“You honor your father with your restraint,” he said softly. “Knowing it is not from weakness, but from strength.”

Temujin glanced sharply at him, but the words seemed to settle his nerves. Arslan kept his face clear of any relief. For all his ability, Temujin was only eighteen. Wryly, Arslan admitted that Temujin had chosen his companion well for the trip south. They had ridden into terrible danger and Temujin was as prickly as any other young man with his new status and pride. Arslan readied himself to be the calming force Temujin had known he needed when his judgment was clear.

Koke returned after an age, stiff disdain in every movement.

“My lord Sansar will see you,” he said, “but you will give up your weapons.”

Temujin opened his mouth to object, but Arslan untied his scabbard with a flick of his fingers and slapped the hilt of his sword into Koke’s open hand.

“Guard the blade well, boy,” Arslan told him. “You will not see another of that quality in your lifetime.”

Koke could not resist feeling the balance of the sword, but Temujin spoiled his attempt by pressing the second of Arslan’s blades into his arms, so that he had to take it or drop them both. Temujin’s hand felt empty as he let it go, and his gaze remained fixed on the weapons as Koke stepped back.

It was Arslan who faced one of the khan’s bondsmen at the door, opening his arms wide and inviting a search. There was nothing passive in the way he stood there, and Temujin was reminded of the deadly stillness of a snake about to strike. The guard sensed it too and patted down every inch of the swordsmith, including the cuffs of his deel and his ankles.

Temujin could do no less and he endured the search without expression, though inwardly he began to simmer. He could not like these people, for all he dreamed of forming a great tribe of tribes across the land. When he did, the Olkhun’ut would not be part of it until they had been bled clean.

When the bondsmen were satisfied, they ducked into the ger and, in an instant, Temujin was back on the night he had learned of his father’s injury. The polished wooden floor was the same and Sansar himself seemed unmarked by the passage of years.

The khan of the Olkhun’ut remained seated as they approached, his dark eyes watching them with a hint of jaded amusement.

“I am honored to be in your presence, lord,” Temujin said clearly.

Sansar smiled, his skin crinkling like parchment. “I had not thought to see you here again, Temujin. Your father’s passing was a loss for all our people, all the tribes.”

“There is a high price still to pay for those who betrayed him,” Temujin replied. He sensed a subtle tension in the air then as Sansar leaned forward in his great chair, as if expecting something more. When the silence had become painful, Sansar smiled.

“I have heard of your attacks in the north,” the khan said, his voice sibilant in the gloom. “You are making a name for yourself. I think, yes, I think your father would be proud of you.”

Temujin lowered his gaze, unsure how to respond.

“But you have not come to me to boast of little battles against a few raiders, I am sure,” Sansar went on.

His voice held a malice that set Temujin on edge, but he replied with calm.

“I have come for what I was promised,” he said, looking Sansar squarely in the eye.

Sansar pretended to be confused for a moment.

“The girl? But you came to us then as the son of a khan, one who might well inherit the Wolves. That story has been told and ended.”

“Not all of it,” Temujin replied, watching as Sansar blinked slowly, his inner amusement sparkling in his gaze. The man was enjoying himself and Temujin wondered if he would be allowed to leave alive. There were two bondsmen in the ger with their khan, both armed with swords. Koke stood to one side with his head bowed. In a glance, Temujin saw that the swords he held could be snatched from his grip. His cousin was still a fool.

Temujin forced himself to relax. He had not come to die in that ger. He had seen Arslan kill with blows from his hands, and he thought they might survive the first strikes of the bondsmen. Once the warriors gathered in his defense, it would be the end. Temujin dismissed the idea. Sansar was not worth his life; not then, or ever.

“Is the word of the Olkhun’ut not good, then?” he said softly.

Sansar drew in a long breath, letting it hiss over his teeth. His bondsmen shifted, allowing their hands to touch the hilts of their swords.

“Only the young can be so careless with their lives,” Sansar said, “as to risk insulting me in my own home.” His gaze dropped to Koke and sharpened at the sight of the twin swords.

“What can a mere raider offer me for one of the Olkhun’ut women?” he said.

He did not see Arslan close his eyes for a moment, struggling with indignation. The sword he carried had been with him for more than a decade, the best he had ever made. They had nothing else to offer. For an instant, he wondered if Temujin had guessed there would be a price and chosen not to warn him.

Temujin did not reply at first. The bondsmen at Sansar’s side watched him as a man might watch a dangerous dog, waiting for it to bare its fangs and be killed.

Temujin took a deep breath. There was no choice, and he did not look at Arslan for approval.

“I offer you a perfect blade made by a man without equal in all the tribes,” he said. “Not as a price, but as a gift of honor to my mother’s people.”

Sansar bowed his head graciously, gesturing at Koke to approach him. Temujin’s cousin covered his smile and held out the two swords.

“It seems I have a choice of blades, Temujin,” Sansar said, smiling.

Temujin watched in frustration as Sansar fingered the carved hilts, rubbing the balls of his thumbs over bone and brass. Even in the gloom of the ger, they were beautiful, and Temujin could not help but remember his father’s sword, the first that had been taken from him. In the silence, he recalled the promise to his brothers and spoke again before Sansar could reply.

“As well as the woman I was promised, I need two more to be wives for my kin.”

Sansar shrugged, then drew Arslan’s blade and held it up to his eye to look along its length.

“If you will make me a gift of both blades, I will find your offer acceptable, Temujin. We have too many girls in the gers. You may take Sholoi’s daughter if she will have you. She has been a thorn in our side for long enough, and no man can say the Olkhun’ut do not honor their promises.”

“And two more, young and strong?” Temujin said, pressing.

Sansar looked at him for a long time, lowering the swords to his lap. At last, he nodded, grudgingly.

“In memory of your father, Temujin, I will give you two daughters of the Olkhun’ut. They will strengthen your line.”

Temujin would have liked to reach out and grab the khan by his skinny throat. He bowed his head and Sansar smiled.

The khan’s bony hands still fondled the weapons and his gaze became distant, as he seemed almost to have forgotten the men who stood in front of him. With an idle gesture, he signaled the pair to be removed from his presence. The bondsmen ushered them out into the cold air, and Temujin took a deep draft of it, his heart hammering in his chest.

Arslan’s face was tight with anger and Temujin reached out to touch him lightly on the wrist. The swordsmith seemed to jump at the contact, and Temujin remained still, sensing the inner force of the man as it coiled and uncoiled within him.

“It was a greater gift than you know,” Arslan said.

Temujin shook his head, seeing Koke come out behind them, his arms empty. “A sword is just a sword,” he replied. Arslan turned a cold expression on him, but Temujin did not flinch. “You will make a better one, for both of us.”

He turned to Koke then, who was watching the exchange with fascination.