In the distance, the movement of a rider caught her eye. It was an instinctive talent, born of generations for whom spotting an enemy was the key to survival. She frowned and shaded her eyes, then made her hands into a tube to focus her sight further. Even with the old scout's trick, the dark figure was just a speck.

Her husband's bondsmen had not slept in the afternoon and already they were galloping to intercept the lone rider. Sorhatani felt her sense of peace dwindle and fade as they reached the man and the single point became a larger knot.

'Who are you?' she muttered to herself.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of worry. A single rider could only be one of the yam messengers who criss-crossed thousands of miles for the khan and his generals. With fresh horses, they could ride a hundred miles in a day, sometimes even further if it was a matter of life and death. The khan's forces in Chin territory were only ten days away by the reckoning of such men. She saw the three riders begin to approach the red hill together and her womb clenched in sudden premonition.

Behind her, she heard the sound of her sons back from their climb. Their voices were light and cheerful, but there were no calls of triumph. The fledgling eagles had left the nest, or flown from their grasping hands. Sorhatani began to pack away her supplies, folding her precious needles and spools of thread back into their roll and tying the knots with unconscious expertise. She did it rather than stand helplessly waiting and she took her time with the saddlebags, stowing the waterskins carefully.

When she turned back, her hand flew to her mouth as she recognised the lone rider flanked by the bondsmen. They were still some way off and she almost cried out to them to go faster. As they drew nearer, she saw how Mongke swayed in the saddle, close to utter exhaustion.

He was coated in dust and the sides of his horse heaved with caked muck from where he had emptied his bladder without dismounting. She knew the scouts did that only when the news had to be brought home with all speed and her heart skipped with dread. She did not speak as her eldest son dismounted and staggered, almost falling as his legs betrayed him. He clung to the saddle horn, using his strong right hand to rub out the cramps. At last their eyes met and he did not have to speak.

Sorhatani did not weep then. Though some part of her knew her husband was gone, she stood tall, her mind racing. There were so many things she had to do.

'You are welcome in my camp, my son,' she said at last.

Almost in a trance, she turned to the bondsmen and told them to make a fire and salt tea. Her other sons stood in silent confusion at the sight of the small group.

'Sit with me, Mongke,' she said softly.

Her son nodded, his eyes red-rimmed with weariness and grief. He took his place on the grass beside her and nodded to Kublai, Hulegu and Arik-Boke as they made a tight circle around their mother. When the salt tea was ready, Mongke drained the first bowl in a few gulps to cut the dust in his throat. The words still had to be spoken. Sorhatani almost cried out to stop him, her emotions in turmoil. If Mongke did not speak, it would not be completely true. Once the words were out, her life, her son's lives, would all change and she would have lost her beloved.

'My father is dead,' Mongke said.

His mother closed her eyes for a moment. Her last hope was torn away. She took a long breath.

'He was a good husband,' she whispered, choking. 'He was a warrior who commanded ten thousand for the khan. I loved him more than you will ever know.' Tears made her eyes large and her voice roughened as her throat closed on grief. 'Tell me how it happened, Mongke. Leave nothing out.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tsubodai reined in at the edge of a cliff, leaning out of his saddle to peer down on the valley below. It had taken him a day of following goat trails to reach the place, but from such a height he could see for twenty miles, his gaze encompassing hills and villages, rivers and towns. The wide Volga river ran to the west, but it was not a serious obstacle. He had already sent men wading across its sandbars to scout islands and the banks beyond. He had raided these lands years before. He smiled as he remembered taking his men across the frozen rivers. The Russians had not believed anyone could withstand their winter. They had been mistaken. Only Genghis could have called him back then. When the great khan had ordered him home, Tsubodai had returned, but it would not happen again. Ogedai had given him a free hand. The Chin borders were secure to the east. If he could crush the lands of the west, the nation would hold the central plains from sea to sea, an empire so vast it beggared the imagination. Tsubodai hungered to see the lands beyond the Russian forests, all the way to the legendary cold seas and the ghostly white peoples there who never saw the sun.

With such a view, it was easy to imagine the threads of his influence stretching back to him. Tsubodai stood at the centre of a web of messengers and spies. For hundreds of miles around the spot where he stood, he had men and women in every market, village, town and fortress. Some of them had no idea the coins they were paid came from the Mongol armies. A few of his scouts and informants were from the Turkic tribes, who lacked the eye-folds that marked his warriors. Others came from those Tsubodai and Batu had already recruited or taken by force. They staggered out of the ashes of every town, homeless and desperate, ready to accept whatever their conquerors asked in exchange for their lives. The khan's silver flowed like a river through Tsubodai's hands and he bought information as much as meat and salt – and valued it more.

The general turned his head as Batu came around the last turn and brought his pony onto the ridge crest before dismounting. Batu stared at the valleys below with an expression of bored resentment. Tsubodai frowned to himself. He could not change the past, any more than he could challenge Ogedai Khan's right to raise a sullen young man to command ten thousand. A green adolescent with an army could do a great deal of damage. The strange thing was that Tsubodai persisted in training him to be the most efficient destroyer he could be. Time alone would give him perspective and wisdom, all the things Batu currently lacked.

They sat for a long time in silence before Batu's patience frayed as Tsubodai had known it would. There was no calm at the centre of the angry young warrior, no internal peace. Instead, he simmered with constant rage and all those around him sensed it.

'I have come, Tsubodai Bahadur.' Batu pronounced the general's nickname with a sneer, making 'the valiant' sound like mockery. 'What is it that only your eyes can see?'

Tsubodai replied as if it was nothing, his voice as infuriatingly relaxed as he could make it.

'When we move on, your men will not be able to see the terrain, Batu. They might become lost, or be stopped by some obstacle. You see those low hills, there?'

Batu peered where Tsubodai pointed.

'From here, you can see how they run almost together, leaving a central ground free for…a mile, perhaps two. Four or five li, as the Chin measure distance. We could hide two minghaans on either side in ambush. If we bring the Russians to battle a few miles further on, a false retreat will drag them back to those hills and they will not get out.'

'This is nothing new,' Batu said. 'I know about the feigned retreat. I thought you would have something more interesting to make it worth dragging my horse up here.'

Tsubodai kept his cold eyes on the younger man for a moment, but Batu held his gaze with insolent confidence.

'Yes, Orlok Tsubodai?' he asked. 'Is there something you wish to say to me?'