“What about us?” Khasar said, bewildered. “We need more than sixty warriors. We need more men than the Kerait can put in the field.”

Temujin turned his face to the south, bitter with memories.

“When I have seen this invading army with my own eyes, we will come back to the lands around the red hill,” he said. “I will find the men we need, but we have another enemy we must face first.” He looked so grim that even Khasar did not speak, and Temujin spoke so quietly they barely heard him.

“My brothers and I have a debt to settle with the Olkhun’ut, Arslan. We could all be killed. You do not have to come with us.”

Arslan shook his head. He did not look at Jelme, though he felt his son’s eyes on him.

“You are my khan,” he replied.

“Is it enough?” Temujin said.

Arslan nodded slowly.

“It is everything.”

TEMUJIN STOOD with his arms outstretched as the bondsmen of the Olkhun’ut searched him thoroughly. Khasar and Arslan endured the same hands patting down every inch of them. The men who guarded Sansar’s ger sensed the grim moods of the visitors and missed nothing. All three men wore Chin armor over summer deels and silk under-tunics taken from the Tartars. Temujin glared as the bondsmen fingered the strange plates sewn into the heavy cloth. One of the men began to comment on them, but Temujin chose that moment to slap his hand away, as if irritated by the affront to his dignity. His heart beat a fast rhythm in his chest as he stood there, waiting to meet his oldest enemy.

Around them, the ever-curious Olkhun’ut had gathered, chattering to each other and pointing at the strangely garbed men who had disturbed their morning work. Temujin did not see old Sholoi among them, but his glowering uncle was there and Koke had taken possession of their swords once more, disappearing into the khan’s ger to bring news of their arrival. The young warrior had accepted their blades with something like disappointment on his face. Even at a glance, he could tell they were not of the quality that Temujin had carried before. The Tartar workmanship was rough, and the blades had to be sharpened more often than Arslan’s best steel.

“You may enter,” one of the bondsmen said at last. “And you,” he added, pointing to Khasar. “Your friend will have to wait out here.”

Temujin hid his dismay. He was not certain he could trust Khasar to keep his temper under strain, but Kachiun had other tasks that morning. He did not bother to reply and dipped low to pass through the small door, his mind racing.

For once, Sansar was not sitting in the great seat that dominated the ger he used for formal meetings. He was talking in a low voice to two more of his bondsmen as Temujin entered. Koke stood to one side, watching them. The swords they had carried were carelessly piled against the wall, an indication of their value.

At the creak of the door, Sansar broke off his murmuring and stepped up to his seat. Temujin saw that he moved with care, as if age were making his bones brittle. The khan still had the look of an old snake, with his shaved head and sunken eyes that were never still. It was hard for Temujin to look at him without showing a trace of hatred, but he kept the cold face. The Olkhun’ut bondsmen took up positions on either side of their master, glaring at the new arrivals. Temujin forced himself to remember the courtesies owed to a khan of a powerful tribe.

“I am honored to be in your presence, my lord Sansar,” he said.

“Yet again,” Sansar replied. “I thought I had seen the last of you. Why do you trouble me in my home, Temujin? I seem to see more of you than my own wives. What more could you possibly want from me?”

Temujin saw Koke smile out of the corner of his eye, and he flushed at the tone. He sensed Khasar stirring irritably and flashed a warning glance at his brother before speaking.

“Perhaps you have heard of the Tartar army coming fast out of the wastes of the north. I have seen them with my own eyes and I have come to warn you.”

Sansar gave a dry chuckle. “Every wanderer and herdsman for a thousand miles is talking of them. The Olkhun’ut have no quarrel with the Tartars. We have not traveled that far north for forty years, before my time as khan.” His eyes gleamed as he leaned forward in the chair, looking down at the two men standing stiffly before him.

“You have stirred them to war, Temujin, with your raids. You must accept the consequences. I fear for you, I really do.” His tone belied the words and Temujin hoped Khasar would keep silent as he had been ordered.

“They will not respect those tribes who claim no blood feud with them, my lord,” Temujin continued. “I saw a thousand warriors, with as many women and children in their camp. They have come into our lands in greater force than anyone can remember.”

“I am appalled,” Sansar said, smiling. “What then do you propose to do?”

“Stand in their way,” Temujin snapped, his own temper fraying under the older man’s evident amusement.

“With the Kerait? Oh, I have heard of your alliance, Temujin. The news spreads quickly when it is something so interesting. But will it be enough? I don’t think Togrul can bring more than three hundred warriors to that particular feast.”

Temujin took a slow breath, mastering himself. “The Olkhun’ut archers have a high reputation, my lord. With another three hundred of your men, I could-”

He broke off as Sansar chuckled, looking round at Koke and his two bondsmen. Sansar saw the angry expressions of Temujin and Khasar and made an attempt to be serious.

“I am sorry, but the idea was…” He shook his head. “You are here to beg warriors from me? You expect to have the entire strength of the Olkhun’ut ride back under your command? No.”

“The Tartars will take us one tribe at a time,” Temujin said, taking a step forward in his need to persuade the khan. The bondsmen saw the movement and tensed, but Temujin ignored them. “How long will you be safe, once the Kerait have been destroyed? How long will the Quirai survive, the Naimans, the Wolves? We have remained apart for so long, I think you forget we are one people.”

Sansar grew very still, watching Temujin from the recesses of his dark eyes.

“I know no brothers in the Kerait,” he said at last, his voice almost a whisper. “The Olkhun’ut have grown strong without their help. You must stand or run on your own, Temujin. You will not have my warriors with you. That is my answer. There will be no other from me.”

For a moment, Temujin was silent. When he spoke, it was as if each word were wrung out of him.

“I have bags of silver ingots, captured from the Tartars. Give me a price per man and I will buy them from you.”

Sansar threw his head back to laugh and Temujin moved. With a savage jerk, he snapped one of the iron plates from his armor and leapt forward, jamming it into Sansar’s bare throat. Blood splashed his face as he ripped the metal edge back and forth, ignoring Sansar’s hands as they clawed at him.

The bondsmen were not ready to deal with sudden death. As they broke from shock and drew their swords, Khasar was already there, his fist hammering into the nose of the closest man. He too held a piece of sharpened iron torn from where he and Temujin had weakened the threads in the armor. He used it to cut the throat of the second bondsman in a vicious swipe. The man staggered backwards, falling with a crash on the wooden floor. A bitter smell filled the air as the bondsman’s bowels released, his legs still kicking in spasms.

Temujin pulled back from the broken body of the khan, panting and covered with blood. The bondsman Khasar had punched surged forward in mindless rage, but Khasar had taken the sword from his companion. As they met, Temujin leapt from the chair, hammering into Sansar’s man and taking him to the polished floor. While Temujin held him, Khasar plunged his blade through the bondsman’s heaving chest, working it back and forth until he too was still.