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 (236 page)

BAYAR SAW THE GALLOPING SCOUT BEFORE URIANG-KHADAI
. He tapped the older man on the shoulder and they both turned to
watch as the scout angled his mount toward the only ger he could see in the assembly of grazing horses and resting men.

The scout dismounted at the ger, but Bayar intercepted him, taking him by the arm and walking him away until he could be sure Kublai would not hear the interruption.

“Report,” Bayar said.

The scout was flushed and his face gleamed with sweat. He had ridden far and fast. With only a glance at the ger, he bowed to both men.

“Orlok, General. There is a Sung army in range. Ten foot regiments or more. Five of horse and many cannon. They have their own riders out and I only had time to make a rough estimate before I came back.”

“How far?” Uriang-Khadai said. His gaze fell on the ger that sat alone.

“Thirty miles east, about.” The scout made a gesture showing a movement of the sun in the sky.

“With cannon, they won’t be here until tomorrow,” Bayar said in relief.

“Unless they react to contact and push on without the guns,” Uriang-Khadai replied sourly. “Either way, it does not matter. We must withdraw.”

The scout looked from man to man in surprise. He had been riding out far ahead of the tumans and had no idea of the news that had come in his absence. Neither of them chose to inform him.

“Change mounts and get back out as soon as you can,” Uriang-Khadai said to the scout. “I need eyes close to them. Better still, take three others and place them at the quarter points so they can relay whatever you see to me quickly.”

The scout bowed and jogged away.

Whatever Bayar might have said next was lost when Kublai walked out of the ger. He had left his armor inside and both men gaped at the change in him. He wore a robe of gold silk with a wide belt of dark red. The chest was embroidered with a dark green dragon, the highest symbol of Chin nobility. He held a long sword, his knuckles white on
the scabbard as he looked over and approached his two most senior men.

Bayar and Uriang-Khadai went down on one knee, bowing their heads.

“My lord, I am sorry to hear such news,” Uriang-Khadai said. He saw Kublai look up as four scouts mounted nearby and began to gallop away to the east. Uriang-Khadai chose to explain before he could be asked.

“There is a Sung army coming west, my lord. They will not be here in time to prevent our withdrawal.”

“Our withdrawal,” Kublai echoed, sounding as if he did not understand. Uriang-Khadai faltered under the yellow gaze.

“My lord, we can stay ahead of them. We can be back in Chin lands by spring. The yam rider said your brothers will have received the news already. They will be making their way home.”

“Orlok, you do not understand me at all,” Kublai said softly. “I
am
home. This is my khanate. I will not abandon it.”

Uriang-Khadai’s eyes widened as he understood the significance of Kublai’s Chin robes.

“My lord, there will be a quiriltai, a gathering of princes. Your brothers—”

“My brothers have no say in what happens here,” Kublai interrupted. His voice grew hard. “I will
finish
what I have begun. I have said it. This is my khanate.” He spoke the words with a kind of wonder, as if he had only then understood the turmoil inside him. His eyes were chips of bright gold in the sun as he continued.

“No, this is my
empire
, Uriang-Khadai. I will not be made to leave. Ready the tumans for battle, Orlok. I will face my enemies and I will destroy them.”

XUAN PACED IN THE DARKNESS. HIS MIND BUZZED TOO LOUDLY
to rest, stinging him with questions and memories. Armies were strange things, sometimes far greater than the individual strengths of the soldiers in them. Men who might have run on their own would
stand with their friends and their leaders. Yet they all had to sleep and they all had to eat. Xuan had camped near to an enemy before and it remained one of the oddest experiences of his life. The armies were so close that he could see the Mongol campfires as points of light on the darkling plain. The two Sung lords had guards and scouts at all points around the camp, but no one expected the Mongols to attempt a night attack. Their strength was in speed and maneuvers, strengths that would vanish in the blind dark. Xuan smiled at the thought of men sleeping peacefully next to those they would try to kill in daylight. Only humanity could have conceived such a strange and artificial way to die. Wolves might tear the flesh of deer, but they never slept and dreamed near their quarry.

Somewhere close, Xuan could hear the deep snoring of some soldier lying flat on his back. It made him chuckle, though he wished he too could find the balm of sleep. He was no longer young and he knew he would feel it tomorrow, when the horns sounded. He could only hope the battle would not last long enough for his weariness to get him killed. It was one of the great truths of battle, that
nothing
exhausted a man as quickly as the rush and struggle of fighting hand-to-hand.

Shadows moved in the darkness and Xuan raised his head, suddenly panicky. He heard his son’s voice and relaxed.

“I am here, Liao-Jin,” he whispered.

The small group came to him and though it was dark he knew each one of them. His four children were all the mark he had made on the world. Lord Jin An had understood that. Xuan thought with affection of the young Sung noble. He might have spirited his children away without speaking to Jin An, but it was just as likely they would have been discovered. Xuan had taken a risk in speaking honestly to him, but he had not misjudged his man. Lord Jin An had understood immediately.

Xuan pressed a bag of coins into his son’s hand. Liao-Jin looked at him in surprise, straining to see his father’s features in the starlight.

“What is this?” he said softly.

“A gift from a friend,” Xuan replied. “Enough to keep you all for a
time. You will survive and you will be among your own people. I do not doubt you will find others willing to help you, but no matter what happens, you have a chance at a life and children of your own. Isn’t that what you wanted, Liao-Jin? Someone was listening, perhaps. Go now. I have given you horses and only two men to accompany you, my son. They are loyal and they want to go home, but I did not want to send so many that they might think of robbing you.” Xuan sighed. “I have learned not to trust. It shames me.”

“I am not going!” Liao-Jin said, his voice too loud. His sisters shushed him, but he passed the bag of coins into their hands and stood close to his father, bending his head to speak into Xuan’s ear.

“The others should go. But I am an officer in your regiment, father. Let me stay. Let me stand with you.”

“I would rather see you live,” Xuan said curtly. “There will be many here who die tomorrow. I may be one of them. If it happens, let me know my sons, my daughters are safe and free. As your commander, I order you to go with them, Liao-Jin, with my love and my blessing.”

Liao-Jin did not reply. Instead, he waited while his sisters and brother embraced their father for the last time, standing aloof from them all. Without another word, Liao-Jin walked them away into the darkness, to where the horses waited. Xuan could see little, but he listened as they mounted and his younger girl sobbed for her father. His heart broke at the sound.

The small group moved away through the camp and once again Xuan was pleased he had thought to seek permission from Lord Jin An. There would be no startled cries from Sung sentries in the night. Jin An had enjoyed the idea of it all and had even signed papers for Xuan that would help them if they were stopped in Sung lands. Everything else was down to fate. Xuan had done his best to give them a chance.

Footsteps approached and his heart sank with heavy knowledge. He was not surprised when the dark figure spoke with Liao-Jin’s voice.

“They are gone. If you are to die tomorrow, I will be at your side,” his son said.

“You should not have disobeyed me, my son,” Xuan said. His voice grew less harsh as he went on. “But as you have, stay with me as I walk the camp. I won’t sleep now.”

To his surprise, Liao-Jin reached out and touched him on the shoulder. They had never been a family given to open displays of affection, which made it worth all the more. Xuan smiled in the dark as they began walking.

“Let me tell you about the enemy, Liao-Jin. I have known them all my life.”

KARAKORUM WAS FULL OF WARRIORS, THE PLAINS BEFORE
the city once again filled with tumans and every room in the city housing at least a family. Two hundred thousand of them had come home and the land was hunted out for a hundred miles around the city. In the cramped camps, the talk was often of Xanadu in the south, apparently crying out for citizens.

Arik-Boke stood in the deepest basements of the palace, with all life and movement far above his head. It was cold in that place and he shivered, rubbing at bumps on his arms. His brother’s body lay there and Arik-Boke could not look away. Traditionalist to the end, Mongke had left instructions for his death, that he should be taken to the same mountain as his grandfather and buried with him. When he was ready, Arik-Boke would take him there himself. The homeland would swallow his brother into the earth.

The corpse had been wrapped and the terrible white-lipped gash across the throat had been sewn shut. Even so, it made Arik-Boke shudder to be alone in the dimly lit room with a pale mockery of the brother he had known and loved. Mongke had trusted him to rule Karakorum in his absence. He had given him the ancestral homeland as his own. Mongke had understood that blood and brotherhood was a force too strong to break, even in death.

“I have done what you wanted, my brother,” Arik-Boke told the body. “You trusted me with your capital and I have not let you down. Hulegu is on his way, to honor you and everything you did for us.”

Arik-Boke did not weep. He knew Mongke would have scorned
the idea of red-eyed brothers growing maudlin. He intended to drink himself unconscious, to walk among the warriors as they did the same, to sing and be sick and drink again. Perhaps then he would shed tears without shame.

“Kublai will be home soon, brother,” Arik-Boke said. He sighed to himself. He would have to go back to the funeral feast above soon enough. He had just wanted to say a few words to his brother. It was almost as hard as if Mongke had been there alive and listening.

“I wish I had been there when our father gave his life for Ogedai Khan. I wish I could have given my life to save you. That would have been my purpose in the world. I would have done it, Mongke, I swear it.”

He became aware of the echo in the basements and Arik-Boke reached out and took Mongke’s hand, surprised at the weight of it.

“Goodbye, my brother. I will try to be the man you wanted. I can do that much for your memory.”

BEFORE THE SUN ROSE, BEFORE EVEN THE GRAY LIGHT THAT
heralded the dawn, both camps began to wake and get ready. Tea was brewed in ten thousand pots and a solid meal eaten. Men emptied their bladders, often more than once as internal muscles tightened with nerves. On the Sung side, the cannon teams looked over their precious weapons for the thousandth time, rubbing down the polished shot balls and checking that the powder bags had not grown damp and useless.

When the pale light known as the wolf dawn came, both armies could see each other. The Mongols were already mounted, forming up into minghaans of a thousand that would act independently in the battle to come. Men eased tight backs as they rode up and down the lines. Many of them tested the strings on their bows by pulling back without a shaft, loosening the heavy muscles of their shoulders.

Some things had to wait for light, but as soon as he could tell a white thread from a black one, Lord Jin An had the cannon teams pulled into position on the front rank. Others went to the sides, where they would present their black mouths to any flanking attack. He could see Mongol officers staring over at his regiments, noting their positions and pointing out features of the formation to others like them. Lord Jin An smiled. No matter how brave or how fast the Mongols were, they would have to ride through roaring shot to reach
his ranks. He had learned from the defeats of other men and he had cavalry by the tens of thousands on his wings. He tried to put himself in the Mongols’ position, to see how they might counter such a display of force, but he could not. They were lice-ridden tribesmen, while he was of the noble class of an ancient empire.

The Sung regiments formed up behind the lines of cannon. Lord Jin An sat his horse and watched as his subordinates assembled the gun soldiers in the first ranks back. Their heavy hand cannon were slow to reload and notoriously inaccurate, but they would hardly be able to miss as they poured fire alongside the cannon. Behind those, his swordsmen waited in their lacquered armor of iron and wood, standing in disciplined silence. Lord Jin An had placed the Chin contingent there, behind the protection of his guns and cannon.

He liked the man who had once been an emperor. Lord Jin An had expected Xuan to be one of those obsessed with his status, having lost so much of it. Yet Xuan reminded the Sung lord of his own father, dead for almost a decade. He had found the same world-weariness in both men, tempered with a dry humor and the sense that they had seen more than they cared to remember. Lord Jin An did not think the Chin soldiers would run, but at the same time he dared not trust his strategy to such elderly men. They were keen enough at dawn, but if the fighting went on all day, they would not be able to keep up with those half their age. Lord Jin An made a mental note to keep an eye on them through the fighting, to be sure a weakness in the lines did not develop.