Conqueror. Conn Iggulden
with each stride. The pony was as dust-covered as he was and favoured its right foreleg.
Kublai sensed Tarrial’s gaze and jerked his head up. His hand dropped to his hip, but there was no sword there and, with a grimace, he raised his free hand to show he was unarmed.
‘Yam rider?’ Tarrial called.
‘Yes,’ Kublai replied. He was furious with himself for walking so blindly into the hills. He had lost track of the days, even of the horses he’d exchanged at yam stations along the way. Now, everything he had achieved could be undone by a few thieves. Not for the first time, he regretted leaving his weapons behind.
‘Who is the message for?’ Tarrial asked. There was something about the man that had his instincts twitching, though he couldn’t say what it was. Through all the grime that layered him, pale yellow eyes glared at Tarrial and more than once the rider’s hand dropped to his hip, as if he was used to carrying a sword. Odd, for a simple yam rider who always went unarmed.
‘No one stops the yam,’ Kublai said sternly. ‘The message isn’t for you, whoever you are.’
Tarrial grinned. The man couldn’t be much older than Parikh, but he spoke like one used to authority. Again, that was a strange thing for a yam rider. He couldn’t resist prodding a little further, just to get a reaction.
‘Seems to me a spy would say the same thing, though,’ Tarrial said.
Kublai raised his eyes to the sky for a moment. ‘A spy on a yam horse, with a leather bag? With nothing at all of value on him, I might add.’
‘Oh, we’re not thieves, lad. We’re soldiers. There’s a difference. Not always, I admit, but usually.’
To his surprise, Kublai straightened subtly, his gaze sharpening.
‘Who is your minghaan officer?’ he said curtly.
‘He’s about a hundred miles away, lad, so I don’t think I’ll be bothering him with you, not today.’
‘His name,’ Kublai snapped. There were only ten minghaans to every tuman. He knew the name of almost every man who held that rank in the nation.
Tarrial bristled at the tone, even as he wondered at it. Alone, unarmed, hundreds of miles from anywhere and the man still had an air about him that made Tarrial reconsider his first words.
‘You’re not like the yam riders I’ve seen before,’ he said warily.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ Kublai replied, losing patience. ‘Tell me his name, or get out of my way.’ Before Tarrial could reply, he tugged on his reins and began walking again, taking a path straight at the warrior.
Tarrial hesitated. He was tempted to knock the rider on his backside. No one would blame him, but some instinct for survival stayed his fists. Everything had been wrong about the meeting from the first words.
‘His name is Khuyildar,’ he said. If the rider tried to barge past him, Tarrial was confident he could put him down. Instead, the man stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, nodding.
‘Then the message is for his master, Batu of the Borjigin. For his ears alone and urgent. You had better take me to him.’
‘You only had to say, lad,’ Tarrial replied, still frowning.
‘Now.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
There wasn’t much conversation as Tarrial and Parikh led Kublai through the mountains. They had left only one man behind to watch the road, while the last of the four rode back to inform their officer. Kublai’s lame horse rested with the other mounts, while he had been given the smallest of the scouts’ ponies, an irritable animal that tried to bite whenever it saw a finger.
Parikh shared his waterskin with the strange yam rider, but neither Kublai nor Tarrial seemed to be in a mood to talk and his first efforts were ignored. With Tarrial in the lead, they followed a wide path that wound its way upwards into the hills. Kublai could see mountains in the distance, but he had only the vaguest idea where he was, even with the maps he had in his head. The air was clean and cold and he could see for miles as they walked or trotted their mounts.
‘I’ve already lost a day with that lame horse,’ Kublai said after a time. ‘We need to go faster.’
‘Why’s that, then?’ Tarrial asked immediately. He glowered at the mysterious rider who ordered men about as if they were his personal servants. Tarrial could hardly believe the way Parikh almost came to attention every time the stranger looked at him. No yam rider was that used to authority. Tarrial knew he had to be some sort of officer, perhaps on his own business and using the yam lines without permission. He thought Kublai wasn’t going to reply – until he did, grudgingly.
‘There is an army behind me. A week, maybe ten days, and they’ll be here. Your lord will want every moment of warning I can give him.’
Parikh gaped and Tarrial lost his frown, suddenly worried.
‘How big an army?’ he said.
In answer, Kublai dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, kicking it on.
‘Find out when I give my message to your lord,’ he called over his shoulder.
Tarrial and Parikh looked at each other for a moment, then both men broke into a canter to reach and overtake him.
As Kublai rode, he tried to assess the defensive qualities of the land around him. It looked as if Batu had made himself a camp in the valleys of the range of hills, unless the scouts were lying to him about distances. He thought back to the accounts he had read in the library of Karakorum. Under Genghis, the tumans had once destroyed an Assassin fortress, taking it down, stone by stone. No stronghold Batu could have built would stand for longer than that one. Kublai brought the worst possible news, that Batu had to move his people away. With the khan’s army coming, Batu had to run and keep running, with only a small chance he would not be caught and slaughtered.
At a better pace, the scouts led him over a series of ridges and the valleys beyond. Most of them were thick with trees. There were small animal paths and they followed those, but the forests would slow Guyuk’s army and force them into single file. They would expect ambushes and traps and lose days as a result. Kublai shook his head as he trotted his mount through the gloom, the canopy of branches blocking the sun. He lost track of time and distance, but the sun was setting as they reached an inner ring of scout camps and Tarrial halted to refill his waterskin, empty his bladder and change horses. Kublai dismounted to do the same, his bones creaking. He could feel the hostile stares of Batu’s warriors as they nodded to Tarrial and Parikh. Perhaps a dozen or so men lived in that damp place, rotated on constant watch. Kublai doubted anyone could approach Batu without him hearing of it, but it would not help him.
Wearily, Kublai mounted his new pony and followed Tarrial and Parikh, leaving the inner scout camp behind. Darkness came quickly after that and he was completely lost. If Tarrial hadn’t been leading, Kublai knew he’d never have been able to find his way through. The forest seemed endless and he became suspicious that Tarrial was deliberately leading him in a twisting path, so he could not find his way back, or lead anyone else in.
They rode all night, until Kublai was dozing as his horse walked, his head nodding in time to its steps. He had never been so tired. The last paths had vanished and Kublai began to wonder if Tarrial was as lost as he was. They could not see the stars to guide them and it seemed a walking dream as their horses clambered over unseen obstacles and pushed their way through bushes with sharp commands from the three men to drive them on. Branches and thorns scratched them as they forced their way in deeper.
Dawn came slowly, the grey light returning the forest to reality. Kublai was drenched in sour sweat and he could hardly raise his head. His back ached terribly and he straightened and slumped