Temujin was chasing a vision: to unite many tribes into one, to make the earth tremble under the hoofbeats of a thousand warhorses, to subject unknown nations and even empires to his will. Iggulden, author of the best-selling Emperor series, shifts his focus eastward, retelling the story of legendary warrior Genghis Khan. Just as he did for Julius Caesar, Iggulden plants his subject firmly into historical context, fictionalizing the early years of Temujin, the son of a khan brutally murdered by invading Tartars. When his family is betrayed by a rival and abandoned by their clan, young Temujin vows revenge and dreams of the day he will become the conqueror rather than the conquered. Surviving the harsh reality of the Asian steppes, his adolescence is informed by a sense of mission that grows more urgent with each passing year. As a young man, he begins to develop skills as both a fierce warrior and a diplomat, reuniting Mongol tribes and factions into a formidable army. This authentically detailed historical drama sets the stage for the next installment. Margaret Flanagan Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved “Zesty historical fiction, the kind with plenty of unbridled combat, accurate research, rampaging hordes and believable characters from very different cultures whose motivation rings true across the centuries.... Invigorating.”—Deirdre Donahue, USA Today "Iggulden writes with sweep and immediacy...the novel races along as swiftly and inexorably as its main character."— Christian Science Monitor “Brilliantly imagined and addictive.... This is historical fiction of the first order.”— Publishers Weekly , starred review “Compelling.... this is historical fiction writ large.”—Military.com From the Hardcover edition. Chapter One ON A SPRING DAY in his twelfth year, Temujin raced his four brothers across the steppes, in the shadow of the mountain known as Deli’un-Boldakh. The eldest, Bekter, rode a gray mare with skill and concentration, and Temujin matched his pace, waiting for a chance to go past. Behind them came Khasar, whooping wildly as he moved up on the two leaders. At ten, Khasar was a favorite in the tribe, as lighthearted as Bekter was sullen and dark. His red-mottled stallion snorted and whickered after Bekter’s mare, making the little boy laugh. Kachiun came next in the galloping line, an eight-year-old not given to the openness that made people love Khasar. Of all of them, Kachiun seemed the most serious, even secretive. He spoke only rarely and did not complain, no matter what Bekter did to him. Kachiun had a knack with the ponies that few others could match, able to nurse a burst of speed when the rest were flagging. Temujin glanced over his shoulder to where Kachiun had positioned himself, his balance perfect. He seemed to be idling along, but they had all been surprised before and Temujin kept a close eye on him. Already some way behind his brothers, the smallest and youngest of them could be heard calling plaintively for them to wait. Temuge was a boy with too much love for sweet things and laziness, and it showed in his riding. Temujin grinned at the sight of the chubby boy flapping his arms for more speed. Their mother had warned against including the youngest in their wild tournaments. Temuge had barely grown out of the need to be tied to the saddle, but he wailed if they left him behind. Bekter had yet to find a kind word for Temuge. Their high voices carried far across the spring grass of the plain. They galloped flat out, with each boy perched like a bird on the ponies’ backs. Yesugei had once called them his sparrows and looked on with pride at their skill. Temujin had told Bekter that he was too fat to be a sparrow and had been forced to spend a night hiding out from the older boy’s bad temper. On such a day, though, the mood of the whole tribe was light. The spring rains had come and the rivers ran full again, winding across plains where dry clay had been only days before. The mares had warm milk for drinking and making into cheese and cool yoghurt. Already, the first touches of green were showing through the bones of the hills, and with it came the promise of a summer and warm days. It was a gathering year, and before the next winter, the tribes would come together in peace to compete and trade. Yesugei had decreed that this year the families of the Wolves would make the trip of more than a thousand miles to replenish their herds. The prospect of seeing the wrestlers and archers was enough to have the boys on their best behavior. The races, though, were what held them rapt and played across their imaginations as they rode. Except for Bekter, the boys had all seen their mother privately, asking Hoelun to put in a word with Yesugei. Each of them wanted to race the long distance or the sprints, to make a name for themselves and be honored. It went unspoken that a boy who returned to his gers with a title such as “Exalted Rider” or “Master