‘I will match you, brother,’ Kachiun had replied, catching the wild mood. Both men trotted to the head of their small column. It grew by the moment as others joined them. The shaman, Kokchu, was there, one of the few who seemed sober. Genghis had looked for his last brother, Temuge, and saw him on foot, shaking his round head in disapproval. It did not matter, Genghis thought. The useless bastard never could ride.

He had looked around him, at his family, checking to see they all had full skins of airag and rice wine. It would not do to run short. A dozen poets had joined them, their faces bright with excitement. One had already begun declaiming lines and Genghis was tempted to kick him off his pony and leave him behind.

There was a little starlight and he could see his sons, brothers and generals. He chuckled for an instant at the idea of some poor thief stepping out in front of this group of cut-throats.

‘I will give a white mare to any man who beats me into the camp of Jelme and my son Chagatai.’ He had paused a heartbeat to let this sink in and catch the wild grins of the men.

‘Ride hard, if you have the heart!’ he had roared then, thumping in his heels and jerking his mare into a gallop through the camp. The others were almost as quick, yelling as they raced in pursuit. Perhaps two thousand had followed the khan into the deep darkness, all those who had been within reach of their horses as the khan leapt up. Not one faltered, though the ground was hard and to fall was to throw a life and not know if it would come down.

Riding at full speed over rushing black ground helped to clear Genghis’ head a little, though an ache had come to throb behind his left eye. There was a river somewhere near, he recalled. The thought of dipping his head into the freezing water was very tempting.

His light mood tore into shreds as he sensed a flanking movement in the darkness. For a single heartbeat, he wondered if he had risked his life, without banners, drums or anything else that marked him out as khan. Then he kicked his mount forward and yelled madly. It had to be Jelme’s men forming horns on either side of him. He rode like a maniac towards the centre of the line, where he knew he would find his general.

Khasar and Kachiun were close behind and then Genghis saw Jochi come past, riding flat on the saddle and yipping to his mount as he went, urging the animal on.

Together the spear point of the ragged column plunged towards Jelme’s lines, taking their lead from the khan. Two fell as their horses struck unseen obstacles. More crashed into the sprawling men and ponies in the darkness, unable to stop. Another three broke legs and were thrown. Some of the men bounced to their feet laughing and unhurt while others would not rise again. Genghis knew none of it, so intent was he on the menace of Jelme’s men and catching his own errant son.

Jochi did not call out a warning to Jelme’s lines, so Genghis could not. If his son chose to ride right down the throats of nervous men with drawn bows, Genghis could only swallow the sudden chill tugging at his drunkenness. He could only ride.

Jelme squinted into the blackness, his men ready. The warriors who rode like madmen in the dark were almost upon him. He had extended the wings around their column, so that they rode into a deepening cup. Though he could hardly see more than a black mass in the starlight, he could fill the air with shafts in a heartbeat.

He hesitated. It had to be Genghis, riding at the front. Who else could be so reckless? Yet no warning had been called. Jelme knew he would not let an enemy crash straight into his best men. He would send a storm of arrows first.

He squinted, turning his head left and right to make the moving shadows clear. Could it be the khan? He could have sworn he heard someone singing in the column that was charging right at him. In the dark, he alone stood in the light of a torch, to be seen. He raised his arm and all along the lines thousands of bows bent as one.

‘On my order!’ Jelme bellowed, as loud as he could. He could feel sweat chilling in the wind on his face, but he was not afraid. There was no one to ask, no one to tell him what to do. It was his decision alone. Jelme took one last look at the black riders coming and he smiled tightly, shaking his head like a nervous twitch. He could not know.

‘Stand down!’ he roared suddenly. ‘Let them come in! Wide formation.’

His officers repeated the orders down the line. Jelme could only wait to see whether the riders would stop, or hit his lines and begin the killing. He watched the blur of shadows come to a hundred paces, deep in the cup made by the wings. Fifty paces and still they followed the man who led them, into the mouth of their destruction.

Jelme saw some of them slow and men in the wings began calling out as they heard the voices of friends and family. Jelme relaxed, thanking the sky father that his instinct had been correct. He turned back to the front and his jaw dropped open as the tight-knit front rank punched into his own men with a crash loud enough to hurt the ears. Horses and warriors went down and suddenly every hand held a sword or a drawn bow once again.

‘Torches! Bring torches there!’ Jelme snapped. Slaves ran up through the ranks to light the scene of groaning men and kicking, sprawling horses.

Jelme recognised Genghis in the heart of it and he paled slightly, wondering if the khan would demand his head. Should he have fallen back or opened a path for them through the host? He let out a slow breath as Genghis opened his eyes and swore, sitting up with an effort. Jelme gestured for two warriors to help the khan to his feet, though he batted away their arms.

‘Where are you, general?’ Genghis called, shaking his head.

Jelme stood forward, swallowing nervously as he saw Genghis touch his jaw and come away with a smear of blood.

‘I am here, my lord khan,’ he said, standing painfully straight. He dared not look at the other men lying around and groaning, though he recognised Khasar’s angry voice as he tried to get someone unconscious off him.

Genghis turned to Jelme and his eyes focused at last.

‘You will note, general, that no other man reached your lines before me?’

Jelme blinked. ‘I believe so, my lord khan,’ he said.

Genghis nodded blearily to those behind him, satisfied.

‘The night is barely begun and already I have a sore head.’

Genghis grinned and Jelme saw he had broken a tooth on the right side of his face. He watched as Genghis spat blood onto the grass, glaring at a nearby warrior who shrank back visibly.

‘Light fires, Jelme. Your father is somewhere around, though he was not as quick as me, not even close. If Arslan is still alive, we will toast his life in rice wine and airag and whatever food you have.’

‘You are welcome in my camp, my lord khan,’ Jelme said formally. As he caught the riotous mood of the men who had ridden in, he began to grin. Even his father was chuckling in disbelief as he pulled himself upright and leaned on a stoic young warrior for support.

‘You didn’t stop, then?’ Jelme murmured wryly to his father.

Arslan shrugged and shook his head, his eyes shining at the memory.

‘Who could stop? He pulls us all in.’

Jelme’s ten thousand continued the feast in the wilderness. Even the youngest children were woken and brought to see the great khan as he strode through the camp. Genghis made a point of laying his hand on the heads of young ones, but he was distracted and impatient. He had heard horns sound the recall to the flanking riders and knew Chagatai was coming in. He could not fault Jelme for his preparations, but he wanted to see his son.

Jelme’s servants brought wine and cold food to the newcomers as huge fires of fine Koryon lumber were built and lit, casting pools of gold and darkness. The damp grass was covered in heavy sheets of felt and linen. When he took his place of honour, Genghis sat cross-legged, with Arslan on his right hand. Kachiun, Khasar and Tsubodai joined him in front of the roaring flames, passing a skin of rice wine from one to the other. As the circle filled, Jochi secured a place on Khasar’s right, so that Ogedai was further down the line. The senior men did not seem to notice, though Jochi thought Kachiun saw everything. The shaman, Kokchu, gave thanks to the sky father for the conquests Jelme had made and the riches he had brought back. Jochi watched the shaman spin and shriek, throwing drops of airag to the winds and spirits. Jochi felt one droplet touch his face and trickle down his chin.