‘Stand before me, Kokchu,’ he said, watching the shaman closely as he approached. Kokchu’s expression was wary and a line of sweat shone on his high scalp, but Genghis could see the gleam of something else in his eyes. The wind grew suddenly as the brothers gathered with their mother around Genghis, scattering a dusting of snow across them.

Genghis did not take his gaze off the shaman as he spoke to his brothers and Hoelun.

‘This is the man who killed Temulun, not one of the shah’s guards. He is the one.’

Kokchu might have leapt back had Khasar not been standing behind him.

‘That is a lie!’ the shaman spat. ‘You know it is.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Genghis said. He was ready for Kokchu to attack or flee, with every nerve straining as he spoke. ‘My sister’s body wasn’t found until dark and that man came straight to me. Yet you were seen coming out of her ger long before that.’

‘More lies! My lord khan, someone is trying to destroy me. There are those who think you show me too much trust, that you favour me too openly. I have many enemies, lord, please

Temuge spoke suddenly and Kokchu turned to him in desperate hope.

‘He could be right, brother,’ Temuge said. ‘Who can say which ger they saw him at when the fires were burning in the camp?’

Kokchu fell to his knees, his clawlike hands shaking as they grabbed handfuls of snow.

‘It is true what he says, lord. I have given you everything, gers, horses, salt and blood, everything. This is all wrong.’

‘No,’ Genghis muttered. ‘It is not.’

The shaman turned up his face in terror as he saw the khan’s sword lift into the air.

‘You may not shed the blood of a shaman, lord. It is forbidden!’

He did not turn in time to see Hoelun smash her hand across his face. The blow was weak, but Kokchu cried out as he fell backwards in the snow. As he came up against Khasar’s feet, the general lashed out without thought, kicking him hard in the ribs.

Genghis stood very still and his family turned to him ques-tioningly as he let the sword fall at his side.

‘You cannot let him live, Temujin,’ Hoelun said, her eyes brighter than he had seen them that day. Some of her old vitality had returned at the sight of the shaman struggling on that cold peak and she did not seem to feel the wind any longer. Genghis handed her the sword and held her wrist when he thought she might lash out with it.

He flexed his empty hands for a moment and Kokchu cowered before him, trapped between the legs of the family he had served. His mind spun crazily as he looked for fresh words. Temuge’s foolish face was full of doubt and weakness and even the khan had put aside his sword. There was still hope.

‘I have done nothing, lord. Whoever told you made a mistake and it must not cost me my life, or my service to you. If I die here, ill luck will follow you to the end of your days. You know I speak the truth.’

Genghis reached down and took him by the shoulders in a terrible grip. For an instant, Kokchu thought he was being raised to his feet and gasped in relief. Then he felt Genghis shift his grip to a bony leg, the hard fingers cupping his knee and digging into the flesh. The shaman struggled wildly as Genghis lifted him with a grunt.

‘Please, my lord, I am innocent!’ Kokchu yelled.

Genghis lifted the shaman higher, then dropped him, falling to one knee as he did so. Kokchu struck the khan’s outstretched thigh cleanly. They all heard the spine crack and Kokchu’s mouth opened soundlessly. His legs fell limp and his hands scrabbled in the snow and the sun’s fading light. Temuge turned away then, sickened, but Kachiun and Khasar stared as if they were determined to remember every detail.

Genghis knelt at the shaman’s side, speaking softly.

‘There are wolves in these mountains,’ he said. ‘Some of my men have hunted them for skins. They will find you here tonight and at first they will only watch. As the cold makes you weak, they will come closer and begin to nuzzle your legs and hands. They’ll scatter when you call out and move, but they won’t go far and they’ll come back with more courage. When they start to tear your flesh, when the smell of blood excites them, think of me then.’

He stood and the shaman’s wild eyes followed his movement, blurred in tears. His mouth hung open, revealing brown teeth. He saw Hoelun put an arm around Genghis and squeeze his shoulder as they turned back to the horses. Kokchu could not hear the words the family exchanged. He had never known such pain and all the tricks and rituals he knew crumbled before the flame that lanced through him.

The darkness came quickly after that and he moaned as he found his legs were useless. Once, he pushed himself almost to a sitting position, but the wave of fresh agony stole his senses away. When he awoke again, the moon was up and he could hear the soft crunch of paws on the snow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

As the summer ended, Genghis remained in Samarkand, though his generals roared through the region in his name. The cities of Merv, Nishapur, Balkh and Urganj fell in quick succession, the populations slaughtered or enslaved. Even the news of the shah’s death and the return of Tsubodai and Jebe did little to raise his spirits. He wanted to return home to the plains he had known as a boy, but dismissed the urge as weakness. It was his task now to train Ogedai to lead, to pass on everything he had learned as khan in decades of war. He had repaid the shah’s insults a thousand times, but in the process discovered lands as vast as any he had ever known.

He found himself like a wolf let loose in a sheepfold and he could not simply take the nation home. Ogedai would rule his people, but there were other thrones. With new energy, Genghis walked the shah’s palace and city, learning everything he could about how such a place supported its people.

Temuge brought new maps to him as they were captured or drawn by prisoners. Each one revealed more and more of the land around Samarkand and the shape of the world itself. Genghis could hardly believe there were mountains to the south so vast that no man had ever climbed them, where the air was said to be thin enough to kill. He heard of strange beasts and Indian princes who would make the Shah of Khwarezm look like a local governor.

The people of Samarkand had been freed to return to their homes for the most part. In other places, Genghis allowed the young warriors to practise sword blows on bound prisoners. There was no better way to demonstrate the damage a sword could do and it helped prepare them for real battles. In Samarkand, the streets were choked with people, though they stayed out of his way as he walked with guards and maps. His curiosity was insatiable, but when he returned to the palace each night, he could feel it close on him like a tomb until he could hardly breathe. He had sent a scout into the mountains to where Kokchu had been left. The warrior had brought back a package of splintered bones and Genghis had burned them in a brazier. Even that had not brought him peace. The stone walls of the palace seemed to mock ambitions built on men and horses. When Ogedai was khan, what would it matter if his father had once taken a city or left it intact? Genghis practised each day with a sword, working himself to a sweat in the mornings against the best of his guard. It depressed him how much speed he had lost with the years. His stamina was still a match for younger men, but his right knee ached after a bout and his eyes were not as sharp over distance as they had been.

On a morning that held the first breath of winter, in his fourth year in Khwarezm, Genghis rested with his hands on his knees, having fought a warrior of twenty years old to a standstill.

‘If he comes at you now, you are dead, old friend. Always leave something, if you can.’