Until the Sun Falls (54 page)

The last of the knights was so far ahead that they would never catch him; he was even out of bowshot. Psin stopped his horse and drew off to let Mongke’s men by. Mongke saw him and rode over.

“What happened?” Psin yelled.

Mongke laughed. “They took the first chance they saw to leave the fort. They were dying to run, so they did, and we chased. We wouldn’t have caught them if you hadn’t slowed them on the road.”

“I think I lost all my men. They were on top of us before we saw them.”

“You slowed them, though.”

Psin looked around. He could see nothing but skewbald horses. One bay trotted along with the rest, but it was riderless. He rode off to the place where he and his men had waited that morning, and found two or three hundred men there, all wounded.

Mongke had come with him. “Are you all right? There’s blood all over your back.”

“Oh.” Psin felt his back and winced. “Something hit me.”

“Get down.” Mongke dismounted. “Here come some more of your men.”

Psin, on the ground, looked over and saw fifty more men on bay horses jogging into the meadow. “Too many losses.”

Mongke helped him pull off his armor. “Bruise. Nothing broken. It’s bleeding, though.”

“That’s all right. If nothing’s broken—ouch!”

Sabotai with his staff, Batu, and Batu’s brothers galloped into the meadow. “Psin. God above. Is all that yours?”

Mongke said, “He’s got more blood than a fall pig. Yes.” He was wrapping bandages around Psin’s middle. Psin was suddenly weak in the knees; he leaned against his horse. Mongke explained what had happened to Sabotai.

Batu said, “We’re in now. Psin, will you be able to ride? Berke—” 

“No,” Psin said. “I can ride.” He stood away from the horse. Sabotai, watching him, smiled and nodded. His eyes were bright; he always looked happy when one of his stratagems had worked out well.

“Fill up your ranks from the skewbald tuman,” he said. “You can leave for Pesth when you’re rested.”

“Good.” Psin pulled on his armor. “There’s no wine in the supply station anyhow.”

Batu said genially, “There is something I’ve meant to talk to you about for a long while, Psin Khan.”

“Oh, really?”

“Your grandson is a charming boy. I’ve got a little granddaughter, some younger than he.”

Psin stretched his legs out flat on the ground. It was a pretty day, and he wished Batu hadn’t spoiled it. “They are of the same bone, unfortunately.”

“Oh, well.” Batu smiled. His broad face was bland. “For the Altun such things are of little moment.” He took the plug out of a jug of fresh kumiss and held it out. Psin took it and drank.

“I have a son unmarried yet,” he said. “Until Sidacai marries Djela stays a bachelor.”

Batu’s face clouded. Psin raised the jug again to cover how sharply he was watching him. Finally, Batu said, “This is the son of your second wife, isn’t he.”

“Yes.” Psin lowered the jug; he hadn’t drunk.

Batu was fussing with the hooks on his coat. Kaidu had a younger sister. Psin didn’t think Batu would mention her. The sun had risen over the mountains behind them, and the bright, clear light made the snow sparkle. Psin got up.

“I have to move out soon.”

“Oh. That’s right.” Batu rose. “You’re riding vanguard again. Sabotai trusts you much more than the rest of us. You should be honored.”

“Terribly much.” He slung his saddle onto his horse’s back and reached under its belly for the girth.

“Kaidu has a sister as yet unpromised. Perhaps—”

“Why don’t we talk about it after the campaign? Sidacai’s old enough now to make his own marriage. I’d rather he were around when I talked about it.”

“Keep it in mind,” Batu said. “You won’t find anything so good for him—not for the second son of the second wife.” He put one hand on Psin’s arm, smiled, and went off.

“Hunh.”

Psin hooked the breastplate to the saddle. His standardbearer was jogging over toward him, and seeing him pass the thousand-commanders trailed after. Sunlight glinted off their metal gear. If Sidacai married without Psin’s permission, Psin could annul it at any time. Anyway, Sidacai was in the Kha-Khan’s guard and not liable to meet any girls of good family. He met plenty of girls of bad family, but them he could not marry. Psin picked up his chest armor and draped it over his shoulders.

“Do we break camp, Khan?” the standardbearer said.

Psin nodded. “I’m going to find Sabotai. We have a full tuman. Form them up into three columns.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung up. The horse turned and started off at a trot before he had settled into the saddle. He reined him off across the camp, toward the north.

Sabotai was arguing a point of strategy with Mongke, sitting beside a fire. Batu’s brothers hovered behind him. Psin didn’t wait to hear what it was they were discussing. He dismounted, got between them, and sat on his heels.

“I’m leaving. Anything more?”

“No.”

“I’m not going to scout for you, so don’t hunt for reports.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sabotai said. “You’re under ban, and this is my fire.” He got up and walked away. Psin followed him, grinning. Sabotai had done this twice before; it was a good way of getting Psin out of earshot of the other Altun. Some fifteen steps from the fire Sabotai turned.

“There was a courier in last night from Karakorum. Late. I couldn’t very well send for you, and it was too cold to go riding.”

“Any news of my women?”

“They’re both well. Your new grandson is thriving. There were letters from Kerulu for Tshant. And from Ogodai. He’s still strong, very active, as usual. Very pleased with the way the war is going.”

“What about Quyuk?”

“Quyuk is sitting with his hands in his lap. Jagatai says that they are keeping him under guard—supposed to be an honor guard, of course. His mother is slightly out of favor and his wife is no longer permitted the Golden Yurt. Has Batu been courting you?”

“Yes.”

“They are disappointed with Siremon. That’s why. The older Siremon gets the more obvious it is that there’s no clear successor to Ogodai, except perhaps Jagatai.”

“And Quyuk.”

Sabotai sighed. “Yes. Yes. Incidentally, Quyuk sent word to you. Just greetings, and hopes that you’ll have good fighting.”

Psin’s jaw dropped. “He what?”

“Exactly. To no one else. Not even his brother.”

“Well.”

“There was another courier in from the north. Tshant disobeyed every order Kaidu gave him—just ignored them—and caught an army of Poles outnumbering his three to one and smashed them to rubble.”

“My, my.” Psin put one hand to his mouth to hide his smile.

“You seem to have bred a rebel.”

“I always knew that.”

“And something of a general. I thought you’d want to know. Well. Good-by.”

“Good-by. I’ll send couriers when I’m at Pesth.”

“Yes.” Sabotai started back toward his fire. Psin stood watching him. The slow trudge of Sabotai’s legs suddenly looked funny. He thought, Tshant the genius. It was interesting. Tshant had commanded so rarely before this…. He wondered if Sabotai’s instigating feuds had made him any better. More confident, maybe. Beating me. He touched the scars on his cheek. Maybe. 

Baidar said, looking toward the city,
“You’ve made Kaidu angry. You ought not to have.”

“What’s wrong with him now?”

“Well, he told you to stay within a day’s ride of him, and you ran it out to three days and proved he was wrong in the first place. He’s too young to be in command.”

Tshant nodded. He wasn’t interested in Kaidu’s immature jealousies. “How many do you think they have, in there?”

Baidar’s horse ducked its head, and he jerked it up again. “Two tumans at least. He has a legitimate complaint against you. You lose too many men when you fight.”

“My father’s said so.”

Behind them, Tshant’s army and a half a tuman of Baidar’s waited, eating jerked meat and drinking the wine from the town they had taken the day before. They had been waiting before Liegnitz since dawn, and so far no one inside the walls had shown a sign of noticing them. A collection of huts and larger buildings stood outside the wall, and Tshant had suggested attacking them, but Baidar had said no.

“He’s worth handling properly,” Baidar said. “Kaidu, I mean.”

“Where is he now?”

“With his men. There’s an army coming up from—from Bohemia. Or someplace down there.” Baidar’s eyes flew toward the city. “Here comes someone.”

Tshant looked around. The gate had opened, and sixteen or twenty knights were riding out in double file. At their head rode a man carrying a white banner. Baidar called back to the army behind them, and Rijart trotted up, smiling.

Batu and Sabotai were in Hungary, and the courier who had brought that news had said they were meeting no resistance. The entire Hungarian army was drawn up before their capital. Psin, riding vanguard, had reached Pesth in three days flat from the great pass and was keeping watch on the King’s army until Sabotai caught up. Kaidu had sent a man back to tell Batu that he could not join the main army in Hungary until he had disposed of the Poles in Liegnitz.

As well. Tshant shifted in his saddle, watching the knights approach. Sabotai could deal with the Hungarians. All this work in Poland was only a diversion; there was no sense in letting Kaidu share his grandfather’s triumph. Tshant looked back to find Djela and saw him chattering with one of the standardbearers, who had orders to watch him.

The knights drew up their big horses a little way down from Tshant and Baidar. All but two of them wore white surcoats and cloaks with a black cross on the breast. The other two looked richer and less like fighting men. One of these rode forward, with a big blond knight behind him—one of the men wearing the black cross. The advance rider called out in a harsh voice, and Rijart translated.

“I am Henry, the Duke of Silesia, and my liege is the King of the Romans. What brings you to Liegnitz?”

Tshant grinned. Baidar nudged his horse forward and said to Rijart, “Tell them we come because they have an army here. They think to resist us, the chosen of God. Now they must lay aside their weapons and do homage to the Kha-Khan, God’s only prince on earth.”

Rijart shouted, and the knights mumbled under their breath. The big blond man tilted forward from the waist and spoke to the Silesian, who gestured impatiently. He spoke again. Rijart said, “We are all the children of God, but His only chosen is Our Lord Jesus Christ and those who follow him. If you will accept Christ, we will welcome you like the strayed lambs into the fold. Otherwise we offer only death.”

Tshant said, “All this proves is how many different ways a man can say the same thing. Tell them to go.”

Baidar nodded to Rijart. “Tell them what he said.”

The Silesian listened and said, “We outnumber you.”

Baidar laughed. “It’s not the number that matters, but God’s hand on the bow. We are sworn to conquer the world, and to do so we will fight until the sun falls.”

The knights heard it in silence. Their faces behind the arcs of the nosepieces on their helmets were drawn and set hard. The blond man, who wore no helmet, reined his horse forward, said something to the Silesian, and jogged past him a little. His hair glistened in the sun, and he looked Tshant and Baidar in the face. He said something; in the midst of it Tshant heard the word “Psin.”

“What does he know of Psin?” he said to Rijart.

Rijart rubbed his chin. “I know this knight. His name is Arnulf, and he is of the Teutonic Order. He met with Psin Khan in Pesth.”

“My father mentioned him.”

“He says if Psin is with this army he will fight him in single combat, for the greater glory of God.”

Baidar snorted. “Tell him Mongols don’t fight like that. And Psin Khan isn’t in Poland.”

Rijart called to the knight, who listened gravely and answered in a calm voice. Rijart turned back toward Baidar.

“He says that he will fight any of the Mongols. He asks which of you two is the stronger.”

Tshant said, “I’ll fight him.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Baidar said. “Look at him. You could take him with an arrow, but hand to hand he’d mash you. He’s armored like a tortoise and he’s twice your size.”

Tshant scowled. “He’ll think us cowards.”

“Let him. When the fighting’s over there will be none left to think anything.”

Rijart spoke, firmly, and the knight nodded. He swung his horse. The Silesian turned and rode back toward the city, with the knights trailing neatly after. Baidar said, “Now all we have to do is bring them out of the city.”

Tshant said to Rijart, “What did my father think of him? The knight.”

“I had the impression he admired him.”

“Unh.”

Baidar was riding off; the melting snow squished under his horse’s hoofs. Tshant shaded his eyes to see the city wall. Now they had to meet with Kaidu. He wheeled and rode back to Jube, to set a watch over the city while they made plans.

Kaidu said, “Tshant will burn the huts outside the wall. If they come out to attack him, he will give ground slowly enough to keep in constant contact with them. When they are far enough from the city to be taken on either side, Baidar will strike from the south, I from the north.”

Tshant had one foot braced up against the pommel of his saddle. He ran his thumb over his jaw, glanced at Baidar, and said, “And I am to ride in the contact line, of course.”

“If you wish,” Kaidu said stiffly.

Tshant grinned. “I will. Good. How long will it be before you’re in position?”

“Your confidence is reassuring,” Kaidu said.

“Why, thank you.”

Baidar said, “There is no need for Tshant’s men to be in contact except intermittently. We cannot stand up to the knights’ charge. That much we’ve learned.”

“Sometimes it’s necessary to… sacrifice some men for the good of others.”

Tshant put his foot down and fished for his stirrup. “I said I’d go. Don’t depend on my being sacrificed, Kaidu.”

Kaidu glared at him. “I hope you return safely, of course.” He turned and rode off.