Genghis nodded drunkenly. "Writing," he replied, scornfully. "It traps words."

"It makes them real, lord. It makes them last."

The morning after his meeting with Chen Yi, Genghis awoke with a pounding headache so bad he did not leave his ger all day except to vomit. He could not remember much after the sixth bottle had been brought out, but Chen Yi's words came back to him at intervals and he discussed them with Kachiun and Temuge. His people had only known a khan's rule, with all justice stemming from one man's judgment. Even as things stood, Genghis could have spent each day deciding arguments and punishing criminals in the tribes. It was already too much for him, yet he could not allow the small khans to resume their roles, or risk losing it all.

When Genghis gave the order to move on at last, it was strange to leave a city without seeing flames on the horizon behind them. Chen Yi had given him maps of Chin lands all the way to the eastern sea, more precious than anything they had won before. Though Chen Yi remained in Baotou, the mason Lian had agreed to accompany Genghis to Yenking. Lian seemed to regard the walls of the emperor's city as a personal challenge to his skill, and he had come to Genghis to make the offer before he could be asked. His son had not beggared his business in his absence, and Genghis privately thought it was a matter of going on with the invading army or settling for a quiet retirement.

The great trek continued into Chin lands, the central mass of carts and gers moving slowly, but always surrounded by tens of thousands of horsemen looking for the slightest chance to earn the praise of their commanders. Genghis had allowed messengers to travel from Baotou to other cities on their route to the mountains west of Yenking, and the decision quickly bore fruit. The emperor had stripped the garrison from Hohhot, and without soldiers to bolster their nerve, the city surrendered without a single arrow being shot, then provided two thousand young men to be trained in the art of sieges and the pike. Chen Yi had shown the value of that with his own draft, choosing the best of his city to accompany the Mongols and learn the skills of battle. It was true that they had no horses, but Genghis gave them as infantry to Arslan and they accepted the new discipline without question.

Jining's garrison had refused to obey the emperor's order, and the gates remained closed. It had been burned to the ground after the black tent was raised on the third day. Three other cities had surrendered after that. Those men who were young and strong were taken as prisoners, driven like sheep. There were simply too many to use as soldiers without seeing the tribes outnumbered. Genghis did not want them, but he could not leave so many at his back. His people drove half their number again over the land, and every day, there were bodies in their wake. As the nights grew colder, the Chin prisoners huddled together and whispered, a constant susurration that was eerie in the darkness.

It had been one of the hottest summers any of them had ever known. The old men said a freezing winter would follow, and Genghis did not know whether he should move on the capital or leave the campaign for another year.

The mountains before Yenking were already visible and his scouts raced after mounted observers for the emperor whenever they appeared in the distance. Though their horses were swift, some of the Chin watchers were caught, and each one added detail to the picture Genghis was building.

On a morning where the ground had frozen in the night, he sat on a pile of wooden saddles and stared into the weak sun. It rose over the range of steep green crags that protected Yenking from him, shrouded in mist. Taller than the peaks between the Gobi and Xi Xia, they made even the mountains he remembered from home seemed less impressive. Yet the captured observers spoke of the pass known as the Badger's Mouth and he felt he was being drawn to it. The emperor had gathered his strength there, gambling on a single massive force that dwarfed the army Genghis had brought to that place. Everything could end there and all his dreams would become ashes.

He chuckled to himself at the thought. Whatever the future held, he would meet it with his head raised and his sword drawn. He would struggle to the end, and if he fell against his enemies, it would have been a life well spent. Part of him felt a pang at the thought that his sons would not long survive his death, but he crushed the weakness. They would make their own lives as he had made his. If they were swept up in the wind of greater events, that would be their fate. He could not protect them from everything.

In the ger at his back, he heard one of Chakahai's children squalling. He could not tell if it was the son or the daughter. He brightened at the thought of the little girl who, though barely walking, toddled over to press her head affectionately against his leg whenever she saw him. He had seen a terrible jealousy in Borte when she had witnessed the simple act, and he sighed at the memory. Conquering enemy cities was far less complicated than the women in his life, or the children they bore for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother Kachiun approach, strolling along one of the camp paths in the morning sun.

"Have you escaped out here?" Kachiun called to him. Genghis nodded, patting a place next to him on the saddles. Kachiun joined him and handed Genghis one of two hot pouches of mutton and unleavened bread, thick with warm grease. Genghis took his gratefully. He could smell snow on the air and he longed for the cold months to come.

"Where is Khasar this morning?" Genghis asked, tearing off a piece of the bread with his fingers and chewing it.

"Out with Ho Sa and the Young Wolves, teaching them how to charge against groups of the prisoners. Have you seen it? He gives the prisoners pikes! We lost three young men yesterday against them."

"I heard," Genghis said. Khasar used only small groups of the prisoners to train. It surprised Genghis how few were willing to take part, even with the promise of a pike or a sword. Surely it was better to die like that than in listless apathy. He shrugged to himself at the thought. The young men of the tribes had to learn to fight, as they would once have done against their own people. Khasar knew what he was doing, Genghis was almost certain.

Kachiun was watching him in silence, a wry smile on his face.

"You never ask about Temuge," he said.

Genghis grimaced. His youngest brother made him uneasy and Khasar seemed to have fallen out with him. In truth, he could not make himself care about Temuge's latest enthusiasms. He surrounded himself with captured Chin scrolls, reading them even by lamplight in darkness.

"So why are you sitting here?" Kachiun asked to change the subject.

His brother snorted. "Do you see the men waiting nearby?"

"I noticed one of the Woyela sons, the eldest," Kachiun admitted. His sharp eyes missed nothing.

"I have told them not to approach me until I stand. When I do, they will come with questions and demands, as they do every morning. They will make me decide which one of them has the right to a particular colt, as one owns the mare and one the stallion. Then they will want me to commission new armor from some metalworker who just happens to be a relative. There is no end to it."

He groaned at the thought. "Perhaps you can delay them long enough for me to get away."

Kachiun smiled at his brother's predicament. "And I thought nothing could frighten you," he said. "Appoint another to deal with them. You must be free to plan the war with your generals."

Genghis nodded, reluctantly. "You have said it before, but who can I trust in such a position? At a single stroke, he would have as much power as any man in the tribes." An answer occurred to both of them at the same time, but it was Kachiun who spoke.