Much Fall of Blood-ARC (59 page)

"When it comes to fighting your way up from nothing with nothing . . . he has proved he's far from a lost cause. But he really does have huge holes in his knowledge of the world. Being confined and isolated like that for all those years has shaped him in some odd and unpredictable ways," said Erik.

"And kept him from learning a lot of things which he'd just have to unlearn. Look, we're trapped, for now, in this part of the Golden Horde territory. Let's take him in hand, Erik. He can, at the very least, be a thorn in Emeric of Hungary's side, and keep the man busy rather than interfering with our affairs."

Erik nodded. "Those are good troops he has, especially when you consider they were peasant volunteers six months ago. Well disciplined, and willing to die for him, I reckon. And the light cavalry, the Székelers, are not bad either. Not as good as the Mongol, but on a par with the Croats."

"And like any elite, they resent the fact that Emeric has passed them over for his Croats. I gather the Croats will take pay in money, and the Székely want it in less tangible things. They're hardened with constant attrition by the Mongol clans."

"The Mongol are better, though. And they outnumber them. How come they haven't pushed into Hungary?"

"From what I can gather two reasons. One, the terrain. They don't like mountains, they don't like forests, they like open plains, and their way of life is shaped to that. There are also a lot of fortified buildings up there, things it would be hard for them to take. And secondly, since the time of their 'Great Khan' Ulaghchi . . . they've been through a number of periods of civil war, with no strong leadership. Ulaghchi pushed east and north, recapturing lost territory, pushing further. Much of that land was lost again to Lithuania and Jagiellon."

"And Eberhart ferreted out something else about this Khan Ulaghchi. Apparently he was a rabid traditionalist—you remember that hamlet next to the river being literally the only settlement we'd seen? He issued an edict against settled dwellings. Said they made people corrupt and soft. Didn't approve of gunpowder much either."

"He could be right," said Erik, with a chuckle. "No inns and no wine—think how tough you'd be."

"Yeah. And how miserable. But as the old windbag pointed out, it means that they have no real manufacturing base either. If you can't make it from a sheep or a horse, you have to take it from your foes."

"Or buy it. People in towns buy sheep. And I need some sleep before morning. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be even more complicated."

* * *

Nothing, thought Bortai, was ever completely simple. Yes, they had managed to get home to the Clan. Yes they had handed the forces of Gatu Orkhan a lesson, and a defeat that would have other clans steer clear of Hawk lands, and conflict with the Hawk Clan, for many years. It was a defeat that had been inflicted, largely, by a force a quarter of the size of Gatu Orkhan's. Moreover, they had taken very few casualties, and inflicted vast numbers of deaths and maiming among the enemy.

And now some of the Hawk Clan were saying that they should seize the cannon from the trader who had aided them. They were pressing her, as they could not press Kildai. He had ridden off with his 'Khesig' to 'do things he had to do'.

She was not sure quite where Kildai had got to.

But it had been somewhere in the direction of the wagon-cart fortress.

* * *

David could have told her. At least, once he had got over the disorientation of being woken up after very little sleep after one of the most exhausting days of his life, he could have. The guards on the rough encampment of the knights had recognized and admitted Kildai. They'd had been polite but firm about Kildai's escorts. Kildai had been relieved. He did not want them listening in. Nor was he too keen on them seeing David. He had a feeling that it might be useful if the two of them wanted to get away . . .

Before the kurultai . . . before his Uncle's death, Kildai had been happy. He had had no real responsibilities. He'd been the nephew of the orkhan, and the great grandson of the Great Khan. He did not remember clearly, as Bortai did, when their father had been Orkhan. In the months leading up to kurultai . . . well he'd been aware that he was being pushed forward as the Hawk clan's claim to rule the horde. But he had not really believed in any of it. It wasn't actually going to happen.

Then had come the accident . . . If it was an accident. He suspected sorcery still, even if no-one but David seemed to believe him. That had suddenly made him aware of a whole lot of the realities he had not known about before. Now . . . it seemed that the clan itself thought that somehow . . . He was the Khan. To them anyway.

And they were asking him to decide on things he'd never even thought about. He could ask Bortai . . . but . . . but . . . he had spent the last few years rebelling against that. And it would be, in terms of his authority, a mistake. He knew that much.

So instead he turned to someone he could trust. Someone who knew a little more of politics and the world than he did. Someone brave enough to not carry a sword into combat so that he could keep Kildai upright.

David blinked. "How would I know?"

Kildai hoped his face did not betray his disappointment. But of course it did. David laughed. "You wake me up and ask me what to do about the trader. What trader, you idiot?"

* * *

David knew, by now, just what high company he'd been mixing with. But the habits of the last few weeks of near constant contact and amicable bickering, when he hadn't knownit, died hard. And his brain was still fuzzy with sleep. The idiot part had come naturally. What he didn't expect was Kildai to grab him . . . not to wrestle him or cut his throat for such disrespect, but to hug him. "They expect me to know everything," said Kildai, in a distinctly watery voice.

"Ach, so what do they know?" said David roughly. "So tell me. Who is this trader?"

"The man with the cannons. He is with some Székeler guards. The Clan do not like the Székely. The commander of the Mingghan says we must take the cannons."

David covered his eyes. "Is one war not enough? That's not a trader, Kildai. No trader has a whole lot of cannons. That is the Khan of Valahia. He said so to the knights. I heard him. And they believe him. Wait. I'll ask Ritter Von Stael . . ."

"No," Kildai said, warily.

"He's a good sort, Kildai. He made me his squire." David was still incredulous about this.

"I need . . . No one must know. But I need to ask you. So: he is a Khan, really? And the Székely? The Officer of the Mingghan has something against them. But some of my Khesig say that he tried to raid one of their forts . . . I don't know. They say he said he came to buy horses."

So David spent the next half an hour solving the problems of the young Khan. Mostly he solved them the best way he knew, by the logic of the back streets of Jerusalem, and with a bit of common sense. Often Kildai seemed to have that too. He just needed a bit of reassurance.

"If you're worried, just tell them that you need to think about it. And that only a fool makes big decisions in a hurry. Von Stael said that to me today. Then you can ask me." David did not add, "and then I'll ask your sister," although he thought it, and wondered just how he could manage to do that.

Kildai nodded. "Yes. Now I will go back. The Khesig will be worried. And I need to step in and stop anything more happening tonight. You are right."

* * *

Bortai was a worried woman. She'd already quietly asked three men to go and find Kildai and get him here. She felt, in her core, that the trader should be left alone. They'd fought together, as brothers of necessity, against Gatu's troops. She had some support from the commanders of the Jaghuns that had accompanied them over the Iret—although they too were tempted. The Mingghan that had arrived later . . . well, they felt that it would be a rich booty, and too valuable in the war that was coming. Yes, the traders had aided the young Khan, and they deserved some mercy. Well, most of them felt that way. The commander of one of the Jaghuns felt they should leave them alone. That he was mad, and should be avoided in case it a sickness that spread. But his and Bortai's voices were the only openly dissenting ones, and it was only the respect that she commanded, and that her father had commanded that had held matters in check for this long.

Then Kildai entered, accompanied by a close guard of those who had elected themselves his Khesig.

The question was respectfully put to him. Bortai's heart sank. Protocol demanded that she could not speak to him first. And he was a boy of fourteen. A good rider, but what did he know, really, of such things? He would let the officers lead him.

Kildai took his time in answering. Sat down. Looked thoughtful. She knew him. He was play-acting the part. She'd seen him do it . . .

"Only a fool," he said calmly, "starts a second war, before he has won the first."

That was accepted as wisdom, which, indeed, Bortai thought it was, from him. It made sense, and was an argument she might have used. It just didn't sound like something he'd have come up with on his own.

Kildai continued. "And only a fool does not scout his enemy's position and know whom he is attacking, before he presses the attack."

"What do you mean, young Khan," said the commander of the Mingghan, a little patronizingly.

That was a mistake with Kildai. He pointed at the the commander. "I mean your counsel nearly led us into another war. He is not a trader. Those of us who saw him in war, know that. Those who arrived later, did not."

It was a cutting comment, a little unfair. But . . .

"But he had trade flags. He said he wished to buy horses," said the officer who had been insistent that he was mad.

"I say again," said Kildai. "He is no trader. Your scouting is not good enough."

"Who is he then, Young Khan? A spy. A conqueror with two hundred men?" That was said a little sarcastically by the commander of the Mingghan.

Kildai shook his head. "He is the Khan from over the mountains. He told us so. And I have been making sure. My scouting is careful."

The trader, well, not a trader, according to Kildai, had spoken in Frankish when he had ridden up to them. But she'd only understood part of it. The part about an alliance of convenience. But how had Kildai understood more? And then it came to her, and she understood just where he had been. The horseboy. Well. So far the little devil's advice had been good. She must talk to the orkhan Erik about this. She would need to say a few things that boy, and also to have an eye kept on him.

"But then . . . what does he want here? He said he wanted to buy horses."

"Probably exactly what he says. Horses."

"But we do not sell our horses . . . some old ones, bad animals maybe. But a Khan would want the finest . . ."

"We don't know. Maybe he wants to give them to the Székelers," said Bortai, which provoked a fair amount of laughter.

"Anyway," said Kildai. "Who said anything about selling him OUR horses?"

The entire audience was stilled. "We'll sell him our enemies horses. We may even give him some for free."

That provoked uproar. Horses were the measure of wealth. Kildai held up his hand for silence and it came, reluctantly. "Gatu Orkhan has gold. And wars cost that. We will need gold, which we can't take from Gatu, easily. But this day we have taken at least two thousand horses. Let us exchange them for gold, if this Khan has it. We'll keep the best ones, of course."

Bortai was sure now that David had fed him this. She'd listened to him talking to Kildai. He seemed to know a great deal about the value of horses. But she found herself in agreement with him on one thing. There was no point in starting a second war. Instead they must use him to win this one.

* * *

Vlad was greeted the next morning by a respectful messenger from 'the young Khan'. Could they meet?

He took the Primore Peter with him. They were escorted to a small encampment away from the field of battle. He was surprised to see that they really meant 'the young khan'. The boy looked as if he was in his teens. They were introduced, also to several of the other Mongol, some of whom were definitely the military commanders. The introduction seemed to provide the young boy with a fair amount of satisfaction. "My people told me that you were a trader. Wishing to buy horses. Not a prince." Translated one of the men.

"I am a Prince fighting a war. I need horses." This too was translated.

"So you were scouting to raid," said one of the older men, sardonically. At least, if the translation was faithful it was darkly said.

Vlad stared him down. "It is beneath my honor to steal. I told your men. I wish to buy horses."

Vlad did not allow his gaze to waver, as this too was translated. The officer did not seem pleased. But it made an impact. Vlad was not to sure it was a positive one. But the boy nodded. Said something to one of the men. The Székely Primore gaped. "He is giving you horses."

The translator explained. "The young Khan has ordered that you be given your share of the battle-spoils. Fifty horses. The young Khan wants to know: for what do you want the horses?"

Vlad explained. The translator guffawed. Slapped his knees. And translated with difficulty. The other Mongol found it equally funny.

Eventually the question was asked "So, you do not want our fastest and best then, for the earth diggers, the eaters of vegetables?"

"No. Good sound placid animals. Not warhorses. And I wouldn't mind buying some sheep too." Vlad was a little prickly. True, his men were mostly peasants or poor freemen. But their cannon and arquebuses had brought down enough horse riding Mongol light cavalry yesterday. More than the Hawk clan Mongol had. But if they wanted to deceive themselves, well, maybe it was best that they did. As long as they sold him horses. And some sheep. It appeared they were willing to do that. Selling 'good' horses . . . spirited war horses, or parting with them in any other way but by brute force, was sheer foolishness. They could be used against them. But to sell the slow, solid slugs to men who could not ride . . . well if the Khan from mountains was stupid enough . . . And sheep. Sheep were plentiful and cheap. The Mongol were chortling with glee, when he started talking gold. And then they were eager to discuss future business.