The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle

by Conn Iggulden

  It seemed to take an age before he found his fellow general, bloody and battered, but jubilant as he too readied his men to ride in once more.

  “Like sheep to a slaughter!” Jelme shouted as Tsubodai rode up. Concentrating on the battle, he had not yet seen the riders, and Tsubodai only nodded in their direction.

  Jelme frowned and let his fingers drop to a long shaft that had struck him in the shoulder. It had passed through armor to cut his flesh just below the skin. Jelme worked furiously at it, trying to pull it free. Tsubodai came close and took the shaft, snapping it quickly and throwing the pieces down.

  “Thank you,” Jelme said. “Is it our missing generals?”

  “Who else has two tumans in this place?” Tsubodai replied. “We could have used them before, but I shall send them around the passes to attack the Shah as he comes out.”

  “No,” Jelme replied. “You and I can do that well enough. Let these latecomers take our leavings and follow the Shah into the pass. I am still fresh, General. I will fight again today.”

  Tsubodai grinned and clapped Jelme on the shoulder. He sent two scouts back to carry orders to Jebe and Jochi before peeling off and calling his men after him. The closest pass was little more than a mile away.

  In just moments, the attack on the rear had ceased and the last of the Shah’s bloody soldiers passed between the hills. As shadow crossed their faces at last, they looked fearfully back at the wild horsemen who rode so swiftly toward somewhere else. No one cheered to have survived it. They were filled with dark foreboding and as they looked behind at the swathe of dead they had left, another army rode closer and closer, ready to begin the killing again.

  Tsubodai forced his mount over broken ground, heading up into the hills. The second pass was a narrow trail and the Shah might well have discounted it for so many men. Still, it served a rank of ten across, and as he climbed, Tsubodai looked at the farmlands below, seeing a wavering red slash marking the path of the battle, quickly drying to brown. Over it came the tumans of Jochi and Jebe, and even from that distance, Tsubodai could see they were riding slowly. He saw the tiny figures of his scouts reach them and the pace picked up.

  Tsubodai’s view was blocked after that and he did not see them follow the Shah into the pass. Kachiun would be out of arrows and still the army was too large for the forces of Genghis at Otrar. Yet Tsubodai was pleased with the killing. He had shown the strength of the columns on their own and the best way to act against a slow enemy. He looked ahead to where Jelme rode, urging on his men. Tsubodai smiled at the older man’s enthusiasm and energy, still undimmed. Every warrior there knew that they might have another chance to attack if they could get through the hills before the Shah reached open ground. There would be no place for stinging wasps then, Tsubodai realized. With the right timing, they would hit the Shah’s right flank with the best part of twenty thousand men. Most of their arrows had gone. Shields and swords would have to finish what they had begun.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IN THE MORNING SUN, Genghis turned quickly enough to make Khasar jump. When he saw it was his younger brother, the khan’s face grew a fraction less terrible, but the visible strain remained. Genghis had lived on anger and frustration for two days, while his men fought and died beyond the southern hills. If the walls of Otrar had been a little less thick, he would have had the catapults working all that time. Instead, it would have been a pointless gesture and he had waited. The city was not as important as surviving the Shah’s army, but inaction had worn his temper to bare bones.

  “Give me good news,” Genghis snapped.

  Khasar hesitated and Genghis scowled as he saw it.

  “Then give me whatever you have,” he said.

  “The scouts report a battle before the pass. The generals have thinned the Shah’s men as you ordered, but the army is still mostly intact. Kachiun is ready with archers on the high slopes. They will kill many, but unless the army breaks and runs, the Shah will come through. You knew it would be so, brother.”

  He watched as Genghis clenched his left fist hard enough to make the arm shake.

  “Tell me how to stop twenty thousand warriors falling on us from behind and I will stand in the Shah’s path as he comes out,” Genghis said.

  Khasar looked away at the city that mocked their preparations. With the camp stripped of warriors, five full tumans waited for orders, and Genghis chafed at every wasted moment. He did not underestimate the risk he had taken. As well as his wives, his sons Ogedai and Tolui had been left without protection as he tried to wring every advantage from the forces available to him. As the sun had risen on a second day, only Khasar had dared speak to his brother, and he could offer no solution.

  Khasar knew as well as his brother that if the Shah made it through the hills with his army, the garrison at Otrar would attack as soon as they saw his banners. The tumans would be crushed. Khasar knew he did not have the brilliance of Tsubodai or even the wits of Kachiun, but he could see only one order to give. They could not hold Otrar. All they could do was retreat, drawing all the generals with them. Still, he waited for Genghis.

  The black smoke of the burning suburbs had dwindled to nothing over the previous days. The air was clean and hot as Genghis looked over his army. The city was silent as they waited for deliverance.

  “There will be other years, brother,” Kachiun said at last. “Other battles.”

  “You would have me retreat, Khasar?” Genghis turned to his brother once more.

  Khasar shrugged. “Better than being killed. If you take the tumans ten miles north, this Shah will join the garrison at Otrar and then at least we will face one army, with no one to attack the rear.”

  Genghis snorted in disdain for the idea. “Miles of plains and mountains that they know better than we do. They would batter us all the way home, and even my generals cannot stop so many. Yet if I can reach this pass, the Shah will not be able to maneuver. Even now, it would be hard to reach him before the sun sets, brother. Time is killing us.”

  Genghis fell silent suddenly, as a thought struck him. “The man who was your second, Samuka. Is he loyal?”

  Khasar narrowed his eyes, wondering what Genghis was thinking. “Of course,” he replied.

  Genghis nodded sharply, making a decision. “Give him five thousand men and have him hold this place until I return. He does not have to win the battle, just prevent them from entering the field. Tell him I need time and that he must win it for me.”

  Khasar did not reply at first. Chagatai’s tuman was closer to the city than Samuka’s men, but Khasar knew Genghis would not send his son to certain death, as he seemed willing to do with Samuka.

  “Very well, brother. I will tell him,” he said. Genghis was already mounting his horse and turning it to take his place at the head of the army. Khasar rode back to the ranks, cutting across at a gallop to reach Samuka.

  He found his old second in command standing with Ho Sa, discussing the riding order. Their faces lit up as they saw Khasar, and his heart sank at what he must say. With a gesture, Khasar drew them apart from the other officers and spoke in a low voice.

  “My lord Genghis orders you to stay behind, Samuka. Take five thousand of the best archers and hold the city until we return.”

  Ho Sa stiffened as if he had been struck. Samuka’s dark eyes searched Khasar’s for a moment. All three men knew it was a death sentence. The garrison would cut them to pieces in their desperation to get out of the city.

  “They will do their best to break through,” Khasar went on. “It will be bloody work.”

  Samuka nodded, already resigned. Five thousand men would not be enough to hold two gates. As a thought struck him, he glanced to Ho Sa.

  “I do not need this one, General. Let him go with you.” Samuka smiled tiredly. “He is useless anyway and I will not need him here.”

  Ho Sa suffered through a moment of utter weakness. He did not want to die in a land he barely knew. Samuka had given him a chance to live. Khasar looked a
way rather than watch the turmoil on Ho Sa’s face.

  “I will stay,” Ho Sa said.

  Samuka looked to the skies and blew air out of puffed cheeks. “You are a fool then,” Samuka said. He turned to Khasar and took a deep breath, his manner suddenly brisk. “How long must I hold?”

  Khasar gave no sign that he had noticed Ho Sa’s struggle. “Perhaps a day. I will relieve you myself.”

  Both Ho Sa and Samuka bowed their heads, accepting the task before them. On impulse, Khasar reached out and gripped Ho Sa’s shoulder. He had known the Xi Xia officer for many years, ever since the first raids into Chin territory.

  “Stay alive, brother,” Khasar said. “I will come if I can.”

  “I will be watching for you,” Ho Sa said, his voice rough. His face showed none of the fear that churned in his stomach.

  Genghis was already at the head of his army, staring coldly across at the three men. He waited until Samuka shouted orders to five minghaan officers and they rode clear of the main army. Khasar delayed a while to collect four arrows from each warrior of Chagatai’s tuman, passing them on in bundles. Samuka and Ho Sa would need every one. If they could hold the Otrar garrison even until dark, perhaps Genghis would have justified the waste of men.

  As the order to remain spread among the five thousand, many heads turned to Khasar. They knew what the orders meant. He sat like a stone and was pleased to see no shouted arguments. They had learned discipline, his people, even unto death.

  Genghis dug in his heels and his pony leapt forward. Chagatai and Khasar went with him toward the brown hills where the Shah battled the generals. Behind them, the people of Otrar cheered on the walls, and only the small, grim force with Samuka and Ho Sa rode back, dwarfed by the city.

  The front ranks of the Shah’s army marched out of the pass into bright sunlight, roaring at having survived. Arrows had fallen on them in tens of thousands as they forced their way through. Their shields bristled with spent shafts and many of the men used knives to cut them to stubs as they strode on toward Otrar.

  Behind them, there was still screaming in the valley as the Mongols tore at the rear of his army, perhaps hoping the Arabs would panic and break. Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed smiled grimly at the thought. There was no shame in dying well and his men were strong in their faith. Not one of them had run from the bloody swords of the enemy. The Mongol bows had been silent at the back, and that was Allah’s mercy, at least. The Shah wondered if they had used up their arrows on Khalifa’s riders, and in his embattled state of mind, he hoped so. It was a better end for the desert thief than betrayal.

  It had taken a long time to march through the storm of shafts from Mongols perched like hawks on the cliffs. The sun was long past noon and the Shah did not know if the devils would continue their assaults into darkness. Otrar was no more than twenty miles north, and he would push his men on until the city was in sight. He would make his camp where the people of the city would know he had come to save them.

  He heard fresh death cries behind and snarled to himself. The Mongols were everywhere, and though his men had locked shields, it was hard to have an enemy killing where you could not see him. Many in the ranks looked back fearfully, but they were the best of those he could summon to war. Every one of them had fought in battles and raids. Only death would stop them reaching the city.

  From his high position on the elephant’s back, Ala-ud-Din was among the first to see Tsubodai and Jelme coming out of the mountains on his right side. He cursed under his breath, calling for his noble messengers once more. He cast a quick glance over his army, noting the strengths and regiments to hand, then nodded to the first man to ride close.

  “Tell my son Jelaudin to destroy the flanking force. He may have twelve elephants and ten thousand men under General Faisal. Tell him I will be watching.”

  The rider pressed fingers to his lips and heart before racing away to pass on the order. Ala-ud-Din turned his gaze away from the right flank, knowing his son would ride them down.

  The Shah smiled grimly as his army left the mountain pass behind. Nothing could stop him reaching Otrar. Somewhere ahead Genghis rode, but he had left it too late. Even if he was on his way, Inalchuk’s garrison would hamstring him. The Mongols were fast and more mobile than Shah Mohammed could believe, but he outnumbered them still and his men would not run while he lived.

  It would be a fine battle and Ala-ud-Din was surprised to discover he was looking forward to seeing the khan crushed. It was almost with regret that he must kill such a daring enemy. The last year had been more exciting and rewarding than any of the three before it. He sighed to himself, remembering a childhood tale of a Shah who feared black depression almost as much as the giddy heights of overconfidence. When he asked his advisers to find him a solution, they had forged a simple ring with the words “This too shall pass” cut into the gold. There was truth in such simplicity and the Shah was content as his battered army strode on to Otrar.

  Tsubodai’s columns formed into a wide charging line as they came out of the hills. The head of the Shah’s army was already in sight, but Tsubodai halted his men and made them pass arrows to the front ranks. There were very few. He had enough for three quick shots from five hundred men before it was down to swords.

  Jelme came to ride at his side as the ponies surged forward.

  “Jochi and Jebe are on the tail of this snake,” Jelme said. “Can we cut off the head?”

  “All things are possible,” Tsubodai shouted over his shoulder. “I can hardly believe this enemy has weathered so many attacks without losing formation. It is one thing more to know, General: they have extraordinary discipline, almost as good as our own. Even with a fool for a leader, they will be hard to break.”

  They had just over a mile to ride before they hit the right wing. Tsubodai calculated the time in his head. At that speed, they could reach the lines in two hundred heartbeats.

  As they bore down on the army spilling out of the pass, Tsubodai saw a great piece of it break off and face them. He frowned at a line of elephants coming to the fore, jabbed and whipped by their handlers. He felt rather than saw his men hesitate and shouted encouragement to them.

  “The heads are armored. Aim for the legs,” he called. “Anything that lives can be killed by us.” Those who heard grinned as the orders flew across the lines. The archers bent their bows in readiness, testing their strength.

  The elephants began to lumber forward, picking up speed quickly. Tsubodai saw foot soldiers running alongside them. The elephants were terrifying as they grew and grew before his eyes. Tsubodai readied his sword, swinging it lightly along his horse’s flank, so that it swished the air. He could see the tumans under Genghis coming from the north and wondered idly how the khan had left Otrar at his back.

  “Kill the elephants first!” he roared to his archers. They were ready and he felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest and throat. The sun was dipping toward the horizon and it was a good day to be alive.

  Samuka had arranged his five thousand in two groups at either end of the city, each facing the high gates set into the walls. Ho Sa commanded the second and Samuka approved of the cold face the Xi Xia officer had learned in his time with the tribes. Once both men were in position, Samuka became calm. His men had assembled rough barriers braced against rocks that would protect them from arrows while they held the gate. Samuka sighed to himself. Genghis had left him only one advantage and he would use it to the best of his ability. He ran a silk banner through his fingers, enjoying the feel of it. He could see dark faces watching him from the high towers of Otrar, and he did not think he would have long to wait.

  Genghis was not more than a few miles to the south when Samuka heard the garrison’s orders echoing inside the walls. He nodded to himself and checked his officers were ready one more time. They were as grim as their general and no one was foolish enough to think they would survive the battle to come.

  The iron door in the eastern wall opened slowly. At the same time, ran
ks of dark bowmen appeared on the walls, thousands of them. Samuka stared up indifferently, judging the numbers. In the days previously, the Mongols had cleared a path to the gate, using pikes to pull down the rubble of charred houses. It had been a good plan at the time, but they had made it easier for the inhabitants to come storming out. Samuka snapped an order and his men readied their bows, placing arrows carefully at their feet where they could be snatched up at speed. One of the makeshift wooden barriers collapsed and Samuka heard an officer swear as he sent men to brace it. Samuka smiled tightly. Genghis had placed him there and he would not be moved easily.

  He did not know if the garrison would come at just this one place or try to force Ho Sa’s gate as well, hidden from his sight. Either way, his path was set as he sat his pony just out of range and watched the iron gates pushed back. In the sunlit city beyond, ranks of well-armored men sat good Arab horses. Samuka squinted at them. They were the ones he had to destroy. Infantry could not reach Genghis in time.

  For a man who loved horseflesh, it was a bitter order, but Samuka raised his head.

  “Kill the horses,” he shouted, his voice carrying far. Like an echo, it was repeated, though for such a small force, there could not have been many who did not hear him. The Mongol ponies were little use in a crescent formation that could not move, but it was comforting to sit his saddle and Samuka would not have wanted to stand on the ground with an enemy coming at him.

  Voices roared in the city and the enemy lunged out. The gateway compressed their ranks, so that only five at a time could hit the gallop. Samuka raised his left hand, looking for the moment. A hundred men bent their bows at the gaps in the barricades. He knew he had to stagger the volleys to conserve the stock of arrows, but he wanted the first one to be terrifying.

  The garrison had planned well enough, Samuka saw. They widened their rank as they came through the gate, getting as many men out as possible in the shortest time. Samuka watched impassively as they crossed the marker he had left at a hundred paces.