Until the Sun Falls (49 page)

The snow muffled the sound of the horse’s hoofs. In the trees he passed he heard the high calls of birds nesting for the night. Low clouds were thrusting up from the west. He sniffed the wind, wondering if it would snow.

He hadn’t realized how far down the river he’d ridden. The bluff where Kiev stood was still a long way off. The dark slid in from the east and stars began to shine. He was too late. The rule was that he had to be home before the first star shone. If the clouds had come earlier, so that the stars were blotted out, he could have argued the point.

When he reached the pass by Kiev’s bluff it was full dark. There wasn’t any sense in hurrying now. He let the horse pick its way through the tangle of trees and brush at the foot of the bluff. They had come out higher up than Djela had meant to, on the flat ground midway between the camp and the dead city.

He could go hide with Psin. He rode up to the isolated yurt, keeping it between him and the camp in case Tshant was looking for him. There were no horses tethered next to Psin’s yurt. Djela frowned. He slid down and knocked on the door; Dmitri answered. Psin had gone off somewhere and Tshant was looking for Djela. “You had better go home.”

“Let me in.”

Dmitri shook his head. “Go home.”

“I am a noyon of the Altun Uruk. Let me in.”

Dmitri grinned. “You’re a little boy who is afraid his father will beat him for staying out late. Go home. I’m the one who’ll be beaten if you hide here.” 

“Oh.”

Dmitri shut the door. Djela looked down toward the camp, glowing with banked cooking fires. Everyone would have eaten by now. His stomach pinched him. And he was cold. If he went down and crawled in through the back of the yurt, under the felt, he might be able to convince Tshant he had been in the back all the whole. Except that Tshant knew about that trick and usually searched the yurt before he went out looking.

No matter what I do I’m going to get yelled at.

There was one other chance: if he didn’t come back until morning. If he stayed out all night, Tshant was usually so worried he forgot to yell, he just hugged him and fussed over him, glad he’d gotten back at all. He turned the horse and trotted up the road toward the city. He could hide all night there, go home tomorrow, and meanwhile think of a good story. The Russians had captured him and he’d had to escape and ride home. That was good. Even Psin would admire him for escaping from Russians. He dismounted and led the horse into the city, through the wreckage of the gate and the rotting shields.

It was colder in the city than outside. He stood still, thinking. His stomach growled.

Maybe I should go back.

But he looked up at the sky; it was deep black, the stars were gone, and the wind howled through it. It was too late to go back. Maybe he could have escaped from the Russians right after they’d caught him. But the Russians would still have been in the camp, and he couldn’t imagine Russians stealing him in the middle of Batu’s camp.

He mounted up and rode deeper into the city, looking for a place where he could make a fire and be warm. They had started burning Kiev a few days ago, but the snow had put the fire out before more than half the city had gone down. The horse fretted, and he whipped it on.

The horse’s hoofbeats were awesomely loud. In the camp below they had to have heard them. Hoofbeats sounded behind him, and he whirled. The street was empty.

The horse tugged at the bit and walked on. Djela sat stiffly listening. He could hear other hoofbeats behind him, clear and strong. He whirled around, nearly falling off, and saw nobody.

His skin crawled. He reined the horse down a little crooked side-street, to see who was following him, but the horse took two steps and refused to go farther. The air here stank of charred wood, and the buildings on both sides were only shells. He turned the horse around, and it bolted.

The clatter of hoofs swelled up like drumbeats. He wrenched at the reins, dragging the horse to a halt. Even the horse was afraid.

He looked behind him, saw nothing, and bit his lip to keep his teeth from chattering.

On his right was a huge old building, hollowed out by fire. Only two walls stood. Through the windows he could see the black sky. The windows were like eyes. He eased up on the reins and the horse started forward quickly.

Inside the burnt building, something rustled, snarled, and fled scuttling. A timber crashed down. The horse shied, and Djela clung with hands and knees. His heart was just behind his tongue. The horse wheeled to face the building, and its ears pinned flat back and its forelegs braced. Djela looked until his eyes ached.

His back prickled. Something was looking at him. Wicked, mean eyes were staring at him. He had a swift vision of slavering fangs and blood dripping from a narrow ribbon of a tongue. He was afraid to look back. He turned the horse—slowly, slowly—and started down the street toward the gate.

In a sidestreet, something screeched. The horse half-reared, neighed, and galloped on. He could feel it quivering between his knees. The reins slid through his fingers, and the horse stretched out. The gate was far away, and he bent over the horse’s withers.

Abruptly the horse leapt to one side, twisting, and Djela went off. He landed hard on the stones of the street, clutching the reins. The horse dragged him along the rough ground. He contorted, trying to avoid the hoofs, trying to get to his feet. At last the horse stopped and he leapt up, bounded onto its back, and charged straight for the gate.

Behind him every foul thing under the sky was watching. Dead cities. People had died here and not been… The walls loomed, sweeping toward him. He shut his eyes. Noise billowed out of the streets around him. The horse skidded to a stop, and he opened his eyes, cold with what he might see. But the horse was only trying to find a way through the rubble around the gate. He clung, praying, while the horse stepped over fallen timbers and circled a mass of broken stone. They would never get through, something horrible would leap on him before they got through. His clothes stuck to him, drenched with sweat.

The horse leapt the last line of trash and galloped down the road. Cool, free air swept over him. He dared not look back; he aimed the horse like an arrow at Psin’s yurt. The horse slowed to go around it, and Djela jumped off. The door popped open and Psin looked out.

“Where have you been? Wait until your father—”

Djela flung his arms around Psin and wept. Psin hugged him. The great strong arms surrounded him and held him safe.

“It’s not so bad,” Psin said. “He won’t hurt you. What’s—” Psin dragged him into the light. “You’re bloody. What happened? Djela, come out of it. Dmitri, get me some water and a cloth. And grease. And—never mind about Tshant, the horse will bring him. Djela.”

“Don’t let me go. Please don’t let me go.” Djela burrowed his face into Psin’s chest. He hung on as tight as he could to Psin’s belt.

“It’s all right. You’re all right here.” Psin pried his fingers loose. “Tell me what happened.”

“I went into the city. It’s full of monsters.” Djela wailed, remembering. “Don’t let them get me.”

Dmitri was back again, with a bowl of water. Psin sat Djela down on the couch and wiped his face with a wet cloth. “How did you get scraped up?”

“My horse dragged me.” Djela sniffled. “There were monsters. With wings and claws.”

“You shouldn’t go into a dead city. And you were riding without a saddle again. Weren’t you.”

“Yes.”

Psin put his fingers under Djela’s chin and tipped his head to one side. “If you don’t watch out, you’ll be a scarface, like me. Why did you go into the city?”

“I was going to hide. Until morning.”

“Oho.” Psin threw a robe around Djela’s shoulders. “Dmitri, bring him something to eat. You’re a fool, Djela. You should have come back and taken the scolding.”

Djela curled up under the robe. “He said he’d beat me if I did it again.”

“He wouldn’t have. You know he wouldn’t have.”

“He keeps saying—”

A horse was coming at full gallop. Psin took the bowl of stewed meat from Dmitri and shoved it into Djela’s hands. “Here he comes. Don’t lie, either.”

The aroma of cooked meat was delicious. Djela stuffed his mouth. “I won’t lie. I’m almost grown up now.”

Psin stared a moment, trying to understand what Djela had said through the mouthful, and suddenly laughed. “Grownups lie.”

The door flew open, and Tshant said, “I knew he’d be here. His horse came down and I knew he’d be here. Djela—”

He looked furious. Djela cringed. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean to.” Tshant took the bowl away from him and stood him up on the couch. “The next time you do this, I’ll make you wish—God’s name. What happened to you?” He looked at Psin. “What happened to him?”

Psin said, “He went up to the city to hide, and he fell off the horse and was dragged.”

Tshant shut his eyes. “He went into the city. He was riding bareback, or he’d never have fallen off. And he stayed out after dark.” His voice rose to a howl. “Do you ever do anything right?”

Djela burst into tears. “I can’t help it. I try, but it just comes out wrong.”

Tshant cuffed him. “Go outside and wait. Beside my horse. On the ground. Both feet on the ground, both arms at your sides, head up. Understand?”

Djela nodded, sobbing.

“Stop crying. Go.”

Djela stumbled down from the couch and went to the door. He stopped crying. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and glared at Tshant. “I hate you.”

“Go outside before I—”

Djela dodged his slap and ducked out the door.

Sabotai looked around at each of the Altun, frowned until they stopped talking, and cleared his throat. Mongke and Kadan, who were drunk, imitated him, and Sabotai flushed. “Don’t anger me.”

“Sabotai,” Mongke said. “We dread your anger. Would we incur it voluntarily?”

Psin put his hand up to his mouth to hide his grin. Batu leapt up.

“This is a kuriltai,” he said. “You came into this yurt between two fires. Don’t make a joke out of your elders.”

Mongke opened his mouth, and Psin, guessing what he would say, shouted, “And keep in mind that this is my yurt and you are all my guests.”

The Altun laughed, and Sabotai said, “Why shout?”

“To keep you from hearing what he said,” Psin said. He pointed to Mongke with his chin.

“What did you say?” Batu said.

Mongke cocked his eyebrows. His eyes widened. “I? Speak in the presence of my elders? Come, Batu. You think ill of me.”

“Be quiet,” Sabotai said. “We have plans to make.”

Kadan said, “Plans to agree to, you m-mean. The plans are already made.”

“Y-yes,” Psin said. “So be qu-quiet and 1-listen.”

Kadan laughed. “I’m drunk. At least I have an ex-ex-ex-” His face reddened with effort. Mongke shoved him.

“Ssssh. Listen.”

He turned his bright eyes on Sabotai. Baidar and the others sniggered. Sabotai shut his eyes; his lips moved.

Psin said, “Batu Khan, Sabotai is communing with the Eternal Heaven. Why don’t you explain the plans?”

Sabotai sat down with a thump, and Batu rose.

“Now that Kiev has fallen and the Southern Russians have paid homage to the Kha-Khan, we hold all of Russia. It is the will of the Kha- Khan that we go farther west. Sabotai and Psin and I—”

A chorus of hoots interrupted him. He growled at the Altun until they quieted. Psin glanced at Tshant, sitting in the back of the crowded yurt. Tshant looked bored. He caught Psin’s eye and made a face. Psin shrugged.

“Sabotai and Psin and I,” Batu said, glowering, “have decided that the best way to strike west is to—”

“You have no talent for explaining things,” Sabotai said. “Sit down.” He rose and pointed to the rug at his feet. “Psin, get the map of the west.”

Psin got up and pulled the map out of his bowcase. “Due west of us lies Hungary. North of Hungary are the Poles, the Lithuanians, and the Germans. South of the Hungarians there are several small tribes. Between us and the Carpathian mountains is Halicz, which hasn’t yet submitted.”

He unrolled the map, and Sabotai put one foot on the far edge to hold it down. “Here is Kiev. Here is the Dniester River. These are the Carpathian Mountains. To the north is a stretch of flat marshland, and a river called the Vistula. On it are two cities, Sandomir and Cracow, which we shall take.”

He looked up quickly to make sure that they were paying attention and saw them all leaning forward to see. He pointed to the Carpathians. “This is the pass we shall force, probably. We’ll need hay to feed the horses; it’s a rugged climb. On the other side is steppe, though.”

Sabotai said, “Batu and I, with the main army, will force the pass. Psin and Mongke go with us, and Batu’s brothers. Go on, Psin.”

“South of Hungary there are more mountains, very rugged, almost impassable in the winter. But a river cuts through them, the Danube, and the basin is open enough to travel through.”

“The southern wing of the army invades along the Danube,” Sabotai said. “Three tumans.”

“West of Hungary,” Psin said, “is forest. That will come next winter. The objective for now is to take the end of the steppe— Hungary—and whatever we need to make our position tenable there.”

“What do we fight?” Tshant said.

“Stone cities. Problems, of course, but I believe we can bypass most of them. Sandomir and Cracow lie in positions to cut our supply routes across the Vistula and must be destroyed. But most of the cities we can simply cut off from contact with each other.”

“The armies?” Mongke said.

“Knights.”

“Oh, well.”

“Don’t underestimate them. These are not like the Russian knights. They’re big men, heavily armored, and they are born to one purpose, which is fighting. Some of them are even made priests, so you see how dedicated they are. They will charge, try to close quarters, and fight hand to hand. They use swords, and they’re heavy enough to bash in a bull’s skull. Sometimes they use lances, but they don’t throw them. They try to run into you with them.”

Kaidu laughed. Baidar lifted his head and said, “It may sound funny, boy, but I for one wouldn’t like to have a horse and a big man in armor crash into me at all, much less with a sharp lance in his hands.”