The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle: Genghis: Birth of an Empire, Genghis: Bones of the Hills, Genghis: Lords of the Bow, Khan: Empire of Silver, Conqueror (212 page)

Bayar’s eyes widened as he saw the prince had lost his internal gaze and was once again focused on him.

“Two days, my lord,” he said with false confidence. He needed to impress the man who commanded him and Uriang-Khadai had already lost face. Bayar did not want to join him in incurring the displeasure of the khan’s own brother.

Kublai inclined his head as he thought.

“Very well. This is your only task until it is complete. I will hold you to two days, General. Now, give the order to halt the column. Get scouts back into the area where the enemy wait. I want to know every detail of the river: the current, the banks, the terrain. Nothing is too trivial to bring to me. Have them report after the evening meal.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Bayar swallowed nervously as he was dismissed. He had never heard of sheepskins being used in such a way. He was going to need help and he guessed that Uriang-Khadai was not the man to ask. As the horns sounded the halt and the tumans began to dismount and tend
their horses, Bayar saw the cart that carried Kublai’s chief adviser, Yao Shu. The old Chin monk would know of such strange things as floating rafts, Bayar was almost certain.

AS THE SUN CAME UP THE FOLLOWING DAY, BAYAR HAD LOST
himself in the challenge of the task. The first bulbous hides had been prepared by the previous evening and carried by horse to the nearby river. With great ceremony the bobbing things had been placed on the waters, with volunteers to ride them over. Both men had sunk before they reached halfway and had to be dragged out by ropes attached to their waists. It seemed impossible, but according to Yao Shu it had certainly been done on a smaller scale. They tried rubbing oil into the skins as soon as the wool had been shaved off, then blowing and sealing them quickly, before leaving them to dry. As Bayar returned to the banks, he sent a silent prayer to the earth mother. He had gambled on the oil working and so had thousands of families preparing them. If the latest batch failed as well, he would not make the limit he had set himself. Standing in the morning gloom, Bayar looked across at Yao Shu, taking confidence from his calm. They stood together as two warriors tied ropes to themselves and lay across the floating skins, pushing off from the bank. Neither man could swim and they looked deeply uncomfortable as they paddled across the dark water.

At halfway, the current was strong and those holding the ropes on the bank found themselves shuffling downstream with the floating warriors. Even so, they splashed on and Bayar let out a whoop as he saw one of them stand and raise his arm from the opposite shallows, before clambering back on for the return trip. That went much faster, with the ropes pulled by many willing hands.

Bayar clapped Yao Shu on the back, feeling the bones beneath his colorful robe.

“That will do,” the general said, trying to conceal his relief. Uriang-Khadai was not there. The orlok had decided not to notice the sudden and massive labor that had overtaken the camp. While families worked the skins, oiling and sewing for all they were worth, the orlok had his men practicing their archery and the cannon teams sweating
to improve their speed with the guns. Bayar didn’t care. He found the work fascinating and on the evening of the second day he strode up to the ger erected for Kublai, hardly able to restrain his grin as he was allowed to enter.

“It’s done, my lord,” he said proudly.

To his relief, Kublai smiled, responding to the man’s evident satisfaction.

“I never doubted it would be, General.”

HULEGU WAS HOT AND THIRSTY AS HE RODE NORTH. THE
bulk of his army had gone on without him, ready to lay a siege around Baghdad. The center of Islam was a powerful city on the Tigris River and he knew it would not fall quickly. The decision had been difficult, but he had thought his detour to the stronghold of Alamut would be a quick strike, no more onerous than crushing the head of a snake under his heel before going on with the real work. Instead, he suffered through hundreds of miles of the most hostile country he had ever seen. The sun fed a simmering anger that seemed to have been with him for weeks. He shaded his eyes as he stared up into the mountains, seeing snow on the peak of the one known as Solomon’s Seat. Somewhere in those remote crags was the most powerful fortress of the Ismaili Assassins.

The last towns and villages were long behind. His warriors rode across a burning plain, over a surface of loose rocks and scree that made many of the horses go lame. There was no grazing in such a place and Hulegu had lost time securing grain and water for the men and animals. Three tumans had originally come north with him, but he had sent one back to Baghdad and another to act as a relay for water when he saw the desolation of the terrain. He had no wish to
see his best mounts die of thirst. Yet Hulegu was not deterred by the difficulties. If anything, they reassured him. No worthy goal should come easily, he told himself. Suffering created value.

In another age, Genghis had vowed to annihilate the Assassin cult. The great khan may even have thought he had done so, but they had survived like weeds in the rocks. As Hulegu looked over the single tuman, he sat straighter in the saddle, his pride obvious to them all. He had grown up with stories of Genghis. To meet one of the old enemies in the field was more than satisfying. He would give orders for their precious fortresses to be taken down and left in the valleys as fire-blackened blocks of stone. Only snakes and lizards would creep where the Assassins had walked, he vowed to himself. Mongke would not begrudge him the time he lost, Hulegu was sure. Baghdad would not fall in the next season. He had time to finish the personal matter between his family and the Moslems who inhabited Alamut.

Three guides led the tuman across the plain, recruited at knifepoint from the last town they had passed. Hulegu had scouts and spies across the country feeding him information, but none of them had been able to give him the exact location of the fortress. Even the letters he had exchanged with the Assassins had gone to prominent merchants in cities, passed on by their own riders. His best information gave him only the range of mountains and nothing more. Even that had cost him a fortune in silver and a day spent torturing a man given up by his friends. It did not matter. Hulegu had always known he would have to come to the area to hunt them down. He questioned the guides constantly, but they only argued with each other in Arabic and shrugged, pointing always into the mountains. He had not seen another living soul for a long time when his scouts came riding in, their horses lathered in soapy sweat.

Hulegu frowned when he saw them making for him across the face of the ranks. From a distance, he could see the urgency in the way they sat their horses and he forced himself to keep the cold face as a matter of habit.

“My lord, there are men ahead,” the first scout said. He touched his right hand to his forehead, lips and heart in a gesture of respect. “Twelve miles, or a little more. I saw only eight horses and a silk awning, so I went closer, while my companion stayed out of range, ready to ride back to you.”

“You spoke to them?” Hulegu asked. Sweat was trickling down his back under his armor and his mood improved at the thought that he must be close if there were strangers gathered in the foothills to wait for him. The scout nodded.

“The leader said he was Rukn-al-Din, lord. He claimed to have authority to speak for the Ismailis. He told me to say he has prepared a cool tent and drinks for you, my lord.”

Hulegu thought, wrinkling his brow. He had no particular desire to sit down with men who dealt in death. He could certainly not eat or drink with them. Equally, he could not let his warriors see he was afraid of so few.

“Tell him I will come,” he said. The scout cantered off across the lines to get a fresh horse and Hulegu summoned General Ilugei, nodding to the man as he approached.

“They have made a meeting place, General. I want to surround it, so that they understand the consequences of treachery. I will walk in, but if I do not walk out, I want you to visit destruction on them. If I fall, Ilugei, you are to leave a mark in their histories to show their error. Do you understand? Not for me, but for those who come after me.”

Ilugei bowed his head.

“Your will, my lord, but they do not know your face. Let me go in your place to see what they intend. If they plan to kill, let me be the one who draws them out.”

Hulegu thought about it for a moment, but then shook his head. He felt a worm of fear in his stomach and it made anger rise in him like the heat of the day. He could not stop his fear, but he could face it down.

“Not this time, Ilugei. They rely on the fear they create. It is part of their power, perhaps even the heart of it. With just a few deaths
each year, they create a terror in all men. I will not give them that, not from me.”

RUKN-AL-DIN SAT IN LIGHT ROBES AND SIPPED AT A DRINK
cooled with ice. If the Mongol general did not show himself soon, the precious stock brought down from the peaks would all have melted. He glanced at the dripping white block sitting in a wooden bucket and gestured to have a few more shavings added to his drink. At least he could enjoy the luxury while he waited.

Around his small group, the Mongols were still riding, a wall of moving men and horses. For half a day, they had amused themselves with yells and mock screams while Rukn’s men ignored them completely. It took time to move ten thousand warriors into position and Rukn wondered if he would see the khan’s brother before sunset. There were no hidden forces for the Mongols to find, though he did not doubt they wasted their energies searching the hills all around him. For the thousandth time, he went over the offers he could make in his father’s name. It was not a long list. Gold and eventually a fortress, offered in such a way that it seemed to be drawn out of him. Rukn frowned, wishing his father were there to conduct the negotiation. The old man could sell his own shadow at noon, but Rukn knew there was a chance he would not survive the meeting. The Mongols were unpredictable, like angry children with swords. They could treat him with honor and courtesy, or simply cut his throat and move on with utter indifference. Despite the afternoon breeze and the cool drink, Rukn found he was perspiring after all. He did not know what to do if his offers were refused. No one had expected the Mongols to appear in the area, when good sources said they were heading to Baghdad, hundreds of miles away. Even the natural barrier of the dry plain seemed hardly to have slowed them and Rukn realized he was afraid. Before sunset, he could be just another body waiting to be reclaimed by the dust.

At first, he did not realize Hulegu had come. Rukn-al-Din was used to the grandeur of caliphs and expected at least some sort of
retinue, some fanfare. Instead, one dusty warrior among many dismounted. Rukn watched him idly, noting the extraordinary breadth of the man’s shoulders as he stopped to talk to two or three others around him. The Mongols loved to wrestle, one of the few civilized things about them. Rukn-al-Din was wondering if he could interest the khan’s brother in a challenge from one of his own when he saw the man striding toward the tent. He rose, putting down his drink.

“Salaam Alaikum. You are most welcome. I assume you are Prince Hulegu, brother to Mongke Khan. I am Rukn-al-Din, son to Suleimanal-Din.”

His interpreter translated the Arabic into the general’s coarse tongue, making Hulegu glance at him. Rukn chose that moment to bow deeply. His father had ordered it, though Rukn resented even the idea. The warrior stared coldly at him and Rukn watched as his eyes flickered around the inside of the tent, taking in every detail. Hulegu had yet to enter the shaded awning. He stood on the threshold glaring in, while his ten thousand continued to make an appalling racket all around them. Dust drifted in wisps through the air, visible in the light of the setting sun. Rukn struggled to remain calm.

“You must be thirsty, my lord,” Rukn went on, hoping he was not overdoing the titles and honors. “Please sit in the shade. My men have brought ice to keep us cool.”

Hulegu grunted. He did not trust the weak-faced man standing before him, even to the point of revealing his understanding of the language. He thought of Ilugei’s offer to go to the meeting in his place and wondered if the stranger was who he claimed to be. Under the pressure of Rukn’s open-palm gesture, Hulegu unbent enough to enter. He frowned at the sight of a chair with its back to Rukn’s servants and snapped an order to his own men. One of the Mongol officers sauntered into the tent behind him, radiating danger with every movement. Rukn remained still as the chair was dragged across the carpeted floor against the silk wall. At last, Hulegu sat, waving away his own man and the servant with a tray of tall glasses.

“I told you to destroy your fortresses,” Hulegu said. He placed his hands on his knees, sitting straight and ready to leap up. “Has that been done?”

Rukn cleared his throat and sipped his drink as the interpreter spoke. He was not used to business being discussed so quickly and it unnerved him. He had hoped to begin a negotiation that would last all night and perhaps most of the next day, but under that cruel stare, he found himself babbling part of his promises in one rush, his father’s warnings melting away like the ice in his drink.