Bones of the Hills by Conn Iggulden Page A

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    Outside, Arslan checked his packs and mounts one more time, refusing to let the seriousness of the moment alter his routines. Genghis watched him test each knot and give instructions to three herd boys who would accompany him to his first camp. No one spoke until the old man was ready. When he was satisfied, Arslan embraced Jelme and they could all see the son’s eyes were proud. Finally, Arslan stood before Genghis.
    “I was there at the beginning, lord,” Arslan said. “If I were younger, I would ride with you to the end.”
    “I know it, General,” Genghis replied. He gestured to the vast camp on the banks of the river. “Without you, none of this would be here. I will honor your name always.”
    Arslan had never been a man who enjoyed physical contact, but he took Genghis’s hand in the warrior’s grip and then mounted. His young wife looked up at her husband, proud to see great men honor him with their presence.
    “Goodbye, old friend,” Genghis called as Arslan clicked his tongue and the ponies moved away. The herd boys used their sticks to move the animals with their master.
    In the distance, they could hear the khan’s son crying out, a mournful wail that seemed to go on and on.
    Moving such a vast host of people and animals was no small task. As well as a hundred thousand warriors, a quarter of a million ponies had to be herded, with as many again of sheep, goats, yaks, camels, and oxen. The need for grazing land had grown to the point that the nation could remain in one place for only a month at a time.
    On a frozen dawn, with the sun barely touching the east, Genghis rode through the busy camp, noting every detail of the cart lines with the huddled figures of women and young children on them. The column stretched for miles, always surrounded by the herds. He had lived with the sounds of animals all his life and hardly noticed the constant bleating of goats and sheep. His generals were ready; his sons were. It remained to be seen whether the Arab nations were ready to meet them in war. In their arrogance, they had invited annihilation.
    Jochi had survived having his wounds burned. As Genghis had promoted Chagatai to lead a tuman of ten thousand warriors, he could hardly do less for an older son, especially one who had triumphed against a savage beast. The people talked of it still. Yet it would be months before Jochi was able to take his place at their head. Until then, he would travel with the women and children, tended by servants while he healed.
    In the middle of the host, Genghis trotted past the ger of his second wife, Chakahai, who had once been a princess of the Xi Xia kingdom. Her father had remained a loyal vassal for almost a decade, and the tribute kept the Mongols in silk and valuable timber. Genghis cursed softly to himself as he realized he had not arranged a way for the tribute to follow him into the west. He could not trust the king to hold it for him. It was one more thing to tell Temuge before the tribes moved. Genghis passed the cart where Chakahai sat in furs with thethree children she had borne. His oldest daughter bowed her head and smiled to see her father.
    He did not leave the path to find the carts of Borte and his mother, Hoelun. The two women had become inseparable over the years and would be together somewhere. Genghis grimaced at the thought.
    He passed two men boiling goat meat on a small fire while they waited. They had a stack of unleavened bread pouches ready to pack with meat for the trip. Seeing the khan himself, one of the men offered up a wooden platter with the head on it, touching the white eyes with a finger to make sure Genghis saw them. Genghis shook his head and the man bowed deeply. As the khan moved on, the warrior threw one of the eyes into the air for the sky father before popping the other in his mouth and chewing lustily. Genghis smiled at the sight. His people had not yet forgotten the old ways or been spoiled by looted riches. He thought of the