle of flame. ”You can sleep now.”
He nodded wearily, stepping away from the flames at last to join his brothers. Arslan stood farther back, his expression dark. He had not joined in the bloodletting, or eaten the slivers of flesh cut from live men. He had not felt the rush of life that came with it, nor the exhaustion that followed. He did not look at the mutilated bodies of the Tartars as he settled himself on the ground and drew his arms into the deel. He knew his dreams would be terrible.
Chapter 27.
TOGRUL OF THE KERAIT was roused from sleep by the hand of his first wife, shaking him roughly.
”Up, lazy!” she said, her hard voice splitting apart a happy dream with its usual force.
Togrul groaned as he opened his eyes. Six daughters she had given him and not a single son. He regarded her irritably as he rubbed his face.
”Why do you disturb me, woman? I was dreaming of when you were young and attractive.”
Her response was to poke him hard in the ribs.
”This new man you summoned has arrived with his ragged followers. They look no better than dirty wanderers, from what I can see. Will you stay all day in your fat slumber while they inspect your gers?”
Togrul frowned, stifling a yawn as he scratched himself. He swung his legs onto the cold floor and looked around.
”I do not see food to give me strength,” he said, frowning. ”Must I go out to them on an empty stomach?”
”That stomach is never empty,” she retorted. ”It is not fitting to keep them waiting while you force another sheep down your throat.”
”Woman, tell me again why I keep you on,” he said, standing. ”I have forgotten.”
She snorted as he dressed, moving surprisingly quickly for such a large man. As he splashed water on his face, she pressed a warm pouch of mutton and bread into his hands, thick with grease. He smiled at last on seeing it, taking half in a great bite and belching softly as he chewed. Sitting down once more, he worked on finis.h.i.+ng it as his wife tied his boots. He loved her very much.
”You look like a sheepherder,” she told him, as he moved toward the door. ”If they ask where the real khan of the Kerait is hiding, tell them you ate him.”
”Woman, you are the light of my heart,” he said, dipping his head to pa.s.s out into the dawn light. He chuckled as she threw something that clattered against the closing door.
His mood changed as he saw the warriors who had come into the gers of the Kerait. They had dismounted and were surrounded by his foolish families, already looking irritated by the close press of the crowd. Togrul blew air from his lips, wis.h.i.+ng he had brought another of the pouches with him. His stomach growled and he thought the newcomers would welcome a feast in their honor. His wife could hardly complain about that.
The crowd of Kerait children parted and he saw his bondsmen were there before him. He looked around for Wen Chao, but the Chin amba.s.sador had not yet stirred from his sleep. As Togrul approached the group, his heart sank at the small number of them. Where was the horde Wen had promised?
Many of the newcomers stared around them with fascination and nervousness. In the center, Togrul saw five men standing by thin ponies, their faces hard and strained. He beamed at them as he came forward, his bondsmen falling in behind.
”I grant you guest rights in my home,” he said. ”Which one of you is Temujin of the Wolves? I have heard much about you.”
The tallest stepped forward, bowing his head stiffly, as if the gesture were unfamiliar.
”No longer of the Wolves, my lord. I owe no loyalty to the tribe of my father. These are my only people now.”
Temujin had never seen a man quite as fat as Togrul before. He tried to keep the surprise from his face as Togrul greeted his brothers, as well as Jelme and Arslan. The khan could not have been more than thirty and his grip was strong, but flesh cloaked him, so that his deel strained under a wide belt. His face was round, with thick rolls of fat over his collar. Even stranger was the fact that he wore a robe very similar to the one Wen had worn on his visit. Togrul's hair was tied back in the manner of the Chin, and Temujin did not know what to make of such a man. He looked like no khan he had ever seen, and only the familiar features and reddish skin marked him as one of their own people.
Temujin exchanged a glance with Kachiun as Togrul finished his welcome and placed heavy hands on his belly.
”The beast has woken, my friends. You must be hungry after your journey, yes?”
He clapped his hands together and called for food to be brought. Temujin watched as the crowd moved away to the gers, no doubt looking for enough food to ease the khan's appet.i.te. They seemed long familiar with the task.
”I do not see more than thirty warriors with you,” Togrul said, counting under his breath. ”Wen Chao told me there could be as many as a hundred.”
”I will find more,” Temujin told him, instantly defensive.
Togrul raised an eyebrow in surprise. ”It is true, then, that you welcome wanderers in your camp? Do they not steal?”
”Not from me,” Temujin replied. ”And they fight well. I was told you needed a war leader. If you do not, I will take them back into the north.”
Togrul blinked at this sharp response. For a moment, he wished he had a single son instead of the daughters his wife had given him. Perhaps then he would not need to be courting savages fresh in from the hills.
”Wen Chao spoke highly of you and I trust his recommendation,” he said. ”However, we will talk of that when we have eaten.” He smiled again in antic.i.p.ation, already able to smell mutton sizzling in the gers.
”There is a Tartar camp a month's ride to the north,” Temujin said, ignoring the offer. ”There are perhaps a hundred warriors there. If you will match my men with thirty more, I will bring you Tartar heads and show you what we can achieve.”
Togrul blinked at him. The young warrior was surrounded by a huge camp and many armed men. He was addressing a man he needed to persuade to his side, but he spoke as if Togrul were the one who should be bowing his head. He wondered briefly if he should remind the man of his position, but thought better of it.
”We will talk of that, also,” he said. ”But if you do not eat with me, I will be insulted.”
He watched as Temujin nodded. Togrul relaxed as platters of steaming meat were brought out into the cold air. He saw the eyes of the newcomers dart toward them. No doubt they had been half starved all winter. A fire had been laid in the center of the camp, and Togrul nodded toward it as the flames caught. Temujin shared a wary glance with his companions, and Togrul saw his brothers shrug, one of them smiling in antic.i.p.ation.
”Very well, my lord,” Temujin said, reluctantly. ”We will eat first.”
”I am honored,” Togrul said, unable to keep a sharp tone from his voice. He told himself to remember the estates Wen had promised. Perhaps this raider would bring them a little closer.
Wen Chao joined them at the fire when the sun had cleared the horizon. His servants disdained the blankets provided to keep off the chill of the ground. Instead, they brought out a small bench for their master. Temujin watched in interest as the servants spiced the meat with powders from tiny bottles before handing it over. Togrul snapped his fingers to have his own meat treated, and the servants moved quickly to do his bidding. It was obviously not a new request from the khan of the Kerait.
Wen Chao's soldiers did not join in the feasting. Temujin saw the first among them, Yuan, direct the others to defensive positions around the camp while his master ate, apparently oblivious.
Togrul would not allow conversation until he had sated his appet.i.te. Twice Temujin began to speak but, both times, Togrul merely gestured to the food, too busy with his own. It was frustrating and Temujin was sure Wen Chao had a sparkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. No doubt he was recalling his own surprise at Togrul's prodigious ability to eat and drink. The fat khan seemed to have no limit to the amount he could take in, and Temujin and his brothers had all finished long before him and only just after Wen, who ate as little as a bird.
At last, Togrul announced himself satisfied and hid a belch with his hand.