He did not look at Batu as he spoke, though the prince smiled. Tsubodai paused to take a draught of airag, feeling the warmth spread in his stomach.

'I am splitting the army in three. Baidur and Ilugei will strike north. My scouts tell me there is an army near a city named Krakow. Your orders are to remove it from the field and burn the city. The small kings there cannot be allowed to form up on our flank.'

He looked Ilugei in the eye.

'You have more years of experience than Baidur, who is new to the role.' Tsubodai sensed Baidur stiffen as the younger man saw his authority threatened before his eyes. He went on. 'Can you accept his command over you, Ilugei?'

'I can, orlok,' Ilugei replied, bowing his head.

Baidur let out a breath. It was a small thing, but Tsubodai had taken one of Batu's supporters and deliberately favoured him.

'Guyuk and Mongke, the lands to the south must be laid waste. You will take your tumans to the south of us. Sweep the land clear of anyone capable of fielding a force of men or horses. When you have scorched the earth, return and support me.'

'What about me, orlok?' Batu said softly. He was frowning deeply at the news that Guyuk would be sent to the south, well away from him. 'Where would you have me stand?'

'At my side, of course,' Tsubodai replied with a smile. 'You and I will strike west with Jebe, Chulgetei and the ragged army we command on foot. With three tumans, we will raze Hungary together, while our brothers clear the flanks.'

There was no ceremony as the men walked away from the old barn. Tsubodai noticed how Batu made a point of clapping Guyuk on the back, but there was strain in both men's faces. They had fought and ridden with Tsubodai's eyes on them and other tumans ready to ride in support. They were not afraid of the responsibility. Each man there welcomed the chance to act on his own. It was why they had sought power and it had come upon them in the foothills of the Carpathians, from the hand of Tsubodai. Only Batu, Jebe and Chulgetei would remain. The three men were a little wistful as they watched the others break into a jog to reach their warriors quickly.

'It feels like a race, does it not?' Jebe said.

Batu turned cold eyes on him. 'Not to me. It seems I am to stay with my wet nurse and you.'

Jebe laughed and stretched the stiffness out of his back.

'You think too much, Batu, do you know that?' he said and walked away, still smiling. Ogedai was in the gardens of Karakorum, watching the sun set from a stone bench. He felt at peace there in a way he could never have explained to his father. He chuckled softly. Even the thought of Genghis was like bringing darker shadows into the groves of trees. Ogedai loved the gardens in summer, but in winter they had a different beauty. The trees stood bare, their branches outstretched and waiting silently for green life. It was a time of darkness and yearning, of snug gers and heated airag, of being wrapped tight against the wind. Life in the gers was one thing he missed in the palace of Karakorum. He had even considered having one built in a courtyard before he dismissed the idea as foolishness. He could not go back to a simpler life, not now he had left it behind. It was the longing of a child, for the days when his mother and father were still alive. His grandmother Hoelun had lived long enough to lose her mind and memories and he shuddered at the thought of her last days. The first mother of the nation had become a babbling child at the end, unable even to clean herself. No one would wish such a fate on an enemy, never mind someone they loved.

He stretched his back, loosening the cramps from a day of sitting and talking. There was so much talking in a city. It was almost as if the streets were built on words. He smiled at the thought of his father's reaction to all the meetings he had attended that day. The problems of clean water and sewage pipes would have driven Genghis to apoplexy.

Ogedai shaded his eyes as the sunlight struck across Karakorum. The city was washed in dark gold, making every line of it stand out with extraordinary clarity. His eyes were not as sharp as they had once been and he relished the light and what it revealed. He had made Karakorum, no one else, certainly not his father. The palace tower cast a long shadow across the city in the wilderness. It was young yet, but in time it would be the true heart of the nation, the seat of khans. He wondered how they would remember him in the centuries to come.

He shivered slightly as the evening breeze picked up. With a quick gesture, he pulled his deel tighter over his chest, but then let it fall open again. What would his life have been without the weakness of the flesh? He sighed slowly, feeling the erratic thumping in his chest. He had grown weary waiting. He had thrown himself into battle to conquer the terror, ridden into an enemy army as if fear was a snake to be crushed under his sandal. In response, it had sunk its fangs into his heel and dropped him into darkness. There were times when he thought he had not yet climbed out of that pit.

He shook his head in memory, trying not to think of Tolui and what he had done for him. A brave man could conquer fear, he had learned that, but perhaps only for a time. It was something the young did not understand, the way it could gnaw at a man, the way it came back stronger every time, until you were alone and gasping for breath.

He had smothered himself in despair, giving up the struggle; giving in. Sorhatani had pulled him back and given him hope again, though she could never know how it was an agony to hope. How could he live with death crouched on his shoulders, gripping him from behind, weighing him down? He had faced it. He had summoned his courage and raised his head, but it had not looked away. No man could be strong all day, all night. It had worn him down to nothing.

Ogedai rested his hands on his knees, turning them upwards so he could see the palms. The callus had begun to return, though he had experienced blisters for the first time in years. One or two were still weeping from just an hour with the sword and bow that afternoon. He could feel his strength coming back, but too slowly. In his youth, he had been able to call on his body without thought, but his heart had been weak even then. He raised a hand to his neck and pushed his fingers under his silk tunic over his chest, feeling the thready beat there. It seemed such a fragile thing, like a bird.

A sudden pain made him start. It was as if he had been struck, and as his vision blurred, he turned to see whatever had hit him. He felt his head for blood, bringing his hands close to his eyes. His hands were clean. Another spasm made him hunch over, leaning against his knees as if he could press it away. He gasped aloud, panting. His pulse thumped in his ears, a hammer that throbbed through him.

'Stop,' he snapped, furious. His body was the enemy, his heart the betrayer. He would command it. He clenched his fist and pressed it against his chest, still bent over to his knees. Another pain hit him then, even worse than the last. He groaned and threw back his head, staring at the darkening sky. He had survived before. He would wait it out.

He did not feel himself slump, slipping sideways off the bench so that the stones of the path pressed against his cheek. He could hear his heart beat in great, slow thumps, then nothing, just an awful silence that went on and on. He thought he could hear his father's voice and he wanted to weep, but there were no tears left in him, just darkness and cold.