Casca 34: Devil's Horseman (9 page)

As Casca came up alongside Subedei, he was reminded of the conversation they’d had a few days back. Subedei had warned him not to task Batu in seeking out the perpetrators of the trashing of his yurt; he’d called off the investigations almost as soon as they’d begun. Casca, irritated, had asked why. Subedei had explained he didn’t want to cause any unrest between the princes. To investigate them would cause dissent and maybe a defection or desertion from one or more of the princes, and Subedei could ill-afford that. So nothing was to be said.

Casca hadn’t been pleased but could see the fat commander’s point of view. Batu had kept his distance from Casca, shooting him a sly glance every so often. Casca wondered about him; it hadn’t occurred to him that Batu might want the Stone, but then come to that, any of the ten princes in the army would give their right eye for it. He didn’t think all of them knew that he had it, as whoever was hunting him for it wanted it for themselves and didn’t want any rival to know. So he probably thought only one of them knew. If only he knew which one it were.

“You do not wish to be on horseback, Old Young One?” Subedei asked, surprised.

“I prefer to fight on foot,” Casca said shortly. He was still pissed at Subedei.

“Only peasants fight on foot,” Kuyuk commented a little way to the rear. One or two of the princes smirked.

“Young Prince, get off your horse and I’ll show you who is the peasant.”

Kuyuk sneered and ignored Casca. By his side his brother Kadan was laughing contemptuously, and on the other side the absurdly young Buri was giving him a look of utter disgust.

“Pay no attention to them,” Subedei waved a lazy arm, “they are full of pre-battle frustration. Once the signal to attack comes they’ll be your best friends.” His words brought laughter, not much of it pleasant.

Casca spat into the snow.
“I’m going to find that disrespectful Russian who insulted me and your ambassador, Subedei. I shall show you all what happens to those who insult me.” He held Kuyuk’s gaze, and the Mongol half sneered, then, unsettled, looked away.

Mongke walked his horse forward. “Do not get separated from the main body of the army, Old Young One. We would not forgive ourselves if you became lost and someone cut you down and we were not able to find you.”

“Thank you for your concern, Prince Mongke, but I have my personal guard and I do not die, as you should know.”

Mongke nodded, and returned to his place, smiling. Casca was as unsettled by that as by Kuyuk’s hostility.

With a crash the portion of the ramparts opposite fell forward, engulfed in flames. A growl rose from the ranks of waiting Mongols and the horses became even more fractious. Casca strode forward to where the waiting infantry stood. Here were the foot soldiers, armed with pikes, swords, spears and bows, who were to be the first into the breach. Their task was to create a gap big enough for the cavalry to ride through, into the city. Casca took up his position at their head, Kaidur and the other guards by his side. The infantry recognized Casca and stood up straighter. An honor indeed, that The Old Young One was to lead them into battle! Looks were exchanged and more than a few smiles broke out on their faces.

The Noyan leading them bowed once to Casca who bowed back.

Then Batu raised his arm and brought it down viciously.

With a roar thousands of Mongols sprang forward, straight for the still burning breach.

The Russians blocked the gap, desperation on their faces. They had an array of spears and pikes pointing at the onrushing infantry, and archers stood back slightly, raising their bows to shoot over the head of the men in the breach.

Casca ran alongside the howling mass of men, his blood pounding through his veins. Part of a huge organism, he roared at the top of his voice, exulting to be part of this unit of men, all pumped up and ready to kill.

Arrows arced through the air, cutting down a score or more of onrushing Mongols. The Mongol archers loosed off their own missiles, and a cloud of arrows hammered into the blackened and smoldering wood, the burning buildings, and the men trying to stop the attackers getting into Riazan. Bodies fell at the gap,
then no more arrows came as the attackers closed in on the defenders.

Casca leaped over a fallen blackened charred length of wood that had fallen from the ramparts, and pushed into the back of the man in front. Blades rose and fell ahead of him and the screams began. Casca shoved the man ahead of him aside impatiently and stepped up onto the hot pile of timbers that still glowed. Smoke was rising from them but it was scattered into the air by the movement of the fighting men. A Mongol alongside Casca was impaled on a pike and cried out horribly. Casca cut down hard and sliced the shaft in two, then brought his blade down again, severing the Russian’s neck, cutting deep. Blood spattered onto his sword and the Russian staggered back, clutching the wound.

Other defenders stepped into the gap. Kaidur took on one while Casca went for the other, a short man wearing a bearskin cloak. He had a mace and flailed at the Eternal Mercenary’s head. Casca blocked it and slammed his free hand into the Russian’s face, crushing his nose. The Russian screamed and dropped his mace, clutching his ruined face. Casca slid his blade into the Russian’s side and jerked it out, leaving the luckless man to fall into the churned up mud.

The sheer weight of the Mongol infantry had pushed the defenders back and now the Russians had split in two and were being pressed back on either side, opening out a gap that was getting bigger and bigger, allowing more of the infantry in. Casca hacked at the man opposite him. The defender desperately blocked the rapid strikes, but he’d never faced anything like this before. His sword was raised up across his head, trying to stop his head being cut in two. Casca changed stance, planted his right foot further forward and slashed across the man’s waist.

The Russian folded over in pain and sank to his knees. Casca stepped past him, now clear of the breach and into the street. Kaidur and four of the guards close behind. “Where’s the other one?” Casca shouted above the din of battle.

“He fell,” Kaidur said grimly.

There wasn’t much to say about that, Casca realized. Instead he waved the men on. “Let’s go find that bearded Russian who insulted us.”

They pushed into the city, just as the horde of mounted Mongols came crashing through the gap, shooting off arrows in all directions, riding down hapless citizens. Houses were set on fire and Mongols dismounted to kick doors in and take care of the occupants. Casca pulled a face and led his men up a flight of roughly hewn wooden steps to the ramparts where Casca had seen the bearded man during the parleys.

Here the damage to the walkway wasn’t as bad, although splintered sections littered the route. A few dark entrances to guard houses stood here, and they quickly checked them but found no one. Everyone had gone to try to stop the attack or had fled to their homes.

They went down the next stair case and emerged in between two large log buildings. Mongols raced along the streets, shouting in glee, while buildings burned all round, the sky blackening with smoke. Screams punctuated the air and with eyes watering through the smoke, Casca led his small group along towards the center of the city.

They came across three Mongols pinning a screaming woman to the ground, ripping her clothing off and preparing to rape her. Casca slammed the pommel of his sword into the neck of the first, stunning him, while he backhanded the second, knocking him backwards, splitting his lips. The third got to his feet hastily and Casca rammed his fist into his gut and sent him flying with another blow to the jaw.

“Get her up and bring her with us,” Casca snapped. The three Mongols lay there, either too stunned to know what the hell had happened or paralyzed in fear at the wrath of The Old Young One. “This one is under my protection,” he growled.

A little further on they came across a citizen who’d been pinned to a door and shot multiple times with arrows. They’d used him as target practice. The woman, a sobbing dark haired high-cheeked Slavic-looking girl, stumbled along under the non-too-gentle assistance from one of Kaidur’s men.

There was a domed church at the next corner and a group of Mongols had dismounted and were battering away at the door which had been barred on the inside. Judging by the screams coming from within, it was packed with woman and children. Casca shook his head in disgust. He was a soldier and this sort of thing soured his guts. The worst had been Jerusalem when the Crusaders had taken it. This was likely to be just as bad but there’d be nobody to tell the tale of how Riazan died; at least, hardly anyone anyway.

Further along there were men shooting up into a building on the edge of a square. Defenders were shooting back but they were clearly outnumbered and the Mongols were shooting fire arrows into the openings. Three Mongols lay on the ground lifelessly but the piles of citizens were growing. The ground underfoot was getting slippery with blood, Casca noted. The stench of burning homes and people was everywhere.

A Mongol rode up and blocked Casca’s path. It was Kuyuk. “Ho, Old Young One! Have you found your quarry yet?”

“Not yet, Prince Kuyuk, but I hope to, unless he’s fallen already.”

Kuyuk looked over Casca’s small band. “And what are you doing with that?” he demanded, his sword pointing at the cowering girl.

“Slave. My privilege.”

“You should rape her then slit her throat.”

“Plenty enough of that going on all over Riazan. I feel she has more value in my yurt tending my aches and pains.”

Kuyuk stared for a moment at Casca, then threw his head back and roared with mirth. “Then fuck her every night and remind her who is master! Good hunting!” he yelled and rode off, calling to his bodyguard to ride with him.

Kaidur sighed. “I fear for our Empire should he become Khan. The old values will be lost. Even Genghis Khan arranged treaties with our enemies; Kuyuk knows only how to destroy.”

“But is Mongke – or Batu for that matter – any different?”

“I know not,” Kaidur said, looking around. “Is that not our man?” he suddenly asked, pointing at one of the openings in the building ahead.

From one of the windows a large bearded man had appeared, clutching a boar spear, and sent it hurtling through the air to plunge through the body of a Mongol riding by. The man was pitched from his saddle and crashed to the ground, the spear sticking up from his body obscenely.

“You’re right!” Casca shouted, gripping his sword. He ran forward and pushed aside three or four Mongols who were preparing to shoot up into the building. “I want that big bearded man myself!” Casca screamed at the Mongols. “I command it!”

The Mongols nodded and switched targets. Casca filled his lungs. “Leave him to me!” He ran to the entrance where a squad of Mongols were bashing away at the door. Casca slid his sword into his scabbard and grabbed the log. “Come on,” he encouraged them, “stop being gentle. Be aggressive!”

The soldiers looked in surprise, then gritted their teeth and bent to their task, ramming the door hard with their improvised battering ram. With four blows the door caved inwards. A rattle of arrows came out from the doorway and two Mongols sank to their knees, stuck with the shafts. The rest barged in, kicking the remnants of the door aside, and hacked at the defenders. Casca slipped past the combatants and found the wooden stairs.

The large Russian appeared at the top and recognized Casca. He spat a torrent of what Casca took to be abuse down at him and waded forward, gripping a large sword in both hands. Casca took two steps in one stride and slashed upwards. The Russian blocked and slashed down hard. Sparks flew from the sword blades as they met. Casca’s next blow was for the Russian’s leg but the big man was surprisingly agile and stepped up. Still it had gained Casca another step. He pressed on. As the Russian tried to send his head rolling down the stairs, Casca parried hard, gritting his teeth,
then struck back, the tip seeking the defender’s throat.

The Russian avoided it by stepping back again. Now he was at the top of the staircase. Behind Casca, Kaidur and the others blocked the way up, even the one holding the crying Russian woman. Nobody else could pass. Casca pressed forward again. The big bearded man was strong but not very well skilled. Casca forced him back with jabs aimed at the face and gut. As he came into the room more Russians came at him but Kaidur and two of his guards tackled them. Bodies littered the place and arrows were embedded everywhere.

The Russian snarled something and swiped wildly at Casca. Casca ducked and struck up, the blade ripping aside the padded tunic of the man and sinking deep into his chest. Casca held the pose for a moment, making sure he’d done damage to the man, then pulled it out hard. The Russian screwed up his face and leaned back against the wall, then collapsed in a lifeless heap.

The Eternal Mercenary looked round but Kaidur and his men had taken care of what else had been in the room. “Come on,” he said tiredly, “we’ve done what we set out to do.”

“Sir, may the men take part in the looting?” Kaidur asked.

Casca looked at the expectant faces. “Of course; it’s your right. Go. And you too, Kaidur; work off some of that energy.”

“What about you, will you be alright?”

Casca grabbed the petrified Russian girl. “Yes, just bind her hands together for me.”

Kaidur got some rope and did so, then Casca hauled her up onto his shoulder and carried her down the stairs, kicking and screaming. “Shut up!” he commanded, but the woman carried on.

“What’s Russian for ‘shut up’?” he shouted.

“A blade to the throat, Old Young One,” someone shouted in reply. The Mongols, looting the bodies on the ground floor, laughed. Casca grinned, then slapped the girl’s ass. The woman squealed, then went silent. “There,” he said, “works just as well.”

“Ah, but she may start up all over again. Then you’ll have to repeat it.”

“Is that a problem?” Casca said, and left, sent on his way with gales of laughter. He walked back through the burning town, not wishing to be part of what was happening any longer. He’d got his revenge on the insulting Russian. He’d have to learn the damned language fast, that was clear.

He got to the place where the man was hanging from the door full of arrows when a small squad came at him from the direction of the town center. They had no markings or regimental colors and Casca was suspicious. He suddenly sucked in his breath as the leading man drew his sword and came at him, blade raised. Dropping the once more screaming woman, Casca threw himself flat as the blow meant to carve deep into him flashed past his back. He rolled and sprang to his feet. The three others with Casca’s assailant drew their bows but the first Mongol was in the way.

Casca grabbed his sword arm and pulled him from the saddle. The two grappled, face to face, teeth bared, but Casca was on familiar territory whereas the Mongol was clearly unhappy on the ground. Casca though had to make sure the others couldn’t stick him with their arrows. Behind him was a wrecked building, having been destroyed during the bombardment, so Casca pulled his opponent in that direction.

An arrow narrowly missed him and it was clear that as soon as the man he was struggling with was taken down Casca’d be turned into a hedgehog. He had a knife in his belt. He decided to use it. Pushing his opponent violently away he grabbed the knife hilt and raised it high before flinging it hard at the man to the left, who was the only one who had a clear shot. The Mongol had drawn his bow back when the knife pierced his throat, snapping the archer’s head back. The arrow flew off high into the air and Casca strode forward, sword cutting down towards the dismounted Mongol.

The man blocked and tried to attack but Casca kept on coming forward and was too close now for a sword to be used. His left hand closed around the Mongol’s throat and began squeezing. Now alarmed, the two mounted men wheeled their mounts and tried to work for a clear shot. Casca saw one draw the bow back and swung his choking opponent round. The arrow meant for him thudded into the back of the Mongol and his knees gave way.

Casca let him fall. He was already raising his sword to strike the man who still had an arrow nocked. The Mongol loosed off his shot hurriedly and the missile grazed his helmet. The sword flashed in the air as it cartwheeled away from Casca and plunged into the Mongol’s shoulder, sending him plunging off his saddle.

The last Mongol pulled his sword free from its scabbard and came at Casca, teeth in a snarl of hatred. Without pausing Casca stooped, grabbed a baulk of timber by his feet and swung it up, sending it hammering into the horse’s head. The beast reared and flailed out, the surprised rider slipping off the saddle, and then galloped off unsteadily.

Casca stepped up to the Mongol who had dropped his sword. The man was trying to reach it when Casca’s foot stamped down on his hand, breaking a bone or two. The Mongol gasped in pain,
then stared up at Casca.