Conqueror. Conn Iggulden
Guyuk’s pony did nothing and instead the eagle on its back launched with a huge spread of wings. Guyuk leapt forward at the same time, roaring at the top of his lungs.
In fear, Batu struck out at the bird, his sword coming down and across the eagle before its claws could reach him. The wings hid the wound from Guyuk’s sight, but it screeched and fell almost at Guyuk’s feet. He lunged for Batu’s chest and knew a moment of exultation as he saw Batu’s blade was too low to block.
Batu sidestepped, pulling his sword free from the crippled bird. It had landed on its back, its talons still raking the air and its head straining to reach him. For an instant, his arm was away from his body, outstretched. Guyuk had put everything into the lunge and could barely recover his balance, but he jerked his blade up and caught Batu along the ribs with the edge as he pulled back for another blow. The light deel opened in a gash and blood showed beneath it. Batu cursed and kept moving out of range, away from the bird and its master.
Guyuk smiled, though inwardly he was raging at the damage done to his eagle. He dared not glance down at it, but its cries were already weakening.
‘Did you think this would be easy?’ he taunted Batu. ‘I am the khan of the nation, cousin. I carry the spirit and the sword of Genghis. He will not let me fall to some dog-meat traitor.’
Without taking his eyes from Batu, Guyuk called over his shoulder: ‘Anar! Take your horse and ride back to camp. Bring my bondsmen. I will finish this scavenger while I wait.’
If he had hoped to provoke Batu into an attack, he got his wish. As Anar moved to his white mare, Batu surged forward, his sword alive in his hand. Guyuk brought his own blade across to block and grunted as he felt the man’s strength behind the blow. His confidence was jolted and he stepped back a pace before holding his ground. A memory flashed from his earliest lessons, that once you have started to retreat, it is hard to stop.
Batu’s blade was too quick to see and only his childhood training saved Guyuk as he parried twice more from instinct alone. The blades rang together and he felt a sharp sting on his forearm. To his disgust, he was already breathing hard, while Batu worked with his mouth closed, chopping blows at him without a pause. Guyuk stopped another attack that would have opened him like a goat, but his lungs were aching and Batu seemed tireless, growing faster and faster. Guyuk felt another sting on his leg as the tip of Batu’s blade caught him and opened a deep cut into the muscle. He took another step backwards and almost fell as the leg buckled. He could not turn to look for Anar and he could hear nothing beyond his own breathing and the clash of swords. He hoped his servant had run. Guyuk had begun to think he could not win against this man who used a sword with all the casual strength of a woodsman cutting trees. He continued to defend desperately, feeling warm blood course down his leg as he looked for just one chance.
He didn’t see Anar come from the side in a rush. Guyuk’s response across a lunge had put his blade right over, leaving him vulnerable. At that moment, Anar crashed into Batu and sent them both rolling on the grass. Guyuk could hear his own heartbeat thump, as if the world had grown still.
Anar was unarmed, but he tried to hold Batu as the man sprang to his feet, giving Guyuk his chance. Batu punched his sword twice into Anar’s side, two hard blows that drew the air and life out of him. Even then, Anar’s hands gripped Batu’s deel robe, dragging him off balance. Guyuk stepped forward in a wild rage. His first blow was spoiled as Batu jerked Anar around as a shield, then let him drop. Guyuk lunged for his heart, but he moved too slowly. Batu’s sword ripped into him before he could land the blow. He was aware of every sliding inch of metal as it passed into his chest between his ribs. Guyuk turned with it, his rage allowing him strength to try and trap the blade. He gasped as it tore him inside, but Batu could not pull it free. They hung almost in an embrace, too close for Guyuk to bring his own sword to bear. Instead, he hammered his hilt into Batu’s face, breaking his nose and smashing his lips. Guyuk could feel his strength vanishing like water pouring out of him and his blows grew weak until he was barely able to raise his hands.
His sword fell from his fingers and he sat suddenly, his legs useless. Batu’s sword came with him, still deep in his chest. Anar was lying on the ground, choking and gasping bloody air. Their eyes met and Guyuk looked away, caring nothing for the fate of a servant.
Darkness swelled across his vision. He felt Batu tugging at the sword hilt as a distant pressure, almost without pain. When it came free at last, Guyuk felt his bowels and bladder release. It was not a quick end and he hung on, panting mindlessly for a time before his lungs emptied.
Batu stood, looking down through swelling eyes at his dead cousin. The man’s companion lasted a long time and Batu said nothing as he waited for the choking sounds to stop, the desperate eyes to grow still. When they were both gone, he sank to one knee, placing his sword on the ground at his side and raising a hand to his face to feel the damage. Blood flowed in a sticky stream from his nose and he spat on the grass as it dribbled into his throat. His gaze fell to Guyuk’s sword, with the hilt in the shape of a wolf’s snarling jaws. He shook his head at his own greed and looked around for the scabbard in the grass. Moving stiffly, he cleaned the blade before re-sheathing it and placing it on Guyuk’s chest. The khan’s robe was already heavy by then, sopping wet with cooling blood. The sword was Batu’s to take, but he could not.
‘My enemy the khan is dead,’ Batu muttered to himself, looking on Guyuk’s still face. With Kublai’s information, he had known Guyuk would leave his guards and the safety of his camp. He had waited for three precious days, risking discovery by the scouts while he lay and watched. Doubts had assailed him the whole time, worse than thirst. What if Kublai had been wrong? What if he was throwing away the days he needed to take his people to safety? Batu had been close to despair when he saw Guyuk ride out at last.
Batu stood, still looking down. The summer darkness had come, though he was sure they had fought for just a short time. He glanced at the dead eagle and felt a pang of regret, knowing the bird’s bloodline came from Genghis himself. He stretched his back and stood taller, breathing clean air and beginning to feel the aches and wounds he had taken. They were not serious and he felt strong. He could feel life in his veins and he breathed deeply, enjoying the sensation. He did not regret his decision to face the khan with a sword. He had a bow and he could have taken both men before they even knew they were under attack. Instead, he had killed them with honour. Batu suddenly laughed aloud, taking joy in being alive after the fight. He did not know how the nation would fare without Guyuk. It did not matter to Batu. His own people would survive. Still chuckling, Batu wiped his sword on a clean part of the servant’s tunic and sheathed it before walking back to his horse.
The warriors stood around the body of their khan, stunned and silent as Mongke rode in. Crows called in the trees around them as the sun rose. The lower branches seemed to be full of the black birds and more than one hopped on the ground, flaring its wings and eyeing the dead flesh. As Mongke dismounted, one of the warriors kicked out at a crow in irritation, though it took flight before he could connect.
Guyuk lay where he had fallen, his father’s sword placed on his chest. Mongke strode through his men and loomed over the khan’s body, his emotions hidden behind the cold face every warrior had to learn. He stood there for a long time and no one dared speak.
‘Thieves would have taken the sword,’ he said at last. His deep voice grated with anger and he reached down and picked up the blade, pulling out a length of the steel and seeing it had been cleaned. His gaze searched the bodies, settling on the smears that marked the tunic of the khan’s servant.
‘You saw no one?’ Mongke said suddenly, whirling on the closest scout. The man trembled as he replied.
‘No one, lord,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘When the khan did not return I went out to look for him … then I came to find you.’
Mongke’s eyes burned into him and the scout looked away, terrified.
‘It was your task to scout the land to the east,’ Mongke said softly.
‘My lord, the khan gave orders to bring the scouts in,’ the man said without daring to look up. He was sweating visibly, a trail like a tear working its way down his cheek. He flinched