than a few young tribesmen. Yesugei was preparing himself for enemies, his instincts taking over his muscles and reactions. As Temujin turned to return the stare, he saw his father summon an effort of will and visibly relax himself. The galloping Olkhun’ut did not seem so close and the day had grown a little brighter somehow.
‘I will look a fool if they sweep us off the ponies in pieces,’ Yesugei said, forcing a stiff grin that would not have been out of place on a corpse.
Temujin laughed at his effort in genuine amusement. ‘Are you in pain? Try throwing your head back as you do it.’
His father did as Temujin suggested and his effort reduced them both to helpless laughter by the time the Olkhun’ut riders arrived. Yesugei was red-faced and wiping tears from his eyes as the yelling warriors skidded to a halt, allowing their mounts to block the pair of strangers. The drifting cloud of dust arrived with them, passing through the group on the wind and making them all narrow their eyes.
The milling group of warriors fell silent as Temujin and Yesugei mastered themselves and appeared to notice the Olkhun’ut for the first time. Temujin kept his face as blank as possible, though he could barely hide his curiosity. Everything was subtly different from what he was used to. The bloodlines of their horses were superb and the warriors themselves wore light deels of grey with gold thread markings over trousers of dark brown. They were somehow cleaner and neater-looking than his own people and Temujin felt a vague resentment start in him. His gaze fell on one who must surely have been the leader. The other riders deferred to him as he approached, looking to him for orders.
The young warrior rode as well as Kachiun, Temujin saw, but he was almost a man grown, with only the lightest of tunics and bare brown arms. He had two bows strapped to his saddle, with a good throwing axe. Temujin could see no swords on any of the others, but they too carried the small axes and he wondered how they would be used against armed men. He suspected that a good sword would reduce their hatchets to kindling in just a stroke or two – unless they threw them.
His examination of the Olkhun’ut was being returned. One of the men nudged his pony close to Yesugei. A grimy hand stretched out to finger the cloth of his deel.
Temujin barely saw his father move, but the man’s palm was striped with red before he could lay a finger on Yesugei’s belongings. The Olkhun’ut rider yelped and pulled back, his pain turning to anger in an instant.
‘You take a great risk riding here without your bondsmen, khan of the Wolves,’ the young man in a tunic said suddenly. ‘Have you brought us another of your sons for the Olkhun’ut to teach him his manhood?’
Yesugei turned to Temujin and again there was that odd light in his eye.
‘This is my son, Temujin. Temujin, this is your cousin Koke. His father is the man I shot in the hip on the day I met your mother.’
‘And he still limps,’ Koke agreed, without smiling.
His pony seemed to move without a signal and he came in range to clap Yesugei on the shoulder. The older man allowed the action, though there was something about his stillness that suggested he may not have. The other warriors relaxed as Koke moved away. He had shown he was not afraid of the khan, and Yesugei had accepted that he did not rule where the Olkhun’ut pitched their gers.
‘You must be hungry. The hunters brought in fat spring marmots this morning – will you eat with us?’
‘We will,’ Yesugei answered for both of them.
From that moment they were protected by guest rights and Yesugei lost the stiffness that suggested he’d rather be holding a sword. His dagger had vanished back into his fur-lined robe. In comparison, Temujin’s stomach felt as if it had dropped out. He had not fully appreciated how lonely he would feel surrounded by strangers, and even before they reached the outer tents of the Olkhun’ut, he was watching his father closely, dreading the moment when he would ride away and leave his son behind.
The gers of the Olkhun’ut were a different shade of white-grey from those Temujin knew. The horses were held in great corrals outside the gathering of tents, too many for him to count. With cattle, goats and sheep busy munching grass on every nearby hill, he could see the Olkhun’ut were prosperous and, as Yesugei had said, strong in numbers. Temujin saw little boys the age of his brothers racing along the outskirts of the camp. Each held a small bow and seemed to be firing directly into the ground, yelling and cursing alternately. It was all strange, and he wished Kachiun and Khasar were there with him.
His cousin Koke jumped down from his pony, giving the reins to a tiny woman with a face as wrinkled as a leaf. Temujin and Yesugei dismounted at the same time, and their ponies were taken away to be watered and fed. The other riders scattered through the camp, returning to their own gers or gathering in groups to talk. Strangers in the tribe were not common and Temujin could feel hundreds of eyes on him as Koke led the two Wolves through the midst of his people, striding ahead.
Yesugei grunted in displeasure at being forced to walk behind the young man. The khan walked even slower in response, pausing to inspect the decorative knotwork on the ger of a lesser family. With a frown on his face, Koke was forced to wait for his guests, or arrive at his destination without them. Temujin might have applauded the subtle way his father had turned the little game of status to his advantage. Instead of hurrying along after the younger man, they had made the trip a tour of the Olkhun’ut gers. Yesugei even spoke to one or two of the people, but never with a question they might not have answered, only with a compliment or a simple remark. The Olkhun’ut stared after the pair of Wolves and Temujin sensed his father was enjoying the tensions as much as a battle.
By the time they stopped outside a ger with a bright blue door, Koke was irritated with them both, though he could not exactly have said why.
‘Is your father well?’ Yesugei said.
The young warrior was forced to pause as he ducked into the ger. ‘He is as strong as ever,’ Koke replied.
Yesugei nodded. ‘Tell him I am here,’ he said, looking blandly at his nephew by marriage.
Koke coloured slightly before disappearing into the darkness within. Though there were eyes and ears all around them, Temujin and Yesugei had been left alone.
‘Observe the courtesies when we go in,’ Yesugei murmured. ‘These are not the families you know. They will notice every fault and rejoice in it.’
‘I understand,’ Temujin replied, barely moving his lips. ‘How old is my cousin Koke?’
‘Thirteen or fourteen,’ Yesugei replied.
Temujin looked up with interest. ‘So he is alive only because you shot his father in the hip and not the heart?’
Yesugei shrugged. ‘I did not shoot for the hip. I shot to kill, but I had only an instant to loose the shaft before your mother’s other brother threw an axe at me.’
‘Is he here as well?’ Temujin asked, looking round.
Yesugei chuckled. ‘Not unless he managed to put his head back on.’
Temujin fell silent as he considered this. The Olkhun’ut had no reason to love his father and many to hate him, yet he sent his sons to them for wives. The certainties he had known among his own people were vanishing and he felt lost and fearful. Temujin drew on his determination with an effort, composing his features into the cold face. Bekter had withstood his year with the tribe, after all. They would not kill him and anything else was bearable, he was almost certain.
‘Why has he not come out?’ he murmured to his father.
Yesugei grunted, breaking off from staring at some young Olkhun’ut women milking goats.
‘He makes us wait because he thinks I will be insulted. He made me wait when I came with Bekter two years ago. No doubt he will make me wait when I come with Khasar. The man is an idiot, but all dogs bark at a wolf.’
‘Why do you visit him first, then?’ Temujin said, dropping his voice even lower.
‘The blood