The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle: Genghis: Birth of an Empire, Genghis: Bones of the Hills, Genghis: Lords of the Bow, Khan: Empire of Silver, Conqueror (223 page)

“You have made some fine choices. I will take this hundred as my own. I do not need the children.”

He spoke in his guttural language to the guards and they began to pull the women out of the gardens one by one, knocking the children down if they tried to hang on. Al-Mustasim cringed at this final betrayal, though part of him had expected it. He called out words from the Koran to his wives and children. He could not look at them, but he promised them all a place in Heaven, with the Prophet and the love of Allah for all eternity.

Hulegu waited until he was finished.

“There is nothing more here. Take the fat man out and hang him.”

“And the children, lord?” one of his men asked.

Hulegu looked at the caliph.

“I asked you to surrender and you did not,” he said. “Perhaps I would have been merciful then. Kill the children first, then hang him. I have squeezed Baghdad dry. There is nothing more worth having.”

KUBLAI LAY ON HIS STOMACH AND CURSED SOFTLY TO HIMSELF
. He had sent out his scouts looking for silver, paying men for information for hundreds of miles, without considering that the Sung emperor would eventually hear of his interest and respond. It was an error and, though he could curse his own naïveté, he could not wish away the army encamped around the Guiyang mines. His own tumans were still twenty miles or more to the west and he had come forward with just Ong Chiang, the newly fledged guide, and two scouts to see the details. Kublai grimaced as he kept low and stared across the hills at the mass of men and machines. This was no guard regiment sent to protect the silver, but a massive force, complete with
cannon and pike, lancers and crossbowmen by the tens of thousands. They could not be surprised or ambushed and yet he still needed the silver that lay at the heart of them all. Even then, Kublai doubted the emperor had left much of value beyond the raw ore. He considered abandoning the attack, and only the thought that Mongke would eventually hear he had retreated kept him planning.

The mine was in a shallow valley, which would lend speed to his charging warriors. His cannon teams would be firing down, if they could get their weapons to the edge, whereas the Sung soldiers would have to fire upward into them. No advantage was too small to consider against so many. Kublai stared with a surveyor’s intensity, taking in every feature of the terrain that he might use. The cannon would be crucial, he realized. He had never yet seen them used in a fixed battle, at least in daylight, but the Sung commanders would surely have more experience of that than he had. He could not assume the officers had won their commissions with connections to the imperial court, or in examinations, no matter what he had heard. He thought back over everything he had read of Sung warfare, how even more than the Chin, battles took place in a ritualistic fashion, with strike and counterstrike. They rarely fought to annihilation, only until one side was satisfied. That too would be an advantage. His tumans fought to destroy, to shatter and break the will of an enemy until he was dust under their feet.

Kublai looked across the thick grass at Ong Chiang, who had been staring down at the Sung lines with just as much intensity. When the farmer felt Kublai’s gaze on him, he looked up and shrugged.

“There was talk of an extra payment when I found the mine, my lord,” he said. As he spoke, he began to search his pockets for his pipe and Kublai reached across and stopped his hand. It would not do to have a thin trail of smoke rising from their position.

“I have a battle to plan, Ong the suddenly wealthy,” Kublai whispered to him. “See me after that and I’ll give you a token to take to my quartermaster.”

Ong Chiang looked once again at the massive camp around the mining town and chewed his lips a little, wishing for his pipe.

“I think I would prefer it before the battle, my lord. In case it does not go so well for you.” He saw Kublai’s expression and carried on quickly. “I’m sure it will go well, but if you could let me take my payment now, I’ll start back to my family.”

Kublai raised his eyes for a moment. With Ong Chiang and the scouts, he crept back on his stomach until he was sure none of the Sung scouts could see them. He had not spotted any watchers during his careful approach and he did not know if that was because they had not been placed, or because they were simply much better than he was at remaining unseen. He wore no signs of rank, knowing that if they recognized him for who he was, they would hunt him down. Just riding the twenty miles to the site had been a risk, but he had needed to see.

When he returned to the tumans, Kublai paid Ong Chiang well, giving him a fat pouch of silver that had the man beaming. The farmer used two of the coins to buy the old mare he had been lent and was soon on his way, without looking back. Kublai smiled as he watched him go. The silver was an investment that would repay itself many times over, if he could win the mine.

The morning was fine and clear as he gathered his generals. Uriang-Khadai had lost some of his usual sourness at the prospect of a battle. Bayar too was pleased, hanging on every word Kublai uttered as he described the scene in incredible detail.

“So many soldiers must be fed,” Kublai said, “and the farms in the area cannot possibly support such an army. Bayar, send a minghaan out in a wide line around the site. Find their supply line, or wherever they cache their food. Destroy it all. They will not fight so well on an empty stomach.”

Bayar nodded, but stayed where he was.

“They outnumber us,” Kublai went on, “but if they have been told to protect the mine, they will fight defensively, rather than coming out when they are attacked. That is to our advantage. Uriang-Khadai, you will place our cannon in tight ranks, to pour fire into them. Begin with a ranging shot from the ridge, then move the cannon quickly to where we can reach their position. If anyone comes against our cannon,
they must be destroyed. It will allow me to remove almost all the men behind and use them to charge the flanks.”

Uriang-Khadai nodded grudgingly. “How many horsemen do they have?” he asked.

“I saw at least ten thousand horses. I do not know how many were remounts. It could be five thousand cavalry. They must not be allowed to pin us from the sides, but we have enough good archers to keep them back.” Kublai took a deep breath, feeling his stomach tighten in anticipation and nervousness.

“Remember that they have not known war for generations, whereas our warriors have fought all their lives. That will make a difference. For now, your task is to get the tumans into strike range as quickly as possible, bringing the cannons up as fast as we have ever moved them before. The families will remain here with heavy carts and supplies. I need rapid movement, to appear against them before they know we are coming. I need that solid front if I am to hammer them on the wing.” He looked at his two most senior men and knew they were both different characters, but men on whom he could depend. “I will give you new orders as we engage. Until then, pray it does not rain.”

As one, they looked up, but there were few clouds and those were high above, white wisps in a spring sky.

MONGKE THREW A SHEAF OF REPORTS ONTO A PILE ALMOST
as large as his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. He had put on weight since becoming khan and he knew he was no longer as fit as he had once been. For years he had taken his body’s massive strength for granted, but time stole away all things, changing men in such small ways that they hardly noticed until it was too late. He pulled in his stomach as he sat there, telling himself for the hundredth time that he would have to practice more with the sword and bow if he was not to lose all traces of his strength and vitality.

The problems of a vast khanate were nothing like those he had known as an officer. The Great Trek west with Tsubodai had been a simpler life, with more basic obstacles to overcome. He could not
have dreamed back then that he would be trying to settle a complicated dispute between the Taoists and Buddhists, or that silver coins would become such an important part of his life. The yam lines kept him informed in a flood of information that almost overwhelmed him, despite the cadre of Mongol scribes who worked in the city. Mongke would deal with a hundred small problems each morning and read as many reports, making decisions that would affect the lives of men he would never see or know. In the sheaf he had thrown down was a request from Arik-Boke for funds, a few million silver coins that had to be dug out and smelted from the mines. Mongke might envy his youngest brother the simple life in the homeland, but the truth he had discovered about himself was that he loved the work. It was satisfying to solve problems for other men, to be the one they came to with their questions and catastrophes. As far away as Syria and Korea, they looked to Karakorum, as Ogedai Khan had once hoped they would. Bankers could cash drafts for silver in different countries because of the peace Mongke had fostered. If there were bandits or thieves, he had a wide net to catch them, thousands of families devoted to running the khan’s lands, in his name, with his authority backing them. He patted his stomach ruefully. As with all things, peace had its price.

His knees cracked as he stood up. He groaned softly as his chief adviser, Urigh, came trotting in with more papers.

“It is almost noon. I will see those when I have eaten,” Mongke said. He would enjoy an hour with his children when they had run home from their school in the city. They would speak Mandarin and Persian as well as their own language. He would see his sons as khans when they were grown, just as his mother had worked to raise her eldest over the rest.

Urigh put down most of the papers he carried, a bundle of scrolls bound in twine. He held just one and Mongke sighed, knowing the man too well.

“All right, tell me, but be quick.”

“It is a report from your brother Kublai’s domain in Chin lands,” Urigh said. “The costs of his new city have become immense. I have
the figures here.” He handed over the scroll and Mongke sat down again to read it, frowning to himself.

“When he runs out of money, he will have to stop,” he said with a shrug.

Urigh looked uncomfortable discussing the brother of the khan. Mongke’s feelings for Hulegu, Arik-Boke, and Kublai were complex and no man wanted to come between them, no matter how Mongke complained.

“You can see he has spent almost all you gave him for the campaign, my lord. I have reports that he has been seeking out silver mines on Sung land. Could he have found one and not declared it to you?”

“I would know,” Mongke said. “I have men close to him who report every movement. The last message was a week ago on the yam lines and he had not found a mine yet. It cannot be that. What about these new farms of his? He leased thousands of plots two years ago. They will have been plowed and planted twice by now, more if they are growing rice in the floodplains. In Chin markets, that will have brought in enough silver to keep building his palaces.” Mongke frowned as he considered his own words, checking through the details of the accounting in Xanadu. Huge stocks of marble had been ordered, enough to build a palace to equal his own in Karakorum. He felt a seed of distrust grow in him.

“I have not interfered with his campaign, or Hulegu’s.”

“Hulegu has sent back vast revenues, my lord. Baghdad alone has brought in gold and silver to keep Karakorum for a century.”

“And how much have we had from Kublai?” Mongke asked.

Urigh bit his lip. “Nothing so far, my lord. I assumed it was with your permission that he put the funds into his new city.”

“I did not forbid it,” Mongke conceded. “But the Sung lands are wealthy. Perhaps he has forgotten he acts for the khan.”

“I am sure that is not true, my lord,” Urigh said, trying to walk a careful line. He could not criticize the khan’s brother, but the lack of proper accounting from Sung lands had troubled him for months.

“Perhaps I should see this Xanadu myself, Urigh. I have grown fat
in peace and it may be my brothers have grown too sure of themselves without feeling my eye on them. Kublai has done enough, I think.” He fell silent and thought for a time. “No, that is unfair. He has done well with what I gave him, better than I dared to hope. By now, he will have discovered he needs me to finish the Sung. He may even have learned a little humility, a little of what it takes to lead tumans into battle. I have been patient, Urigh, but perhaps it is time for the khan to take the field.” He patted his belly with a rueful smile. “Send your men to me when they come back with their report. It will do me good to ride again.”

KUBLAI WATCHED AS THE CHIN REGIMENTS RAN FROM THEIR
tents, forming up into well-disciplined lines. He could still hardly believe how close his tumans had gotten to the mine before the alarm horns sounded. At less than two miles, a distant blare of brass had begun to wail, muffled by the fall of the land. The Sung officer should have had more scouts further out, regularly relieved by men from the main camp. Kublai prayed silently for it to be the first of many mistakes they would make.

Kublai took strength from the long line of horsemen on either side of him as they trotted forward. Bayar’s minghaan had cut the Sung supply lines four days before, then waited to ambush whoever they sent. Not a single man of a hundred had made it back to the Sung camp. Kublai hoped they were getting hungry. He needed every edge he could find.