‘Arik-Boke is khan,’ he said hoarsely, trying to take it in. ‘I was there, orlok. I gave my oath.’
‘I have been told to say this, my lord. Your brother Kublai calls on you to stay away while he settles this with his younger brother. He has no grievance with you, but he would not have you choose between blood brothers in a time of war.’
Uriang-Khadai watched the other man in silent hope. Kublai had given no orders to attack, but Uriang- Khadai’s tumans were already among Hulegu’s forces. At his shout, they could kill thousands. With Hulegu’s men smiling and relaxed among them, Uriang-Khadai knew he could win.
Hulegu’s eyes drifted out over the camp and perhaps he too saw the threat. He shook his head again, his expression hardening.
‘You were useful to me today, orlok. For that I am grateful. I gave you guest rights in my camp, but that does not give you the right to tell me my oath. When the sun rises …’ He stopped, his anger dwindling as confusion swelled in him.
‘How is this even possible?’ he said. ‘Kublai has not been back to Karakorum. I would have heard.’
Uriang-Khadai shrugged. ‘My master is khan, my lord. Your brother Arik-Boke should not have declared. This will be settled in a season and the nation will go on - under its rightful khan.’
‘Why has Kublai not come to me himself? Why did he send you, Uriang-Khadai?’
‘He has a war to fight, my lord. I cannot tell you all his plans. I speak with his voice and everything I have said is true. He does not ask you to break your oath. Out of love for you, he asks only that you remain until it is settled.’
Hulegu rested his head on his hands in thought. Both Arik-Boke and Kublai were his brothers. He wanted to gather them both by their necks and shake them. For the thousandth time he wished Mongke were still alive, to tell him what to do. He had given his oath, but what if Arik-Boke had been wrong to take the khanate? There had been talk even back then, voices wondering why he had not waited for Kublai to come home. This was the result. Hulegu could hardly take it in as the potential for disaster spread and spread in his mind.
At best, he would lose one of his brothers, a pain like a knife in his chest so soon after losing Mongke. At worst, the nation would tear itself apart in the conflict, leaving them vulnerable to the enemies all around. Everything Genghis had created would be destroyed in a single generation. There was no right and wrong to it, no claim that stood above the other in clear sunlight. Yet Arik-Boke was khan. No matter what Kublai said, that stood in stone, unchangeable. Hulegu slumped further.
‘This is my khanate,’ he muttered, almost to himself.
Uriang-Khadai bowed his head. ‘It will remain so, my lord. You conquered it and it will not be taken from you. My master knew you would be troubled. Your pain is his, multiplied a thousandfold. He wishes only for a quick settlement.’
‘He could stand aside,’ Hulegu said, barely whispering.
‘He cannot, my lord. He
‘What does that matter to me, orlok?’ Hulegu demanded, his head rising. ‘There are no rules in life. Whether it is written down, or spoken by shamans, nothing binds a man beyond himself. Nothing, save the chains he accepts for himself. Laws and traditions mean nothing, if you have the strength.’
‘Kublai has the strength, my lord. Even as I speak to you here, he will be moving towards Karakorum. It will be settled before winter comes, one way or the other.’
Hulegu made his decision, his mouth becoming a firm line.
‘My brothers are at play, orlok. I want no part of it. There are cities to my north that still hold out against me. I will spend a season bringing them to siege. When that is done, I will come east to Karakorum and see who rules.’
Uriang-Khadai felt a tension leave him at the words.
‘That is wise, my lord. I am sorry to have brought you pain.’
Hulegu grunted in irritation. ‘Find another fire, orlok. I am weary of your face. As the sun rises, you will go from here. You have your answer. I will abide.’
Uriang-Khadai rose to his feet, wincing as his knees protested. He was no longer young and he wondered if he could trust the word of a man who acknowledged no power in the world beyond his own ability to destroy and lead. The honest answer was that he could not.
For an instant, Uriang-Khadai considered shouting his order to the waiting men. They were all ready. At a stroke, he could remove a man of power from the struggle.
He sighed briefly. Or he could accept the words he had been given and perhaps regret it later. Kublai had already lost one brother. Uriang-Khadai bowed and walked to another fire. He would not sleep that night, he knew.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
High in the grey-green hills, Kublai could not rest. He stood and looked out over a wide plains valley, deceptively still and peaceful from such a height. Water trickled from a stream close by his right hand, so that he could reach out and cup freezing water to drink when he felt the urge. The day was hot and the sky was baked blue and empty of clouds. It was land he knew, and after so long in the Sung territories, it still touched some deep part of him to be home.
He could hear one of his men cursing behind him as the warrior clambered over slippery rocks. Kublai didn’t turn, content to stare out into the warm vastness, soaking in the sense of space and silence. He was weary after days and nights of hard riding, but feverish anticipation had him in its grip and his hands trembled. Arik-Boke was somewhere out there, beyond his sight. Kublai had made his plans and prepared his men, but it came down to waiting. If Arik-Boke rode out of Karakorum, they would be ready. If he stayed in the city, they would crush him like a flea trapped in a seam of cloth.
After so long together, it was odd not to have his most senior men around him. Bayar was still in the Russian north, Uriang-Khadai was out in the far hills, having returned from his mission to Hulegu. He missed them both, but neither more than Yao Shu. The old monk had grown too frail to ride with the tumans. Yao Shu had set off for his monastery at last. Time and age stole away even the greatest of flames, Kublai thought. He sent a silent prayer that he might see his friend again.
For the first time in years, Kublai was alone with his warriors. Against him, Arik-Boke would have Mongke’s tumans, sworn to his service. Kublai grimaced at the thought. Strength would not bring his brother to heel, not on its own.
It had been a risk to contact Hulegu. His older brother might have heard what Uriang-Khadai had to say and set out immediately to defend Arik-Boke’s khanate. Uriang-Khadai had relayed Hulegu’s words to him, but Kublai knew better than to trust them. If Hulegu moved to support Arik-Boke, it would add another year and another dead brother to the cost of the war. Kublai had no illusions left. In the silence, as his tumans stretched and rested and ate around him, he prayed his older brother would continue to show a little sense and stay well clear.
Kublai raised his head when he heard the jingling sound of bells, carrying far in the mountain stillness. No yam rider this time, but the small herd he had sent out with a couple of his scouts. On foot, he hoped they would have been able to get close to Karakorum unchallenged. He had not expected them back for another month and had made his camp in the hills, far from his brother’s city. He tried to guess what their early return could mean and then gave up. He looked down the steep slope of grassy rocks below his position and saw the small figures of men driving goats and sheep before them. It would be a while yet before he heard whatever they had to say.
Kublai turned to see his son leaning precariously over the rocks to take a mouthful of water.
‘Careful,’ he said. ‘It’s slippery there.’
Zhenjin looked scornful at the idea of falling. He sucked at the stream of water, getting far more down his tunic than in his throat. Kublai smiled at him, but when he resumed his sentinel’s stare, Zhenjin stayed where he was, easing back until he could lean against the rocks in something like comfort.
‘I heard the men talking about what you’re going to do,’ Zhenjin said.
Kublai didn’t look at him. ‘I’m sure you know not to carry tales to me,’ he replied.
The young man shifted his seat, pulling one leg up under him so that he could rest his elbows on the raised knee.
