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 (253 page)

ARIK-BOKE RAGED AS HE LEANED FORWARD IN THE SADDLE
and yelled “Chuh!” to his mount, kicking it savagely in the loins to keep his speed. Sweat was dribbling into his eyes and he blinked
against the sting of salt, peering into the distance. The light was almost gone and the tumans ahead shifted and blurred like writhing shadows. He could hear only the galloping horses around him, so that the battle ahead seemed almost dreamlike, robbed of the clash of swords and the screams of men.

The general of one of his tumans was angling his mount to catch up to the khan, the animal’s head lunging up and down with effort. Arik-Boke ignored him, his focus only on those ahead. He knew he had lost contact with the tumans behind, that his long formation had been attacked at one end. He knew very well that the force with him might not be enough to send his brother running, that he should wait and re-form. He had only four tumans in close formation, but another eight were behind. Together, they would be enough, no matter what Kublai had managed to do. Arik-Boke spat into the wind as his brother’s name flitted through his thoughts. His saliva felt like soup in his mouth and heat breathed out of every pore as he rode on, harder and further than he had galloped for years. It had to be Uriang-Khadai who had organized the attack. Arik-Boke knew he should have allowed for his brother turning over command to a more experienced officer. He cursed long and loud, making his closest men look away rather than witness his rage. He should have done a thousand things differently. Kublai was a weak scholar and Arik-Boke thought he would have made chaos of good tumans. Yet they had struck at exactly the right point, at the right moment. They had beaten Orlok Alandar and he could still hardly believe it. The right wing of his sweep should have been the strongest point, but they had rolled it up. Now darkness was coming and they would escape his vengeance.

The plain was long and flat, but the battle was still a tiny, surging throng of dust as darkness came. In the last moments before they were lost to sight, Arik-Boke was sure he saw tumans streaming away to the north. He clenched his jaw, the heat of his body feeling like fuel for the anger within. Karakorum had few defenders, with his entire army in the field. He felt sick at the thought that his brother could take the capital in a quick strike. He had ignored Alandar’s feeble worries, convinced back then that his brother would never get in range of the capital. It should have meant nothing, but Arik-Boke
wanted to roar his frustration. Whoever held Karakorum had a claim to rule. It mattered in the eyes of the princes and the small khanates.

His general had reached him, riding alongside and shouting questions into the wind. At first, Arik-Boke ignored the man, but then the darkness was on them and he was forced to rein in and slow to a canter, then a trot. Their horses snorted and breathed hard and the searing energy drained out of Arik-Boke, leaving a coldness deeper than he had ever felt before. Not till that moment had he seriously considered Kublai might beat him in battle. His mind filled with images of facing the scholar within the length of a sword. It was satisfying but empty, and he shook his head to clear it of foolishness. He rode on, into the night.

All around him, warriors coming the other way were streaming past, keeping their faces down in shame before those they knew. They were joining his tumans at the back in tens and hundreds, coming out of the blackness ahead. Arik-Boke saw one of them wheel his horse, turning to match the trotting line as he tried to come across it. The man was within a horse length of him and calling out before Arik-Boke knew it was Alandar. The khan’s knuckles were white on the reins as his orlok reached him, bringing a stench of fresh sweat and blood that hung on him like a cloak.

“My lord khan,” Alandar said.

He did not need to shout over the noise of the horses any longer. They were barely trotting by then, the black grass flowing under their hooves unseen. Arik-Boke almost called for torches, but there were still hundreds coming away from the battle and he did not know if they were all his own men. It would not do to light himself up in the line.

“Orlok, I revoke your rank. You will not lead again in my armies.” Arik-Boke tried to keep his voice calm, but the rage threatened to spill out of him. He wanted to see the man’s face, but the darkness was complete.

“Your will, my lord,” Alandar said, his voice unutterably weary.

“Will you report then? Must I drag it out of you word by word?” Arik-Boke’s voice grew louder as he spoke, until he was almost shouting. He sensed Alandar flinch from him.

“I’m sorry, my lord. They set a trap to draw off my warriors, with a second position to make me think I had spotted the ruse.” Alandar had worked it out by then, though he was still dazed after such a day and so tired he could barely speak at all. He could not be seen to praise the enemy, but there was a grudging respect in his voice as he went on. “They ambushed my forces once we had followed them into a valley. I saw some twelve tumans in all, under Kublai and Uriang-Khadai.”

“Were my orders not to wait until the main army came up to you, if you saw the enemy?” Arik-Boke asked. “Did I not consider exactly what has happened today?”

“I’m sorry, my lord. I thought I saw through their planning and could strike a blow for you. I saw the chance to break them and I took it. I was wrong, my lord khan.”

“You were
wrong
,” Arik-Boke echoed. It was too much to have the man yammering his apologies at him. He turned to the general on his other side.

“Oirakh, take this man’s weapons and bind him. I will deal with him when there is daylight to see.” He ignored the sounds of struggle as warriors closed on Alandar. Had he truly expected to live? The man was a fool.

As the crescent moon showed itself, casting a thin light, his tumans came to the edges of the battlefield Kublai had fled at the last. Some of the fallen men and horses were still alive, calling piteously for help to those who passed them. Arik-Boke picked his way carefully, slowing to a walk. The dead lay thick on the ground as he went on and he could hear wounded men sobbing with pain. The rage in him became a hard ball in his chest and stomach so that he could hardly straighten his back. Kublai’s orlok had done this thing.

At the center of the dead, Arik-Boke dismounted and called for lamps. The smell was appalling, and despite the darkness, flies were everywhere already, buzzing into the faces of his men so that they had to wave them away every few moments. Arik-Boke breathed deeply, closing his eyes as the lamps were lit around him and placed onto poles. They cast a golden glow, revealing staring eyes and cold flesh on all sides. Arik-Boke shuddered slightly as he turned on the spot,
taking it in. His lips thinned in disgust and anger blinded him. His brother was responsible for all of it.

“Bring Alandar to me,” he said. He had not bothered to look in any particular direction, but the order was carried out quickly even so. Alandar was dragged in and thrown facedown at Arik-Boke’s feet.

“Were they heading north at the end?” Arik-Boke asked.

The man who had been his orlok struggled to his knees and nodded, keeping his head bowed as low as possible.

“I think so, my lord.”

“It will be Karakorum, then,” Arik-Boke muttered. “I can catch him yet.” He knew why Kublai wanted that city. Tens of thousands of women and children had formed their own slums on the plains around Karakorum, waiting for their men to return. Arik-Boke drew a long knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh. The torn flesh of his men lay all around him and there had to be reckoning, a price to pay for all of it. He knew then what he had to do.

Alandar had heard the knife come free and looked up in fear.

“My lord khan, I—” His voice choked off as Arik-Boke took him by the hair and cut his throat with powerful strokes, sawing into the flesh.

“That is enough from you,” Arik-Boke said into his ear. “Be silent now.”

Alandar jerked and struggled, the sharp smell of urine filling the air and steaming. Arik-Boke shoved him aside.

“Scouts! To me!” he roared into the night.

Two of the closest came in fast, leaping from their horses. They glanced at Alandar’s cooling body, then quickly away.

“You have ridden hard today,” Arik-Boke said. “But you will not rest tonight.”

The two scouts were both young men, not yet eighteen years of age. They nodded without speaking, awed at being in the presence of the khan.

“Take fresh horses and go to Karakorum. Use the yam stations for remounts.” He yanked a ring from his finger and tossed it to one of the young men. “You will have to pass my brother’s armies, so ride hard and fast. I want you to reach the city before him. Find the captain
of my palace guard and tell him I said it was time. Do you understand? Those words, exactly. Repeat your orders.”

The two scouts chanted his words back at him and he nodded, satisfied. There was a price to pay for all things. By the time Kublai reached the city, he would learn the cost of his rebellion. Arik-Boke smiled at the thought. Perhaps Kublai’s men would mutiny when they realized what he had cost them. Arik-Boke might return to his city to find his brother already dead at their hands.

THE NIGHT WAS COLD AND STILL AS KUBLAI RODE TOWARD
Karakorum. He and his men shared twists of black meat as they went, passing skins of sour milk or clear airag to ease parched throats. There was no time to stop and acknowledge the victories of the day, not with Arik-Boke’s tumans so close behind. Kublai had seen his son for just a brief moment as Zhenjin rode past him on some errand for his minghaan officer. No doubt the man had suggested he ride close to the khan as he went. It was the sort of subtle gesture his men arranged and Kublai knew they were proud to have his son riding with them, with all the trust that implied. Kublai pitied the enemy who tried to take on that particular minghaan. They would slaughter anyone who came close to the khan’s heir.

Though his thoughts were sluggish, Kublai worked through plans as he rode. He had to get clear before dawn, but his men had fought or ridden all day and were drooping with tiredness. Without rest, he would be robbing them of their strength, ruining his army just as he needed them at their sharpest and best. He had already given orders to ride in pairs, with one man napping as the other took the reins, but they needed to dismount and sleep at least for a few hours.

Uriang-Khadai was perhaps the oldest man under his command,
but in the weak moonlight, he looked fresh and stern as always. Kublai grinned wearily at him, trying to resist the lolling motion of his head that led to a sudden start as he found himself asleep. It was one advantage of the high-pommeled saddle, that it held a sleeping man better than some designs, but he still felt he could fall if sleep took him. He yawned hugely every few moments.

“Do we know the losses yet?” he asked, more to keep himself awake than because he truly wanted to know.

“I can’t be certain until there’s light,” Uriang-Khadai replied. “I think around two tumans, or a little more.”

“In one
day
?” Kublai demanded, the words bursting out of him.

Uriang-Khadai did not look away. “We killed more. They have the same bows, the same skills. The toll was always going to be high.”

Kublai grimaced, raising his gaze to the stars. The numbers were appalling, as great as all his losses against the Sung. Many of them would be alive still, cold and lonely among the dead as they waited for Arik-Boke’s warriors to find them and plunge a knife into their flesh. He shuddered at the thought of such a final vigil. After years with them in the Sung territories, each one was a loss. Arik-Boke had no concept of the sort of loyalty that had grown up with his tumans over the years. He brushed the thought away, knowing he would only become enraged afresh at his foolish brother. The depth of his anger could still surprise him, but it felt like an indulgence to give it rein.

“Four days to Karakorum,” he said aloud. “And my brother’s men will be behind us all the way.”

Uriang-Khadai did not reply and Kublai realized he had not asked the man a question. It made him smile that the older man could be so tight-lipped after everything they had endured together.

“I have one more bone to throw, Orlok. Once we reach Karakorum, we can turn to defend the city and our people. I will make Arik-Boke the enemy in the eyes of the nation. And when the battle is at its height, Bayar will hit him.” In the continuing silence, Kublai sighed. “What do you think of that?”

“I think you have ten tumans or less to your brother’s twelve and
more,” Uriang-Khadai said at last. “I think we are running low on arrows and lances. I cannot plan around a reserve force that has had to ride two thousand miles or more.”

“You came back from Hulegu. Bayar will get here,” Kublai said.

“And I will be pleased to see him, but we must prepare for the worst. We need weapons.”

Kublai grunted. He should have known better than to expect encouraging words. The Chagatai khanate had provided many of the supplies for his campaign. Lord Alghu had sent the Arab boys to raise the false trail of dust that played such a part in their first battle, and the food and drink they still had came from his cities. Yet Uriang-Khadai was right, arrows and lances were their most important stock and the last of them would go in one charge.