the Woyela khan was left to be tended by his women. With such wounds, he would never stand straight, or perhaps even walk again.
As Genghis and his brothers strode through the tribes gathered in the shadow of the black mountain, there were many who looked on them with awe and approval. He had shown he would not be challenged and one more small victory had been won.
The Uighurs were sighted as the summer waned and the floodwaters from the hills swelled the Onon River to bursting point. The plains were still a vivid green and skylarks leaped and fluttered as the Uighur carts passed them.
It was an impressive display of strength and Genghis answered it with five thousand of his horsemen in ranks before the great camp. He did not come to meet them himself, knowing that his absence would be taken as subtle disapproval for their lateness. Instead, the Woyela took a position around Khasar as he rode to meet the new arrivals and none of the khan’s sons dared do more than stare at the back of his head.
As the Uighurs drew close, Khasar approached the cart that led the dark snake of people and animals. His eyes flickered over the warriors, judging their quality. They were well armed and seemed fierce and alert, though he knew appearances could be deceiving. They would learn the tactics that had brought victory to Genghis, or be reduced to carrying messages amongst the host.
The Uighurs were horse traders as well as scholars and Khasar was pleased to see the vast herd that accompanied them. There had to be three ponies for every warrior and he knew the camp would be busy over the next month as the other tribes came to bargain and replenish their blood lines.
At his raised hand, the warriors around the lead cart drew up in a defensive position, their hands on the hilts of swords. The Uighurs must have had a good supply of ore for so many to carry blades, Khasar thought. Perhaps there would be trade in steel as well. There were still too many in the camp with nothing but a knife to complement their bows. Khasar directed his gaze to a small grey-haired man on the front of the cart. It was he who had held up an arm to halt the column and Khasar saw how the warriors looked to him for orders. Though the man’s deel was of simple cut, it had to be the Uighur khan, Barchuk. Khasar decided to give him honour by speaking first.
‘You are welcome in the camp, lord,’ he said formally. ‘You are the last of the great tribes to arrive, but my lord Genghis has received your message in goodwill and allocated grazing land for your families.’
The small man nodded thoughtfully as he looked past Khasar to the riders who waited in formation.
‘I can see we must be the last. I can hardly believe there are any more warriors in the world, given the size of the host on this plain. You are the first men we have seen in many days of travel.’ He shook his head in wonder at the thought. ‘The Uighurs will pledge to Genghis, as I have promised. Show us where to pitch our gers and we will do the rest.’
In comparison to some of the pricklier khans, Khasar appreciated the man’s bluntness. He smiled.
‘I am his brother, Khasar,’ he said. ‘I will show you myself.’
‘Step up beside me then, Khasar. I am hungry for news.’ The khan patted the wooden bench of the cart and Khasar dismounted, sending his horse back to the first rank of Woyela warriors with a slap on its rump.
‘If we are the last, perhaps it will not be long before Genghis points this great arrow at his enemies,’ the khan said as Khasar clambered up beside him. Barchuk clicked in his cheek at the oxen and the cart moved off with a lurch. Khasar watched how the Uighur warriors kept formation around them and was pleased. They could ride, at least.
‘Only he can say, lord.’ The bruises he had taken from the Woyela had almost faded, though he felt Barchuk’s eyes drift over them without comment. The camp had been quiet for a time after seeing the Woyela humbled, but with the end of summer, they were restless again and, now that the Uighurs had arrived, he thought his brother would move in just a few days. He felt his own excitement mounting at the idea. They had the tribes and Genghis would take their oaths of loyalty. After that, war would come and he and his brothers would take the Chin foot off the necks of their people.
‘You seem cheerful, Khasar,’ Barchuk observed as he guided the cart around a hump in the grass. The older man was wiry with strength and his eyes seemed constantly amused.
‘I was thinking that we have never before come together, lord. Always there has been some blood feud, or Chin bribery to keep us at each other’s throats.’ He waved an arm to encompass the camp on the plain. ‘This? This is a new thing.’
‘It may end in destruction for our people,’ Barchuk murmured, watching him closely. Khasar grinned. He remembered Kachiun and Genghis debating the same point and he echoed their words.
‘Yes, but not one of us, not one man, woman or child will be alive in a hundred years. Everyone you see here will be bones.’
He saw Barchuk frown in puzzlement and wished he had Kachiun’s ability to speak as he went on.
‘What is the purpose of life if not to conquer? To steal women and land? I would rather be here and see this than live out my life in peace.’
Barchuk nodded.
‘You are a philosopher, Khasar.’
Khasar chuckled.
‘You are the only one who thinks it. No, I am the great khan’s brother and this is our time.’
Barchuk of the Uighurs spoke for hours as the sun set outside the great ger. Genghis was fascinated by the man’s knowledge and if he came across a concept he did not understand, he made the khan go over and over it until the meaning was clear.
Of all subjects, anything to do with the Chin had Genghis leaning forward in his seat like a hawk, his eyes bright with interest. The Uighurs had come from land to the far south-west, bordering the Gobi Desert and the Chin kingdom of Xi Xia. Genghis revelled in every detail Barchuk could provide of Chin trade caravans, their dress and customs, and, most of all, their weapons and armour. It was true that merchants may not have had the best of guards, but each scrap of information fell upon the desert of Genghis’ imagination like spring water, vanishing deep.
‘Peace has brought you wealth and security,’ Genghis said as Barchuk paused to clear his throat with a gulp of tea. ‘Perhaps you could have approached the king of the Xi Xia to ally against me. Did you consider it?’
‘Of course,’ Barchuk replied, disarming him with honesty. ‘But if I have given you the impression of their friendship, it is false. They trade with us because they have markets for the skins of snow leopards from the mountains, for hard woods, even seeds of rare plants to aid them in their study of healing. In return, they sell us raw iron, carpets, tea and sometimes a scroll they have already copied many times.’ He paused and smiled wryly at the gathering of men. ‘They bring their litters and their guards into Uighur towns, but their distaste can be read on every face, even those they call slaves.’ The memories had brought a flush of irritation to his face and he wiped his brow before continuing. ‘Since I have learned their language, I know them too well to ask for support. You have to see them to understand, lord. They care nothing for those who are not Xi Xia subjects. Even the Chin regard them as a separate people, though they share many of the same customs. They pay tribute to the Chin emperor and, though under his protection, still consider themselves apart from their powerful neighbour. Their arrogance is colossal, lord.’
Barchuk leaned forward, reaching out to tap Genghis on his knee. He did not seem to notice the way the surrounding men bristled.
‘We have had their scraps for many generations, lord, while they kept the best meat behind their forts and walls.’
‘And you would see them broken,’ Genghis murmured.