Bortai was filled with a number of conflicting emotions. Firstly, disgust that he thought that they would abandon their escort. Yes, it made sense. Well, it would, if the cordon of men on the ridge could be broken. But even a charge of the knights could not do that in the rocks and dense trees. The OrKan's men would be on foot, several deep. It would be good war tactic if they could break through, and the Gatu Orkhan's men were somehow not aware of it. Her father had talked enough about strategies and tactics for her to know that. But she did not wish to do it! Not even if it were possible. Secondly, she was puzzled. He mingled Frankish words with his rudimentary Mongol. Charges? And the War-shaman would not go? Why? "What do you mean?"
"I don't really have time to explain, but get your man, your brother, young David and I'll send Dader and Von Stael with you. You'll probably have to lead your horses. After the explosions." He smiled at her. "Good luck, Lady Bortai. I'm sorry we could not escort you all the way home." He bowed and rode off, leaving her even more puzzled. She went in search of David and her brother.
The boy from Jerusalem was able to explain. "The bombardier has set charges along the ridge. And trip-lines. I was setting those. When our enemies come, he will make it explode."
Bortai had to weigh this. She'd seen the explosions used to aid their escape from the orkhan's camp. She'd seen some cannons before, used up in the Székely on the borderland in the mountains. They inspired respect. The horde would have bought them, but for Ulaghchi Khan's objections . . . and the reluctance of the Hungarians to selling. But . . . could this, would this, make a hole in the cordon? And was it not her duty to her people and her clan and her brother to take him out along the gap created?
"I am staying here," said David, abruptly, before she could even mention his going. "And, no noble lady. I don't know why. I think my wits have gone missing."
"It is orders from the orkhan Erik." Out on the marshy floodplain she could see two more Jahgun riding closer. These must be some of Gatu Orkhan's better men. They were in much closer formation than the ragged-chase of the earlier three Jahguns.
Two knights rode up, bowed to her. Spoke in Frankish. "They say Erik has ordered them to accompany you," translated David.
"But . . ."
And then, in the fashion of military plans, things went wrong. The Gatu Orkhan's men who were in place had plainly seen the the ordered Jaghun's riding up from the east, and wanted the glory themselves. Someone must have given the order to push the pace through the forest.
Bortai spent the next few moments fighting to stay on her horse, and being terribly glad Kildai and David were not mounted yet. The foreign Knights were plainly far more used to explosions, and so were their mounts.
She could easily believe, now, that the cordon had broken. The other thing she could see—glancing out onto the floodplain—was that beside the disarray of the Gatu Orkhan's besieging troops—whose horses had also not liked the explosions on the ridge, was that the oncoming Jahguns had begun to charge . . . As had the foreign knights, taking some advantage of the confusion.
But what made her heart leap was the banner that was unfurled and the clan shields exposed. "Hawk!" she yelled in delight.
Kildai whooped.
* * *
Erik had expected a good hour's grace until the skirmish line, that was doubtless moving down the ridge, got to them. It made no sense for the Mongol to push the issue until the companies of horsemen he could see approaching on the floodplain were available and integrated. They'd be facing nearly five hundred foes then . . . And still have several hours before dark. If he was an enemy commander he'd expect them to try to flee in the dark.
The explosions on the ridge took him by surprise. Had they gone off by accident? It could happen so easily. But the Bombardier had told him their men were all pulled back . . . and he could hear screaming. By the looks of it one of the Holy Trinity Proctors had seen the opportunity presented by the chaos and taken the sortie squad out to punish the Mongol.
Then he saw Bortai, followed by her little brother racing down from the hillside at a full gallop. She was waving her home-made flag and yelling. But he'd told them to escape along the ridge! Had she misunderstood him? The two knights he had assigned to her were riding behind Bortai and her brother, but were being out-paced. They looked more like pursuers than an escort.
Then he saw the banner of the oncoming companies and understood. "Mount up! Mount up and form up."
Falkenberg, already in the saddle rode across. "What is it, Erik?"
"Help," Erik pointed. "Possibly. Those two companies that are fanning out there. They're from Bortai's clan. See their banners and their shields."
"They're a little outnumbered," said Falkenberg.
"Not if we join them."
The older Knight grimaced. "Be a little awkward if they're also after our heads."
"Might be more awkward if those two get killed," said Erik. "Because at the moment it looks like we're chasing them, not sheltering them."
* * *
Bortai had barely got to the water-meadow, when she realized just how premature her action had been.
The charge by the two Jahgun of Hawks was not going to reach her before she reached the chaos that was the Gatu Orkhan's troops. They were some distance from the small sortie of Knights. She could yet have handed Gatu a victory in his troops defeat. She and Kildai turned, heading back for the bluff and the trees. An arrow narrowly missed her.
And then the heavy steel of the foreign Knights, lances out, came galloping down from the wooded fringe of the bluff. The Gatu Orkhan's men, realizing that the oncoming Jahguns were foes, now found that they were between their enemies, and worse, their men were disorganized and divided. Many chose the option of flight, then and there.
Bortai allowed herself and her horse to be carried along with the foreign Knights, holding her makeshift lance and flag up, as they galloped toward the Jaghuns of Hawks, scattering Gatu Orkhan's men like chaff, riding down the few who did not choose to flee. And then, the charge began to lose momentum as at the end of the willow-fringed oxbow, they came face to face with the Hawk Clan.
Bortai tried to shoulder her slighter pony forward, yelling to the clan. This could all still go wrong . . .
Kildai, with years of experience at the great game, was better at it than she was. He'd forced his way into the front, and was waving.
The two sides were still coming towards each other, at a slow canter now, and then breaking into a walk, as the Hawk warriors began yelling, lifting their lance-points high. She could hear Kildai's name being called. As the foreign knights ported their lances, Erik and his Prince came through the press and made a space for her to ride out to greet her brother's men.
* * *
"I think they're glad to have them back," said Manfred. "They seem to know the boy. Enough of them were calling his name."
Indeed, grinning, laughing, backslapping—until told off by Bortai—warriors surrounded the two. Tulkun was respectfully greeted. They seemed a little taken aback by the knights, and not know how to deal with them. Slightly warily, seemed the general consensus. But Bortai was not having that situation. She was a forceful young woman, thought Manfred to himself. She rode back to Manfred and Erik, accompanied by an older, scar-faced man. "This Banchu, son of Makai. He lead this Jahgun. He with father," she patted her chest, "in Khesig."
Manfred bowed. It seemed safe. "What's a Khesig?" he asked Erik.
"Imperial guard, I think."
"So they're the children of fellow warrior. A well known one. No wonder they're getting such a welcome."
Bortai proceeded with introductions, in Mongol, to the two of them. Maybe Erik followed some of it. All Manfred understood was Erik's name.
"It appears that you are going up in the world," said Erik, grinning. "I am a war khan. If I follow right, you're getting the credit for the bombardier's explosions from this Banchu. He's impressed. But he says there are more of this Gatu Orkhan's men coming."
"I
think we should take this opportunity to get out of here, don't you?" said Manfred.
Erik nodded.
Chapter 57
In the mazed world of smoke-inspired paradise dreams, the tarkhan Borshar moved suddenly from tranquility to agony. He jerked convulsively, spasming, his face contorted into a rictus, his throat torn by a horrible scream of rage. The tarkhan had not, when he slipped into the trance, expected his communication with the greatness to be agonizing.
Partly, that was just because the Black Brain poorly understood the frailty of humans. Its closest contact with them was with Jagiellon, who was not frail. But mostly it was because both parts of the Black Brain, the man who had once been Grand Duke Jagiellon and the ancient and powerful denizen of planes far beyond and below the ordinary, were angry. Indeed, furious.
Could these stupid tools not manage a simple straightforward murder? The Baitini were a society of assassins. They spent their lives in practice and prayer, blast them. Killing a few pawns should have been a joke. They were masters of the poison, and the cunning blade.
Now the pawns were on the loose again.
And they were dangerous pawns. Pawns that had turned victory into defeat for him on prior occasions. He did not like the fact that they were now much closer to his heartlands. It seemed ridiculous, but . . .
"They must be hunted down and killed."
Over the last few years the Black Brain had so subverted the Baitini that they obeyed him unconditionally. He had orders. Borshar would do his best, or die trying.
But his influence, Borshar informed him, was limited. The breach of tradition had frightened and upset even Gatu's loyalists. The Mongols believed the spirits of the land favored the foreign Knights of the Holy Trinity. Or that they practiced magic, to have survived.
"I will give you magical powers to call on the afrits and lesser creatures to do your bidding. Let them believe you too are a powerful worker of magic."
The Baitini tarkhan thanked him devoutly for so favoring him.
Chernobog knew what price the user would pay, eventually, for what were actually rather limited powers. But that was not his problem.
* * *
The Black Brain now turned its attention southeast to see how the Baitini dream of capturing the empire and ruling it by the code assassin was succeeding. They prayed and tried to reach him. Because, right now, they had need. That in itself was not a bad thing, the part which once had been human informed him. Chernobog and Jagiellon were one and the same now, but still the part which had once been Prince Jagiellon did have a better grasp on human affairs. No matter what the Baitini and their fifth column insurrection achieved, chaos among the Ilkhan was a good thing. It would make physical conquest easier, later.
He turned his attention now to the shipyards and the burgeoning encampment outside Odessa, using his puppets to inspect the work.
Here he found much that pleased him.
Then he was recalled to his throne room by a messenger who had returned from Karelia in the far north.
Bringing strange, worrying news, and no shaman.
"They will not come. They flee before me, Prince Jagiellon. We caught one, eventually, but he was just a minor healer. Of no use to you, Your Highness. We tortured him until we got some answers. Something is moving up there among the hunting tribes and reindeer herders. Something is acquiring their names. It seems they would rather die than come to your service as a result."
The messenger did not understand, but Chernobog did. The shamans of the north believed everything had true names. And if one had their true, secret names, they had to obey. There were ways of protecting those names. There were ways of ferreting them out. Obviously some shaman had become expert in the latter, and was choosing to defy Chernobog. That had to be investigated and dealt with.
Chapter 58
Vlad was glad to see Golden Horde riders at last. Well, riders not intent on raid and pillage, or at least not of the carts right now. That was just as well because there were at least a thousand of them, riding in formation, the scales of their armor bright in the early morning sun, their hawk banners flying. They came up just after Vlad's small expedition had broken camp and begun to move, on what Vlad had decided was the last day of this vain pursuit. The horsemen must have been traveling from before the dawn, and were moving quite rapidly.
A commander rode over. His grasp of the Valhaian tongue was probably why he had been sent. "We do not wish to trade, merchants. We are at war. Go away."
That explained the lack of people if not the herds of sheep and horses they had seen. "We only wish to buy horses . . ."
"We do not sell those. Now, go back to the mountains. And leave any of our people you see there in peace, or we will follow and wreck a vengeance that will be talked about among your tribe for a thousand years."
So the women and children—and possibly some of the men had been sent to take shelter in the mountain foothills and the dense forest, the great Codrii Vl siei that still had not been cleared up there.
"We do not fight women and children," said Vlad stiffly.
"Why not?" asked the Hawk Commander. "They are fitting foes for you."
And on this casual insult he turned and rode off.
Vlad felt the black fury rising in him. He would dismember the upstart . . .
Except that the man was already several hundred yards away, moving back to the column of horse at a rapid canter.
Vlad took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself, with limited success. Primore Peter waited until he done so. "Which way will have us go, Drac? I think closer to the mountains might be a good idea, for all that roads are not so common."
"We just give up? We go home?" asked Vlad incredulously.
"We don't have a lot of choice, sire. We really do not want to get caught up in their inter-clan warfare, Drac. That has been what has stopped them pushing west for the last hundred years. It settled down under the last khan, but he was set on re-uniting his people south and east. The fights between clans are vicious. They'll kill us just for being there, most likely. We might as well turn around. There is no sense in making them angry."
Vlad found himself furious, let alone them being angry, but not knowing what else to do. They began to turn in a wide curve, and headed northwest. The column of men and horses were soon a mere dust trail.
Worryingly, several hours later, they could see another dust column. "Maybe the attackers will sell us some horses." said Vlad, still irritated. "We'd better make a circle and get the cannon and pikes ready. They are not likely to give us a chance to trade."
So they did. They had found a slight rise with a boggy stream behind them.
* * *
"So what has happened to the Hawk clan?" asked Bortai as they rode, surrounded by a the bulk of the two Jahguns, who all, it seemed, did not want to let them out of their sight, "since that night at the kurultai?"
"Much that needs to be put right, Princess Bortai," said Banchu. "We lost less men than we'd thought at first. It was chaos. I think Gatu's plans went wrong too. But without Kildai and with out you . . . the clan was coming apart. Most of the subclans . . . have gone their way. They have not formally renounced ties . . . but no men come to take their place in our regiments. We've called. We just hoped to hold our own. We expect Gatu Orkhan to ride across the Irit soon. He will conquer all he does not have make submission to him. He is promising rich rewards to those who do. He seems to be awash with gold, Princess. That much we have heard. The clan itself is divided. Gatu is showering wealth around—no one knows quite where it has come from. Gold is tempting: But most wish to resist. The anger about the attacks at the kurultai . . . that has not happened in centuries. He was shamed by that. We expect him to extract a heavy-vengeance price for it. We will make them pay in blood for doing so."
"We will," she said with grim certainty.
He nodded. "Things will be different now that you and the young Khan are back."
He paused, coughed. "Who are these foreigner
s? And why are we bid to treat them as if they were royal envoys?"
"Because that is what they are."
The officer blinked. "But they are foreigners. I mean, we owe them a great debt for sheltering our young Khan . . . and they fight well, it seems. We had scouts out, watching, from early this morning. We watched, we saw your flag . . . They are formidable for a small group of foreigners . . . But Princess, they are not Mongol."
"No," she paused. She knew that although she was speaking to Banchu, at least ten other horsemen in earshot were taking in every word. She took a deep breath. "They are not without honor. Their code seems . . . nearly as deep as our own. And Tulkun and Kildai will testify—they make war differently to the Mongol, but they are, at their own place of choosing, as effective as our people. Their discipline is very good. And they force their enemies fight on their terms. And the big man is a noble among them. So is their Orkhan."
Banchu rubbed his jaw. He plainly did not wish to disagree with her. She could almost read his mind: she was a woman, yes, but a noble and respected one. Moreover she was one of the best wrestlers that you could wish to see. A few men had been foolish enough to wager they could beat her . . . "Maybe against Gatu's men. Not the Hawk clan."
"We will see. But now . . . I must tell you of treachery. Of a breach with the ancient tradition. Of honor—from these foreign Knights, from this man of the Ilkhan—and of black dishonor." She gestured to the warriors who rode near her. "Come closer. I will tell this tale many times. But you will be first."
Bortai had been trained in the story-teller's art. It was a noble and respected, and, indeed, much loved art among the Golden Horde. And she had a story that she could see would become even more widely known and loved than that of Khan Ulaghchi and Khutulun. Even if they lost the day, and Kildai and the whole of the Hawk clan was hunted down and killed, this story would endure. The Hawk clan did not have gold to match that of Gatu. But they had honor and tradition. And she would weave that into a story that would be worth more than any tainted gold to the people of the Golden Horde. And so, to a spell-bound audience she wove a tale of magic and treachery, of the hand of the ancestral Tengeri, of heroism and blood. Interspersed with some laughter. The Hawk warriors loved the tortoise story as much as she had. It was to be hoped that they would not encounter any foes soon, or some of the men were going to be in no state to fight.
Much Fall of Blood-ARC Page 43
