Conqueror: The Complete 5-Book Collection - Conn Iggulden

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and his right eye was too clotted with blood to open. He hoped they had not blinded him, but part of him was past caring. It was so dark, he could not understand where he was. Above his head, he could see bars blocking the distant starlight and he shivered. He was in a frozen hole, the wooden lattice too far above for him to jump. He pressed his good hand to the walls and found the earth was slick with wetness. His feet were submerged in water and above him he heard low chuckles.

      To his horror, a soft grunt was followed by another rain of stinking liquid. The bondsmen were urinating into the hole and laughing as they did so.

      Temujin covered his head with his hands and fought against a black despair. He knew he could end his life in that filthy hole, perhaps with rocks dropped in to break his legs and arms. There was no justice in the world, but he had known that ever since the death of his father. The spirits took no part in the lives of men once they had been born. A man either endured what the world sent his way, or was crushed.

      The men grunted as they lifted a heavy stone onto the criss-cross of branches. When they had gone, Temujin tried to pray for a little while. To his surprise, it gave him strength and he crouched against the frozen muddy walls until dawn, unable to do more than drift in and out of sleep. It was a small comfort that his bowels had nothing in them. He felt as if he had always been hungry and sore. There had been a life once where he was happy and could ride to the red hill with his brothers. He held on to the thought like a light in the darkness, but it would not stay with him.

      Before dawn, he heard footsteps approach and a dark figure leaned out over the lattice, blocking more of the stars. Temujin winced in anticipation of another emptying bladder, but instead the dark figure spoke.

      ‘Who are you?’ came a low voice.

      Temujin did not look up, but he felt his pride rekindle and he replied, ‘I am the eldest surviving son of Yesugei, who was khan to the Wolves.’

      For an instant, he saw flashing lights at the edges of his vision and he thought he might pass out. He remembered old words his father had used and he spoke them recklessly.

      ‘I am the land, and the bones of the hills,’ he said fiercely, ‘I am the winter. When I am dead, I will come for you all in the coldest nights.’

      He stared up defiantly, determined not to show his misery. The shadow did not move, but after a time, it murmured a few words and then vanished, letting the light of the stars shine down into the pit.

      Temujin hugged his knees and waited for the dawn.

      ‘Who are you to tell me not to despair?’ he murmured.

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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      Temujin watched the sun pass overhead, its fire damped by heavy cloud, so that he was able to gaze on the orange disc with only a little discomfort. The thin warmth was welcome each morning after the frozen night. When he drifted back to consciousness, his first act was to pull his feet free of the slurry of ice and mud, then stamp and pump his limbs until his blood began moving again. He had used one corner of the little pit for his wastes, but it was still practically underfoot and, by the third day, the air was thick and nauseating. Flies buzzed down through the lattice overhead and he spent time batting gently at them, keeping them alive as long as possible for sport.

      They had thrown bread and mutton down to him, laughing at his attempts to catch the pouches before they fell into the slop. His stomach had squeezed painfully the first time he had eaten one from the ground, but it was that or starve, and he forced it down with nothing more than a shrug. Every day, he marked the moving shadows cast by the sun with small stones in the mud; anything to dull the passage of time and his own misery.

      He did not understand why Eeluk had left him in the pit rather than give him a quick death. In the hours alone, Temujin fantasised about Eeluk being overcome with shame, or finding himself unable to hurt a son of Yesugei. Perhaps he had even been struck down by a curse or a disfiguring disease. It amused Temujin to imagine it, but in reality, Eeluk was probably just away hunting, or planning something vicious. He had long ago found the real world much less satisfying than his own imagination.

      When the rock was removed and the lattice thrown aside, it was almost with a sense of relief that he realised death was coming at last. Temujin raised his arms and allowed himself to be dragged out. He had heard the voices of the families as they gathered and guessed something of the sort was coming. It did not help that one of the men pulling him out took a grip on his broken finger, leaving him gasping as the bone grated.

      Temujin fell to his knees as they let go. He could see more than a hundred faces around him and, as his eyes cleared, he began to recognise people he had once known. Some of them jeered and the smallest children threw sharp-edged stones at him. Others looked troubled, the strain forcing them into the cold face.

      He prepared himself for death, an ending. The years since the abandonment had been a gift, despite their hardship. He had known joy and sorrow, and he vowed to give up his spirit with dignity intact. His father and his blood demanded it, no matter what the cost.

      Eeluk sat in his great chair, brought into the sun for the occasion. Temujin glanced at him before looking away, preferring to watch the faces of the families. In spite of everything he had suffered, it was strangely comforting to see them all again. Ignoring Eeluk, Temujin nodded and smiled at some of the ones he had known well. They did not dare return his gestures, but he saw their eyes soften slightly.

      ‘I would have brought him here in honour,’ Eeluk bellowed suddenly to the crowd. He lowered his great head and wagged it seriously back and forth. ‘But I found him living like an animal without the graces of men. Yet even a rat can bite, and when he killed my bondsman, I had this tribeless wanderer dragged back for justice. Shall we give it to him? Shall we show him the Wolves have not grown soft?’

      Temujin watched the families as Eeluk’s bondsmen cheered mindlessly. Some of them yelled agreement, but many more stood in silence and watched the dirty young man who stared back with his yellow eyes. Slowly, Temujin rose to his feet. He stank of his own filth and he was covered in fly bites and sores, but he stood unbending and waited for the blade to come.

      Eeluk drew the sword with a wolf’s head carved into the bone hilt.

      ‘The spirits have abandoned his family, my Wolves. Look at his state now and believe it. Where is the luck of Yesugei?’

      It was a mistake to mention the old khan’s name. Many heads bowed automatically at its sound and Eeluk flushed in anger. It was suddenly not enough to take Temujin’s head and he sheathed the blade.

      ‘Tie him to a pony,’ he said. ‘Drag him bloody and then leave him in the pit. Perhaps I will kill him tomorrow.’

      As he watched, Tolui backed up a brown gelding and tied a long rope to the saddle. The crowd parted excitedly, craning to see this strange sport. As his wrists were fastened to the rope, Temujin turned his pale gaze on Eeluk for a few moments, then spat on the ground. Eeluk grinned hugely.

      Tolui turned round in the saddle, his expression a mixture of smugness and malice.

      ‘How fast can you run?’ he said.

      ‘Let’s find out,’ Temujin said, licking cracked lips. He could feel sweat break out in his armpits. He had been able to summon courage to stand before a blade. The thought of being torn behind a galloping horse was more than he could bear.

      He tried to brace himself, but Tolui dug his heels into the pony’s flanks and yelled wildly. The rope snapped tight and Temujin was jerked into a run, his weak legs already stumbling. Tolui rode recklessly, enjoying himself. It did not take long for Temujin to fall.

      When Tolui finally returned to the encampment, Temujin was a dead weight on the rope. It was difficult to see a patch of skin that was not scraped raw and bloody. His clothes had been reduced to dusty rags that fluttered in the breeze as Tolui cut the rope at last. Temujin did not feel it as he slumped to the

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