CHAPTER 4
THE WIND SCREAMED AROUND THE CARTS, carrying a fine mist of sand that made the men and women spit constantly and wince at the grit in their food. Flies tormented them all, tasting the salt from their sweat and leaving red marks where they had bitten. During the day, the Uighurs had shown them how to protect their faces with cloth, leaving only their eyes to peer out at the bleak landscape, shimmering with heat. Those who wore armor found their helmets and neckpieces too hot to touch, but they did not complain.
After a week, the army of Genghis climbed a range of rust-colored hills to enter a vast plain of rippled dunes. Though they had hunted in the foothills, game had become rare as the heat increased. On the blistering sand, the only sign of life was tiny black scorpions scuttling away from their ponies and vanishing into holes. Time and again the carts became bogged down and had to be dug out in the full heat of the day. It was backbreaking work, but every hour lost was one that brought them closer to running out of water.
They had filled thousands of bloated goatskins, tied with sinew and baked hard in the sun. With no other source, the supply dwindled visibly, and in the heat, many of the skins were found to have burst under the weight of the rest. They had carried only enough for twenty days, and already twelve had passed. The warriors drank the blood of their mounts every second day as well as a few cupfuls of warm, brackish water, but they were close to the edge of endurance and became dazed and listless, their lips dry enough to bleed.
Genghis rode with his brothers at the head of the army, squinting into the glare for some sign of the mountains he had been told to expect. The Uighurs had traded deep into the desert, and he depended on Barchuk to guide them. He frowned to himself as he considered the endless flat basin of rippled black and yellow, stretching all the way to the horizon. The heat of the day was the worst he had known; his skin had darkened and his face was seamed in new lines of dirt and sand. He had almost been glad of the cold on the first night, until it grew so biting that the furs in the gers gave little protection. The Uighurs had shown the other tribesmen how to heat rocks in the fire and then sleep on a layer of them as they cooled. More than a few warriors had brown patches on their backs where the rocks had burned their deels, but the cold had been beaten and if they survived the constant thirst, the desert held nothing else that could stop them coming. Genghis wiped his mouth at intervals as he rode, shifting a pebble in his cheek to keep the spittle flowing.
He glanced behind him as Barchuk rode up to his side. The Uighurs had covered the eyes of their ponies with cloth, and the animals rode blind. Genghis had tried that with his own mounts, but those who had not experienced it before bucked and snorted at the cloth until it was removed, then suffered through the hot days. Many of the animals had developed crusts of whitish-yellow muck on their eyelids and would need healing salves if they ever found their way out of the desert. Hardy as they were, they had to be given their share of precious water. On foot, the new nation would die in the desert.
Barchuk pointed to the ground, jabbing his hand and raising his voice over the unremitting wind. “Do you see the blue flecks in the sand, lord?”
Genghis nodded, his mouth too dry to speak.
“They mark the beginning of the last stage before the Yinshan Mountains. There is copper here. We have traded it with the Xi Xia.”
“How much further then before we see these mountains?” Genghis asked hoarsely, refusing to let his hopes rise.
Barchuk shrugged with Mongol impassivity. “We have no certain knowledge, but merchants from Xi Xia are still fresh when they cross our trails in this place, their horses barely marked with dust. It cannot be far now.”
Genghis looked back over his shoulder at the silent mass of riders and carts. He had brought sixty thousand warriors into the desert, as many again of their wives and children. He could not see the end of the tail that stretched back for miles, the forms blurring into one another until they were no more than a dark smear wavering in the heat.
The water was almost gone and soon they would have to slaughter the herds, taking only what meat they could carry and leaving the rest on the sands. Barchuk followed his gaze and chuckled.
“They have suffered, lord, but it will not be long now before we are knocking at the doors of the Xi Xia kingdom.”
Genghis snorted wearily to himself. The Uighur khan’s knowledge had brought them into this bleak place, but they still had only his word that the kingdom was as rich and fertile as he said. No warriors of the Uighur had been allowed to travel beyond the mountains that bordered the desert to the south, and Genghis had no way to plan his attack. He considered this irritably as his horse sent another scorpion skittering over the sand. He had staked them all on the chance at a weak point in the Chin defenses, but he still wondered what it would be like to see a great city of stone, as tall as a mountain. Against such a thing, his horsemen might only stare in frustration.
The sand under his pony’s hooves grew blue-green as they rode, great stripes of the strange colors stretching away in all directions. When they stopped to eat, the children threw it into the air and drew pictures with sticks. Genghis could not share their pleasure, as the supply of water dwindled and each night was spent shivering despite the hot rocks.
There was little to amuse the army before they fell into weary sleep. Twice in twelve days, Genghis had been called to settle some dispute between tribes as heat and thirst made tempers flare. Both times, he had executed the men involved and made it clear that he would not allow anything to threaten the peace of the camp. He considered them to have entered enemy lands, and if the officers could not handle a disturbance, his involvement meant a ruthless outcome. The threat was enough to keep most of the hotheaded warriors from outright disobedience, but his people had never been easy to rule and too many hours in silence made them fractious and difficult.
As the fourteenth dawn brought the great heat once more, Genghis could only wince as he threw off his blankets and scattered the stones under him to be collected for the next night by his servants. He felt stiff and tired, with a film of grit on his skin that made him itch. When little Jochi stumbled into him in some game with his brothers, Genghis cuffed him hard, sending him weeping to his mother for solace. They were all short-tempered in the desert heat, and only Barchuk’s promises of a green plain and a river at the end kept their eyes on the horizon, reaching out to it in imagination.
On the sixteenth day, a low rise of black hills appeared. The Uighur warriors riding as scouts came back at a canter, their mounts sending up puffs of sand and laboring through its grip. Around them, the land was almost green with copper, and black rocks poked through like sharp blades. Once more the families could see lichen and scrub bushes clinging to life in the shadow of the rocks, and at dawn the hunters brought hares and voles caught in their night traps. The mood of the families lifted subtly, but they were all suffering from thirst and sore eyes, so that tempers remained foul in the camp. Despite their tiredness, Genghis increased the patrols around the main force and had the men drill and practice with their bows and swords. The warriors were dark and whip-thin from the desert, but they took to the work with grim endurance, each man determined not to fail under the eyes of the great khan. Slowly, imperceptibly, the pace increased once more, while the heavier carts drifted to the rear of the procession.
As they drew closer to the hills, Genghis saw that they were far higher than he had realized. They were made of the same black rock that broke through the sand around him, sharp and steep. Climbing them was impossible and he knew there would have to be a pass through the peaks or he would be forced to travel right around their length. With their water supply almost gone, the carts were lighter, but he knew they had to find Barchuk’s valley quickly or they would begin to die. The tribes had accepted him as khan, but if he had brought them to a place of heat and death, if he had killed them, they would take revenge while they still had the strength. Genghis rode straight-backed in the saddle, his mouth a mass of
sores. Behind him, the tribes muttered sullenly.
Kachiun and Khasar squinted through the heat-hazed air at the foot of the cliffs. With two of the scouts, they had ridden ahead of the main army to look for a pass. The scouts were experienced men and the sharp eyes of one had pointed out a promising cut between peaks. It started well enough as the steep slopes gave way into a narrow canyon that echoed to the hooves of the four riders. On either side, the rocks extended up toward the sky, too high for a man to climb alone, never mind with carts and horses. It took no special skill in tracking to see the ground had been worn away in a wide path, and the small group kicked their mounts into a canter, expecting to be able to report a way through to the Xi Xia kingdom beyond the hills
As they rode around a kink in the trail, the scouts drew rein in astonishment, awed to silence. The end of the canyon was blocked by a huge wall of the same black stone as the mountains themselves. Each block on its own would have been heavier than anything the tribes could move, and the wall seemed strange, somehow wrong to their eyes. They had no craftsmen who worked in stone. With its neat lines and smooth surfaces, it was clearly the work of man, but the sheer size and scale was something they had only seen in wild rocks and valleys. At the base was the final proof that it was not a natural thing. A gate of black iron and wood was set into the base of the wall, ancient and strong.
“Look at the size of it!” Kachiun said, shaking his head. “How are we going to get through that?”
The scouts merely shrugged and Khasar whistled softly to himself.
“It would be easy to trap us in this spiritless place. Genghis must be told quickly, before he follows us in.”
“He’ll want to know if there are warriors up there, brother. You know it.”
Khasar eyed the steep slopes at either side, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It was easy to imagine men dropping stones from the top, and there would be no way to avoid them. He considered the pair of scouts who had accompanied them into the canyon. They had been warriors of the Kerait before Genghis had claimed them. Now they waited impassively for orders, hiding their awe at the size of the wall ahead.
“Perhaps they just built it to block an army from the desert,” Khasar said to his brother. “It might be unmanned.”
As he spoke one of the scouts pointed, directing their gaze to a tiny figure moving along the top of the wall. It could only be a soldier and Khasar felt his heart sink. If there was another pass, Barchuk did not know of it, and finding a way past the mountains would see the army of Genghis begin to wither. Khasar made his decision, knowing it could mean the lives of the two scouts.
“Ride to the foot of the wall, then come straight back,” he said to them. The two men bowed their heads, exchanging a glance in expressionless faces. As one, they dug in their heels and called “Chuh!” to make their mounts run. Sand spattered into the air as they began their race to the foot of the black wall and Khasar and Kachiun watched through eyes slitted against the glare.
“Do you think they will reach it?” Kachiun asked.
Khasar shrugged without speaking, too intent on watching the wall.
Kachiun thought he saw a sharp gesture from the distant guard. The scouts had the sense not to ride together, taking a split path at full gallop and veering right and left to spoil the aim of any archers. For a long time, there was no sound but the echoes of their hooves, and the brothers watched with held breath.
Kachiun swore as a line of archers appeared on the wall.
“Come on,” he urged under his breath. Dark specks flashed down at the two scouts riding wildly in, and Kachiun saw one of them swerve recklessly as he reached the great gate. They could see him slam his fist into the wood as he turned his mount, but the archers were loosing in waves and an instant later he and his horse were pinned with a dozen shafts. The dying man cried out and his mount began the trip back, missing a step and stumbling as it was hit again and again. They fell at last almost together, lying still on the sand.
The second scout was luckier, though he had not touched the wall. For a time, it looked as if he might escape the shafts, and Khasar and Kachiun shouted to him. Then he jerked in the saddle and his horse reared and collapsed, its legs kicking as it rolled over him.
The horse made it back to its feet and limped back to the brothers, leaving the scout’s body broken behind it.
Khasar dismounted and took the loose reins. The leg was broken and the pony would not be ridden again. In silence Khasar tied the reins to his saddle. He wasn’t going to leave the animal behind with so many mouths to feed in the camp.
“We have our answer, brother,” Khasar muttered, “though it’s not the one I wanted. How are we going to get through them?”
Kachiun shook his head. “We will find a way,” he said, glancing back to the dark line of archers watching them. Some of them raised their arms, though whether in mockery or salute, he could not tell. “Even if we have to take it down, stone by stone.”
As soon as Khasar and Kachiun were sighted riding alone, the forces of Genghis were halted in their tracks. Before they could reach the outer lines of mounted warriors, the brothers passed skirmisher groups who remained staring outwards at the mountains they left behind. Genghis and his officers had learned hard lessons in the years of building the tribes into a single army, and galloping boys raced ahead to tell him they were coming in.
Neither man replied to those who called to them. Grim and silent, they rode to their brother’s ger, sitting like a white limpet on its cart. When they reached it, Khasar dismounted in a jump and glanced at the man who stepped forward to take the reins.
“Tsubodai,” he said in greeting, forcing a smile. The young warrior seemed nervous and Khasar recalled he had been promised armor and a good horse. He grimaced at the timing.
“We have many things to discuss with the khan. Claim your horse another time.”
Tsubodai’s face fell with disappointment and Khasar snorted, catching him by the shoulder as he turned away. He recalled the boy’s courage in leaping among the sons of the Woyela. It was a favor he could repay.
“Perhaps there will be a moment when we are done. Come with me, then, if you can be silent.”
Tsubodai regained his grin on the instant, tinged with nervousness at meeting the great khan himself. With a dry mouth, he climbed the steps of the cart and followed the brothers into the shadowed interior.
Genghis was ready for them, his young messenger still panting at his side.
“Where are the scouts?” he demanded, taking in their serious expressions.
“Dead, brother. And the pass is guarded by a wall of black stone as high as a hundred gers, maybe more.”
“We saw perhaps fifty archers drawn out,” Kachiun added. “They were not skilled, as we know it, but they could hardly miss. The wall lies at the end of a narrow pass, a gorge between steep sides of rock. I could not see a way to flank them.”
Genghis frowned, rising from his seat. He made a clicking sound in his throat as he stepped across the ger and passed out into the bright sun. Khasar and Kachiun followed him out, hardly noticing the wide-eyed Tsubodai on their heels.
Genghis stood on the blue-green sand below them, looking up. He held a stick in his hands and gestured with it, drawing a line on the ground.
“Show me,” he ordered.
It was Kachiun who took the stick and drew in neat strokes. Khasar watched in fascination as his brother re-created the canyon he had seen a few hours before. To one side, Kachiun drew a copy of the arched gate and Genghis rubbed his chin in irritation.
“We could tear the carts up to make wooden shields to get men close,” he said doubtfully.
Kachiun shook his head. “That would bring us to the gate against their shafts, but once we were there, they could drop stones on us. From that height, a few planks would be smashed to pieces.”
Genghis raised his head, gazing over the ranks of the families to the treeless expanse of the desert in all directions. They had nothing with whi
ch to build.
“Then we will have to draw them out,” he said. “A staged retreat, with valuable items left in our wake. I will send in men in the best armor and they will survive the arrows, but be driven back by them in panic, with much shouting.” He smiled at the prospect. “It will teach our warriors a little humility, perhaps.”
Kachiun rubbed his boot along the edge of the drawing. “It might work if we could know when they open the gate, but the canyon twists. As soon as we are out of sight, we’ll have no way of knowing when they come out. If I could get a couple of boys onto the crags at the sides, they could signal to us, but it is a vicious climb and there’s no cover on those rocks. They would be seen.”
“May I speak, lord?” Tsubodai said suddenly.
Khasar started in indignation. “I told you to be silent. Can you not see this is important?” The gaze of all three men turned on the young warrior, and he blushed darkly.
“I am sorry. I thought of a way we might know when they come out.”
“Who are you?” Genghis asked.
Tsubodai’s voice wavered as he bowed his head. “Tsubodai of the Uriankhai, lord.” He caught himself in embarrassment. “Of the nation, lord, I—” Genghis held up a hand. “I remember. Tell me what you are thinking.”
With a visible effort, Tsubodai swallowed his nervousness and told them. It surprised him that they had not thought of it. The gaze of Genghis in particular seemed to bore into him, and he ended staring away into the middle distance.
Tsubodai suffered in silence while the three men considered. After an age, Genghis nodded.
“That could work,” he said, grudgingly. Tsubodai seemed to grow a little taller.
Khasar flashed a smile at the younger man, as if he were responsible for his cleverness.
“See to it, Kachiun,” Genghis said. He grinned at Tsubodai’s pride. “Then I will ride to see this place you describe.” His mood changed as he considered destroying some of the carts that had carried the families across the desert. With wood so scarce, each one was much mended and handed down through the generations. There was no help for it.
Gengis: Lords of the Bow Page 6