Authors: Conn Iggulden
Jebe had lost the light mood of the morning. He nodded to Jochi as they trotted abreast, ahead of twenty thousand. As a man he liked the khan’s son, but he did not know him as a general, and Jebe felt the first prickle of annoyance that he had to allow for another force on the field.
The Mongol armies rode through a high pass toward the dust trail. Ahead, the light was brighter as the land opened out, and both men aimed their mounts at a ridge that overlooked the plains beyond. Jochi
at least had scouted it before. The dust hung like storm clouds in the distance, and he could only swallow dryly as he imagined an enemy force large enough to cause such a sight.
At last the generals halted, both men raising an arm to stop the warriors at their back. Their own dust trail moved in sluggish tails on the warm breeze. The enemy would know they were watched, but it was impossible to move such large forces without being seen in daylight.
Jochi and Jebe sat their mounts in grim silence as they watched a bannered host rumble west, just a mile away. It was an army to dwarf the khan’s tumans, both in foot soldiers and a huge number of mounted men riding the wings. The foot of the valley was flat for miles, but still seemed too small to hold such a mass.
Jochi could see spears like the pines of a forest even at such a distance. In the brass light of the sun, iron armor glittered in the ranks. He looked across to Jebe to see how he was reacting and found the general leaning low in his saddle, staring in fascination.
“You see the bows?” Jebe asked, squinting.
Jochi had not, but he nodded, wishing Tsubodai was there to assess this force they would face in battle.
Jebe spoke as if he was already making his report. “Double-curved, like ours. They have good shields as well, larger than our own. So many camels! I have never seen so many in one place, nor seen them ridden to war. They will be faster over rough ground than our horses. We must be sure not to let them use that advantage.”
There was something about Jebe that always lightened Jochi’s mood.
“Do not forget those huge beasts,” he said, “with horns, or teeth or whatever they are. They too will be new to our men.”
“Elephants,” Jebe replied. “Jelme talked of seeing one at the Koryon court. They are fearsome animals.” He gestured at the black wings of the Shah’s army, cutting the air with his hands.
“They use their cavalry on the edges, protecting the center. That is where we will find their generals.” From the ridge, he could see the entire structure of the Shah’s army, laid out before him. A smaller group of horsemen rode in the center, their ranks perfect. Jebe sucked his teeth while he considered. “You see the boxes on the backs of those elephants? Surrounded by riders? Those will be senior men.” He paused and whistled to himself. “They are fine horsemen. See how they keep formation.”
Jochi glanced sideways as he replied. “Frightening, aren’t they?”
Jebe chuckled. “Do not be afraid, Jochi. I am here now.”
Jochi snorted, though in fact he was afraid. His father’s army could be swallowed up in so many, and he could not see a weakness in the dark lines.
Both men were aware that they had been spotted almost as soon as they showed themselves on the ridge. Riders were racing up and down the Shah’s lines, and the Mongol generals watched with interest, learning everything they could. There was much they did not understand. Though Jebe had heard elephants described, the reality of seeing those huge animals looming over the riders was intimidating. The great heads looked armored in bone as well as glittering metal. If they could be made to charge, he could not see how to stop them.
As Jebe turned to point out a detail to Jochi, a vast host of Arab horsemen broke away from the main column and formed up in swirling dust. Horn calls brought the rest to a halt, and even in that, they could see the discipline of the Shah’s men. Jebe and Jochi looked at each other in wild surmise.
“They are going to attack us!” Jebe said. “You should withdraw, Jochi, and take word to your father. Everything we have seen here will be useful in the days to come.”
Jochi shook his head. His father would not look kindly on him if he simply left. The information could be carried by a single scout, and they had not come to the Shah’s lands to retreat before his armies.
Jochi felt a pang of resentment that Jebe was with him. He had come a long way to lead his warriors, and it did not sit well with him to defer to a more senior man.
“We have the high ground at least,” Jochi said. He remembered the Russian knights who had labored up a hill at him and knew the worth of such an advantage.
In the distance, the massive Arab formations kicked into a fast trot, and Jochi felt a sudden panic. He knew he could not lead the tuman straight at the enemy horsemen. There were easier ways to waste lives. He considered a running blow that would lead the Arabs out along the plain. His men were fit as only Mongols knew fitness, but he did not know if the Chin soldiers in his ranks would fall behind and be destroyed.
Jebe seemed blithely unaware of Jochi’s whirling thoughts as he spoke.
“They will have to come straight up at us, with their Shah watching.
They will not know how many men we have behind this ridge. I should think they are as surprised as we are to meet in this place, so far from Otrar or the khan. Can you get around to the flank?”
Jochi looked into the distance before nodding. Jebe smiled as if they merely discussed a wrestling match or a wager.
“Then that will be the plan. I will wait until they have tired themselves riding up, then fall like a mountain on their heads. You will come from the flank and cut a wedge through to the center. Your lances will be useful there, I think.”
Jochi looked down the steep slope. “It is only a shame that we do not have rocks to roll into them,” he said.
Jebe nodded, surprised. “That is an excellent idea! I would give my second wife for pots of oil to roll down as well, but I will see what I can find.” For an instant, both men sensed the strain in the other and exchanged a glance that had none of the lightness of their words.
“We cannot take so many if they are as good as their weapons and armor,” Jochi said. “I will hit the flank, but then pull back and let them follow me far from the main force.”
“Is that Tsubodai’s voice I hear?” Jebe asked.
Jochi did not smile. “It is my voice, General. I will run them to exhaustion, well away from their reinforcements.”
Jebe bowed his head to the khan’s son. He did not mention that almost half of Jochi’s tuman were of Chin stock. Though they rode hardy Mongol ponies, they would not have the endurance of men born to the saddle.
“Good luck, General,” he called as he turned his mount. Jochi did not reply, already issuing orders to his men. Ten thousand of those behind the ridge gathered quickly and rode east to get around the steep slope. It would not be easy to charge over the loose shale, and Jebe honestly did not know which of them had the hardest task.
Khalifa Al-Nayhan was a worried man as he rode up the hill, his fine gelding already laboring in the heat and dust. He had grown up in those very mountains and knew the ridge he was assaulting. The Shah had given the order and he had formed his men without hesitation, but his stomach felt hollow. After the first shock of seeing Mongol scouts hundreds of miles from where they should have been, Shah Mohammed had settled into a fury Khalifa knew he could maintain for days or weeks. It was not a time to suggest that they wait for better terrain.
Khalifa urged his mount on over the broken ground, looking up at the ridge that seemed far above his head. Perhaps it was no more than a scout’s camp at the top. By the time he arrived, they might well have galloped away, and then at least the Shah would be satisfied. No one knew how these savage Mongols had made a Chin emperor kneel, and the Shah needed quick victories to reassure his chieftains.
Khalifa shook the loose thoughts out of his head as he rode, feeling sweat sting his eyes. The summer had been mild so far, but climbing to the ridge was hard work. He trusted the men around him, many of them from his own tribe of desert warriors. The Shah had spared nothing in outfitting them for war, and though the new armor and shields were heavy, Khalifa felt the confidence they brought. They were picked men: the first into every battle, the breakers of walls and armies. He felt his bow slapping against his thigh, but they could not bring arrows to bear while riding up such a slope. Once more he thought of the Shah watching and shook his head against weak thoughts. They would win or they would be killed. It was all the same to Allah.
At the steepest point of the slope, Khalifa knew they were committed. The horses plunged on, but the ground was even softer than he remembered and progress was painfully slow. Khalifa felt exposed and made his peace with God as he drew the curved
shamsher
saber that had served him for many years. With his left hand, he raised his shield, and rode only with his feet in the stirrups. Like many of his men, he secretly despised the metal foot-holders that made it hard to dismount quickly. Yet they showed their use on such a slope, when he needed both hands for his weapons. A quick tap on his boot showed him his dagger was still there in the leather sheath, and he leaned forward into the warm breeze that came over the ridge.
In time of peace, civilization had no place for butchers like him, but still they were needed and would always be needed, when the jeweled cities and green parks were threatened. Khalifa had escaped two murder charges by joining the army and assuming a new name. It was what he did best. Sometimes he was paid and other times hunted, depending on how and when he practiced his skills. Riding with his men into the teeth of the enemy was what he loved. The Shah was watching, and if they bloodied their swords, there would be rewards of women and gold for the commanders.
“Hold the line straight, Ali, or I will see you whipped!” Khalifa roared across his men. He saw dust still rising from the ridge and knew the enemy had not run. He could hardly see in the clouds that his own
men churned up, but there was only one objective and his horse was still strong.
Above him, Khalifa saw rocks grow in size as they were pushed to the edge. He called out a warning, but he could do nothing. He watched in fear as the boulders came bouncing down, ripping through men and horses in a series of sickening cracks. Khalifa cried out as one came close enough for him to feel the wind of its passage. As it passed, it seemed to leap like something alive, striking the man behind with a great crunch. He could see only six of the huge stones scything through his men, but each one took many lives and left the ground littered with pieces of armor and men. They were riding in close ranks and there was no room to dodge the stones.
As quickly as it had begun, the boulders stopped and a ragged cheer went up from those who still labored on the slope. The ridge was no more than four hundred paces away, and Khalifa kicked his mount on, hungry now to bring vengeance to those who killed his men. He saw a dark line of archers ahead and raised his shield instinctively, ducking his head beneath the rim. He was close enough to hear orders called in a strange language, and he clenched his teeth. The Shah had sent forty thousand men up that slope. No force in the world could do more than thin the ranks before they were among them and killing.
Firing downhill, the Mongol archers could send their shafts further than normal range. Khalifa could only keep his head down as arrows thumped against his shield. The one time he raised his head, it was immediately rocked back by a glancing blow that yanked the turban from his head and left it dangling. Rather than have it snag, he cut it free with part of his long hair and it bounded down the hill behind him.
At first the shields protected his men, but as they reached the last hundred paces, the air was thick with whistling shafts and men died in scores. Khalifa’s shield was of wood, covered in the dried hide of a hippopotamus—the lightest and best of all the Shah’s equipment. It held, though the muscles of his arm were bruised and battered until he could barely hold it. Without warning, he felt his horse shudder and begin to die.
Khalifa would have leapt clear, but his feet snagged in the stirrups and for a breathless moment of panic his right leg was trapped under the dying horse. Another mount crashed into his as it fell, and he jerked free, thanking Allah for his deliverance. He rose on sandy ground, spitting blood and wild with rage.
The entire front rank had been brought down by the archers, fouling
those behind. Many of his men were yelling, tugging at shafts through their legs and arms while others lay sprawled and unmoving. Khalifa roared fresh orders and the men behind dismounted to lead their mounts through the broken dead. The gap closed further and Khalifa held his sword high, pointing it at the enemy above. One hundred paces and he was lost in his desire to kill. If anything, he was faster on foot, though every step on loose ground sapped his strength. He scrambled up with his sword ready for the first blow. The Shah was watching and Khalifa could almost feel the old man’s eyes on his back.
The Mongols poured over the ridge, straight down the steep slope. Their ponies slid, with front legs straight and stiff while the back legs bunched to keep them upright. The desert warriors strained to take the first impact, but to Khalifa’s shock, another wave of arrows punched them from their feet before the two forces met. He could not understand how the Mongols could draw and loose while guiding their mounts down such a slope, but the volley devastated his men. Hundreds died on foot or leading their mounts, and this time the shafts were followed by the Mongol front line crashing down on them. Khalifa heard their yelling swell until it seemed to echo back from the hills all around.
The Mongol horsemen came like a breaking wave, smashing anything in their path by sheer weight. Khalifa was standing behind the bodies of two horses and could only watch in astonishment as the charge roared past him, a wedge tipped with lances that struck deep and deeper into the climbing lines below.
He was left alive, but still they came. Khalifa could not climb further. The way was blocked by thousands of Mongol horsemen, guiding their mounts with just their knees while they loosed arrows at anything that moved. A long shaft ripped through his side, parting the steel links of his armor as if they had been made of paper. He fell, shouting incoherently, and it was then that he glimpsed another force cutting across the face of the slope.