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

by Conn Iggulden

  Genghis rode at a light canter, staring ahead. His eyes had weakened further, so that he could not trust them for long distances. Instead, he had Ogedai call out a constant description of the army they faced. His son’s voice was tight with excitement.

  “They have gathered on the banks of the river. I see horses, perhaps ten thousand or more on the right wing facing us, their left.” Ogedai paused, squinting.

  “I see… ranks forming around the center. They are turning to face us. I can’t see beyond the river yet.”

  Genghis nodded. If Jelaudin had been given a few clear days, he might have taken his men to safety. Instead, the hardship of the pace Genghis had set showed its worth. He had caught the prince on this side of the river. It would do. The khan turned in the saddle to his closest scout.

  “Take this message to General Kachiun. I will hold the center with Jebe and Ogedai. Kachiun will have the right wing, with Khasar, against their cavalry. Tell him he can give them back the defeat at Panjshir and I will not accept less. Now go.”

  Another scout took the young man’s place as the first rode away. The second was ready and Genghis went on. “Generals Jelme and Tolui will swing wide on my left. I want the enemy held tight in one place against the river. Their task is to block any line of retreat to the north.” Tolui’s tuman was still too young to be sent in against veteran soldiers. Holding the army in place would be honorable enough for hardly blooded men. Jelme would not enjoy the task, but Genghis knew he would obey. The tumans would sweep in against Jelaudin’s army in three places, pinning them against the Indus.

  Genghis slowed his approach as the lines formed, turning his head left and right to watch the tumans match his pace. Ogedai called out as new details came clear in the distance, but Genghis heard nothing to interfere with the swelling sense of anticipation in his chest. He recalled the presence of his grandsons among the spare horses and sent another scout racing back to be sure they were kept out of the fighting.

  He came in slowly until he could see the enemy ranks as clearly as Ogedai and silenced his son with a wave of his hand. Jelaudin had picked the site of the last battle with Mongol tumans. He had not been able to choose the ground for this one.

  Genghis drew his sword, holding it high as his men waited for the signal to charge. The army on the riverbanks would know better than to surrender, he knew. The prince had gambled everything when he had returned from the Caspian Sea, and he had nowhere else to run. Genghis saw the tumans of Jelme and Tolui moving ahead of the main lines, ready to cut off and hold the left wing. On his right, Kachiun and Khasar matched the maneuver so that the Mongols rode as an empty cup, with Genghis at the deepest part. They faced sixty thousand fanatical followers and Genghis saw them raise their swords as one, waiting for him. With the river at their back, they would fight for every foot of ground.

  Genghis leaned forward in the saddle, pulling back dry lips to show his teeth. He dropped his arm and the tumans surged forward, kicking their mounts into a gallop.

  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 armor 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 raised his sword again, cutting the air sharply. 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 toward 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 riverbanks 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 center. 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 in place, 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. 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 center 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 t
he 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 himself 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 disoriented.

  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 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 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 faceup 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’s 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 center. 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 halfheartedly, 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 armor 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 gray 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 agai
n 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 to the grass and signaled 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.