There were no enemies near Jochi as he ran a thumb along the edge of his sword, feeling the nicks in the steel. He was surrounded by bodies, many of them men who had ridden through the hills and destroyed the shah’s best cavalry. Others looked to him with anger still fresh in their eyes. Chagatai was busy gutting the remainder of the Arab column, his horses trampling flags and banners into the bloody ground.

If he dealt with Chagatai as his brother deserved, both tumans would fight to the death, Jochi warned himself. His brother’s officers would not let him anywhere near Chagatai with a blade, not when they knew the reason for his anger. Their shame would not prevent them drawing swords and then his own men would respond. Jochi struggled with a powerful desire to race across the battlefield and see his brother cut into pieces. He could not go to Genghis for justice. It was too easy to imagine his father pouring scorn on his complaints, dismissing them as a criticism of tactics rather than a charge of murder. His breath shuddered with frustration as the sounds of battle moved away from him, leaving him empty. Still he had won, even in the midst of betrayal. He felt pride for his men mingle with the hatred and impotence forced on him.

Slowly, Jochi wiped blood from the blade he had won from Chagatai. He had faced death that night against the tiger and he had faced it again on that day. He could not simply let pass what had been done to him.

He flicked droplets of blood onto the ground and began to ride slowly to where his brother sat his horse. With grim glances at each other, his men followed, ready to fight again.

Samarkand was an attractive city. Genghis walked his pony along a wide street lined with houses, the unshod hooves clicking over uneven stones. Somewhere ahead, smoke hung in the sky and he could hear the sounds of fighting, but this part of the city was deserted and surprisingly peaceful.

His men were wary for him as they walked on either side with bows bent, ready to punish the slightest sign of movement. They had beaten the garrison back inside the city in an orderly retreat that would have done honour to his own tumans. Genghis was surprised to find they had prepared a second position within the city itself, but then Samarkand was a surprising place. As with Yenking, he had begun to think he would have to starve them out, but they had risked it all as soon as a relieving army was in reach. His reason for insisting on speed had borne fruit once again, facing an enemy who vastly underestimated the strength of the tumans.

If he stayed in the shah’s lands, he suspected they would eventually communicate, with the most able officers working out ways to counter his attacks. He smiled to himself at the thought. By the time they ever did, the whole of Khwarezm would be under his control.

Trees grew along the edges of the streets, full-grown, but somehow neat. Genghis could see the fading white discs of pruning cuts as he passed, as well as dark stains on the dusty roots where they had been watered just that morning. He shook his head in wonder at the labour involved. He supposed city men enjoyed the shade the trees cast in the summer and he had to admit they gave off a pleasant scent in the warm breeze. Perhaps even city men needed to see a touch of green leaves from the stone balconies. Standing in the stirrups, Genghis could see an open bowl of bare earth ringed in tiered wooden benches. Samarkand had many strange things within the walls. It could have been a place where the Arabs gathered to hear speakers, or race horses even. His men were bringing prisoners there and it was already dark with a huddled mass of people, bound and numb with fear.

He passed a stone well at a junction of roads and dismounted to examine it. As he peered over the edge, he saw a dark circle of water far below. On impulse, he took the leather bucket on its rope and dropped it in, just to hear the splash. When he pulled it up, he drank deeply, clearing the dust from his throat before passing it to one of his archers and getting back in the saddle. Samarkand was well placed, in its position in the bow of a river and lakes. On such soil you could grow anything and Genghis had seen empty markets full of fresh fruit and vegetables by the main gate. He wondered what the inhabitants did with their days if food and water were so plentiful. It was clear they did not spend it in practice of arms after the way the garrison had retreated. His tumans had simply followed them into the city, too close for them to shut the gates.

The sheer size of Samarkand was difficult to comprehend. Genghis was surrounded by roads and houses, large buildings and small. The shah’s palace dominated the maze around it, but Genghis aimed his mount at a needle minaret to the west of the city, his curiosity aroused by such a strange structure looming over the rest. If anything, it seemed to grow taller as he approached.

The minaret stood over a large open square, surrounded by squat buildings with shuttered windows. Genghis hardly noticed as his officers kicked in doors and checked each one for enemies. Grunts and scuffles sounded, but the warriors knew their business and the noises did not last long. More prisoners were trussed and dragged back to the racetrack, some of them staring wildly at the man who stood alone at the foot of the minaret.

Genghis ran his hand along the base of the structure, enjoying the feel of the intricate tiles on the surface. Each one interlocked with the next and he was tempted to take his knife and work one loose just to look at it. The narrow tower shone in the sunlight and he had to crane his neck to see the top from where he stood. As he leaned back, the hat he wore suddenly tipped and fell at his feet. He smiled in amazement that men could build such a thing, then reached down to pick it up.

Genghis chuckled to himself as he placed the hat back on his head. One of the men heard the sound.

‘My lord khan?’ he asked, ready for any order.

‘I was just thinking that I have never bowed to anyone since coming to these lands,’ Genghis replied lightly. ‘Until this tower.’

The man smiled to see his khan in so mellow a mood. Perhaps it was the open nature of the city they walked through. Chin towns were cramped in comparison and Genghis could not imagine ruling such places. Here, in the sun, it was possible. The citizens would have fresh water and food from the markets to feed their families. Farmers would bring it in each morning before dawn and take their payment in coins of bronze and silver. For an instant, Genghis saw the whole workings of a city clearly in his mind, from the merchants to the artisans, to teachers and scribes. Somehow it all worked, though he could not yet understand where all the coins came from in the first place. Were there mines nearby? And if there were, who made the metal into coins and gave them away to start the commerce of Samarkand? The shah? It was confusing and complex, but he turned his face to the sun and felt at peace. He had won a battle that morning and sent his sons to break another army come to relieve Samarkand. It was a good day.

The smell of smoke came stronger into the square and Genghis put aside his wandering thoughts. His men roamed everywhere to collect prisoners, but the garrison fought on and he remounted to oversee the fighting. With his line of archers, he walked his horse to where grey smoke billowed over the stunned city. As he rode, he firmed his mouth. What was the point of wells and courtyards if you could not hold them? There were always hungry men willing to take what you had built. A ruler had to be a fool to let them peer into his cities and take what they wanted. Yet a city could be defended, Genghis knew. He had broken enough walls in his time to have a good idea of what worked best against his catapults and wall hooks. He was tempted to test the idea with one of his generals the next winter, Tsubodai for preference. His favourite general would relish the challenge. If Tsubodai could hold a city against the tumans, perhaps Genghis would consider leaving them intact to be ruled by his own family. Otherwise, he might as well leave them staked out like the goats they used to catch wolves at home.