Kachiun swung his sword and tore a great gash along his own horse’s flank. Blood poured as the animal screamed and bolted over men, knocking them flying. Kachiun echoed the sound with a desperate call for his men to follow him as he hung on, barely able to guide the stricken animal. He careered through the Chin soldiers, swinging at anything he could reach. The horse was running mad and Kachiun heard its breastbone break as it hit some obstacle. He went flying over its head, hitting another man with his armor. Another of his warriors yelled and Kachiun gripped a lowered arm, dazed and in pain as he swung up behind him.
The five thousand fought as if they had lost their minds, with no thought for their own safety. Those who were hemmed in cut their own mounts as Kachiun had, sending them kicking and snorting for the open plain between the mountains. They had to reach Genghis before he was killed.
Kachiun felt the second mount stumble and nearly fell once more. Somehow it righted itself and he broke through the lines onto open ground, the horse wide-eyed in terror. Riderless horses were everywhere and Kachiun leaped for one without thinking, almost tearing his right arm from the socket as he caught the reins. He looped out from the battle then as he fought the horse’s panic and brought it back in. His men had come with him, though there could not have been more than three thousand after that wild charge through the heart of the Chin army.
“Ride!” Kachiun shouted, shaking his head to clear it. He could barely see and his head throbbed from the first impact with the ground. He could feel his entire face swelling as he galloped along the army’s edge back to his brother. Half a mile ahead, the rear of Zhi Zhong’s cavalry were riding to seal the pass, twenty thousand fresh horses and men. Kachiun knew it was too many, but he did not slow. He raised his sword as he rode, putting aside the pain and showing red teeth to the wind.
No more than a thousand had come through the pass before the tree fell. Half of those were already dead and the rest clustered around their khan, prepared to defend him to the last man. The Chin soldiers swirled around them like wasps, but they fought like men possessed, and all the time, Genghis was darting glances back at the trunk that blocked the pass. His men were born to war, each one of them more skilled than the Chin soldiers who struggled at their stirrups and died. Their quivers were all empty, but many of the men maneuvered their mounts as if they were one creature. The ponies knew when to step back from a swinging blade and when to kick and cave in the chest of anyone daring to come too close. Like an island in a raging sea, the Mongol horsemen moved across the face of the Chin army and no one could bring them down. Crossbow bolts rattled their armor, but the regiments were too hemmed in for volley fire. No one wanted to come near those red blades and grim warriors. Those who rode with Genghis were slippery with blood, their hands gummed onto their swords with it. They were men who were hard to kill. They knew their khan was with them and that they only had to hold on until the barrier was cut through. Even then, their number began to dwindle, though they took ten or twenty for every man that fell. More and more began to look back at the pass, their eyes grim and growing in desperation as they fought on.
Jelme and Arslan arrived together at the blocked pass, seeing Tsubodai pale. The young general nodded to the senior men.
“We need more axe-men,” Jelme snapped. “At this rate it will take hours.”
Tsubodai glared coldly at him. “The command is yours, General. I was merely waiting for you to come to the front.” He turned his horse away from them without another word, taking a deep breath to shout over the heads of his men.
“Wolves, dismount!” he snapped. “Bows and swords! On foot! With me!”
As the senior men took charge of the axe teams, Tsubodai climbed onto the trunk with his sword drawn, looking down at the Chin pikemen before he kicked one weapon aside and leaped into them. His men followed in a great scrambling rush that knocked their own axe teams sprawling. They would not let their young general go alone to save the khan, and they were fresh and furious at the tricks of the Chin.
Genghis looked up as the Young Wolves joined the battle. They cut down the surprised Chin from behind, opening up a great rift in their ranks. Those who took wounds seemed not to feel them as they kept their eyes locked on Tsubodai as he raced on. He had seen the khan and his arm was untried that day. He hit the Chin with a rank no more than a dozen wide, young warriors who moved at such a speed that they could not be stopped. They cut a path through to Genghis over a trail of dead.
“I have been waiting for you!” Genghis called to Tsubodai. “What do you want from me this time?”
The young general laughed to see him alive, even as he ducked under a sweeping sword and gutted the man who held it. He pulled the blade out with a great heave and stamped down on a dead body as he stepped past. The Chin were reeling, but they still swarmed in such numbers that even Tsubodai’s ten thousand could be engulfed. On the flank of the great army of the Chin, cavalry horns sounded and Genghis turned in the saddle as the Chin ranks fell back in order, opening a path for the charge. The Mongol warriors looked at each other as the Chin cavalry broke into a gallop through their own ranks. Genghis grinned, panting as his men formed up around him.
“Those are good horses,” he said. “I will have the first choice of them when we are done.” Those who heard him laughed, then as one, they kicked their weary mounts into a canter, leaning low over the saddles. They left Tsubodai alone to hold the ground around the pass and slid into a gallop on their ponies just before the two forces crashed together.
The Chin cavalry commander died in the first instant of meeting the Mongol horsemen. Over the thunder of hooves, his men were cut from their saddles. Those who could strike back swung on empty air as the Mongols ducked or swayed aside. They had practiced for this all their lives. Genghis galloped on, deeper and deeper into the ranks of horsemen, his sword arm burning. There was no end to them and he took a fresh cut above his hip where the armor had broken away. Another impact knocked him back so that he saw the pale sky swinging above before he could recover. He did not fall; he could not. He heard screams as Kachiun’s mounts hit the Chin riders from behind and wondered if he would meet his brother in the middle or die first. There were just so many enemies. He no longer expected to survive and that brought a lightness to his mood that made the gallop through his enemies a moment of pure joy. It was easy to imagine his father riding with him. Perhaps the old man would be proud at last. His sons could not have chosen a better end.
Behind him the tree was finally rolled back in three pieces. The Mongol army rode slowly out onto the icy flats, grim and poised to avenge their khan. Jelme and Arslan rode at the head and both father and son were ready. They looked out at the Chin flags and banners that swirled into the distance.
“I would not change my life, Jelme, if I could go back,” Arslan called to his son. “I would still be here.”
“Where else would you be, old man?” Jelme replied with a smile. He set an arrow on the bowstring and took a deep breath before loosing the first shaft into the enemy ranks.
Zhi Zhong watched in frustration as the pass opened and twenty thousand warriors came storming out, ready to fight. The gods had not given the khan into his hands. Zhi Zhong’s own cavalry was engaging the khan’s small force, while another group cut into the Chin like a tiger ripping at the belly of a running deer. The Mongols did not seem to communicate, yet they worked together across the battlefield, while his was the only center of command. Zhi Zhong rubbed his eyes, staring into the dust clouds as they fought.
His pikemen were in chaos and some had left the plain, the figures already distant specks among the hills. Could he yet save the battle? All the tricks were finished. It came down to a fight on a flat plain, and he still had the numbers.
He gave fresh orders to his messengers and watched as they galloped across the battlefield. The Mongols from the pass were hammering his men with shaft after shaft, cutting a trench right through the center of the army that waited for them. The relentless acc
uracy was forcing his ranks back on themselves, making them bunch up where they should have stayed apart. Zhi Zhong wiped sweat from his brow as he saw riders ripping through his pikemen as if they were unarmed. He could only watch frozen as they split into groups of a hundred, attacking from all angles with their shafts, cutting his army to pieces.
It seemed only a moment before one of the marauding groups spotted him standing there, directing the battle. Zhi Zhong saw their faces light up as they saw the massive war banners around his command tent. As he stared he saw a dozen bows bent in his direction and others yanking at reins to turn their mounts. Surely the range was too great? Hundreds of his personal guard lay in their path, but they could not stop the arrows and the general was suddenly terrified. They were demonic, these men from the plains. He had tried everything and still they came. Many of them had been cut in the fighting, but they seemed to feel no pain as they drew their bows with bloody hands and kicked their horses at him.
A half-spent arrow thumped into his chest, sticking out of his armor and making him cry out. As if the sound released his fear, his nerve failed completely and he yelled for his guard, pulling his horse around by brute strength and hunching low in the saddle. Other shafts whistled over his head, killing men around him. General Zhi Zhong was mindless in the face of his own death, his confidence shattering. He dug in his heels and his horse bolted, galloping through the ranks to leave his guard behind.
He did not look down at the wide-eyed faces of his soldiers as they saw him desert them. Many threw down their weapons and simply ran, following his example. Some were knocked aside by his horse as they moved too slowly. His eyes blurred in the frozen wind and he knew nothing except the need to escape the cruel-faced Mongols at his back. Behind him his army crumbled in complete rout and the slaughter went on. The army of Genghis rolled over the Imperial soldiers, killing until their arms were exhausted and the mouths of their horses were white with frothy spit.
Senior officers tried three times to rally their men, each attempt failing as Genghis was able to use the wider ground to send charges in to smash them. When the last of Jelme’s arrows were gone, the lances worked well at full speed, taking men off their feet with the impact. Genghis had seen the Chin general run and no longer felt the terrible wounds he had taken. The sun rose higher on the killing, and by noon, the forces of the emperor lay in bloody mountains of the dead, the remainder scattered in every direction and still pursued.
As Zhi Zhong rode, his mind lost the numbness that had unmanned him. The sounds of battle faded into the distance as he galloped along the road to Yenking. He looked back only once at the great roiling mass of fighting men, and shame and rage were bitter in his throat. Some of his personal guard had taken horses to follow their general, loyal despite his failure. Without a word, they formed up around him, so that a grim phalanx of almost a hundred riders approached the gates of the emperor’s city.
Zhi Zhong recognized one man riding abreast, a senior officer from Baotou. At first he could not recall his name and he could only wonder at his spinning thoughts. The city grew quickly before them and it took a huge effort of will to steady himself and calm his thumping heart. Lujan. The man’s name was Lujan, he remembered at last.
The general sweated in his armor as he looked at the high walls and the moat surrounding the city. After the chaos and bloodshed, it looked sleepily peaceful, waking slowly for the new day. Zhi Zhong had outraced any messengers and the emperor remained unaware of the catastrophe only twenty miles away.
“Do you want to be executed, Lujan?” he said to the man at his side.
“I have a family, General,” the man replied. He was pale, understanding what they faced.
“Then listen to me and follow my orders,” Zhi Zhong replied.
The general was recognized at a distance and the outer gate was lowered over the expanse of water. Zhi Zhong turned in the saddle to shout orders to the men with him.
“The emperor must be told,” he snapped. “We can counterattack with the city guard.” He saw the words have an effect on the defeated men, straightening them in their saddles. They still trusted their general to salvage something from the disaster. Zhi Zhong made his face a mask as he passed into the city, the sound of hooves on paved streets loud in his ears. He had lost. Worse, he had run.
The Imperial palace was a huge construction inside the city, surrounded by gardens of great beauty. Zhi Zhong headed for the closest gate that would take him to an audience room. He wondered if the young emperor was even awake at that hour. He would be alert soon enough, when he received the news.
The guards were forced to dismount at the outer gate, striding inward along a wide road of lime trees. They were met by servants, then passed through a chain of halls. Before they could come into the emperor’s presence, soldiers from the emperor’s own guards blocked their way.
Zhi Zhong showed nothing as he handed over his sword and waited for them to step aside. His soldiers would remain in the outer halls while he went in. He imagined Emperor Wei being woken at that very moment, his slaves fussing around him with the news that the general had returned. The palace would be awash with rumor, but they knew nothing yet. The full scope of the tragedy would come later, but the emperor had to know first.
It was a long time before Zhi Zhong saw the doors of the audience chamber open before him and strode across the wooden floor to the figure seated at the far end. As he had thought, the emperor’s face was puffy from sleep, his hair braided hurriedly so that wisps of it were out of place.
“What news is so important?” Emperor Wei said, his voice strained. The general felt calm at last and took a deep breath as he knelt.
“His Imperial Majesty does me honor,” he said. He raised his head then and the eyes that looked out from the heavy brows made the young emperor clutch at the front of his robe in fear. There was madness there.
Zhi Zhong stood slowly, glancing around the hall. The emperor had dismissed his ministers to hear the private communication from his general. Six slaves stood around the room, but Zhi Zhong cared nothing for them. They would carry the news to the city as they always did. He let out a long breath. His mind had been confused for a time, but at last it was clear.
“The Mongols have come through the pass,” he said, at last. “I could not hold them.” He saw the emperor pale, his skin turning waxy in the light coming through the high windows.
“The army? Have we been forced to retreat?” Emperor Wei demanded, rising to stand before him.
“It has been broken, Imperial Majesty.”
The general’s eyes bored into the young man who faced him and this time they did not look away.
“I served your father well, Imperial Majesty. With him, I would have won. With you, a lesser man, I have failed.”
Emperor Wei opened his mouth in amazement. “You come to me with this and dare to insult me in my own palace?”
The general sighed. He had no sword, but he drew a long knife from where it had been hidden under his armor. The young emperor gaped at the sight of it, suddenly frightened.
“Your father would not have let me come to him, Imperial Majesty. He would have known not to trust a general who returns from a defeat.” Zhi Zhong shrugged. “In failing you, I earned my death. What choice is there for me, but this?”
The emperor took a deep breath to scream for his guards. Zhi Zhong lunged at him and clamped a hand around his throat, stifling the cry. He felt hands batter at his armor and his face, but the boy was weak and his grip only tightened. He could have strangled him then, but it would have been a dishonor to the son of a great man. Instead, he found a place in the emperor’s chest as it writhed and twitched, pressing the blade into the heart.
The hands fell away and only then did he feel the sting of the scratches on his cheeks. Blood stained the robe around the blade and the general lifted him up to place him back in his seat.
The slaves were screaming and Zhi Zhong ignored them, standing before the body of the
young emperor. There had been no choice, he told himself.
The outer door swung open as the emperor’s guards burst in. They raised their weapons and Zhi Zhong stood to face them, seeing the figures of his men fill the corridor behind. Lujan had followed the orders he had been given, and he was already bloody. It did not take long to finish the last of them.
Lujan stood with his chest heaving, staring in wonder at the white face of a dead emperor.
“You have killed him,” he said, awed. “What do we do now?”
The general looked at the exhausted, bloody men who brought the stink of the battlefield into such a place. Perhaps later he would weep for everything he had lost, everything he had done, but now was not the time.
“We tell the people the emperor is dead and that the city must be closed and fortified. The Mongols are coming here and we can do nothing else.”
“But who will be emperor now? One of his children?” Lujan said. He had gone very pale and he did not look again at the sprawled figure on the throne.
“The eldest boy is only six,” Zhi Zhong replied. “When the funeral has been held, have him brought to me. I will rule as his regent.”
Lujan stared at his general. “Hail the new emperor,” he whispered, the words repeated by those around him. Almost in a trance, Lujan lowered himself until his forehead touched the wooden floor. The other soldiers followed suit and General Zhi Zhong smiled.
“Ten thousand years,” he said softly. “Ten thousand years.”
CHAPTER 25
THE SKY BURNED BLACK OVER THE MOUNTAINS, the oily smoke reaching for miles. Many of the Chin had surrendered at the end, but the tribes had lost too many of their own to consider mercy. The killing had gone on for days around the pass, those who still wanted to seeking out every last one of the fleeing soldiers and slaughtering them like the marmots of home.
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