His general had reached him, riding alongside and shouting questions into the wind. At first, Arik-Boke ignored the man, but then the darkness was on them and he was forced to rein in and slow to a canter, then a trot. Their horses snorted and breathed hard and the searing energy drained out of Arik-Boke, leaving a coldness deeper than he had ever felt before. Not till that moment had he seriously considered Kublai might beat him in battle. His mind filled with images of facing the scholar within the length of a sword. It was satisfying but empty, and he shook his head to clear it of foolishness. He rode on, into the night.
All around him, warriors coming the other way were streaming past, keeping their faces down in shame before those they knew. They were joining his tumans at the back in tens and hundreds, coming out of the blackness ahead. Arik-Boke saw one of them wheel his horse, turning to match the trotting line as he tried to come across it. The man was within a horse length of him and calling out before Arik-Boke knew it was Alandar. The khan’s knuckles were white on the reins as his orlok reached him, bringing a stench of fresh sweat and blood that hung on him like a cloak.
“My lord khan,” Alandar said.
He did not need to shout over the noise of the horses any longer. They were barely trotting by then, the black grass flowing under their hooves unseen. Arik-Boke almost called for torches, but there were still hundreds coming away from the battle and he did not know if they were all his own men. It would not do to light himself up in the line.
“Orlok, I revoke your rank. You will not lead again in my armies.” Arik-Boke tried to keep his voice calm, but the rage threatened to spill out of him. He wanted to see the man’s face, but the darkness was complete.
“Your will, my lord,” Alandar said, his voice unutterably weary.
“Will you report then? Must I drag it out of you word by word?” Arik-Boke’s voice grew louder as he spoke, until he was almost shouting. He sensed Alandar flinch from him.
“I’m sorry, my lord. They set a trap to draw off my warriors, with a second position to make me think I had spotted the ruse.” Alandar had worked it out by then, though he was still dazed after such a day and so tired he could barely speak at all. He could not be seen to praise the enemy, but there was a grudging respect in his voice as he went on. “They ambushed my forces once we had followed them into a valley. I saw some twelve tumans in all, under Kublai and Uriang-Khadai.”
“Were my orders not to wait until the main army came up to you, if you saw the enemy?” Arik-Boke asked. “Did I not consider exactly what has happened today?”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I thought I saw through their planning and could strike a blow for you. I saw the chance to break them and I took it. I was wrong, my lord khan.”
“You were wrong,” Arik-Boke echoed. It was too much to have the man yammering his apologies at him. He turned to the general on his other side.
“Oirakh, take this man’s weapons and bind him. I will deal with him when there is daylight to see.” He ignored the sounds of struggle as warriors closed on Alandar. Had he truly expected to live? The man was a fool.
As the crescent moon showed itself, casting a thin light, his tumans came to the edges of the battlefield Kublai had fled at the last. Some of the fallen men and horses were still alive, calling piteously for help to those who passed them. Arik-Boke picked his way carefully, slowing to a walk. The dead lay thick on the ground as he went on and he could hear wounded men sobbing with pain. The rage in him became a hard ball in his chest and stomach so that he could hardly straighten his back. Kublai’s orlok had done this thing.
At the center of the dead, Arik-Boke dismounted and called for lamps. The smell was appalling, and despite the darkness, flies were everywhere already, buzzing into the faces of his men so that they had to wave them away every few moments. Arik-Boke breathed deeply, closing his eyes as the lamps were lit around him and placed onto poles. They cast a golden glow, revealing staring eyes and cold flesh on all sides. Arik-Boke shuddered slightly as he turned on the spot, taking it in. His lips thinned in disgust and anger blinded him. His brother was responsible for all of it.
“Bring Alandar to me,” he said. He had not bothered to look in any particular direction, but the order was carried out quickly even so. Alandar was dragged in and thrown facedown at Arik-Boke’s feet.
“Were they heading north at the end?” Arik-Boke asked.
The man who had been his orlok struggled to his knees and nodded, keeping his head bowed as low as possible.
“I think so, my lord.”
“It will be Karakorum, then,” Arik-Boke muttered. “I can catch him yet.” He knew why Kublai wanted that city. Tens of thousands of women and children had formed their own slums on the plains around Karakorum, waiting for their men to return. Arik-Boke drew a long knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh. The torn flesh of his men lay all around him and there had to be reckoning, a price to pay for all of it. He knew then what he had to do.
Alandar had heard the knife come free and looked up in fear.
“My lord khan, I—” His voice choked off as Arik-Boke took him by the hair and cut his throat with powerful strokes, sawing into the flesh.
“That is enough from you,” Arik-Boke said into his ear. “Be silent now.”
Alandar jerked and struggled, the sharp smell of urine filling the air and steaming. Arik-Boke shoved him aside.
“Scouts! To me!” he roared into the night.
Two of the closest came in fast, leaping from their horses. They glanced at Alandar’s cooling body, then quickly away.
“You have ridden hard today,” Arik-Boke said. “But you will not rest tonight.”
The two scouts were both young men, not yet eighteen years of age. They nodded without speaking, awed at being in the presence of the khan.
“Take fresh horses and go to Karakorum. Use the yam stations for remounts.” He yanked a ring from his finger and tossed it to one of the young men. “You will have to pass my brother’s armies, so ride hard and fast. I want you to reach the city before him. Find the captain of my palace guard and tell him I said it was time. Do you understand? Those words, exactly. Repeat your orders.”
The two scouts chanted his words back at him and he nodded, satisfied. There was a price to pay for all things. By the time Kublai reached the city, he would learn the cost of his rebellion. Arik-Boke smiled at the thought. Perhaps Kublai’s men would mutiny when they realized what he had cost them. Arik-Boke might return to his city to find his brother already dead at their hands.
FORTY-TWO
THE NIGHT WAS COLD AND STILL AS KUBLAI RODE TOWARD Karakorum. He and his men shared twists of black meat as they went, passing skins of sour milk or clear airag to ease parched throats. There was no time to stop and acknowledge the victories of the day, not with Arik-Boke’s tumans so close behind. Kublai had seen his son for just a brief moment as Zhenjin rode past him on some errand for his minghaan officer. No doubt the man had suggested he ride close to the khan as he went. It was the sort of subtle gesture his men arranged and Kublai knew they were proud to have his son riding with them, with all the trust that implied. Kublai pitied the enemy who tried to take on that particular minghaan. They would slaughter anyone who came close to the khan’s heir.
Though his thoughts were sluggish, Kublai worked through plans as he rode. He had to get clear before dawn, but his men had fought or ridden all day and were drooping with tiredness. Without rest, he would be robbing them of their strength, ruining his army just as he needed them at their sharpest and best. He had already given orders to ride in pairs, with one man napping as the other took the reins, but they needed to dismount and sleep at least for a few hours.
Uriang-Khadai was perhaps the oldest man under his command, but in the weak moonlight, he looked fresh and stern as always. Kublai grinned wearily at him, trying to resist the lolling motion of his head that led to a sudden start as he found himself asleep. It was one advantage of the high-pommeled saddle, that it held
a sleeping man better than some designs, but he still felt he could fall if sleep took him. He yawned hugely every few moments.
“Do we know the losses yet?” he asked, more to keep himself awake than because he truly wanted to know.
“I can’t be certain until there’s light,” Uriang-Khadai replied. “I think around two tumans, or a little more.”
“In one day?” Kublai demanded, the words bursting out of him.
Uriang-Khadai did not look away. “We killed more. They have the same bows, the same skills. The toll was always going to be high.”
Kublai grimaced, raising his gaze to the stars. The numbers were appalling, as great as all his losses against the Sung. Many of them would be alive still, cold and lonely among the dead as they waited for Arik-Boke’s warriors to find them and plunge a knife into their flesh. He shuddered at the thought of such a final vigil. After years with them in the Sung territories, each one was a loss. Arik-Boke had no concept of the sort of loyalty that had grown up with his tumans over the years. He brushed the thought away, knowing he would only become enraged afresh at his foolish brother. The depth of his anger could still surprise him, but it felt like an indulgence to give it rein.
“Four days to Karakorum,” he said aloud. “And my brother’s men will be behind us all the way.”
Uriang-Khadai did not reply and Kublai realized he had not asked the man a question. It made him smile that the older man could be so tight-lipped after everything they had endured together.
“I have one more bone to throw, Orlok. Once we reach Karakorum, we can turn to defend the city and our people. I will make Arik-Boke the enemy in the eyes of the nation. And when the battle is at its height, Bayar will hit him.” In the continuing silence, Kublai sighed. “What do you think of that?”
“I think you have ten tumans or less to your brother’s twelve and more,” Uriang-Khadai said at last. “I think we are running low on arrows and lances. I cannot plan around a reserve force that has had to ride two thousand miles or more.”
“You came back from Hulegu. Bayar will get here,” Kublai said.
“And I will be pleased to see him, but we must prepare for the worst. We need weapons.”
Kublai grunted. He should have known better than to expect encouraging words. The Chagatai khanate had provided many of the supplies for his campaign. Lord Alghu had sent the Arab boys to raise the false trail of dust that played such a part in their first battle, and the food and drink they still had came from his cities. Yet Uriang-Khadai was right, arrows and lances were their most important stock and the last of them would go in one charge.
“If you can make arrows and lances appear in the next few days, I would thank you on bended knee, Orlok. Until then, there’s no point discussing it.”
Uriang-Khadai remained silent for a long time, thinking.
“There are stocks in Karakorum, enough to fill every quiver we have,” he said at last.
Kublai held back from mocking the idea. The older man knew the chances as well as he did.
“You think we could get them?” he asked.
“No, but Arik-Boke Khan could.”
Kublai winced at the words, but he nodded. “The city knows nothing of the battles out here, not yet. I could send men in his name with orders to bring new shafts and lances out on carts. That’s good, I think. That could work.”
“With your permission, I’ll send out a few scouts with the order, ones I trust to play a part.”
“You have it,” Kublai replied. He gave silent thanks for the man at his side. In the darkness, it was somehow easier to talk to him than usual. Neither man could see the other well and Kublai considered sharing the secret he had learned years before, in the archives of Karakorum. His weariness made him slur his words, but on impulse, he decided to speak.
“I found a record of your father, once,” he said. The silence seemed to swell around them until he wondered if Uriang-Khadai had even heard him. “Are you still awake?”
“I am. I know who he was. It is not something I am used to …” Uriang-Khadai’s voice trailed off.
Kublai tried to cudgel his thoughts into order, to find the right words. He had known for years that Uriang-Khadai was Tsubodai’s son, but the knowledge had never found a moment to present itself. Hearing that his orlok already knew was oddly deflating.
“I liked him, you know. He was an extraordinary man.”
“I … have heard many tales of him, my lord. He did not know me.”
“He lived his last years as a simple herdsman, did you hear that?”
“I did.” Uriang-Khadai thought for a time and Kublai kept silent. “You grew up with Genghis as your grandfather, my lord. I suppose you know about a man’s long shadow.”
“They seem like giants,” Kublai muttered. “I know the feeling very well.” It was an insight into Uriang-Khadai that he had not expected. The man had risen through the ranks without anyone’s name to help him. For the first time, Kublai felt he understood something of what drove the man.
“He would be proud of you, I think,” Kublai said.
Uriang-Khadai chuckled in the darkness.
“And Genghis would be proud of you, my lord. Now let us leave shadows to the night. We must find a river for the horses and I will fall out of the saddle if I don’t rest soon.”
Kublai laughed, yawning again at the very idea of sleep.
“Your will, Orlok. We will make our fathers and grandfathers proud, you and I.”
“Or join them,” Uriang-Khadai replied.
“Yes, or join them, one or the other.” Kublai paused for a moment, rubbing grit from his eyes. “Arik-Boke will not stop now, not with us heading for the capital. He will push his men to complete exhaustion behind us.”
“You wanted him to be desperate, with everything he has focused on the city. If Bayar does not come …”
“He will come, Orlok.”
THE THREE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED WERE SOME OF THE STRANGEST Kublai had ever known. He had been right about Arik-Boke pushing the tumans to their limits. On the second day, the armies passed four yam stations and knew they had covered a hundred miles between dawn and dusk. Scouts milled at the edges of each force, sometimes coming to blows, or drifting into range of arrows so that they were plucked from their mounts and sent sprawling to a great cheer from the nearest warriors. At sunset on the third day, the two armies were barely ten miles apart and neither could close or widen that gap. Kublai had lost count of the changes of mount as he and Uriang-Khadai did their best to keep their animals fresh, but there was never enough time to graze and they had to leave hundreds of horses when their wind broke or they went lame. All the time, he felt his brother’s breath on his neck and he could only crane into the distance, looking for Karakorum.
Sunset was hardest on the men. Kublai could not call a halt until he was absolutely certain his brother was done for the day. With the armies in such close range, he dared not rest where Arik-Boke could spring a sudden attack. His own scouts relayed the positions back to him in chains, over and over, until finally they brought the welcome news that their pursuers had stopped. Even then, Kublai insisted on going on, forcing each precious mile in sweat and stamina. His men slept like the dead under the stars and had to be kicked awake by the changing guards through the night. Men cried out in troubled sleep, worn down by the constant threat of being pursued. It sat badly with natural hunters to be hunted, while those behind grew in confidence like a wolf pack, knowing they would run them down eventually.
Kublai had welcome news from his scouts long before the tumans under his command, but he did not pass it on, knowing they would enjoy the sight of carts laden with weapons coming from Karakorum. They were guided into his spartan camp as the sun died over the mountains on the third day, greeted with whoops and shouting from his men. One climbed each cart and began throwing full quivers and lances to outstretched hands, laughing at the thought that the city had given them such a gift in error. The men driving the carts were left unto
uched and they knew better than to protest as they were shouldered aside and sent back to the city. Karakorum lay barely forty miles away and Kublai knew he would reach it by noon the following day. He wished he had thought to ask for fresh skins of airag to go with the arrows and lances, but it was enough to see the glee on his men’s faces for what they had won with trickery.
Kublai felt a great tension ease in him as he settled down for sleep that night, taking a moment to thump the grass beneath him when a lump dug into his hip. His men would fight with Karakorum in sight. They would battle an enemy just as weary as they were and they would give a good account of themselves, he was certain. Even so, he feared for them all.
Twelve men fighting ten was a rough match. The two extra tumans his brother could still field were a different proposition. Twenty thousand men would be able to pour shafts into his flanks, or hammer his men in charges while they were locked in battle. Against the Sung, he would have laughed at the numbers. Facing his own people, he struggled with despair. He had done everything he could and he thought again of the last bone he had to throw when Karakorum came into view. Somewhere out beyond the hills, Bayar had to be closing on the city. His three tumans would surely be enough to turn the battle.
He was still thinking it through when sleep took him in a black wave. Kublai knew nothing else until his son was shaking him by the shoulder and pressing a package of cold meat and hard bread into his hand. It was not yet dawn, but the scouts were blowing horns to signal that Arik-Boke’s camp was getting ready to move.
The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle Page 215