Empire of Silver c-4

by Conn Iggulden

  He felt his charge slowing as the Mongol warriors were hemmed in. Every step brought more Russian warriors against their flanks, stretching their force thinner and thinner, like a needle into flesh that gripped it tight. Batu felt fear rise in his throat like acid. He grabbed a shield of leather and wood and yanked it towards him with his left hand, stabbing down over the edge into the man behind it. He thrust the blade with all his fury and then punched with the hilt, so that the enemy fell away, his face a mass of blood.

  Three warriors stayed in line with him as he forced his mount another four steps forward, killing a man to make space. Without warning, one of his companions was gone, taken by an arrow in the throat and falling backwards out of the saddle so that the horse snorted and lashed out with its hooves, its own panic growing. It was time. It was surely time. Batu looked around him. Had he done enough? The agony of the choice ate at him. He could not come back too early and face Tsubodai's stern expression. Better to die than have that man consider he had lost his nerve.

  It had always been hard to look in the eyes of a man who had known Genghis. How could he ever match up to those memories? The grandfather who had conquered a nation, who had never known Batu at all. The father who had betrayed the nation and been killed like a dog in the snow. It was time.

  Batu took a sword blow on his armoured sleeve, letting it slide uselessly past him as he gashed the arm that held it. More blood coated him and there was screaming everywhere. The Russians he faced were pale with rage or fear, holding heavy shields that bristled with Mongol arrows. Batu turned to begin the retreat and, for a single moment, he saw through the ranks of enemies to where the blond leader sat calmly watching him, a huge sword ready across his saddle horns.

  Tsubodai had never expected the spearhead to get so close. Batu saw that his men were ready to cut their way back. Though he bore no marks of rank that would have made him the target for every Russian archer, his warriors watched him, risking their lives to glance his way. Most of the Russians were still facing the front, where the tumans were clashing with them. They would howl and chase as the Mongols turned to run, but Batu thought his men would win through, beginning the rout. He was so close. Who would have thought his spearhead thrust could reach the Russian prince?

  Batu took a deep breath. 'No retreat!' he roared, warning his men.

  He dug in his heels and his pony kicked out with its front hooves, knocking a shield from its owner's broken fingers. Batu lunged for the gap, swinging his blade wildly. Something hit him from the side and he felt a wave of pain that vanished before he knew whether it was serious. He saw the blond leader raise his sword and shield and the enormous horse snorted. The Russian prince had decided not to wait, his blood lighting up at the challenge. His own shield-bearers were knocked to one side as the warhorse started forward.

  Batu yelled in excitement, a babble of insult and fury. He had not known if he could break through the final solid ranks, but there was the prince himself coming to cut down the impudent horsemen. Batu saw the man's sword rise up behind his shoulder. The two horses were head-on, but Batu's mount was weary and battered, bruised by constant impact and the thousand scrapes and cuts that came from running through a fighting line.

  Batu brought his own sword high, trying to remember Tsubodai's words on the weaknesses of knights. The blond-bearded man seemed like a giant as he came closer, wrapped in steel and unstoppable. Yet he wore no helmet and Batu was young and fast. As the Russian blade swept down with enough force to cut him in half, Batu nudged his pony to the right, away from the sweeping sword. His own blade licked out in a thrust, holding it just long enough to caress the man's throat under the beard.

  Batu swore as his weapon scraped across metal. A piece of the beard had been cut loose, but the man himself was untouched, though he roared in shock. The horses were passing in the press, unable to ride free, but both men were side-on to each other, their weaker left sides exposed. The prince's sword came back up, but he was slow and heavy. Before he could land a blow, Batu had struck three times into his face, chopping at the cheeks and teeth, cutting away part of the jaw. The Russian prince lurched as Batu hammered at his armour, denting the plate metal that protected his chest.

  The prince's face was a bloody ruin, his teeth broken and his jaw hanging loose. He would surely die from such a terrible wound, but his eyes cleared and he swung his left arm like a mace. Clad in iron, it struck Batu across the chest. He was guiding his pony with pressure from his knees and he had no reins. The high wooden saddle horns saved him and he twisted at an impossible angle. His sword had gone and he could not remember it leaving his hand. Spitting anger, he pulled a blade from a sheath on his calf and jammed it into the red mess of the prince's jaw, sawing back and forth at the blond beard that was thick and shining red.

  The prince fell and a wail of horror went up from his shield-bearers and retainers. Batu raised both hands in victory, roaring long and loud at being alive and victorious. He did not know what Tsubodai was doing, or what the orlok would think. It had been Batu's decision and the prince had faced him. He had defeated a strong and powerful enemy and, for a time, he did not care if the Russians killed him. It was Batu's moment and he relished it.

  At first, he did not see the ripple that spread across the Russians as the word spread. For half the army, it had happened behind them and the news of the death of the prince had to be shouted from unit to unit. Before Batu lowered his arms, some of the furthest nobles had turned their mounts and begun to withdraw, taking thousands of fresh horsemen with them. Those who tried to continue the fight saw them go and shouted angrily across the battlefield, blowing horns. The prince was dead and his armies shook with the suddenness of the omen. This was not to be their day, their victory. They went from determined fighters to frightened men as they heard, backing away from Tsubodai's tumans while they waited to be rallied, to have someone else take command.

  It did not happen. Tsubodai sent minghaans racing along the flanks, the wiry ponies spattering clots of earth like rain as they went. Arrows poured into the Russian ranks once again and Tsubodai's heavy horse peeled off from the front and then came back in spearpoints like the one Batu had led into the heart of their army. Three separate strikes tore at the milling ranks. Even then, the defenders were half-hearted. They had seen their senior noblemen leaving and regiments and units beginning to withdraw. It was too much to ask that they stay to be slaughtered. Someone else could take the brunt of the Mongol warriors, now that their blood was up. More and more Russians marched clear, looking back at the shrinking heart where their companions still rode and died. It was enough. The prince was dead and they had done enough. Tsubodai watched calmly as the Russian army fell apart. He wondered how his own tumans would fare if he was seen to fall, but he knew the answer. They would go on. They would endure. In the tumans, the warriors hardly ever saw the orlok or even their own generals. They knew the leader of their ten, a man they had elected among themselves. They knew the officer of the hundred, perhaps even the minghaan officer by sight. Those were the ones who spoke with authority, not some distant commander. Tsubodai knew that if he fell, the nation would complete his task and promote another to lead in his stead. It was a cold business, but the alternative was to witness the destruction of an army from the death of one man.

  Tsubodai sent messengers to his generals, congratulating them as they took new orders. He wondered if those who had left the field expected him to let them go. He could not always understand the foreign soldiers he encountered, though he learned everything he could. He knew that some of them might expect to return to their homes, but that was foolish. Why leave alive men who could one day face you again? That was war as a game, and Tsubodai knew it would be a long hunt, weeks or even months, before his men had killed the last of them. He did not need to teach them their foolishness, only to destroy them and move on. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. He would have to face Batu, if the young man still lived. He had disobeyed his orders. Tsubodai wondered
if he could have a general whipped after handing him such a victory.

  Tsubodai looked around as men cheered nearby. His lips thinned in irritation as he saw Batu was at the centre of it. Half the Russian army was still in the field and his minghaans were passing around wineskins and whooping like children.

  Tsubodai turned his horse and trotted slowly towards the scene. Silence fell among those he passed as they realised the orlok was among them. His bannermen unfurled long strips of silk that fluttered and snapped in the breeze.

  Batu sensed or heard the approach. He had already begun to feel the battering he had taken. One eye and cheek were swelling, making his face look lopsided. He was filthy with blood, sweat and the strong smell of wet horses. Scales from his armour hung loose and he had a line of crusted red marking the skin from one ear down into his tunic. Yet he was jubilant and the sour face of Tsubodai could not spoil his mood.

  'General, you are throwing away a morning,' Tsubodai said.

  The men around Batu choked off their cheering. As it died away, Tsubodai continued coldly.

  'Pursue the enemy, general. Let not one of them escape. Locate their baggage and camp and secure it from looting.'

  Batu looked at him, suddenly quiet.

  'Well, general?' Tsubodai went on. 'Will you face them again tomorrow, when you have thrown away this advantage? Will you allow them to reach the safety of Moscow or Kiev? Or will you hunt the Russians down now, with the other tumans under my command?'

  The warriors around Batu turned away with sudden jerkiness, like boys caught stealing. They would not look at Tsubodai and only Batu held his gaze. Tsubodai expected some sort of retort, but he misjudged his man.

  Another group of riders came cantering across the lines. The slaughter of the enemy was beginning, with lancers and archers picking them off almost as sport. Tsubodai saw that the group was led by the khan's son, Guyuk, his face fixed on Batu as he approached. He did not seem to see Tsubodai.

  'Batu Bahadur!' Guyuk called, bringing his horse alongside. 'That was very fine, cousin. I saw it all. By the sky father, I thought you would never make it back, but when you reached the nobleman!' Lost for words, he clapped Batu on the back, patting him in admiration. 'I will put it in the reports to my father. What a moment it was!'

  Batu glanced at Tsubodai to see how he was taking such generous praise. Guyuk noticed and turned.

  'My congratulations on such a victory, Tsubodai,' Guyuk said. He was bluff and cheerful, apparently unaware of the strained moment he had interrupted. 'What a stroke! Did you see any of it? I thought I would choke when I saw the prince come forward to take him on.'

  Tsubodai inclined his head in acknowledgement. 'Even so, the Russians must not be allowed to regroup. It is time to pursue, to hunt them all the way to Moscow. Your tuman will ride out as well, general.'

  Guyuk shrugged. 'A hunt, then. It has been a good day.'

  Oblivious, he thumped Batu on the shoulder again and rode clear with his men, bawling orders to another group to come with him. The quiet swelled as he moved away and Batu grinned as he waited. Tsubodai said nothing, and Batu nodded to himself, turning his horse and joining his minghaan officers. He left Tsubodai staring after him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sorhatani swept around the corner in full array, sons and servants marching with her. She was a member of the khan's own family by marriage! She had thought he might never return from Chin lands. For the longest time, they seemed to have swallowed his army, with no word of their return. Yet when he came home at last, there was no summons, nothing from him at all. She would not accept any other delays from petty, pompous officials. Her messengers and servants had been baulked and sent back without even an excuse. Finally, she had come to Karakorum herself.

  Instead of simply being allowed to see the khan, to talk of the grief and loss they shared, she had been stopped by a Chin official with jowls and soft hands. What was Ogedai thinking in using such perfumed courtiers in his own palace? What sort of message of strength would that send to those less benign than Sorhatani?

  The courtier had stopped her once, but today all four of her sons were with her. She would see Ogedai today! No matter his sorrow, she could share it. The khan had lost a brother, but she had lost her husband, the father to her sons. If there had ever been a time when Ogedai could be persuaded of anything, it was then. The idea was intoxicating. A man with as much power as Genghis lay in his rooms like a broken reed. The palace was full of rumours that he hardly even spoke or ate. Whoever reached him could surely have whatever they wanted, yet he had given orders to keep visitors away. Well, she would tell him how the insult had hurt her and begin the negotiations with that. One last corner lay ahead in the labyrinth of the palace corridors. She passed under painted murals without looking up, her concentration focused on more important things.

  The final corridor was a long one and in the stone halls the footsteps of her group echoed back. Though she saw there were men and Guards in front of the polished copper door, Sorhatani stormed on, forcing her sons to keep up. Let the fat little courtier sweat when he heard her coming. The khan was her brother-in-law, ill and weak in sadness. How dare a Chin eunuch bar her entry to her own family?

  As she approached, she looked in vain for the brightcoloured silks the man preferred. She almost missed a step as she saw Yao Shu was there in his place. There was no sign of the man with whom she had argued that very morning. Yao Shu had turned to face her, his attitude clear from his stance. Sorhatani revised her plan as she went, shedding anger like a snakeskin with every step.

  By the time she reached the shining metal door, she was walking at a normal pace and smiled as sweetly as she knew how at the khan's chancellor. Still, she seethed to have another Chin stop her at the door, especially one with such authority. Yao Shu could not be browbeaten into submission, nor threatened. She did not have to look at her younger sons to know they were cowed by the man who had tutored them. At one time or other, Yao Shu had thrashed all four of the boys for some transgression. He had beaten Kublai like a rug when the boy put a scorpion in the chancellor's boot.

  Now he faced her, his face as forbidding as the Guards at his sides.

  'The khan is not receiving visitors today, Sorhatani. I am sorry you came across the city. I did send a runner at dawn to warn you not to come.'

  Sorhatani hid her irritation behind a smile. Giving her a house well away from the palace was another sign of voices other than Ogedai's at work. The khan would have given her rooms in the palace if he knew she had come, she was certain.

  Sorhatani rose to the challenge in Yao Shu's impassive face.

  'What plot is this?' she hissed at him. 'Have you murdered the khan, Yao Shu? How is it that only Chin men seem to roam the corridors of Karakorum these days?'

  As Yao Shu took a breath in shock, she spoke to her sons without looking away from the chancellor.

  'Ready your swords, Mongke, Kublai. I do not trust this man any longer. He claims the khan will not see the wife of his beloved brother.'

  She heard the jingle of metal behind her, but more importantly, she saw the sudden doubt come into the faces of the Mongol Guards on either side of Yao Shu.

  'The khan has an army of servants, scribes, concubines and wives.' she said. 'Yet where is his wife Torogene? Why is she not here to tend him in his illness? How is it that I can find no one who can say they have seen him alive for days, even weeks?'

  It thrilled her to see Yao Shu's unnatural control crack at the accusations. He was immediately flustered, off balance as her words struck.

  'The khan has been very ill, as you say,' he replied. 'He has asked for quiet in his palace. I am his chancellor, Sorhatani. It is not up to me to say where his family has gone, or to discuss it in a corridor.'

  She saw that he was truly struggling with difficult orders and she pressed on, sensing the weak point of the man's essential kindness.

  'You say the family have gone, Yao Shu? Guyuk is with Tsubodai. I do not know
Ogedai's daughters, or the children of other wives. Torogene is not here then?'

  His eyes flickered at the simple question.

  'I see,' she went on. 'The summer palace perhaps, on the Orkhon river. Yes, that is where I would have sent her if I intended to steal power in this city, Yao Shu. If I intended to murder the khan in his bed and replace him with who? His brother Chagatai? He would be here in an instant. Is that your plan? What lies beyond this door, Yao Shu? What have you done?'

  Her voice had risen, louder and higher. Yao Shu winced at the strident tone, but he was at a loss. He could not have the Guards take her away by force, not with her sons ready to defend their mother. The first one to lay a hand on Sorhatani would lose it, that much was obvious. Mongke in particular was no longer the sullen boy he had known. Yao Shu deliberately kept his eyes on Sorhatani, but he could feel Mongke staring coldly at him, daring him to meet his gaze.

  'I must follow the orders I have been given, Sorhatani,' Yao Shu tried again. 'No one is to pass through this door. No one is to be granted an audience with the khan. He does not have to answer to you and neither do I. Now please, spend the day in the city, rest and eat. Perhaps he will see you tomorrow.'

  Sorhatani tensed as if to attack him. Yet Yao Shu had not been made weak with his duties. Her sons had told her how he snatched an arrow from the bowstring in the palace gardens. It seemed an age ago, when her husband was still alive. She felt tears start in her eyes and blinked them away. This was a time for anger, not sorrow. She knew if she let herself start weeping, she would not pass the door that day.