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Back Iron Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Title page
  2. Contents
  3. Map
  4. ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. THREE
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. FOUR
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. Afterword
  88. By Stephen Baxter
  89. Copyright

Uzzia grinned. ‘So it is.’

They turned corners, following the increasingly agitated Khan, until Avatak was quite lost in the belly of the great building. They came to a tremendous hall, yet another of this palace’s gigantic chambers, packed with milling people. And, under a roof of lacquered blue, he heard the hooves of a horse, oddly muffled. A horse?

The Khan ascended a podium on which stood a huge, elaborately carved throne. He glared down the length of the room – and faced a rider sitting boldly on a horse, Avatak saw now, a short, squat beast, one of the Mongols’ own tough ponies from the steppe. The rider was a woman, wearing light Mongol armour, a chest plate of boiled leather stitched with metal pieces, a small bow slung on her back. She wore no helmet, so all could see her face. She was handsome, severe, her straight black hair pulled back from her brow. And she was laughing as she turned the horse around, making it prance and nod.

Around her men were gathered, on foot, warriors all, brandishing weapons, spears and swords and axes. One of them was waving a bit of smashed furniture at the Khan, carved wood and pale pink silk, a ragged scrap of a chair that must once have been exquisite. At least as many men surrounded the Khan, many from the hunting party. Cowering from these posturing warriors were courtiers, Mongol grandees with their shining cloaks and tonsured scalps, nervous-looking Cathay officials in silk gowns. There were hundreds of people all jammed in this one huge room together, and their voices rose up like the cawing of gulls on a cliff face.

‘Oh, dear,’ Uzzia said, looking at the mounted woman.

‘What?’

‘The Mongols are horse warriors. I’m guessing that to ride your horse into another man’s yurt is a grave insult.’

‘So, along with the assault by the steppe warriors, and the Cathay uprising in the city—’

‘Yes. Now the Mongols are turning on themselves.’

There was a hiss, a soft impact. A single arrow had been shot into the air to thud into the roof, high above. The woman on the horse had fired it. The clamour in the room stilled, and all eyes turned to her. She sat straight on her horse, and spoke directly to the Khan, in rapid-fire Mongol. For his part he replied angrily. Their two voices filled the room.