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 (215 page)

“Very well, my lord. I’ll start testing them tomorrow. I should finish herding the prisoners. We’re having to use their own clothes torn into strips to bind them.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Kublai replied. He looked to the east, but there was no sign of dawn.

A thought struck him and he smiled in anticipation as he spoke again.

“Send Orlok Uriang-Khadai to me. I would like to hear his assessment of the victory.”

Bayar smothered his own smile as he dipped his head.

“Your will, my lord. I’ll send him to you as soon as I find him.”

THE SUN ROSE ON A SCENE OF COMPLETE DEVASTATION. IN
his imagination, Kublai could only compare it to the description he had read of the battle of Badger’s Mouth in northern Chin lands. Flies had gathered in their millions and there were too many dead soldiers to consider burying or even burning them. They could only be left behind for the sun to rot and dry.

For a time, dawn had brought some excitement as the remaining Sung regiments were hunted down and the Mongol families crossed the river with slow care. Tumans rode out with fresh quivers and overhauled the scattered enemy before the sun was fully up. Thousands more were forcibly returned to the river, stripped of weapons and armor to be bound with the rest. Mongol women and children walked among them, come to see the fearsome men their husbands, brothers, and fathers had defeated.

Yao Shu had remained behind in the main camp during the battle. He crossed the ford with the families when there was enough light to ride without falling in. By noon, he was at Kublai’s ger, set up at his order on the battle side. Chabi was already there, her eyes full of concern for her exhausted husband. She fussed around him, laying out fresh clothes and making enough food to feed whoever might come to speak with Kublai. Yao Shu nodded to her as he accepted a bowl of some stew and ate quickly rather than give offense. She watched until he had finished it all. Yao Shu sat on a low bed with scrolls of vellum waiting to be read to the khan and he could do nothing, say nothing, until he was given permission. Even after a battle, the rules of ger courtesy held firm.

Zhenjin entered at a run, skidding slightly as he came to a halt, his eyes large. Yao Shu smiled at the boy.

“There are so many prisoners!” Zhenjin said. “How did you beat them, father? I saw flashes and thunder all night. I didn’t sleep at all.”

“He did sleep,” Chabi murmured. “He snores like his father.”

Zhenjin turned a look of scorn on his mother.

“I was too excited to sleep. I saw a man with his head cut off! How did we beat so many?”

“Planning,” Kublai replied. “Better plans and better men, Zhenjin. Ask Uriang-Khadai how we did it. He will tell you.”

The little boy looked up at his father in awe, but he shook his head.

“He doesn’t like me to speak to him. He says I ask too many questions.”

“You do,” Chabi said. “Take a bowl and find somewhere else to eat it. Your father needs to speak to many of his men.”

“I want to listen,” the boy almost wailed. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Chabi smacked his head and pressed a bowl into his hand. Zhenjin left with a furious glare that she ignored completely.

Kublai sat down and accepted his own bowl, finishing it quickly. When he was ready, Yao Shu read him the tallies of dead and maimed as well as the loot they had taken, his voice droning on in the thick air. After a time, Kublai waved him to a stop. His eyes felt gritty and swollen and his voice was hoarse.

“Enough. I’m not taking it in. Come back in the evening, when I’ve rested.”

Yao Shu rose and bowed. He had trained Kublai from boyhood and he was uncertain how to show his pride in him. They had destroyed an army twice as large, on foreign ground. The news was already heading back to Karakorum with the fastest scouts. They would race to the yam lines in Chin territory and then the letters would move even faster, reaching Karakorum in just a few weeks. Yao Shu paused at the door to the ger.

“Orlok Uriang-Khadai is waiting for your word on the prisoners, my lord. We have …” He consulted a scroll thick with tally marks, holding it at the full extension of his arm so he could read it. “Forty-two thousand, seven hundred, many of them wounded.”

Kublai winced at the figure and rubbed his eyes.

“Feed them with their own supplies. I’ll decide what to do with them …” He broke off as Zhenjin reentered the ger. The boy’s face was incredibly pale and he was panting.

“What is it?” Chabi asked. Zhenjin only looked at her.

“Well, boy? What is it?” Kublai said. He reached out and rubbed his son’s hair. The action seemed to break his trance and Zhenjin spoke as if gulping words between ragged breaths.

“They’re killing the prisoners,” Zhenjin said. He looked ill and his eyes strayed to the bucket by the door as if he might need it.

Kublai cursed. He had given no such order. Without another word, he pushed past his son and went outside. General Bayar was there, striding toward the ger. He looked relieved to see Kublai. At a gesture, servants brought horses and both men mounted quickly, trotting away through the camp.

Yao Shu eyed his own horse with misgiving. He had never been much of a rider, but Kublai and Bayar were already gone. Zhenjin came out of the ger and pelted off after them without looking back. Sighing, the old man called a young warrior across to help him mount.

KUBLAI BEGAN TO PASS RANKS OF BOUND PRISONERS LONG
before he saw Uriang-Khadai. In lines that vanished into the distance, forty thousand men knelt on the ground with their heads down, waiting. Some of them talked in low tones or looked up as he passed, but for the most part they were dull-eyed, their misery and defeat clear in their faces.

Kublai cursed under his breath as he saw the orlok gesturing to a group of young warriors. There were dozens of headless bodies in neat rows already and as Kublai rode closer, he saw the swords swing and more men fall to the ground. He could hear a low moan of terror from those closest to them and the sound filled him with rage. He checked himself as Uriang-Khadai looked up. He could not humiliate his orlok in front of the men, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I have not given an order for the prisoners to be slaughtered,” he said. Kublai remained in the saddle deliberately, so that he could look down at the man.

“I did not want to trouble you with every detail, my lord,” Uriang-Khadai said. He looked faintly puzzled, as if he could not understand
why the khan’s brother should interrupt him in his duties. Kublai felt his anger rise and strangled it again.

“Forty thousand men is not a detail, Orlok. They have surrendered to me and their lives are now mine to protect.”

Uriang-Khadai clasped his hands behind his back, his mouth tightening.

“My lord, there are too many. You surely can’t allow them all to walk away? We will be facing them again—”

“I have told you my decision, Orlok. Have them fed and have their wounded looked at. Then release them. After that, I will see you in my ger. That is all.”

Uriang-Khadai stood in silence while he digested the news. After a moment too long, he bowed his head, just ahead of Kublai relieving him of his authority in a rage.

“Your will, my lord,” the orlok said. “I apologize if I have given offense.”

Kublai ignored him. Yao Shu and Bayar had both arrived and he glanced at Yao Shu before speaking again. In fluent Mandarin, then broken Cantonese, Kublai addressed the prisoners within earshot.

“You will be allowed to live and return home. Pass the word. Take news of this battle with you and tell whoever will listen that you were treated with mercy. You are subjects of the great khan and under my protection.”

Yao Shu nodded to him in satisfaction as Kublai turned his horse and dug in his heels. He could feel Uriang-Khadai’s glare on his back for a long way, but it did not matter. He had plans for the Sung cities, plans that could not begin with a slaughter of unarmed men.

On his way back to the ger, he saw his son running along, head down and puffing. Kublai reined in and reached down. Zhenjin took the arm and his father swept him up into the saddle behind him. They rode on together and after a time Kublai felt his son shift uncomfortably. Zhenjin had seen horrors that day. Kublai reached behind him and patted the boy’s leg.

“Did you stop them killing the men?” Zhenjin asked in a small voice.

“Yes. Yes, I stopped them,” Kublai replied. He felt the weight increase against his back as his son relaxed.

ALAMUT WAS A PLACE OF QUIET AND CALM. IN HIS LIFE
, Hulegu had found little to love in cities, but there was something about the spartan fortress that appealed to him. He was surprised to feel a pang of regret at the idea that he must destroy it. He stood on the highest wall in the sunlight and looked down across a landscape of mountains, stretching many miles into the distance. He even wondered briefly if he could leave a hundred families to keep the place for the khan, but it was just a fantasy. He had seen the tiny meadow behind the main buildings. The animals there could not support more than a few. The fortress was so completely isolated that he could not imagine trade ever taking place, or anything in the way of contact with the world. Alamut guarded no pass, held no strategic worth. It had been the perfect spot for the Assassins, but it was not suited to anything else.

As he walked on, Hulegu stepped over the body of a young woman, careful not to tread in the pool of sticky blood around her head. He looked down and frowned. She had been beautiful and he assumed the archer who had put a shaft into her throat had done so from a distance. It was a waste.

It had taken a day to get two hundred men into the fortress, each warrior trudging up the narrow path in single file, then holding the door for the next. Rukn-al-Din could do nothing and he had not had the courage to throw himself off the cliff. Not that they would have let him, but it would have been a fine thing to attempt. They had spread into Alamut’s rooms and corridors with calm deliberation and the Ismaili Assassins had only stood and watched, still looking to Rukn-al-Din for authority. When the killing began, they scattered, trying to protect their families. Hulegu smiled at the memory. His warriors had scoured the castle, room by room, floor by floor, stabbing and shooting anything that moved. For a time, a group of the Assassins had blockaded themselves into a room, but the door fell to
axes and they were overwhelmed. Others had fought. Hulegu looked over the battlements into a courtyard far below, seeing the bodies of his men laid out. Thirty-six of them had been killed, a higher toll than he might have expected. Most of those had died from poisoned blades, when they would otherwise have survived with a gash. By dawn, only Rukn-al-Din was still alive, sitting in the courtyard in dull despair.

It was time to finish it, Hulegu realized. He would have to leave men behind, but to destroy rather than to live. It would take months for them to break down the fortress, and he could not wait while Baghdad resisted his army. It had been a risk, even a luxury, to seek out the Assassins, but he could not regret it. For a short time, he had walked in the steps of Genghis.

It took an age to descend the stone stairs running inside the walls. Hulegu finally came out into the bright sunshine, blinking after the gloom. Rukn-al-Din was sitting with his knees drawn up into his arms, his eyes red. As Hulegu came out he looked up and swallowed nervously, certain he was about to die.

“Stand up,” Hulegu said to him.

One of his warriors kicked the man hard and Rukn clambered to his feet, swaying slightly from exhaustion. He had lost everything.

“I will be leaving men here to destroy the fortress, stone by stone,” Hulegu said. “I cannot stay longer. In fact, I should not have taken so much time to come here. When I return this way, I hope there will be a chance to visit the other fortresses your father controlled.” He smiled, enjoying the utter defeat of an enemy in his power. “Who knows? Only rats live on in Alamut and we will burn them out when it falls.”

“You have what you wanted,” Rukn said hoarsely. “You could let me go.”

“We do not shed the blood of royalty,” Hulegu replied. “It was a rule of my grandfather and I honor it.” He saw a gleam of hope come into Rukn’s eyes. The death of his father had broken the young man. He had said nothing while the Mongols tore through Alamut, hoping that they would spare him. He raised his head.

“I am to live?” he said.

Hulegu laughed. “Did I not say I honor the great khan? No blade
will cut you, no arrow will enter your flesh.” Hulegu turned to the warriors around Rukn-al-Din. “Hold him down.”

The young man cried out as they laid hands on him, but there were too many and he could not resist. They took his arms and legs and stretched them out, so that he lay helpless. He looked up and saw only bright malice in the Mongol general.

Hulegu kicked Rukn in the ribs as hard as he could. He heard them crack over Rukn’s scream. Twice more he kicked out, feeling the ribs give way.

“You should have cut your own throat,” Hulegu told him as Rukn-al-Din panted in agony. “How can I respect a man who wouldn’t even do that for his people?” He nodded to a warrior and the man began to stamp on the broken chest. Hulegu watched for a time, then walked away, satisfied.