Authors: Conn Iggulden
“You are the one who built an empire in this place, Genghis, instead of just ruins. You put Arslan into Samarkand and Chen Yi into
Merv when he came. They rule in your name, just as kings and shahs ruled before them in those places. Yet they are still invaders and there will always be those who want to see them torn out. Give these Arabs one glimpse of weakness and we will have rebellions in every place we have taken.” He sighed. “I am too old to do it all again, brother.”
Genghis blinked slowly and Kachiun did not know if he was truly listening or not. The khan seemed utterly obsessed with the son who had turned against him, perhaps because no one else ever had. Each day he would scour the horizon for some sign of Tsubodai. It was too soon, Kachiun knew. Even if Tsubodai had ridden as fast as light scouts, he would hardly have reached the northern land where Jochi had hidden himself. Once more Kachiun itched to know what Tsubodai had been told to do. He suspected he knew, and pitied Tsubodai for the task. Kachiun was aware that Tsubodai thought of Jochi almost as a son. It was typical of Genghis that he should test the man’s loyalty to the breaking point by sending him. His brother had always been ruthless with those around him, as well as himself.
Kachiun prepared to try once more, desperate to have Genghis understand. He swallowed dryly, realizing he could have used Tsubodai then. His brother listened to Tsubodai above all others, and he would not delay here while the cracks appeared in everything they had built.
“They countered horns, Genghis, swinging out around them. They have shields as good as any we have seen and armored horses that survive our arrows. It is not the numbers I fear, brother, but the way this Jelaudin uses them. If you will not come, let me send them back on their heels. They will not surprise my tuman with the same tactics. We will counter
them
and send a message to anyone who imagines we can be defeated.”
Genghis opened his mouth to suck at one of his back teeth.
“Do as you will, Kachiun,” he said, then thought better of leaving his brother with complete authority to act. “Take three tumans, your own and two others. Not Ogedai or Tolui. Their men are still fresh from the teat and I do not want them with you.”
Kachiun spoke quickly. “Jelme then, and Khasar.”
Genghis nodded, still staring into the north where his thoughts rested with Tsubodai.
“Skirmish, Kachiun, do you understand? If they are as terrible as I have heard, I do not want you to lose your men in the mountains. Bleed them a little, as you have done before, as you did at Yenking and against the Shah. I will come with Tsubodai.”
Kachiun bowed his head, relieved beyond words. “I will, brother,” he said, then paused at the point of turning away. “Tsubodai will not fail. I used to think you mad for raising him, but he is the best I have ever seen.”
Genghis grunted. “The problem is, Kachiun, that I do not know if I want him to fail or to succeed.” He saw Kachiun open his mouth to ask what he meant, and Genghis waved him away irritably.
“Go, brother. Teach these desert dwellers not to interfere with me again.”
STANDING BETWEEN TWO PILLARS OF ROCK
, Kachiun looked down into the Panjshir valley, seeing the tents and horses of Jelaudin’s army. The late morning was already hot and he was sweating and scratching idly at an armpit where a boil needed lancing. With Jelme and Khasar, he had ridden as hard as any scout, half killing the horses to bring swift vengeance for the defeat at Parwan.
The army of Jelaudin knew the Mongols had come. Kachiun could see robed figures watching them from every peak, men who had climbed hand over hand up sheer rock to their positions. One of them was far above his head, out of reach of any arrow. Kachiun could not snatch them down and he was uncomfortable under that silent scrutiny. All the watchers were turned toward him and some of them signaled the army in the valley with flags, keeping Jelaudin informed.
There too Kachiun could see evidence of a controlling mind, one who had learned from the enemy at last. The Arab camp was three miles across the river from the town of Parwan, on a stretch of open plain backed by mountains that rose like blades from the flat ground. The position allowed no ambush and could not be ridden around. It did not rely on walls, though Kachiun could see stone blocks and wooden stakes had been dragged into position before the enemy camp, perfectly placed to foul a charge. Squares of tents fluttered in the
morning breeze, and even as Kachiun watched, flag signals from the peaks brought men out into solid ranks. They showed their confidence in such a position, daring the Mongols to ride against them.
“We must cross that river,” Jelme said at Kachiun’s shoulder. “Now we know where they are, we can search for a ford.”
Kachiun had overall command of the three tumans and he nodded, still staring into the valley as Jelme sent scouts riding to find the best place across the barrier. He bit his lip at the thought, knowing that Jelaudin would have marked the fording places for a hundred miles. There was no chance for a surprise attack when the Shah’s son knew exactly where they would come from. Still, they had to cross. Jelaudin had chosen the spot for the battle. He knew the land; he had the numbers and every other advantage that mattered. Once again Kachiun wished Genghis had sent more men with him, this one time.
Kachiun squinted at the watcher far above him, hundreds of feet above his head. The man squatted in white robes, having climbed a face of rock that reached almost to a point. Kachiun resisted the urge to send warriors up to cut him down. The man may have taken days to reach the precarious position overlooking an entrance to the valley. If he had waterskins and supplies with him, he could defend it against climbing men for as long as he wanted.
His brother Khasar rode up to the front. Kachiun saw he too glared at the man on the heights.
“We cannot sit here all day, brother,” Khasar said as he reined in. “I could ride down and destroy that little town, at least. The Arabs might lose heart when they see the smoke rise.”
Kachiun looked over the valley. The minghaan officers who had been defeated had described the ground in great detail, pathetically eager to please after the shame of their loss. Kachiun could not see figures moving anywhere in the town, and he assumed the people had retreated again to the fortress that loomed above the plain. If he’d thought there was the slightest point to it, he would have sent Khasar down like an arrow. Instead, he shook his head.
“What is one more town, to us or them? When we have beaten this army, we can take that fortress as we please.”
Khasar shrugged at his reply and Kachiun went on, speaking his thoughts aloud to make them clear.
“He is confident, Khasar, with the mountains at his back.”
“He is a fool then,” Khasar said lightly.
“He is
not
a fool, brother. This man has seen us gut his father’s
army. He knows our tactics and strengths, perhaps our weaknesses. See how has placed blocks of stone to interrupt our lancers and bow lines. He is confident and that worries me.”
“You think too much, Kachiun. When Jelme has found a way across the river, we will pin him against those hills. We will make an example of him.”
Kachiun nodded warily. Genghis had not demanded a quick victory, only that he take first blood from the enemy. Yet the first rule of war was to avoid letting the enemy choose the terrain and set the terms. Kachiun cracked the knuckles of his hands, then his neck, wishing Tsubodai were there for his insight.
It was not long before Jelme’s scouts returned, reporting a shallow ford barely five miles away along the river. Kachiun gave the order for the tumans to move, and he could not help glancing up at the flicker of bright flags from one peak to the next as the movement was reported.
“They come,” Jelaudin murmured, reading the flags.
“They have no choice,” Nawaz replied.
Jelaudin glanced at the rajah from under lowered brows, hiding his amusement at this peacock he had made his second in command. Under his armor, the rajah was dressed in silk of purple and gold, topped by a turban of pale blue. To Jelaudin’s eyes, he looked as if he had been dressed by a prostitute or an actor, but he did not doubt the man’s resolve.
Once more Jelaudin reviewed the lines of his men, though he had inspected them a thousand times. There were no flaws, he was certain. The mountains protected their rear, while heavy slabs from Parwan’s walls lay in clusters ahead, exactly where they would disrupt the Mongol riders. If the enemy had sent someone to the town, they would have found great sections of the walls missing, floated across the river on rafts of wood taken from homes. The people of that place had lost much for this defense, but they did not begrudge the sacrifice, not when the army had brought success against the unbelievers already. The fortress that sheltered them was too far away across the river for Jelaudin to see individual faces, but he knew they watched from the heights. They at least would have a spectacular view of the fighting to come.
“We have until this afternoon, if they use the first ford across the
river,” Jelaudin said. “Let us walk among the men one more time. Some will be nervous and it will help them to see us calm and cheerful.”
His own eyes belied the casual tone, but Nawaz did not comment, merely ducking his head and dismounting to walk with him.
“I had expected more than thirty thousand of them,” Nawaz said as they passed between tents. “Are they so arrogant?”
Jelaudin nodded. “They are justified in their arrogance, my friend. They took my father’s army apart when he had three times their number. This will be a hard fight, even after all I have done.”
Nawaz blew air from his lips, showing his scorn for the idea. “I have emptied my treasury to give you the shields and armor you wanted. In turn, you have fired the men’s hearts.” He saw Jelaudin glance at him and went on. “I am not a fool. You know them better than any man, but by tonight we will be burning piles of their dead.”
Jelaudin smiled at the rajah’s confidence. It was true that he knew the Mongols for the force in war that they were. He could hope for victory, but nothing in this life was guaranteed.
“I will lead the men in prayers today at noon. If Allah looks kindly on us, we will shatter the legend of this khan, so that his strength bleeds out. Win here and all those cities that watch and wait will throw in with us to root the man from our land. Lose and he will not be challenged again. Those are the stakes, Nawaz.”
The rajah lowered his head, abashed. He held Jelaudin in awe, even before he had sent the Mongols running across their bridge. More than anything, he wanted to impress this man he had known as a boy, just a year older than him. His gaze swept the lines of men Jelaudin had brought under a single banner. Turkomans, Berbers, Bedouins from the far deserts, and dark-skinned warriors from Peshawar, marked from the rest by the armor of his personal guard. There were Afghans too in the ranks, serious men who had come down from the hills with heavy, curved swords. None of them were mounted for the battle to come. Jelaudin had chosen a position that would remove the advantage of the Mongol horses. His army would fight on foot. They would stand or be destroyed.
He had worked hard over the previous days to prepare the position, knowing that the Mongols would not be slow in their response. Nawaz had even labored with his men to take the stones from Parwan across the river. The rajah hoped they saw that he could put aside his dignity to work with them, though his self-conscious efforts had made
Jelaudin laugh. Nawaz flushed as he recalled Jelaudin’s words on the subject of pride. He was a prince of Peshawar! It came naturally to him, though he strove to be humble.
Nawaz wrinkled his nose as he and Jelaudin walked past a latrine strip, flies swarming angrily as men shoveled earth back into it. Even in that, Jelaudin had taken a part, choosing the site of the strip so that when it was filled in, it would make a rough earth bank on their right flank. Nawaz looked away from the men who heaved earth into the trench, but Jelaudin called to them by name and reduced their shame at such unclean work. Nawaz watched him with feverish intensity, trying to learn everything he could. He had spent his father’s gold like water to outfit the army. Somehow it was not enough and he hoped to show Jelaudin that he could command and fight with as much courage as anyone there.
The sun moved across the heavens, throwing shadow onto the army that waited. It would dwindle to nothing as noon approached, but until then, the men were cool. The Mongol tumans would be hot and thirsty by the time they crossed the river and rode back. Jelaudin had planned for everything and he nodded with approval at the young boys waiting to run among the men with waterskins when the fighting began. The horses were safe, tethered at the rear where they could not panic and bolt. He saw piles of arrows bound in twine as well as fresh shields and swords by the thousand.
“I have not eaten this morning, Nawaz,” Jelaudin said suddenly. “Will you share a little food with me?” In fact, he had no appetite at all, but he knew his men would grin and point to see their leader eating without a care while the feared enemy approached. Nawaz led the way to his own tent, larger than the rest. It was as opulent as the clothes he wore, and Jelaudin smiled again to himself at the ostentatious prince. As he reached the entrance, Jelaudin looked over the plain he had chosen to avenge the Shah of Khwarezm, searching for anything out of place or that he might improve. There was nothing. All that was left was to wait.
“Have your servants bring the food out here, Nawaz,” he murmured. “Let the men see me sitting as one of them, but keep the meal simple, as they would have themselves.”
The rajah of Peshawar bowed his head, hurrying inside the tent to do Jelaudin’s bidding.
The fording place had soaked the tumans as they crossed in a spray of muddy water, but the sun leached moisture away so that they were
almost dry by the time they rode five miles back to the Panjshir valley. The sun was long past noon when they saw the enemy once more in the distance. Kachiun walked his horse at the head of the three tumans, conserving its strength as Jelme and Khasar rode beside him.