Casca 22: The Mongol (10 page)

Temujin turned to look at him. "Old Young One, you are forgetting your own classes and the words of Sun Tzu that all war is deception. Well, I have just deceived my own brother. He will do as I said and tell only the most trusted of our coming. But I will guarantee you that Jemuga has subverted at least one of them. Jemuga will be looking for us in five days. We will hit him the same night that Temuge returns."

Turning to Chagar, he commanded, "Get the men ready to ride in two hours. We go to win back that which was lost to me."

Temujin called his warriors to him. Quickly he made his plans. Sketching out the camp, he made certain that each of them knew exactly where they were supposed to be. This would be fast. "No time to play, and remember, kill only those who oppose you, for they are my people."

Using the dirt map at his feet, he pointed out the yurts of the guard who served Jemuga, where his yurt was located, and the pastures where the horses and camels were kept. To each one he drew lines and assigned them to one of the tens of which the hundred was made up.

They were to be broken down into three main parties. Each would have its target and its time to move. He would command one, taking Casca with him. Chagar would take control of the other elements.

Once the situation was laid out, he gave the command to mount and ride. They would be three hours behind Temuge, keeping their distance.

They rode long into the night. Temuge would not stop until he reached the camp. His brother was returning.

Temujin told Casca as they passed an outcropping of sun- blistered and freeze-cracked boulders, "It is important that we do not lose any time. Temuge will ride fast. Once we are there, we will have to go into action immediately. That will give him three hours to spread the words of our return. In that time Jemuga will hear of it.

"If we wait any longer, he will take Temuge and Jochi. I cannot let that happen. If they are in his power, he will try to use them as hostages against me. And I would have to let them die.

"One can never give in to threats of that nature. There is only one response. The hostages pay the price and you kill those who took them, preferably in the most painful and memorable manner possible, to discourage those who would try such acts again."

Several times in the distance they saw the dust trail of Temuge as he rode across the plains. Temujin was careful to keep their distance. Temuge stopped only long enough to rest his horse, then he was off again, alternately riding and walking to make the best time. Temujin's force emulated him.

It was near dusk of the second day when Temujin called a halt. They were near the camp of Qiyats. Now they must wait until dark fell before they moved any farther. Temuge had just entered the camp. Temujin didn't see it, but he knew.

Now they would rest for an hour, then move in closer, staying in one group till they were closer to the camp, where they would break up into their separate units.

They had taken up hiding behind a ridge of low hills overlooking where the camp was laid out beside the River Kerulen. Behind the camp, rising to the heavens in that strange glowing orange light of the Gobi, were the Kentei Mountains, their peaks aflame with reds and golds as the sun died for another night.

Once more he called his leaders to him. Pointing to one place, then another around the valley, he gave them detailed descriptions of the features of the land.

Other dust trails rose from the plains, those of the camp's outriders. Temujin made note of them and spoke to his commanders. "Mark them well – and their numbers. We will try to go between them. It is best not to engage them at this time. But don't worry, when we have taken the camp, you will have an opportunity to try yourselves against them when they return. By then we will have all the men of the Qiyat behind us."

It was time. They moved slowly as soon as the dark had set enough to cover the trails. When they were an hour from the village, Temujin detached two ten-man elements and showed them where to station themselves. They were to guard against the outriders or messengers from the observation posts coming to warn or aid Jemuga. If they did return, they would have a warm welcome.

This was his land and he knew they would take the same trails back; they always did. "Habits," the Old Young One had said, "were to be avoided at all costs. Never repeat yourself except when your enemy expects you to do something different. Break patterns and thinking, and you will always be ahead of your foe."

Jemuga's outriders were not large in number. Bands of five or ten men at the most. They served only to watch over the valley. But they were late and the valley was large.
Most of them would take up posts on high ridges to watch for dust trails, then send fast riders to warn the camp if the strangers appeared to be in large numbers. Temujin knew where all of these posts were.

With the fall of night they could make out the camp by the fires, which burned softly in the camp like fireflies in heat.
Ahead of his units he sent his own outriders, ones who knew how to kill silently and quickly. It was for them to reduce or eliminate anyone between them and the camp, but only if it was possible to do so without noise. If it looked as if it would get messy, they were to try to avoid them and look for another way.

Two miles from the camp, they split into their three separate elements, Temujin taking Casca, fifty men, and going to the left; Chagar taking the other two units to the right.

When they could clearly see the outlines of the tents and yurts in the dark, Temujin waited no more. With a cry he launched the attack, driving over several sentries, who had little time to cry out warnings. But it wasn't necessary; the sound of drumming hooves was well known on the steppes. Men rushed from tents with weapons, and Temujin and his men cried out that Temujin had returned and that they were friends with the Qiyat: They only wanted Jemuga and the traitors. Most listened; a few did not, and they died.

Temujin rode straight for the baragah of Jemuga, Casca with him and the rest coming fast behind.
They broke through the first line of bodyguards to reach the baragah of Jemuga. Casca was first to hit the line of guards with the chest of his horse, half running into the tent.

Rolling out of the saddle to where his feet were on dry, solid ground, he faced off with two warriors. They had no chance; just as he was not at home on horseback or aboard ship, they were not well suited to fighting on the ground.

He hit one with the round, spiked shield, slapping the man's sword to the outside, then driving the four-inch spike of the shield into his chest. The weight of the man's body dragged it from his arm. The other Mongol tried a wild, wide side cut to Casca's head, under which he dropped, then Casca sank his sword deep into the Mongol's armpit, severing the large artery and puncturing the upper lobe of the lung.

As he came to his feet, regaining his shield and sword, he was nearly knocked on his ass by a heavy blow to the shield. Stumbling backward, he swung wildly with his sword to keep whoever had hit him from following up until he regained his balance.

He made a solid hit on the other's weapon, a type of ax he had not seen since he'd left the land of the Germanii tribes centuries past: a heavy, two-handed, hardwood shaft topped with a single-sided massive blade as large as a man's two hands spread together.

The man wielding it was equally impressive, taller than Temujin and much wider-shouldered. Unlike many of his tribe who preferred shaven pates, he had a full head of rich, wild black hair streaming in a mane down his shoulders. Thick mustaches hung to the tips of his jawline, the ends swinging free as he hefted the battle-ax for another try to rip Casca's head off.

The blow was stopped but only just barely. Another sword came to his aid. Temujin was there, standing beside him, hacking at Jemuga, teeth clenched. It took both him and Casca to drive the man back into the tent.

Jemuga handled the heavy ax with ease. From his hands it swung as lightly as a wand. Twice more Casca tried to close upon him so he could get under the ax and sink his blade into his opponent's stomach. If he could do that, he would then be content to step back and wait for him to die without taking any further risks. One kiss of that wide blade and you lost an arm or leg, if not your head.

Jemuga's men were rallying to him. Emerging from holes they cut in the walls of the yurt, they bunched around him. More were coming, and Temujin's men were hard pressed to hold their own. Jemuga's warriors were well trained and alert. They knew their jobs. They formed into a solid vee formation. Not bunching up, they gave each other enough room to use their weapons and still keep the formation solid.

Casca knew he had been right. It would have been much better, if possible, to have had Jemuga on their side. But that was wishful thinking. Right now he had to do his best to keep the Mongol from chopping him to bits, along with Temujin, who was ever mindless of his own safety.

Jemuga added another to Temujin's long list of scars, this one running along his rib cage. The ax had just kissed him, but he thought it had caved in his side. Once more Temujin threw himself at Jemuga, screaming in rage as he tried to get to the man who had betrayed him. It was the first and only time he saw Temujin lose complete control.

Jemuga's men were beginning to push them back, gaining the advantage, and Casca thought the day might be lost. The fighting grew even fiercer, and Temujin's men began to tire while new fighters appeared at Jemuga's side.

To keep Temujin from throwing his life away, Casca had to grab him and push him into the rear of their diminishing line.

Jemuga was screaming, as had Temujin, for his men to reach the would-be king and kill him. Jemuga took the faces of three of their Borjigin warriors in less time than the telling takes, and another lost a leg above the knee to that great, swinging, bloody ax.

Casca began to think it was just about all over, except the screaming, when Jemuga's men began to move strangely. He saw a look of confusion on their faces. The pressure against them lessened, and he heard a new war cry over the camp. "Temujin!"

All of a sudden, Jemuga's men were going down. From out of the dark a mob had appeared, throwing themselves at Jemuga's warriors, beating at them with clubs and knives.

A bright shining face jumped up in front of Casca, and he almost cut it off when he recognized Temuge, with another taller man with a distinguished look to him – if such a thing was possible for a Mongol in the midst of battle.

"The village has risen against Jemuga, Temujin," he cried. "Jochi started organizing the minute I told him you were coming back."

The one called Jochi caught Casca's eye and smiled briefly, then turned back to the battle. They were reducing Jemuga's men by the handful. Over the heads of the fighters he could see Jemuga taking his toll of the attackers. Then he was gone from sight.

Temujin screamed for them to let him through to get to Jemuga himself. Casca thought it might be best if he let the others dispatch him – preferably from a distance and with arrows.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The last of Jemuga's men lay down their arms.

Temujin ran over the corpses and wounded, looking for Jemuga. He wasn't to be found.
"Where are you?" he cried at the top of his lungs.

From the dark a voice answered, laughing. "Don't worry, Temujin. I am with you. I will always be with you – till this thing between us is settled. We shall meet again. Have patience, it may take some time to come back. But I shall. I promise you, I shall return."

Jemuga was gone. Temujin had lost him. Casca didn't doubt that the man meant every word. They had not seen the last of Jemuga.

From around the village, cries of welcome were spreading.
The men under Chagar's command were riding through rows of tents, many wounded and holding bloody weapons. They'd had the job of taking out several large communal tents where many of Jemuga's warriors slept near the edge of the village.

When the battle started, Jemuga's men had enough discipline that they did not fall into the trap of standing and fighting against the attackers. They would have won in time. But they knew their duty, and most of them fought their way out to come to Jemuga's baragah and help him against Temujin
and Casca's force. Whatever Jemuga was or was not, he was a hell of a fighter whose troops knew their jobs.

It all might have been lost had it not been for Jochi, who once he heard Temuge's report from Temujin had immediately begun to gather men to him, putting them into a group near the southern edge of the village. There were not many, no more than forty.

When Temuge had told him to get ready the moment he received the message that Temujin was returning, Jochi knew that there could be no delay. He and Temujin had played games too often. When Temujin said from this moment on, that was just what he meant. And he, like Temujin, knew that three days was too long a time to wait and keep the secret of his coming from Jemuga. Still, he was surprised at how soon his brother had made it there.

Once the fighting started, they had been on the side of the camp near where Chagar's unit had attacked the tent of Jemuga's guards. At the top of their voices they cried to the people not to fight against them, for Temujin had returned.

Most of the people had listened, though Jochi had to kill a few to get their attention. Once the Qiyats believed that these were Temujin's men, they began to attack the warriors of Jemuga.

It took a few minutes, but soon they were hunting them down all over the camp. Those who had stayed to tie down the forces of Chagar met the same fate as those at Jemuga's baragah. They died or were taken prisoners.

Casca was just relieved that it was over and had not turned out too badly – though there had been a price to pay. Of Temujin's hundred, less than forty were able to breathe air. The rest had gone down.