‘Brother, you must send men to Genghis. Get him to bring reinforcements.’

‘He could not reach us in less than half a month, Khasar.’

‘So we wait! We wait and watch those farmers get thirsty while we drink their river.’

Jelme cleared his throat and both brothers were relieved to have another break the tension between them.

‘The losses would be fewer if we had the rest of the tumans. There is that.’

Kachiun knew it was good advice, though every part of him wanted to resume the battle. He could not remember being forced to such a position before and it rankled. He cursed for a time, in three languages.

‘Damn them to hell! Very well, I will send riders to Genghis.’

Khasar knew the decision had cost his brother in pride and for once he chose not to mock him, merely clapping his hand on Kachiun’s shoulder.

‘The point of war is to win, Kachiun. It does not matter how we do it, or how long it takes. By the time Genghis arrives, they will be dry-throated like chickens in the sun. I will enjoy what comes after that.’

As dawn came the following day, bringing a grey light to the Panjshir valley, the Mongols rose from their camp on the other side of the river, where they could not be attacked in the night. At first, Kachiun could not understand why his sharp-eyed scouts were shouting. The night had been freezing and he had slept with his arms tucked into a deel robe over his armour. He pulled the sleeves back to free his sword hand, reaching for it from instinct as the scouts came running towards him.

‘Is it an attack?’ he demanded, still numb from sleep and the cold. The scout looked terrified at having to deliver his news.

‘No, general. The enemy have gone in the night. The plain is empty.’

Kachiun sagged. The valley of Panjshir was a labyrinth of cracks and passes on all sides. Jelaudin’s men would have known them all.

His mind turned to the scouts he had sent riding to Genghis the evening before. He had not done well in the Panjshir valley and now he would have to send more men to keep Genghis informed. Even worse was the thought he did not voice, that Jelaudin’s men had taken another victory with them to the hills. It was a hard land to track an enemy on the move. The prospect of searching for them among the maze of rocks and valleys that formed this part of the world made him sick with fury. It did not matter that he had most of his forces intact. The enemy had seen them retreat. Kachiun swallowed drily as he realised he had let a spark leave the valley that could set the world alight. Word would spread that the Mongols could be defeated and, whether he liked it or not, Genghis would have to be told.

‘Get the trackers out,’ he snapped. ‘We will have to run them down.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The snow swirled all around him, but Tsubodai welcomed the cold. He had been born in such a place and it suited the numbness he had felt ever since he had accepted the orders of the khan. His face was set, with ice from his breath gathering on his upper lip no matter how many times he rubbed it away.

With ten thousand men at his back, he had not tried to hide his presence. Jochi was no fool and he suspected he knew exactly where the tuman was. Tsubodai thought there was a chance he would find only an abandoned camp and then he would be forced to hunt the khan’s son across the frozen landscape under the sun. He made sure his banners were held high, bright yellow streamers of silk that would be visible for miles ahead. Jochi would know a tuman had come searching for him, but he would also know Tsubodai commanded.

Tsubodai dipped his head, pulling closer the deel robe that he wore over his armour. His teeth chattered and he bit down. He did not seem to have the strength he remembered as a boy and wondered if the change from heat to cold had robbed him of some of his endurance. The body needed time to grow used to such extremes, even for those born to winter.

He had wrestled with his orders for the entire trip north, climbing mountains and riding empty valleys, as well as passing sleeping towns in the dark. This was not a journey of conquest and he and his men had ignored ripe settlements. They had taken sheep and goats wherever they found them, but that was only good sense and the need for fresh meat. Ten thousand men had to be fed, no matter where they rode. Their ponies had been born to snow and they seemed to adjust faster than those who rode them, using their hooves to dig through the ice to grass whenever they were allowed to rest.

The scout who had found Jochi the first time rode just ahead of Tsubodai. For thirty-eight days of hard riding, he had been a near silent companion. Now Tsubodai saw he had become alert, his head turning constantly. They had ridden for more than a thousand miles since leaving Genghis, using the spare mounts carefully. At last they were close and none of them knew how they would be met. The first sign of Jochi could be an empty village or a song of arrows coming out of the whiteness. Still they rode on and the general struggled with himself, making and discarding a dozen different plans each day. At times, he tormented himself with the vision of meeting the young man he had fostered and trained for three years, much of it spent almost as far in the north. The memories were strong and he found himself looking forward to seeing Jochi again, just as a father might want to see his son. He ran entire conversations through his head, one after the other, but they did not bring him peace.

When his scouts brought a stranger back to his tuman, it was almost a relief to be nearing the end of his journey, though Tsubodai felt his stomach clench. He was not ready for what would come, even after so long waiting for it.

He did not recognise the man, though he wore Mongol armour and a deel over it, much as Tsubodai did. More, he had an air of authority as he rode between two scouts and he did not bow his head as he reached Tsubodai. It had to be a minghaan officer, Tsubodai assumed, staring unblinking as the stranger was disarmed and allowed to come close. The tuman halted and the blinding wind seemed to intensify around them, howling across the land and dragging loose snow around the hooves of their horses.

‘General Tsubodai,’ the man said in greeting. ‘We saw your banners.’

Tsubodai did not reply. The man would have no authority to act on his own and he merely waited to see how Jochi would play it out.

‘I am to say that you are not welcome here, general,’ the officer went on. The warriors around Tsubodai raised their heads at the challenge in the words, but the man did not flinch. ‘We have no quarrel with you, of all men, but out of respect, we ask that you turn away and leave this place.’

Tsubodai pursed his lips, feeling the ice crack as it clung to him.

‘Your master said more than that, minghaan,’ he said. The officer blinked and Tsubodai knew he had guessed the rank correctly. ‘What did he tell you to do if I would not leave?’

The officer cleared his throat, reminded suddenly that he spoke to the most revered man in the nation after Genghis. Despite the strain, he smiled briefly.

‘He said you would not, that you would ask me that question, almost word for word.’

‘Well?’ Tsubodai demanded. He could feel the cold seeping into him and he was tired from riding. His mind felt dull and he wanted to get out of the wind.

‘He told me to say that he will not be there when you come. If you ride against us, you will find nothing. Even you cannot track us in the snow and we know this land. You will begin a hunt that will take you even further from the khan, but it will be wasted time.’ The man swallowed, nervousness growing in him as he sat under the glares of Tsubodai’s warriors. He summoned his courage to continue. ‘He said you have taught him well and you will not survive the hunt if you begin it.’