Wolf of the Plains. Conn Iggulden
Temujin and his older brother shared a moment of indecision, neither willing to give the race to the other. Bekter shrugged as if it did not matter and reined his mare into a wide circle back the way they had come. Temujin matched him exactly and they galloped as a pair behind the others, the leaders become the led. It was Kachiun now who rode first amongst them, though Temujin doubted the boy even thought of it. At eight, Kachiun was closest in age to Temuge and had spent many long evenings teaching him the names of things in the gers, demonstrating an unusual patience and kindness. Perhaps as a result, Temuge spoke better than many boys of his age, though he was hopeless with the knots Kachiun’s quick fingers tried to show him. The youngest of Yesugei’s sons was clumsy, and if any of them had been asked to guess at the identity of a fallen rider, they would have said ‘Temuge’ without a moment’s hesitation.
Temujin jumped from his saddle as he reached the others. Kachiun was already on the ground with Khasar, lifting the supine Temuge into a sitting position.
The little boy’s face was very pale and bruised-looking. Kachiun slapped him gently, wincing as Temuge’s head lolled.
‘Wake up, little man,’ Kachiun told his brother, but there was no response. Temujin’s shadow fell across them and Kachiun deferred to him immediately.
‘I didn’t see him fall,’ he said, as if his seeing would have helped.
Temujin nodded, his deft hands feeling Temuge for broken bones or signs of a wound. There was a lump on the side of his head, hidden by the black hair. Temujin prodded at it.
‘He’s knocked out, but I can’t feel a break. Give me a little water for him.’
He held out a hand and Khasar pulled a leather bottle from a saddle cloth, drawing the stopper with his teeth. Temujin dribbled the warm liquid into Temuge’s open mouth.
‘Don’t choke him,’ Bekter advised, reminding them he was still mounted, as if he supervised the others.
Temujin didn’t trouble to reply. He was filled with dread as to what their mother Hoelun would say if Temuge died. They could hardly give her such news while her belly was filled with another child. She was weak from sickness and Temujin thought the shock and grief might kill her, yet how could they hide it? She doted on Temuge and her habit of feeding him the sweet yoghurt curds was part of the reason for his chubby flesh.
Without warning, Temuge choked and spat water. Bekter made an irritable sound with his lips, tired of the children’s games. The rest of them beamed at each other.
‘I dreamed of the eagle,’ Temuge said.
Temujin nodded at him. ‘That is a good dream,’ he said, ‘but you must learn to ride, little man. Our father would be shamed in front of his bondsmen if he heard you had fallen.’ Another thought struck him and he frowned. ‘If he does hear, we may not be allowed to race at the gathering.’
Even Khasar lost his smile at that, and Kachiun pursed his mouth in silent worry. Temuge smacked his lips for more water and Temujin passed him the bottle.
‘If anyone asks about your lump, tell them we were playing and you hit your head – understand, Temuge? This is a secret. The sons of Yesugei do not fall.’
Temuge saw that they were all watching his response, even Bekter, who frightened him. He nodded vigorously, wincing at the pain.
‘I hit my head,’ he said, dazedly. ‘And I saw the eagle from the red hill.’
‘There are no eagles on the red hill,’ Khasar replied. ‘I was trapping marmots there only ten days ago. I would have seen a sign.’
Temuge shrugged, which was unusual in itself. The little boy was a terrible liar and, when challenged, he would shout, as if by growing louder they would be forced to believe him. Bekter was in the process of turning his pony away when he looked thoughtfully at the little boy.
‘When did you see the eagle?’ Bekter said.
Temuge shrugged. ‘I saw him yesterday, circling over the red hill. In my dream, he was larger than a normal eagle. He had claws as large as …’
‘You saw a real eagle?’ Temujin interrupted. He reached out and held his arm. ‘A real bird, this early in the season? You saw one?’ He wanted to be certain it was not one of Temuge’s idiotic stories. They all remembered the time he had come into the ger one night claiming to have been chased by marmots who rose up on their hind legs and spoke to him.
Bekter’s expression showed he shared the same memory. ‘He is dizzy from the fall,’ he said.
Temujin noticed how Bekter had taken a firmer hold on the reins. As slowly as he might approach a wild deer, Temujin rose to his feet, risking a glance to where his own pony cropped busily at the turf. Their father’s hawk had died and he still mourned the loss of the great-hearted bird. Temujin knew Yesugei dreamed of hunting with an eagle, but sightings were rare and the nests were usually on cliffs sheer enough and high enough to defeat the most determined climber. Temujin saw that Kachiun had reached his pony and was ready to go. A nest could have an eagle chick for their father to keep. Perhaps Bekter wanted one for himself, but the others knew that Yesugei would be overcome with gratitude to the boy who brought him the khan of birds. The eagles ruled the air as the tribes ruled the land, and they lived almost as long as a man. Such a gift would mean they all could ride in the races that year, for certain. It would be seen as a good omen that an eagle had come to their father, strengthening his position with the families.
Temuge had made it to his feet, touching his head and wincing at the speck of blood that showed on his fingers. He did seem dazed, but they believed what he had said. The race of the morning had been a light-hearted thing. This one would be real.
Temujin was the first to move, fast as a dog snapping. He leapt for Whitefoot’s back, calling ‘Chuh!’ as he landed and startling the ill-tempered beast into a snorting run. Kachiun flowed onto his horse with the neatness and balance that marked all his movement, Khasar only an instant behind him, laughing aloud with excitement.
Bekter was already lunging forward, his mare’s haunches bunching under him as he kicked in and went. In just a few heartbeats, Temuge was left standing alone on the plain, staring bemusedly after the cloud of dust from his brothers. Shaking his head to clear his blurred vision, he took a moment to vomit a milky breakfast onto the grass. He felt a little better after that and clambered up onto the saddle, heaving his pony’s head from its grazing. With a last pull at the grass, the pony snorted and he too was off, jolting and bouncing behind his brothers.
The sun was high in the sky before the boys reached the red hill. After the initial wild gallop, each one of them had settled into a mile-eating trot their sturdy ponies could keep up for hours at a time. Bekter and Temujin rode together at the front in mutual truce, Khasar and Kachiun just behind. They were all tired by the time they sighted the great rock the tribes called the red hill, an immense boulder hundreds of feet high. It was surrounded by a dozen others of lesser size, like a wolf mother with her cubs. The boys had spent many hours climbing there the previous summer and knew the area well.
Bekter and Temujin scanned the horizon restlessly, looking for sign of other riders. The Wolves claimed no hunting rights to land this far away from the gers. Like so much else on the plains, the stream water, the milk, the furs and meat, everything belonged to whoever had the strength to take it, or better still, the strength to keep it. Khasar and Kachiun saw no further than the excitement of finding an eagle chick, but the two older boys were ready to defend themselves or run. Both carried knives and Bekter had a quiver and a small bow across his back that could be quickly strung. Against boys from another tribe, they would acquit themselves well, Temujin thought. Against fully grown warriors, they would be in serious danger and their father’s name would not help them.
Temuge was again a speck behind the other four,