Time’s Eye

Genghis Khan began his campaigns against the three nations of China. Rapidly growing rich on plunder, the Mongols next turned west, assailing Khwa-rezm, a rich and ancient Islamic state that stretched from Iran to the Caspian Sea. After that the Mongols pushed on through the Caucasus into the Ukraine and Crimea, and struck north in an outrageous raid on Russia. By the time of Genghis Khan’s death, his empire, built in a single generation, was already four times as extensive as Alexander’s, and twice as large as Rome’s ever became.

But Genghis Khan remained a barbarian, his only purpose the empowerment and enrichment of his Golden Family. And the Mongols were killers. Their ruthlessness derived from their own traditions: illiterate nomads, they saw no purpose in agriculture, no value in cities save as mines of plunder—and they placed no value on human life. This was the creed applied to each conquest.

Now Kolya had been magically transported to the heart of the Mongol empire itself. Here, the benefits of the empire were more apparent than in history books written by descendants of the vanquished. For the first time in history Asia had been united, from the boundaries of Europe to the South China Sea: the tapestries that adorned Genghis’s tents combined Chinese dragon designs with Iranian phoenixes. Though contact would be lost after the Mongols’ empire decayed, myths of eastern nations were replaced by memory—a memory that would one day inspire Christopher Columbus to strike out across the Atlantic Ocean, seeking a new route to Cathay.

But in the overrun lands the suffering was vast. Ancient cities were erased, whole populations slaughtered. Compared to the human misery Kolya was able to perceive, even in the pavilion of Genghis Khan himself, the benefits of the empire seemed of little worth indeed.

But Sable, he saw clearly, was drawn to the Mongols’ rapacious glamour.

At last the beating troops appeared over the horizon, yelling and crying, and converged on the hunting ground. Runners stretched ropes between the army groups, making a cordon. Cornered animals lumbered or raced to and fro, dimly visible in the great cloud of dust they raised.

Kolya peered into the dust clouds. “I wonder what they’ve caught. I see horses—asses maybe—wolves, hyenas, foxes, camels, hares—they are all terrified.”

Sable pointed. “Look over there.”

A larger shape loomed through the dust. It was like a great boulder, Kolya thought at first, a thing of the earth, much taller than a human being. But it moved massively, immense shoulders working, and curtains of rust-brown hair shimmered. When it raised its head, he saw a curling trunk, spiral tusks, and he heard a peal like a Bach trumpet.

“A mammoth,” he breathed. “Genghis’s hunters, crossing the time slips, have trapped more than they bargained for—it is the dream of ages to witness this. If only we had a camera!”

But Sable was indifferent.

A little stiffly, Genghis Khan mounted his horse. He rode forward, with a couple of guards to either side. It was his privilege to make the first kill. He took position not twenty meters below Kolya, and waited for the prey to be shepherded to him.

Suddenly there were screams. Some of Genghis’ guards broke ranks and fled, despite the howls of their commanders. Through the billowing dust before Genghis, Kolya saw a red rag flung through the air—no, not a rag, it was a human being, a Mongol warrior, his chest ripped open, entrails dangling.

Genghis Khan held his ground, holding his horse steady, his lance and scimitar raised.

Kolya saw the beast coming, emerging from the dust. It was like a lion in its stealthy advance, but it was massively muscled, its shoulders more like a bear’s. And when it opened its mouth it revealed teeth that curved like Genghis Khan’s scimitar. In a moment of deadly stillness emperor and saber-toothed cat faced each other.

Then a single shot rang out, as unexpected as a clap of thunder from a clear sky. It was so close to Kolya his ears rang, and he heard the hiss of the bullet as it flew. Around Kolya the royal party and their attendants screamed and quailed. Suddenly the cat lay in the dirt, its hind legs twitching, its head exploded to a bloody mass. Genghis’s horse was shying, but the Emperor had not flinched.

It had been Sable, of course. But she had already hidden the pistol.

Sable spread her arms. “Tengri! I am the emissary of Heaven, sent to save you, great one, for you are intended to live forever, and to rule all the world!” She turned to a whimpering Basil. In broken French she hissed, “Translate, you dog, or it will be your head I take off next.”

Genghis Khan stared up at her.

***

The slaughter of the animals inside the cordon took days. It was customary for some of the animals to be let loose, but on this occasion, as Genghis’s life had been threatened, none was allowed to live.