Free Empire of Silver by Conn Iggulden Page A

lift. He saw Torogene murmuring to them and they relaxed as she directed them. Both young men were used to their mother’s commands and Torogene was a large woman, motherly and brisk in her manner.
    There was another small lamp there. Torogene handed it out to Sorhatani, who placed it so that some of its light reached Tsubodai. It made huge shadows in the rooms, great dark figures that leapt and danced, dwarfing them all.
    They worked in grim concentration. Tsubodai and Huran knew they would have just moments to retreat when the outer door gave way. The couch braced against it would be no more than a nuisance to the attackers as they poured in. Behind them, Sorhatani and Tolui built their barricade without speaking, jittery from fear and lack of sleep. The boys brought them wood panelling, bedclothes, even a heavy pedestal that had to be dragged over the floor, leaving a long scar. It would not hold against determined men. Even young Kublai understood that, or saw it in his parents’ bleak expressions. When their pitiful collection of debris was in place, they stood behind it with Ogedai and Torogene, panting and waiting.
    Sorhatani rested one hand on Kublai’s shoulder, holding Tsubodai’s long knife in the other. She wished desperately for more light, terrified of being killed in the gloom, overwhelmed by struggling, bloody bodies. She could not consider losing Kublai and Mongke. It was as if she stood on the edge of a high cliff and to look at them was to step off and drop. She heard Tolui’s long, slow breaths and copied him, breathing through her nose. It helped a little, in the dark, as the outer door cracked suddenly down its length and the men outside grunted and howled in anticipation.
    Tsubodai and Huran were both wary of the archer on theother side of the door. Each man had to judge when the blows against the rapidly splintering wood would obstruct the hidden man, then strike a blow into the faces in the dark. The attackers were pressing, knowing they were near to getting in at last. More than one fell back with a cry from a sword blade, licking out like a fang and withdrawing before the archer could see through his own people. Someone out there was dying noisily and Huran was panting. He was in awe of the ice general fighting at his side. Tsubodai could have been at a training bout for all the emotion his face showed.
    Yet they could not hold the door. Both men tensed as a low panel broke into splinters. Half the door remained, cracked and loose. Crouching men came struggling under the locking bar and both Huran and Tsubodai stood their ground, plunging their blades into exposed necks. Blood splashed them both as they refused to yield, though the archer had moved and sent a shaft that spun Huran around, winding him.
    He knew his ribs had broken. Every breath was agony, as if his lungs inflated against a shard of glass, but he could not even check the wound to see if his armour had saved him. More men were kicking at the bar, loosening its bolts in the wall. When that finally gave way, the two warriors would be swallowed in the flood.
    Huran gasped hoarsely as he continued to strike out, seeking bare necks and arms beyond the hole. He saw blades jabbing at him and felt blows on his shoulders and legs. He could taste iron bitterness in his mouth and his arms seemed slower as he swung and swung, each breath burning him with its sweetness and heat.
    He fell then, thinking he must have slipped in someone’s blood. Huran saw the iron bar spring out. The room seemed lighter somehow, as if the wolf’s dawn had come at last. Huran gasped as someone trod on his outstretched hand, breaking bones, but the pain was fleeting. He was dead before Tsubodaihad turned at bay to face the men who roared into that room, wild with release and hungry to do their work.
    The stalemate at the gates had become Chagatai’s triumph. He had enjoyed his uncles’ expressions as Jelme brought a tuman up to his side. Tolui’s tuman had