“You are dying, Eeluk,” Temujin said.

Eeluk did not respond as he came in again, gasping with every breath. Temujin swayed aside from the first of his blows and let the second cut him along his side, so that Eeluk came in close. He struck back like a snake and Eeluk was sent staggering away, his legs weakening. A hole had appeared high in his chest and blood gouted from it. Eeluk bent over the wound, trying to brace himself on his knees. His left hand would not respond and he almost lost his sword as he struggled for breath.

“My father loved you,” Temujin said, watching him. “If you had been loyal, you would have stood here with me now.”

Eeluk’s skin had gone a sick white as he heaved for air and strength.

“Instead, you dishonored his trust,” Temujin continued. “Just die, Eeluk. I have no more use for you.”

He watched as Eeluk tried to speak, but blood touched his lips and no sound came out. Eeluk went down onto one knee and Temujin sheathed his sword, waiting. It seemed to take a long time as Eeluk clung to life, but he slumped at last, sprawling sideways on the ground. His chest became still and Temujin saw one of the Wolves walk out from where they watched. Temujin tensed for another attack, but he saw it was the bondsman Basan, and he hesitated. The man who had saved Temujin from Eeluk once before came to stand over the body, looking down on it. Basan’s expression was troubled, but without speaking, he reached down to pick up the wolf’s-head sword and straightened. As Temujin and his brothers watched, Basan held out the blade hilt first and Temujin took it, welcoming its weight to his hand like an old friend. He thought for a moment that he might pass out himself before he felt his brothers hold him upright.

“I waited a long time to see that,” Khasar murmured under his breath.

Temujin stirred from his apathy, remembering how his brother had kicked Sansar’s corpse.

“Treat the body with dignity, brother. I need to win over the Wolves and they won’t forgive us if we treat him badly. Let them take him up to the hills and lay him out for the hawks.” He looked around at the silent ranks from three tribes. “Then I want to go back to the camp and claim what is mine. I am khan of the Wolves.”

He tasted the words in a whisper and his brothers gripped him tighter on hearing them, their faces showing nothing to those who watched.

“I’ll see to it,” Khasar said. “You must have your wound bound before you bleed to death.”

Temujin nodded, overcome with exhaustion. Basan had not moved and he thought he should speak to the Wolves as they stood stunned around them, but it would wait. They had nowhere else to go.

MORE THAN TWO HUNDRED WARRIORS had been lost in the battle against the Tartars. Before Temujin’s forces left the area, the skies were filled with circling hawks, vultures, and ravens, the hillsides writhing with wings as they stalked amongst the corpses, fighting and screeching. Temujin had given orders that no difference would be made between Kerait, Olkhun’ut, and Wolves. The shamans of three tribes overcame their dislike of each other and chanted the death rites while the warriors watched the birds of prey gliding overhead. Even before the chanting had finished, ragged black vultures had landed, their dark eyes watching the living as they hopped onto dead men.

They left the Tartars where they had fallen, but it was not until late in the day that the carts began to move back to their main camp. Temujin and his brothers rode in the lead, with the Wolf bondsmen at his back. If he had not been the son of the old khan, they could well have killed him as soon as Eeluk fell, but Basan had handed him his father’s sword and they had not moved. Though they did not exult as the Olkhun’ut and Kerait did, they were steady and they were his. Tolui rode stiffly with them, his face showing the marks of a beating. Khasar and Kachiun had taken him quietly aside in the night, and he did not look at them as he rode.

As they reached Togrul’s camp, the women came out to greet their husbands and sons, searching faces desperately until they saw their loved ones had survived. Voices cried out in pleasure and grief alike, and the plain was alive with cheering and noise.

Temujin trotted his battered mare to where Togrul had come out and was standing with Wen Chao. The khan of the Kerait had kept some guards to protect the families, and those men would not meet Temujin’s gaze as it swept over them. They had not ridden with him.

Temujin dismounted.

“We have broken their back, Togrul. They will not come south again.”

“Where is the khan of the Wolves?” Togrul asked, looking out across the milling warriors and their families.

Temujin shrugged. “He stands before you,” he said. “I have claimed the tribe.”

Wearily, Temujin turned away to give orders to his brothers, and he did not see Togrul’s changing expression. They could all smell mutton sizzling on the breeze, and the returning warriors cheered at the scent. They were starving after the day before and nothing would be accomplished until they had fed and drunk their fill.

Wen Chao saw Yuan riding toward him, a bloody rag tied tightly round his shin. Temujin was heading toward the ger of his wife, and Wen Chao waited patiently until Yuan had dismounted and gone down on one knee.

“We have had no details of the battle, Yuan. You must tell us what you saw.”

Yuan kept his gaze on the ground.

“Your will, master,” he replied.

As the sun set, the hills were lit in bars of gold and shadow. The feasting had continued until the men were drunk and sated. Togrul had been part of it, though he had not cheered Temujin with the others, even when the bondsmen of the Wolves had brought their families out to take an oath of loyalty to the son of Yesugei. Togrul had seen Temujin’s eyes fill with tears as they knelt before him, and he had felt a simmering resentment start. It was true he had not fought with them, but had he not played a part? It could not have been won without the Kerait, and it had been Togrul who had called Temujin out of the icy north. He had not been blind to the way his Kerait had mingled with the others until there was no telling them apart. They looked on the young khan with awe, a man who had gathered the tribes under his command and won a crushing victory against an ancient enemy. Togrul saw every glance and bowed head and felt fear worm its way into his gut. Eeluk had fallen and Sansar before him. It was not hard to imagine knives coming in the night for Togrul of the Kerait.

When the feasting was over, he sat in his ger with Wen Chao and Yuan, talking long into the night. As the moon rose he took a deep breath and felt the fumes of black airag hanging heavily in his lungs. He was drunk, but he needed to be.

“I have done everything I promised, Wen Chao,” he reminded the ambassador.

Wen’s voice was soothing. “You have. You will be a khan of vast estates and your Kerait will know peace. My masters will be pleased to hear of such a victory. When you have divided the spoils, I will come with you. There is nothing for me here, not anymore. Perhaps I will have the chance to enjoy my final years in Kaifeng.”

“If I am allowed to leave,” Togrul spat suddenly. His flesh shuddered with indignation and worry and Wen Chao tilted his head to look at him, like a listening bird.

“You fear the new khan,” he murmured.

Togrul snorted. “Why would I not, with a trail of dead men behind him? I have guards around this ger, but in the morning who knows how long it will be before…” He trailed off, his fingers writhing together as he thought. “You saw them cheer him, my own Kerait among them.”

Wen Chao was troubled. If Temujin killed the fat fool the following morning, any reprisal would fall on Wen as much as anyone. He considered what to do, very aware of Yuan’s impassive face as they sat in the shadows.