Bones of the Hills (20 page)

Without a signal, the young generals kicked their mounts forward of the line, hungry for information.

The scout was not from their tumans, though he looked almost as weary and dusty as their own men. Jochi and Jebe looked on as the young man dismounted and bowed, holding his reins in his hands. Jebe raised a hand and the warriors came to a halt. At first the scout hesitated in the presence of two generals, unsure whom to address first. Jochi’s impatience broke the silence.

“You have found us,” he said. “Report.”

The scout bowed again, overwhelmed to be speaking to a son of the khan.

“I was about to turn back when I saw the dust of your horses, General. Tsubodai sent me out. The Shah is in the field with a great army.”

If the scout had expected any excitement at this news, he was disappointed.

“And?” Jebe asked.

The scout began to dip his head and hesitated again, his composure deserting him. “I was sent to bring you in at all speed, General. My lord Genghis will attack, but I do not know any more. I have been out for two days alone, looking for you.”

“We could hit the rear if we get back into that valley,” Jochi said to Jebe, ignoring the scout. Jebe looked back at his men, knowing they
were still close to complete exhaustion. A warrior of the tribes could ride all day and still fight, but the horses had clearer limits to their strength. The value of staging an attack on the Shah’s rear ranks would be lost if a fresh enemy turned and cut them to pieces. Jebe nodded grimly to Jochi. Genghis would expect them to push on.

“The Shah’s army will have moved from where we left them,” Jebe said. “It could be a hundred miles yet and then a battle to win.”

Jochi turned his pony in place, preparing to ride. “Then we will have to make good time, General,” he said. The scout watched the conversation warily, unsure whether he should say more. He eyed the herds of horses enviously, pony and Arab mount standing together.

“If you have a fresh horse for me, I will ride ahead and tell the khan you are coming,” he said. For some reason, both generals shared a grin at his words.

“Do you see any fresh horses?” Jebe asked. “If you do, you should take one.”

The scout looked again at the milling animals, seeing the way they stood to favor sore legs. He glanced at the ranks of dusty, grim warriors with them. Some had their arms and legs bound in strips of torn cloth, showing bloody patches under the grime. For their part, the warriors stared back indifferently, ready for orders. Their generals had shown them their own strength in that long ride through the valley. Those who had survived had come out with a confidence they had not known before. If they could ride thirty thousand Arabs to death, what could they not do?

Disappointed, the scout bowed to the generals once more, before mounting. He was barely more than a boy and Jochi chuckled to see his nervousness. With fresh eyes, the general looked over the mass of riders. They had been tested and they would not fail him. For an instant, he saw the pleasure his father took in leading men in war. There was nothing like it.

Jochi clicked with his tongue and the scout looked at him.

“Tell my father we are coming. If he has fresh orders, send scouts along the long valley just to the north. You will find us there.”

The scout nodded earnestly and raced away, filled with the importance of his task.

SHAH ALA-UD-DIN MOHAMMED
seethed as the elephant under him rocked like a ship at sea. The last he had seen of his cavalry had been watching it disappear into the east days before. After each dawn prayer, he could not resist turning to the sun to see if they were returning, but his hopes sank lower each time. The desert tribes could not be trusted and he was certain Khalifa was resting at some distant town, caring nothing for the betrayal. Ala-ud-Din swore there would be a reckoning, when the Mongols had been thrown back over their mountains, or destroyed.

All around the Shah, his army marched stolidly on, heading for the hills that would lead them to Otrar and the Mongol khan. The sight of the shining ranks never failed to lift his aging heart. In truth, the invasion had come at the right time for him. He had spent almost twelve years bringing kings and chieftains to heel, and when they were at their most rebellious, an enemy had swept in from the north, forcing them to choose loyalty over bickering and petty rivalry.

It was hard not to think of Saladin as the army strode on over rocky ground. The great king had captured Jerusalem and sent crusaders reeling. Saladin had faced enemies as fearsome as the Mongol khan and more so. Each night, when the army made its camp, Ala-ud-Din read lines by lamplight from Saladin’s own record of his battles, learning
what he could before tucking it under a thin pillow and finding sleep. Next to his copy of the Koran, it was his most prized possession.

The curtained howdah was still cool after the night, though the sun would be fierce as it rose. Ala-ud-Din broke his fast with a plate of dates and dried apricots, washing them down with a draught of cool yoghurt. His men carried dried mutton and flat bread that had long gone stale, but it did not matter. Otrar was not more than a few days away, and his idiot cousin, Inalchuk, would entertain him with the best of meats and fruit when they saved his city for him.

Ala-ud-Din jerked as his servant cleared his throat softly outside the curtains.

“What is it?” he demanded.

The curtain flicked back to reveal the man standing on a step set in the elephant’s belly strap. “The last of the coffee, master.”

Ala-ud-Din nodded and held out his hand for the cup. They had been on the move for almost an hour, and he was surprised to find the black liquid still steaming. He tipped it carefully so as not to dribble the precious drink onto his beard.

“How have you kept it hot?” he asked.

His manservant smiled to see his master pleased. “I put the pot in a leather bag, master, filed with ashes from the morning fires.”

Ala-ud-Din grunted, sipping. It was bitter and delicious.

“You have done well, Abbas. This is very fine.”

The curtain dropped as his servant stepped down. Ala-ud-Din heard him trotting at the side of the great beast for a while. No doubt he was already thinking of what he could scavenge for his master’s next meal after the midday prayers.

If his men would have allowed it, Ala-ud-Din had considered granting a dispensation not to pray as they marched. They lost more than three hours a day to do so, and the delays chafed on him. It would be taken as weakness in the faith by those who looked to challenge him, and he brushed off the thought once more. It was their belief that kept them strong, after all. The words of the prophet formed the call to prayer, and even a Shah could not resist.

He had turned his army from the great valley at last, heading north to Otrar. Ahead was a range of brown hills, and beyond that, his men would fall on the Mongol host with all the ferocity of men bred to the harsh southern deserts. Ala-ud-Din closed his eyes in the rocking howdah and considered those he had brought to war. With the loss of Khalifa’s riders, he had only five hundred horsemen, his own guard of
noble sons. Already he had been forced to use them as messengers and scouts. For the sons of ancient families, it was an insult to their blood, but he had no choice.

Further back in the column, six thousand camels plodded, the supplies of the entire army on their backs. Half as fast as the best horses, they could carry immense weight. The rest of the army marched, while the Shah and the most senior men rode in comfort. He doted on his elephants for sheer power and strength, eighty bulls in their prime.

Looking out from the howdah, Ala-ud-Din took pride in the force he had assembled. Saladin himself would have been proud of them. The Shah could see his oldest son, Jelaudin, mounted on a superb black stallion, still uncut though the animal was vicious. The Shah’s heart soared at the sight of the handsome young man who would one day succeed him. The men adored the prince and it was not hard to dream of his line ruling all the Arab peoples for centuries to come.

Ala-ud-Din thought again of Khalifa’s horsemen and struggled to prevent anger from spoiling the morning. He would have them hunted down when the battle was over and leave not one of them alive. He swore it silently as his army marched on and the hills grew slowly closer.

Tsubodai’s scouts came racing in as he crouched on one knee, overlooking the plains below the hills and the Shah’s army. The view stretched for many miles and he did not need the young men to tell him the enemy was coming through the wide pass, the one he had chosen to defend.

As the scouts dismounted, Tsubodai waved a hand in their direction.

“I know,” he said. “Go and tell the other generals. We will hit them here.”

In the distance, he saw the Shah’s outriders cutting dusty lines through scrub crops as they rode north. Tsubodai tried to put himself in the Shah’s position, but it was hard. He would never have brought such an army through a single pass. Instead, he would have gone round the mountains entirely and let Otrar fall. The distances would have delayed the Shah for another month in the field, but the Mongol tumans would have been forced to meet him on open ground, with all advantages stolen away.

Instead, the Shah took the easiest route, revealing that he valued
Otrar. Tsubodai was learning everything he could, noting every decision that would help to destroy his enemy. He knew as well as anyone that Genghis was overextended in this realm. It was no longer a matter of bringing vengeance to one city, but simple survival for their people. They had stuck their hands into a wasps’ nest every bit as furious as the Chin empire, and once again the stakes were at their highest.

Tsubodai smiled at the thought. Some of the men fought for new land, for exotic women, even for gold. From his private conversations with the khan, Tsubodai knew he and Genghis cared for none of those things. The sky father gave a man his life and nothing else. The khan’s people were alone on the plains and it was a savage loneliness. Yet they could ride and conquer, take cities and empires one by one. Perhaps in time, those who followed them would be as weak and soft as the city dwellers they faced, but that did not matter to Tsubodai. He was not responsible for the choices of his sons and grandsons, only for the way he lived his own life. As he knelt on hard gray stone and watched the clouds of dust come closer below, he thought again that he had only one rule, which guided everything he did.

“Fight for every breath and step,” he muttered aloud, the words a talisman to him. It was possible that the Shah’s great army could not be stopped, that it would roll over the tumans of Genghis, right to the plains of home. Only the sky father knew. Like the khan, Tsubodai would still seek out anyone who might ever be a threat and hit them first and harder than they would believe. With that, when he came to the end of his life, he would be able to look back with pride and not shame.

Tsubodai broke off his thoughts as riders from Kachiun and Jelme cantered up to his position. After days in that place, he knew them all by name and greeted them. They dismounted and bowed deeply, honored by a general who remembered such details.

“The tumans are coming, General,” one of them said.

“Do you have orders for me?” Tsubodai replied.

The scout shook his head and Tsubodai frowned. He did not enjoy being set under Kachiun’s command, though he had found him a solid leader.

“Tell your officers that we cannot wait here. The Shah could still send men around us. We need to sting him, to force him along the route we have chosen.”

Tsubodai looked up with the others as Kachiun and Jelme came riding in, leaping down from their horses and striding to the high crag. Tsubodai rose and dipped his head to Kachiun.

“I wanted to see for myself,” Kachiun said, staring out onto the farmland below. The Shah’s army was only a few miles away, and they could all see the front ranks through the dust. It came on as a solid block and the sheer size of it was enough to alarm any man.

“I have waited for your orders before moving, Kachiun,” Tsubodai said.

Kachiun glanced sharply at him. He had known the young general when he was just another warrior, but Genghis had seen something valuable in him. He reminded himself that Tsubodai had repaid his brother’s trust many times.

“Tell me what you have in mind,” Kachiun said.

Tsubodai nodded. “This is a huge army, ruled by one man. The fact that he has chosen to come through this pass shows that he does not have our structure of officers. Why did he not trust two good men to take columns through the other passes? Know the enemy and you will know how to kill him. It is all useful to us.”

Kachiun and Jelme looked at each other. As experienced as they were, Tsubodai had a reputation for keeping his warriors alive that was unmatched in the tribes. He spoke without haste and all the time the Shah’s army was drawing closer.

Tsubodai saw Jelme glance over his shoulder and smiled.

“We hit them with that weakness,” he continued. “We have thirty minghaans between us, each commanded by a man who can think and act on his own. Our strength is in that and in our speed.” He thought again of wasps as he went on. “We send all but four out against them. Like a swarm. Let the Shah try and crush them with his clumsy hands. We are too fast for them.”

“And the four thousand men who stay behind?” Kachiun asked.

“The best archers,” Tsubodai replied. “The very best we have. They will line the pass, high in the rocks. You showed the power of our bows at the Badger’s Mouth pass, did you not? I cannot find a better example.”

Kachiun twisted his mouth at the praise. Against Chin cavalry, he had once stood with nine thousand men and hammered shafts at them until they had broken.

“If I keep the men low enough on the rocks to be accurate,” he replied, “the Shah’s archers will pluck them down with their own shafts. We don’t even know how those elephants will act in war.”

Tsubodai nodded, unconcerned. “No plan is perfect, General. You must use your judgment to place your men, of course, though they will
have more range shooting down than up, no? I have said how I would tackle this Shah and his host. Even so, I will follow your orders.”