Bones Of the Hills c-3

by Conn Iggulden

  Jelaudin stared at the lines of Mongol riders who dragged the dust of the mountains with them. His hands shook in rage and frustration as he looked again at the empty river. The far bank and safety were so close it hurt to think of it. He could swim the waters, despite their fierce flow, but most of his men had never learned the trick. For desperate moments, he considered shedding his armour and leading them into the river, away from the death he saw coming. They would follow, he knew, trusting in Allah to keep them safe. It was impossible. For those who had grown to manhood in the Afghan hills, in deserts and cities, deep water was a rare sight. They would drown in their thousands as they entered the swift current.

  He saw many faces turned to him, looking for some words of encouragement as the hated enemy formed horns on either wing. His brothers were there among them, their faces bright with faith. Jelaudin fought with despair.

  ‘We have shown they can be beaten!’ he bellowed to them. ‘They are many, but not so many that we cannot gut them again. Kill this khan for me and you will know paradise. Let Allah guide your swords and let no man turn away from the fight so that he cannot face God with pride. They are just men!’

  he shouted. ‘Let them come. We will show them this land is not to be taken.’

  Those who heard turned back to the Mongol khan with new fire in their eyes. They raised shields and curved swords as the ground trembled under their feet.

  At full gallop, Genghis slashed down with his sword. Arrows came in a ripple down the lines on either side, slightly delayed as each tuman registered the command and loosed. Ahead, he saw Jelaudin’s ranks drop to a crouch, holding the shields high. Genghis grunted irritably, sending another volley buzzing towards them. Many of Jelaudin’s men survived the first and then rose to their feet too soon, so that the second flight of shafts caught them. Arrows that could punch through an iron scale rocked them back.

  The tumans on his wings jammed their bows onto saddle hooks, drawing swords as they reached the enemy. On his right, ahead of him, Genghis saw the tumans of Kachiun and Khasar smash into the standing lines, while Tolui and Jelme drew up almost on the river banks on his left. From there, they loosed shaft after shaft in a constant hail. Arabs fell, struck from the side as they raised their shields blindly to the front.

  Genghis smelled the river and the fear sweat of thousands of men as he raced his mount straight at the centre. He hoped he would find the prince there, waiting for him. Jelaudin’s men were ten deep, but the Mongol ponies had been trained for such an assault and did not hesitate as they plunged into them. Genghis swept through the first three ranks, swinging his sword as men were knocked down by the impact. With his knees, he turned the mount on the spot, feeling the solid connection as she kicked and sent someone reeling. A wedge of his best warriors came with him, protecting the khan with their ferocity as they cut their way into the mass.

  Genghis saw a turbaned prince in bright fabric and lunged at him before Jelaudin’s soldiers drove him back with sheer weight. He saw a shield loom at him, its owner cracking it into his horse’s face and turning her. Genghis killed the man, but he was forced back another step as more came in, using their shields well and punching blows around them.

  Very few reached the khan to be killed. A thousand warriors moved with him, each the veteran of more battles than they could recall. The pointed wedge they formed dug its way deeper into Jelaudin’s ranks until they could see the river ahead of them. Jebe and Ogedai moved in the centre of two other arrowheads on either side of the khan, forming three sharp tines that speared the army they faced. Whoever faced the leading edges were cut down, while those they passed were killed by men behind.

  The noise was terrible in the press, a roar of sound that battered at the ears. Genghis felt his arm grow tired and missed a sword that slid along the layered scales of his thigh until it gashed him above the knee. It would be one more scar on his legs to add to the mass of ridged skin. The pain improved his speed and he whipped his sword across the face of the attacker.

  Jelaudin’s men did not break, perhaps because they had nowhere to go. Genghis was content at first to let the three wedges move in together, clawing strips in the enemy lines. From horseback, they loomed over men on foot, using the weight of the swords to swing down with greater force than those below and always seeing the next attack coming. Even so, Genghis felt hemmed in by the enemy and knew his men would be feeling the same. He saw a horse collapse as its front legs were cut, the warrior remaining in the saddle until a sword jabbed into his throat. Roaring warriors came through the gap in the wedge, fighting to reach Genghis himself. He turned, ready for them, but his men were fast and young. They blocked the path almost before it could form. He stood in the stirrups as they too were gashed and knocked from their mounts.

  The rear of Jelaudin’s army was swirling, with more and more men converging on the khan. They stared up at him as they pushed through their own in reckless fury. Genghis saw the left of his wedge pushed back, crumpling under the chopping blades of the enemy. Some even used their shields in threes or fours, heaving together so that the horsemen were turned in on themselves. More and more spilled into the wedge, coming straight at him. Genghis had time for a glimpse over at Ogedai, but the pressure there was nowhere near as great.

  Genghis moved his horse back three quick steps, giving him room as the wave of Arabs reached him. His horse answered every command from pressure of his knees, dancing round so that the first blow swung wide. Genghis took a man’s head, but the next struck at his mare’s foreleg. As she moved, the blade turned, but the weight of iron was enough to snap the bone. The horse screamed and Genghis fell badly, hitting the ground with his sword arm outstretched. He felt a sickening thump and struggled to get up without understanding he had torn the joint from its socket. There seemed to be yelling enemies everywhere and he was disorientated.

  His wedge fell in on itself as his men struggled to protect the khan. More and more fought through from behind as a warrior dismounted and tried to shove Genghis into his own saddle. He died for his efforts, stabbed in the back as Genghis found his seat again. The khan’s sword had gone and his arm hung limply, every movement an agony. Genghis drew a dagger from his boot with his left hand and wheeled the fresh horse away. His men roared into the space he left behind, using their strength in a mad rush that would see many of them cut down as they grew slow from weariness.

  Genghis pulled back through his own ranks, raging at the weakness of his arm. For a fleeting moment, he wished Kokchu was there to put him right, but there were other men who knew battlefield injuries. He caught sight of one of his own minghaan officers and shouted to him, calling him by name across the lines of fighting.

  The officer almost lost his head as he turned to the khan, responding with a quick cut at a man’s legs before he yanked his horse around and forced his way through.

  ‘My lord?’ the officer said, gasping.

  ‘Put my arm back in,’ Genghis replied.

  The pain by now was excruciating. He sat the horse calmly as warriors streamed around them both, staring curiously at the khan. Genghis put his dagger back in his boot and held the saddle pommel tightly with his left hand as he heaved a leg over and slid to the ground. The officer stopped gaping, his face becoming set.

  ‘Lie face up on the ground, my lord,’ he said, sheathing his sword.

  Genghis did so with a grunt and kept his face cold as the officer took his loose arm and pressed his fingers into the joint.

  ‘Quickly!’ Genghis snapped.

  The officer put his boot into Genghis’ armpit and heaved, twisting at the same time. There was another dull thump and Genghis saw white for an instant before the pain vanished. He allowed the officer to help him to his feet and tested the arm.

  ‘You can still cut downwards, but avoid lifting the arm away from your body, understand?’

  Genghis ignored him. The arm felt weaker than before, but he clenched his fist and smiled. He could grip a sword.

  On
his right, Kachiun and Khasar had destroyed Jelaudin’s cavalry, sending a few dozen survivors running as they turned their swords and arrows on the centre. Jelaudin’s men were caught between pincers, but they fought on, seemingly intent on taking as many with them as they could. The pace of the battle had slowed as both sides tired and Genghis saw he would lose many more men as the day ended. He flexed his arm, looking ahead to where Ogedai and Jebe still fought. Their wedges were intact, the enemy falling back from them. On a clear plain, he might have pushed on, knowing that they would break soon. Against the river, Genghis shook his head and reached for the scout horn that dangled on his chest.

  He blew a long dropping note, then repeated it. It was echoed on other horns across the field and his men heard. They pulled back, killing as the Arabs tried to rush them. Those who were still mounted broke free first, while those on foot had to defend every step as the Arabs surged after them. It was bloody work, but as the light began to fade, there was clear ground between the tumans and the army on the banks.

  Genghis looked for his messenger scouts and could not see them anywhere close. He sent warriors for them and it seemed an age until they could be found. After that, he had them raise the banner that would summon his generals. He passed on orders to make camp just half a mile from the river and his men went with him. They had lost the cold face in the fighting, becoming flushed and vital. Some of them laughed wildly. Others rode in a dark mood, having seen their own death come too close that day.

  They left a broken line of dead behind them, with many more of Jelaudin’s than theirs. The prince’s army had been torn apart, but they still jeered and shouted half-heartedly, the sounds coming from gasping, tired men. They saw the Mongols dismount barely eight hundred paces away. The tumans ignored the army behind them on the river bank, bringing up the pack animals for food and water as they prepared to make camp.

  Jelaudin still lived, though his armour was gashed and bright in many places. He panted like a dog in the sun as he watched the Mongols ride away without looking back. The sunlight was becoming grey and, though he was relieved at the respite, he knew they would return at dawn. He and his men would have it all to do again.

  ‘I will die tomorrow,’ he whispered to himself.

  None of his men heard him as they passed skins of river water along the line to ease their throats. He could feel their eyes on him as he stood staring onto the plain, perhaps hoping that he would yet come up with some stroke to save them all.

  The rajah of Peshawar came through the ranks to join him at the front, taking moments as he did so to clap men on the shoulder and exchange a few words of encouragement. Those who had taken terrible wounds were beginning to cry out, the noise suddenly loud after the crash of battle. Many of them would die before morning. Jelaudin had supplies of opium for pain, enough at least to dull their wits while they died. It was all he could do for them and he felt ill with hatred for the khan of the Mongols.

  He turned to his friend and both men knew they were finished, unable to bear the knowledge in each other’s eyes.

  ‘I think my father had the boats burned,’ Nawaz said softly. ‘He is a fool, lost in old ways and old Hindu gods. He does not understand why I chose to follow you.’

  Jelaudin nodded, still staring out at the Mongol camp, seeming almost close enough to touch. The khan’s men surrounded them in a great bow. There would be no stealthy flight from the banks that night.

  ‘I am sorry I brought you to this place,’ Jelaudin replied. ‘I had such hopes, my friend! To see it come to this…’ He hawked and spat on the ground and Nawaz winced at the grief in his voice.

  ‘You could swim when you were a little boy, Jelaudin. Could you get across the river?’

  ‘And leave my men here? I won’t do it. You sank like a stone, Nawaz, if I remember. I had to drag you out myself.’

  His friend smiled in memory. He sighed to himself, staring at the Mongols who rested in the growing gloom.

  ‘We showed they can be beaten, Jelaudin. You are still a talisman to the men. If you can cross the river, they will give their lives gladly. It does not have to end here. Take your brothers with you and live.’

  He saw Jelaudin firm his mouth and spoke quickly to forestall the objection.

  ‘Please, Jelaudin. Let me command the men tomorrow. If I thought you would escape, I could fight without regrets. I promised the boats would be here. Do not let me die with this guilt, my friend. It is too much for me.’

  Jelaudin smiled gently then, letting himself feel the weariness that ached in every joint.

  ‘Your father would be proud of you, if he knew it all,’ he said. ‘I am proud of you.’ He clasped Nawaz on the back of the neck before letting his hand fall.

  As dawn came, Genghis roused himself, instantly irritable as his arm felt as stiff as a piece of wood. As he rose from the cold ground, he tested it gingerly. With his elbow at his side, he had good movement up and down, but if he held the limb away from his body, it felt loose and without strength. He swore to himself, hating the weakness far more than pain. The minghaan officer had come to him again before he slept, testing the joint and warning him that it needed a month of rest, then two more to rebuild the muscle he would lose.

  Genghis clambered to his feet and accepted a bowl of salt tea from a warrior who had waited for him to wake. He sipped it slowly, feeling the warmth banish the chill from his limbs. He had spoken to his generals, commending Kachiun in front of them to repair the damage to his brother’s reputation. He had praised Ogedai as well and he was truly pleased with his son. Ogedai seemed to have grown in stature since becoming the heir. He had a quiet dignity to him that Chagatai had never had and Genghis wondered at the strangeness of fate. Perhaps he had been led to choose the right son to inherit his lands.

  Jelaudin’s army was clearly visible as the light grew stronger. They had removed many of the dead and Genghis assumed the bodies had been dropped in the river to be tumbled away in the current. They did not look so fearsome now, Genghis thought. Almost half of them had been slaughtered the day before and, though it may have been his imagination, he thought he saw resignation in the way they stood so silently and waited. They did not expect to survive and that pleased him. He thought of the cities that had been so quick to rebel. They would hear of this day and consider what it meant for them. Herat and Balkh would be the first to see his armies and this time he would not accept tribute or surrender. He would make a lesson of them: that he would not be scorned or mocked.

  Genghis tossed the bowl down onto the grass and signalled for a fresh horse to be brought. The tumans formed in squares and Genghis hardly cast an eye over them, knowing the officers would have worked through the night to bring new arrows and swords to those that needed them. He was no longer a young man, able to go two or three days without rest. While he slept, many of his warriors had worked, sharpening swords and tending to their horses.

  As Genghis mounted, he saw Mongke and Kublai sitting with other boys nearby, sharing a piece of dried mutton. He scowled at the sight, looking around him for the nearest officer to take them to safety. Before he could find one, Jelaudin’s army shouted a challenge, sending flights of startled birds soaring up from the trees by the river.

  Genghis stood in his stirrups, straining his eyes to see if they would attack. Instead, Jelaudin’s army parted and Genghis watched in astonishment as one man rode through them to the ground between the two armies.

  The khan stared out at the lone rider. He did not know Jelaudin by sight, but it could be no other. As Genghis watched, Kublai and Mongke stood to see what was holding their grand-father’s interest. Both boys watched in fascination as Jelaudin took a knife and cut through the lacing holding his armour, so that it fell away in pieces.

  Genghis raised his eyebrows, wondering if he watched some sort of ritual. In just moments, Jelaudin sat his horse in just a tattered robe and Genghis exchanged a glance with officers nearby, mystified. He saw the prince raise his sword as if in salute,
then fling it at the ground so that it stuck point first in the earth. Was he surrendering? Three young men came from the ranks and he spoke to them, ignoring the Mongol host. The prince seemed relaxed in their presence and he laughed with them. Genghis watched curiously as all three men touched their foreheads to his stirrup, then returned to their places.

  The khan opened his mouth to order the tumans forward, but the prince turned his horse and dug in his heels. His army had left a clear route back to the river bank and Genghis realised at last what Jelaudin was going to do. The khan had seen the drop on the previous day and he winced in appreciation.

  Jelaudin reached the muddy bank at a gallop. Without hesitation, horse and man leapt, plunging over the edge. The tumans were close enough to hear the great splash that followed and Genghis nodded to himself.

  ‘Did you see that, Kublai? Mongke?’ he called out, startling the boys from their awe.

  Kublai answered him first.

  ‘I saw. Is he dead?’

  Genghis shrugged.

  ‘Perhaps. It was a long drop to the river.’

  He thought for a moment, wanting his grandsons to appreciate the dramatic gesture of contempt. Jelaudin could have climbed down at any point in the night, but he had wanted the khan to see the reckless courage of his race. As a horseman born, Genghis had enjoyed the moment more than any other part of the campaign, but it was difficult to explain to the boys.

  ‘Remember the name of Jelaudin, Kublai. He was a strong enemy.’

  ‘That is a good thing?’ Kublai asked, perplexed.

  Genghis nodded. ‘Even enemies can have honour. His father was fortunate to have such a son. Remember this day and perhaps in time you will make your own father proud.’

  Ahead of him, Jelaudin’s army closed the gap and raised their swords. Jelaudin’s three brothers strode forward with tears of joy in their eyes.

  Genghis smiled, though he did not forget to send the boys to the rear before he gave the order to move.