Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection. Conn Iggulden
but remember his father’s sword, the first that had been taken from him. In the silence, he recalled the promise to his brothers and spoke again before Sansar could reply.
‘As well as the woman I was promised, I need two more to be wives for my kin.’
Sansar shrugged, then drew Arslan’s blade and held it up to his eye to look along its length.
‘If you will make me a gift of both blades, I will find your offer acceptable, Temujin. We have too many girls in the gers. You may take Sholoi’s daughter if she will have you. She has been a thorn in our side for long enough and no man can say the Olkhun’ut do not honour their promises.’
‘And two more, young and strong?’ Temujin said, pressing.
Sansar looked at him for a long time, lowering the swords to his lap. At last, he nodded, grudgingly.
‘In memory of your father, Temujin, I will give you two daughters of the Olkhun’ut. They will strengthen your line.’
Temujin would have liked to reach out and grab the khan by his skinny throat. He bowed his head and Sansar smiled.
The khan’s bony hands still fondled the weapons and his gaze became distant, as he seemed almost to have forgotten the men who stood in front of him. With an idle gesture, he signalled the pair to be removed from his presence. The bondsmen ushered them out into the cold air and Temujin took a deep draught of it, his heart hammering in his chest.
Arslan’s face was tight with anger and Temujin reached out to touch him lightly on the wrist. The swordsmith seemed to jump at the contact and Temujin remained still, sensing the inner force of the man as it coiled and uncoiled within him.
‘It was a greater gift than you know,’ Arslan said.
Temujin shook his head, seeing Koke come out behind them, his arms empty. ‘A sword is just a sword,’ he replied. Arslan turned a cold expression on him, but Temujin did not flinch. ‘You will make a better one, for both of us.’
He turned to Koke then, who was watching the exchange with fascination.
‘Take me to her, cousin.’
Though the Olkhun’ut had travelled far in the years since he had last stood in their camp, it seemed the status of Sholoi and his family had remained the same. Koke led Temujin and Arslan to the very edge of the gers, to the same patched and mended home that he remembered. He had spent just a few short days there, but they were still fresh in his mind and it was with an effort that Temujin shook off his past. He had been little more than a child. As a man, he wondered if Borte would welcome his return. Surely Sansar would have said if she had been married in his absence? Temujin thought grimly that the khan of the Olkhun’ut might very well enjoy gaining two fine swords for nothing.
As Koke approached, they saw Sholoi duck out from the little door, stretching his back and hitching up a belt of string. The old man saw them coming and shaded his eyes against the morning sun to watch. The years had left more of a mark on Sholoi than on the khan. He was skinnier than Temujin remembered and his shoulders sagged under an ancient, grubby deel. When they were close, Temujin could see a web of blue veins on his knotted hands and the old man seemed to start, as if he had only just recognised them. No doubt his eyes were failing, though there was still a hint of strength in those legs, like an old root that would stand right up to the moment it broke.
‘Thought you were dead,’ Sholoi said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Temujin shook his head.
‘Not yet. I said I would come back.’
Sholoi began to wheeze and it took a moment or two before Temujin realised he was laughing. The sound ended in choking and he watched as Sholoi hawked and spat a lump of ugly-looking brown phlegm onto the ground.
Koke cleared his own throat, irritably.
‘The khan has given his permission, Sholoi,’ Koke said. ‘Fetch your daughter.’
Sholoi sneered at him. ‘I didn’t see him here when my seam split last winter. I didn’t see old Sansar out in the wind with me then, with a patch and some thread. Now I think of it, I don’t see him here now; so keep your tongue still while we talk.’
Koke flushed, his eyes darting to Temujin and Arslan.
‘Fetch the other girls, Koke, for my brothers,’ Temujin said. ‘I’ve paid a high price; so make sure they’re strong and pretty.’
Koke struggled with his temper, irritated at being dismissed. Neither Temujin nor Arslan looked at him as he strode away.
‘How is your wife?’ Temujin asked when his cousin had gone.
Sholoi shrugged. ‘Dead two winters back. She just lay down in the snow and went. Borte is all I have now, to look after me.’
Temujin felt his heart thump at the mention of her name. Until that moment, he had not known for certain she was even alive. He had a flash of understanding for the old man’s loneliness, but there was no help for it, nor for all the blows and hard words he had used with his children. It was too late to have regrets, though that seemed to be the way of the elderly.
‘Where …?’ Temujin began. Before he could go on, the door of the ger swung open and a woman stepped out onto the cold ground. As she straightened, Temujin saw Borte had grown tall, almost as tall as he was himself. She stood at her father’s side and met his gaze with frank curiosity, finally dipping her head in greeting. Her gesture broke the spell and he saw she was dressed to travel, with a deel lined with fur and her black hair tied back.
‘You were a long time coming,’ she said to Temujin.
He remembered her voice and his chest grew tight with memory. She was no longer the bony child he had known. Her face was strong, with dark eyes that seemed to look right into him. He could tell nothing else about her under the thick deel, but she stood well and her skin was unmarked by disease. Her hair gleamed as she bent and kissed her father on the cheek.
‘The black colt has a hoof that needs lancing,’ she said. ‘I would have done it today.’
Sholoi nodded miserably, but they did not embrace. Borte picked up a cloth bag from inside the door and slung it over her shoulder.
Temujin was mesmerised by her and hardly heard Koke returning with their ponies. Two young girls walked at his side, both red-faced and weeping. Temujin only glanced at them when one coughed and held a dirty cloth to her mouth.
‘This one is sick,’ he said to Koke.
His cousin shrugged insolently and Temujin’s hand dropped to where his blade should have been. Koke saw the fingers close on air and grinned.
‘She is the one Sansar told me to fetch for you, with her sister,’ he replied.
Temujin set his mouth in a hard line and reached out to take the girl by her chin, raising her face to him. Her skin was very pale, he realised, his heart sinking. It was typical of Sansar to seek a bargain even after the terms had been sealed.
‘How long have you been ill, little one?’ Temujin asked her.
‘Since spring, lord,’ she answered, clearly terrified of him. ‘It comes and goes, but I am strong.’
Temujin let his gaze fall on Koke and held it until his cousin lost his smile. Perhaps he was remembering the beating he’d had at Temujin’s hands on a night long before. Temujin sighed. She would be lucky to survive the trip back to his camp in the north. If she died, one of his brothers would have to find a wife among the Tartar women they captured.
Arslan took the reins and Temujin mounted, looking down at Borte. The wooden saddle did not have room for two, so he held out an arm and she scrambled up to sit across his lap, clutching her bag to her. Arslan did the same with the girl who coughed. Her sister would have to walk behind them. Temujin realised he should have brought other ponies, but it was too late for regrets.
He nodded to Sholoi, knowing they would not meet again.
‘Your