LITMIR.BIZ

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chest. Temujin rolled, coming up with his sword outstretched. The man yelled as the blade buried itself in his gut and the arrow buzzed over Temujin’s head. The shoulder of the pony hit Temujin as it passed, knocking him flat. He rose groggily and looked around him.

      The camp was in chaos. The Tartars had lost a lot of men, but those who lived were riding around in triumph, looking for targets. Many of them had dropped their bows and drawn swords for the close work. Temujin saw two kick their mounts at Arslan and he scrabbled for his own bow to send a shaft after them. The first arrow he touched was broken and the rest were scattered. He found one that would do, after a moment’s frenzied search. He could hear his mother yelling and, as he turned to see, Borte darted out from a ger, rushing after little Temulun. His young sister was running in panic and neither of them saw the Tartar bearing down on them. Temujin held his breath, but Arslan was armed and ready for his attackers. He made his choice.

      Temujin heaved back on the string, aiming at the lone warrior bearing down on Borte. He heard a sudden thunder and another Tartar was riding at him, sword already swinging to take off his head. There was no time to dodge, but Temujin dropped to his knees as he let go, struggling to adjust his aim. The arrow went skipping over the ground, wasted. Then something hit him hard enough to shake the world and he fell.

      Jelme stepped up to his father’s side as the two Tartars bore down on them.

      ‘Go left,’ Arslan snapped at his son, even as he stepped to the right.

      The Tartars saw them move, but the father and son had left it to the very last moment and they could not adjust. Arslan’s blade tip found the neck of one man as Jelme cut the other, almost taking his head off. Both Tartars were dead in a heartbeat, their ponies hammering past without direction.

      The Tartar leader had not survived the first attack on the barricades and there were barely a dozen left of the original force. With the hill backing on to the camp, there was no chance to ride through and away, so those that still lived shouted and wheeled, cutting at anything against them. Arslan saw two pulled out of their saddles and knifed as they writhed, screaming. It was a bloody business, but the main Tartar force had been destroyed. The few survivors lay low on the saddles as they galloped back the way they had come, shafts whistling after them.

      Arslan saw one coming back from the other side of the camp and he readied himself to kill again, standing perfectly still in the pony’s path. In the last moment, he saw the kicking legs of a captive across the saddle and spoiled his own blow. His left hand snapped out to yank Borte free, but his fingers caught only an edge of cloth and then the man was past. Arslan saw Khasar was following the rider with an arrow on the string, and he shouted.

      ‘Hold, Khasar. Hold!’

      The order rang across a camp that was suddenly quiet after the roaring Tartars. Not more than six made it away and Arslan was already running for the ponies.

      ‘Mount up!’ he roared. ‘They have one of the women. Mount!’

      He looked for Temujin as he ran, then saw a limp figure and skidded to a stop in horror. Temujin lay surrounded by dead men. A pony with a broken leg stood shivering next to him, its sides streaked with whitish sweat. Arslan ignored the animal, pushing it away as he knelt beside the young man he had rescued from the Wolves.

      There was a lot of blood and Arslan felt his heart contract in a painful spasm. He reached down and touched the flap of flesh that had been torn free from Temujin’s scalp. With a shout of joy, he saw it still bled into the pool that lay around his head. Arslan lifted Temujin free of the blood that covered half his face.

      ‘He is alive,’ Arslan whispered.

      Temujin remained unconscious as Arslan carried him to a tent. His brothers galloped out after the raiders, sparing only a glance for the figure in Arslan’s arms. They were grim-faced and angry as they passed him, and Arslan did not pity any Tartars they caught that day.

      Arslan laid Temujin down in his mother’s ger, surrendering him to her. Temulun was crying bitterly in a corner, the sound almost painful. Hoelun looked up from her son as she reached for her needle and thread.

      ‘Comfort my daughter, Arslan,’ she said, concentrating on her task.

      Arslan ducked his head in acknowledgement, going over to the little girl.

      ‘Would you like to be picked up?’ he asked her.

      Temulun nodded through her tears and he jerked her into the air. She looked up at him and he forced himself to smile. The reaction to killing was setting in and he felt himself grow light-headed as his pounding heart beat too fast for stillness and quiet. Hoelun pushed the bone needle through the first piece of Temujin’s scalp and Arslan saw the little girl wince and her mouth open to resume crying.

      ‘It’s all right, little one, I’ll take you to Eluin. She has been looking for you,’ he said. He did not want the girl to see the bodies outside but, equally, he could not stay in the ger and do nothing. He hoped Eluin was still alive.

      As he turned to leave, he heard Temujin give a shuddering gasp. When Arslan looked, he saw Temujin’s eyes were open and clear, watching Hoelun as she stitched with quick, neat hands.

      ‘Lie still,’ Hoelun said, when her son tried to get up. ‘I need to do this well.’

      Temujin subsided, his gaze finding Arslan at the door. ‘Tell me,’ he ordered.

      ‘We broke the attack. They have Borte,’ Arslan replied.

      As he spoke, Hoelun tugged at the thread and a whole section of Temujin’s scalp wrinkled. Arslan bounced Temulun in his arms, but she had quieted again and seemed content to play with a silver button on his deel.

      Hoelun used a cloth to dab blood out of her son’s eyes. The scalp wound was still bleeding heavily, but the stitching helped. She pushed the needle through another bit of flesh and felt Temujin tense.

      ‘I need to be up, mother,’ he murmured. ‘Are you nearly finished?’

      ‘Your brothers have gone after the last of them,’ Arslan said quickly. ‘With such a wound, there is no point in following them, not yet. You have lost a lot of blood and there’s no point in risking a fall.’

      ‘She is my wife,’ Temujin replied, his eyes growing cold. His mother bent forward as if to kiss him, instead biting off the end of the thread in his skin. He sat up as soon as she moved away, raising his fingers to the line of stitches.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said. His eyes lost their hard focus then and Hoelun nodded as she rubbed at the dried blood on his cheek.

      Arslan heard Eluin’s voice outside the ger and stepped through the door to pass Temulun into her care. He returned, looking grim, as Temujin tried to stand. The young khan swayed, taking hold of the central spar of the ger to keep himself upright.

      ‘You cannot ride today,’ Arslan told him. ‘All you could do is follow the tracks of your brothers. Let them find her.’

      ‘Would you?’ Temujin demanded. He had closed his eyes against the dizziness and Arslan’s heart swelled to see his determination. He sighed.

      ‘No, I would go after them. I will bring your pony and fetch my own.’

      He ducked out of the ger and Hoelun stood and took Temujin’s free hand in her own.

      ‘You will not want to hear what I have to say,’ she murmured.

      Temujin opened his eyes, blinking against a fresh trail of blood.

      ‘Say whatever you have to,’ he replied.

      ‘If your brothers cannot run them down before night, they will hurt her.’

      ‘They will rape her, mother. I know. She is strong.’

      Hoelun shook her head.

      ‘You do not know. She will be ashamed.’ She paused for a moment, wanting him to understand. ‘If they have hurt her, you will have to be very strong. You cannot expect her to be the same, with you or

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