Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection. Conn Iggulden
do.’
‘That will bring you peace, but it will not change anything for Borte,’ Hoelun said.
‘What else can I do? She cannot kill them as I could, or force them to kill her, even. Nothing that happens is her fault.’ He found himself crying and wiped angrily at bloody tears on his cheeks. ‘She trusted me.’
‘You cannot make this right, my son. Not if they escape your brothers. If you find her alive, you will have to be patient and kind.’
‘I know that! I love her; that is enough.’
‘It was,’ Hoelun persisted. ‘It may not be enough any longer.’
Temujin stood in the cold wind, his head throbbing. As Arslan brought the ponies, he looked around, smelling blood on the breeze. The camp was littered with broken bodies. Some still moved. One Tartar lay on his back as if dead, but his fingers plucked at two arrow shafts in his chest, twitching like pale spiders. Temujin drew a knife from his belt and staggered over to him. The man could only have been moments from death, but Temujin still knelt at his side and placed the point of his blade onto the pulsing throat. The touch of it stilled the scrabbling fingers and the Tartar turned his eyes mutely onto Temujin. As he met them, Temujin pushed slowly downwards, cutting the windpipe and breathing in a gust of bloody air.
When he rose, Temujin was still unsteady. The sun seemed too bright and, without warning, he turned and vomited. He heard Hoelun speaking to him, but it was through a roaring sound that he could not clear. She and Arslan were arguing about him going out and Temujin could see Arslan’s face frowning in doubt.
‘I will not fall,’ Temujin said to both of them, taking hold of his saddle horn. ‘Help me up, here. I have to follow them.’
It took both of them to heave him into the saddle, but once there, Temujin felt a little more secure. He shook his head, wincing at the pain crashing behind his eyes.
‘Jelme?’ he called. ‘Where are you?’
Arslan’s son was spattered with drying blood, his sword still bare as he walked around corpses to reach them. Temujin watched him come, dimly aware that he had never seen Jelme angry before.
‘While we are gone, you must move the camp,’ Temujin said, slurring his words. His head felt too large, lolling on his shoulders. He did not hear what Jelme said in reply.
‘Travel by night. Take them into the hills, but move south towards the Kerait. If Togrul has the men to match us, I will burn the Tartars from the face of the world. I will look for you when I have found my wife.’
‘Your will, my lord,’ Jelme said. ‘But if you do not come back?’ It had to be said, but Temujin winced again as the pain became overwhelming.
‘Then find that valley we talked about and raise sons and sheep,’ he said at last.
He had done his duty as khan. Jelme was a fine leader and those who looked to Temujin for leadership would be safe. He took a firm grip on the reins. He could not be far behind his brothers. All that was left was vengeance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
As the sun sank in the west and bathed the plains in gold, Khasar and Kachiun came across the body of one of the men they were following. Wary of a trap, Kachiun remained in the saddle with his bow drawn back while Khasar approached, flipping the corpse over with the toe of his boot.
The Tartar had a broken shaft protruding from his stomach where he’d snapped it off. His entire lower body was black with blood and his face was chalk white and stiff. His companions had taken his pony with them, its lighter hoof marks still visible in the turf. Khasar searched the body quickly, but if there had been anything of use, the Tartars had already taken it.
The brothers rode as long as they could see tracks, but in the end, the growing gloom forced them to stop or risk losing the men they were chasing. Neither of them spoke as they mixed a draught of milk and blood tapped from a vein in Kachiun’s mare. They had both seen Temujin unconscious in Arslan’s arms and they were desperate not to let the raiders get away.
They slept uncomfortably and woke before dawn, moving on as soon as the first light revealed the tracks of the raiders once more. With just a glance at each other, they kicked their mounts into a gallop. They were both fit and hardened. They would not let them escape through weakness.
Throughout the second day, the hoofprints grew fresher and easier to see. Kachiun was a better tracker than his brother, who never had the patience to learn the subtleties. It was Kachiun who leapt from the saddle to press his hand into the lumps of dung, looking for a trace of warmth. On the evening of the second day, he grinned as he dug his fingers into a dark ball.
‘Fresher than the last. We are gaining on them, brother,’ he told Khasar.
The Tartars had made little attempt to confuse their trail. They had tried to lose their pursuers at first, but the tracks of the second morning were almost straight, running fast towards some destination. If the Tartars knew they were still being followed, they no longer tried to throw them off.
‘I hope we catch them before they reach wherever they’re going,’ Khasar said, gloomily. ‘If they’re heading for a large camp, we’ll lose them and Borte.’
Kachiun mounted again, his face drawn into a grimace as his tired muscles protested.
‘They must have come from somewhere,’ he said. ‘If they get to safety, one of us will go back and gather the others. Maybe even ride with Temujin to the Kerait and join forces. They will not escape us, Khasar. One way or the other we’ll hunt them down.’
‘If Temujin is alive,’ Khasar muttered.
Kachiun shook his head. ‘He is. The Wolves themselves couldn’t stop him. You think a wound from the Tartars will?’
‘It did for our father,’ Khasar said.
‘That is still a debt to be paid,’ Kachiun replied savagely.
As the brothers slept on the third night, both were stiff and tired from the hard riding. The mixture of blood and milk could sustain them indefinitely, but they had no remounts, and the mare was showing signs of soreness, much as they were themselves. Both men had taken bruising impacts in the raid and Kachiun’s ankle was swollen and painful to the touch. He did not speak of it to his brother, but he could not hide his limping gait whenever they dismounted. They slept soundly and Kachiun woke with a start when a cold blade touched his throat.
It was pitch dark under the stars as his eyes jerked open. He tried to roll away, but relief flooded him on hearing a voice he knew.
‘Arslan could show you a thing or two about tracking, Kachiun,’ Temujin said by his ear. ‘It is almost dawn; are you ready for another day?’
Kachiun sprang to his feet and embraced Temujin and then Arslan, surprising the older man. ‘We cannot be far behind them,’ he said.
A few paces away, Khasar had stopped snoring and turned over. Kachiun strode to him and booted him in the ribs.
‘Up, Khasar, we have visitors.’
They heard Khasar scramble to his feet and the creak of a bow being drawn. Though he slept like the dead, there was nothing wrong with his reflexes.
‘I am with you, my brother,’ Temujin said softly into the darkness. The bow creaked again as Khasar eased the string back.
‘How is your head?’ Khasar asked.
‘It aches, but the stitches hold,’ Temujin replied. He glanced towards the east and saw the wolf dawn, the first grey light before the sun rose. He held a skin of black airag out to them.
‘Drink quickly and be ready to ride,’ he said. ‘We have been too long on the chase already.’
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