Genghis showed a touch of his inner rage in his clenched fists as he took a deep breath.

‘I am the khan of the sea of grass, the silver people. I have chosen my heir, as is my right. Let the sky father and earth mother destroy any man or woman who stands in the way.’

Heads bowed nervously in the crowd and Kachiun stepped through them to stand before Genghis and Ogedai. Genghis waited with his hand on his sword hilt, but Kachiun merely smiled. Seeing Ogedai was nervous, Kachiun winked at him before going down onto one knee.

‘I give my oath freely, Ogedai, to you, the son of my brother and his heir. May the day you inherit be many years from now, but until then, I vow to honour your father’s command. On that day I will swear to follow you with gers, horses, salt and blood.’

Khasar followed closely behind Kachiun and he too knelt and spoke, his eyes proud. They could not give the full oath to the khan while Genghis lived, but each man swore to honour the boy as heir. As the tension faded, Genghis took his right hand from his sword and let it rest on Ogedai’s shoulder. Temuge completed his vow and Jochi and Chagatai stepped forward. Of all in that room, Genghis needed to hear the two young generals give their word publicly, so that there could be no doubt. The senior men and women of the nation were all there as witnesses to this moment above all others.

Jochi winced as he knelt, though he forced a grin for Ogedai. In his deepest heart, Jochi had known he could not inherit. He was not certain yet that his father would leave it at that, or dole out some other punishment for the folly of his fight with Chagatai. There at least he was triumphant. Chagatai would not inherit either and he had been certain he would one day lead the nation. Chagatai’s dashed hopes were like hot airag in Jochi’s blood.

With his broken leg, Chagatai could not kneel with the others. He hesitated under his father’s gaze and the officers around looked on in fascination as the problem became obvious.

‘The Chin kowtow, outstretched, Chagatai,’ Genghis said coldly. ‘As you are injured, you may do that.’

Chagatai’s face flushed brightly as he eased himself onto the floor and touched his forehead to the cool stone. It was not difficult to guess that his father would inflict a brutal punishment on him if he tried to delay.

For his part, Ogedai seemed delighted to see Chagatai lying flat on the floor. He beamed as his brother spoke the ritual words before using the stick to clamber painfully to his feet. In the crowd, Yao Shu too could not prevent a smile from breaking out on his face. Truly, there was a place for karma in the world, that he should have lived to see the young fool humbled before the nation. The need for revenge seeped out of him, leaving him feeling empty and soiled. Yao Shu shook his head in sadness at what he had allowed himself to become in the Mongol camps. This was a second chance and he vowed to renew his studies and return to teaching the khan’s sons. He brightened at the thought of working with Ogedai. The lad was quick-witted and if the family violence in his blood could be tempered, he would one day make a fine khan.

It took a long time for each man and woman in the hall to make their vows to Ogedai. By the end of it, the night was almost over and the sky was grey in the east. Genghis had not troubled to have water brought to them. As the last arban officer rose to his feet, the rest broke into cheering, understanding that they had seen the beginning of a dynasty that night, in a city on a hill. Under the eye of the great khan, even Jochi and Chagatai’s officers joined in enthusiastically, relieved that no blood had been shed.

Genghis held up his hands to quiet them.

‘Now go, and tell your families what you have seen here. We will throw a feast in Samarkand this day to mark the occasion.’

His expression tightened as the crowd began to chatter and smile, flowing towards the great doors at either end.

‘Kachiun? You and Khasar will stay. You too, Temuge. I need my brothers around me for what I still have to do.’

As his three brothers halted, looking surprised, Genghis turned to where Kokchu still crouched at his side.

‘I have horses ready outside, shaman. You will accompany me.’

Kokchu bowed his head, hiding his confusion.

‘Your will, my lord khan.’

As the sun rose, Genghis rode slowly out of Samarkand, his three brothers and the shaman with him, accompanied by one spare mount. Temuge had called questions at first, but when Genghis did not answer, he had fallen as silent as his brothers. None of them knew where Genghis was leading them, or why his mood seemed so dark on that day.

The families of the nation were encamped just a few miles from Samarkand, out of reach of battle lines. Genghis did not hesitate as he reached the first lines of gers, each one with its line of white smoke rising slowly into the air. The camp was already busy. The Mongols enjoyed this part of the summer, before the heat became intense. With the river and lakes to the north, there was even enough moisture in the air to coat the grass with dew and the sun made it sparkle for the short time before it burned away.

Those who were already up and about looked to the khan and his brothers in awe as they passed, standing with their heads bowed rather than look on the great ones of the nation. Dogs barked excitedly, but Genghis ignored them all as he walked his horse through the maze. He passed his own great ger on its cart and dismounted at last at the small home of his mother.

‘Nokhoi Khor,’ he called softly, a greeting as much as a request to have his mother’s old hound held before it could rush out and attack. Genghis had never liked dogs and kept none himself. He waited for a few moments, then turned to the small group with him. Between them, they represented the ruling powers of the Mongol nation. Only Ogedai ranked with them and then only after that night.

‘Wait for me,’ Genghis said, ducking low and opening the painted wooden door to his mother’s home.

It was still dark inside. His mother had not yet thrown off the cap of felt that let light in during the day. The light from the open door let him see a huddled figure on the bed. Her old hound slept curled up by her legs and showed its teeth as he approached, a low rumbling in its throat. Genghis swallowed drily.

‘Send your dog out, mother. I need to speak to you.’

Hoelun opened her eyes blearily, still bloodshot from the airag she used to bring sleep without dreams. She closed one again almost immediately, wincing at the pain that throbbed in her head. Genghis could smell the tang of urine in the ger and the strong scent of unwashed flesh. It saddened him to see his mother’s grey hair wild and unkempt and he knew he should have roused her from grief long before this. She looked ancient and worn out as she watched him. While he had buried his sadness in the attack on the city, filling his days with plans and action, she had been left alone to grieve and the process had eaten her away.

Genghis sighed to himself. He stuck his head outside once more, blinking against the light.

‘I need you to take her dog, Kachiun. And I need food and tea and firewood for the stove. Will you fetch those, Khasar?’

He stepped back to let Kachiun remove the old hound from their mother’s bed. As Kachiun reached for it, the dog erupted, snapping. Kachiun simply cuffed it on the muzzle and dragged it off the bed, giving it a kick towards the door so that it ran outside, still barking.

‘Leave the dog alone,’ Hoelun said irritably.

As she sat up and realised two of her sons were in her ger, she ran a hand automatically over her hair and glared at them. Genghis could see she had lost weight alarmingly over the previous few months. Guilt swept him that he had not made sure someone was looking after her. Surely Chakahai and Borte had brought food and changed her clothes?