Bones of the Hills (19 page)

That morning, his scouts had reported a huge army coming from the south. More than two men for every one of his eighty thousand were marching toward that position, and Genghis knew he must not be caught between Otrar and the Shah’s army. Around him on the crest, twelve men drew maps and made written notes on the city. Led by Lian, a master mason from a Chin city, still more worked on assembling catapults and piling clay pots of fire oil. Lian too had been confident before the Shah’s army had been sighted. Now the decisions would be military and the mason simply spread his hands when any of his workers asked what the future held.

“I’d let the governor of Otrar rot in his city if he didn’t have twenty thousand to hit our rear the moment we move,” Genghis said.

His brother Kachiun nodded thoughtfully as he turned his horse in place. “We can’t bar the gates from the outside, brother,” he replied. “They would let men down on ropes and pull the beams away. I can stay here while you take the army to meet our enemy. If you need reserves, send a scout and I’ll come.”

Genghis grimaced. The warriors of Jebe and Jochi had vanished into the valleys and hills, with no sign or contact. He could not leave the families in his camp without protection, and he could not let Otrar go free with so many men. Yet if the scouts were right, he would face a hundred and sixty thousand with only six of his ten tumans. No one had more faith in the fighting ability of his warriors than Genghis
himself, but his spies and reports said that this was only one of the Shah’s armies. Genghis not only had to crush it, but come through without serious losses, or the next army would end it all. For the first time since coming west, he wondered if he had made a mistake. With such a vast force available to him, it was no wonder the governor of Otrar had been so arrogant.

“Have you sent men out looking for Jochi and Jebe?” Genghis demanded suddenly.

Kachiun bowed his head, though the khan had asked the question twice already that morning.

“There is still no sign. I have scouts riding a hundred miles in all directions. Someone will bring them in.”

“I would expect Jochi to be absent when I need him, but Jebe!” Genghis snapped. “If I ever needed Arslan’s veterans, it is now! Against so many, it will be like throwing pebbles into a river. And elephants! Who knows how we can stand against those beasts?”

“Leave the camp undefended,” Kachiun said.

Genghis glared at him, but he only shrugged.

“If we fail, two tumans would not be enough to get them home. The Shah would fall on them with everything he has left. The stakes are already that high, just by being here.”

Genghis did not reply as he watched the spars of a catapult being lifted into position. If he had a free month, two at most, he could smash his way into the city, but the Shah would never give him such a respite. He scowled in irritation at the choices. A khan could not throw bones with his entire people, he told himself. The risk of being crushed between hammer and anvil was too great.

Genghis shook his head without speaking. A khan could do as he pleased with the lives of those who followed him. If he gambled and lost, it would be a better life and death than raising goats on the plains of home. He still remembered how it had been to live in fear of the sight of men on the horizon.

“When we were at the walls of Yenking, brother, I sent you out to bleed a Chin column. We know where the Shah is heading and I will not wait in patient squares and columns for him to come to us. I want his men under attack all the way to Otrar.”

Kachiun raised his head when he saw the glitter come back to his brother’s eyes. He took a scout map from a servant’s arms and unrolled it on the ground. Genghis and his brother crouched over it, looking for terrain they could use.

“With so many men and animals, he will have to split his force
here
and
here,
or bring them through this wide pass in one group,” Kachiun said. The land to the south of Otrar was a rough plain of farms and crops, but to reach it, the Shah had to cross a range of hills that would funnel the Arabs into a long column.

“How long before they reach the passes?” Genghis asked.

“Two days, maybe more, if they are slow,” Kachiun replied. “After that, they are on open farmland. Nothing we have will stop them.”

“You cannot guard three passes, Kachiun. Who do you want?”

Kachiun did not hesitate. “Tsubodai and Jelme.”

The khan looked at his younger brother, seeing his enthusiasm kindle. “My orders are to thin them, Kachiun, not fight to the death. Hit and retreat, then hit them again, but do not let them trap you.”

Kachiun bowed his head, still staring at the map, but Genghis tapped him on the arm.

“Repeat the order, brother,” he said softly.

Kachiun grinned and did so. “Are you worried I will not leave enough for you?” he said.

Genghis did not answer and Kachiun looked away, flushing. The khan stood and Kachiun rose with him. On impulse, his brother bowed and Genghis accepted the gesture with a dip of his head. Over the years, he had learned respect came at the cost of personal warmth, even with his brothers. They looked to him for answers to all the problems of war, and though it made him a remote figure, it was a part of him and no longer a mask.

“Send for Tsubodai and Jelme,” Genghis said. “If you delay the Shah long enough, perhaps Jochi and Jebe will support you. They too are yours to command. You have half my army, brother. I will be waiting here,” Genghis said. He and Kachiun had come a long way from the young raiders they had once been, he thought. Ten generals would stand to face the Shah’s army, and Genghis did not know whether they would live or die.

Chakahai came out of her ger to see what the sudden shouts meant. She stood in the hot sun with her Chin servants shading her skin, and she bit her lip when she saw the warriors coming out of their homes with supplies and weapons.

Chakahai had lived among the Mongols for long enough to know it was not just a scouting group that was forming. All the men but Khasar
and his second, Samuka, were away at the city to the west and she bit her lip in frustration. Ho Sa would be with Khasar, of course, but surely Yao Shu would know what was happening. With a curt order, she started her servants moving with her, seeking out the Buddhist monk as the camp grew noisier all around. She could hear women screeching in anger and she passed one who was weeping on the shoulder of a young man. Chakahai frowned to herself, her suspicions hardening.

She passed the ger of Borte and Hoelun before she caught a glimpse of the monk. Chakahai hesitated outside, but the decision was made when Borte came out, flushed and angry. The two wives of Genghis saw each other at the same time, and both stood stiffly, not quite able to put aside the strain they felt.

“Do you have news?” Chakahai spoke first, deliberately giving the older woman honor. It was a small thing, but Borte’s shoulders became less rigid and she nodded. Chakahai saw how weary she was as she spoke.

“Genghis is taking the tumans,” Borte said. “Khasar and Samuka have orders to leave at noon.”

One of Chakahai’s servants made a terrified sound, and Chakahai reached out instantly, slapping the girl’s face. She turned back to Borte, who was already staring across the camp at the men gathering in ranks.

“What if we are attacked?” Chakahai asked.

Borte winced and shook her head. “How many times have I been asked that since the orders came?” she said. She saw the genuine fear in the Xi Xia princess’s eyes and softened her tone. The woman had been given to Genghis as a gift by her defeated father. She had seen chaos in her time and knew the terror that came with it.

“Do you think we will be defenseless, sister?” Borte said.

Chakahai too had looked away, but the term of friendship brought her gaze snapping back. “Are we not?” she demanded. “What can women and children do against soldiers, if they come?”

Borte sighed. “You were not raised in the tribes, Chakahai. If we are attacked, the women will take up knives and fight. Crippled warriors will mount as best they can and attack. Boys will use their bows. We have horses and weapons enough to hurt anyone who troubles us.”

Chakahai stared in silence, her heart pounding. How could her husband have left her undefended? She knew why Borte spoke in such a way. Panic would destroy the camp before they even sighted an enemy. Families would be torn between the safety of numbers and the fact that
the camp itself would draw danger to it. Left alone to protect their children, many wives and mothers would be considering leaving in the night to find a safe place in the hills. To a mother of young children, the idea was tempting, but Chakahai resisted. Like Borte, she was the khan’s wife. The others would look to them for leadership. Of all the women left behind, they could not run.

Borte seemed to be waiting for a response and Chakahai thought carefully before replying. The children would be frightened as they saw the last warriors leave. They would need to see confidence, though it was all false.

“Is it too late for me to learn the bow, sister?” Chakahai said.

Borte smiled. “With those bony, narrow shoulders? It is. But find yourself a good knife.”

Chakahai nodded, though uncertainty swept through her. “I have never killed a man before, Borte.”

“Perhaps you will not have the chance. The knife is to cut and shape straw warriors to put on the saddles of spare horses. In poor light, an enemy will not see our men have gone.”

Borte raised her eyes from her worries and the two women shared a glance before each one turned away, satisfied. There could be no true friendship between them, but neither had found a weakness in the other and both took comfort from that.

As the sun reached its highest point, Khasar looked back at the camp he had been told to abandon. It was as busy as an ants’ nest as women and children scurried between the gers. Even without the tumans, it was a vast assembly, more than a hundred thousand people and gers by a small river. Around them, herds grazed, oblivious. Everything they had looted from the Chin was there, from jade to gold and ancient weapons. Temuge and Kokchu had their collection of manuscripts and books. Khasar bit his lip at the thought of the Shah’s soldiers finding such a prize undefended. Perhaps a thousand elderly or crippled warriors would remain, but he did not hold out hope that those who had lost arms and legs would stop a determined enemy. If they came, the gers would burn, but his brother had called him and he would not disobey. He had three wives and eleven young children somewhere in the maze of gers, and he regretted not taking the time to speak to them before gathering his men.

It was done. The sun was high and he had been called. Khasar
looked at his second in command, Samuka. The man was caught between pride at his promotion to lead a tuman and shame at abandoning the camp. Khasar clicked his tongue to catch the other man’s attention, then raised his arm and let it fall. His men kicked in their heels and rode with him, leaving everything they valued behind.

Jochi and Jebe rode together at the head of the tumans. Jochi’s mood was light as they wound their way through valleys back into the west. He had lost almost a thousand men. Some had fallen in the wild charge across the face of the ridge, while more had been cut down or fallen from sheer exhaustion in the long ride that none of them would ever forget. Most of those had been from his Chin soldiers, but those who survived rode with their heads high, knowing they had earned the right to follow their general. Jebe had lost as many, but they were men he had known for years under Arslan. They had died well, but would still be denied the sky funerals, where bodies were taken to the highest peaks to feed hawks and birds of prey. Both generals knew there was no time to honor the dead. Genghis’s brother-in-law Palchuk had been among the bodies, found with a great gash across his face from an Arab sword. Jebe did not know how Genghis would respond to the news, and spent two days resting by the lake in grim silence.

Jebe and Jochi were painfully aware of the threat to the khan, but the horses were spent. They had been forced to let the animals recover their strength before remounting. Even then, it was too early. Many of the animals were still lame and it hurt the senior men to order the ruined ones killed and the meat distributed. Dozens of warriors carried a rack of ribs or a leg across their saddles, while others rode Arab horses in little better condition. For men who saw horses as the only true spoils of war, the battle in the pass had been a triumph worth telling round the fires for a generation. With each warrior, two or three of the Arab mounts ran alongside. Many were lame and broken-winded, but their strength could be used and the Mongols could not bear to leave them behind.

Eighteen thousand men rode with the generals as they turned away from the main valley and took a more tortuous route. As tempting as it was to ride in their own steps, the Shah could well have left an ambushing force somewhere ahead. The men needed time to recover before facing an enemy once more.

Water at least was plentiful. Many of the men had drunk until their
bellies were swollen. When they were being chased, they had emptied their bladders as the need came, letting the warm water cut through the coating of dust on their mounts. On the way back, they had food in them. The speed had been slowed by dozens at a time dismounting quickly and squatting on the ground before wiping themselves with rags and leaping back on. They were stinking, filthy, and thin, but hardened by the land they had ridden for so long.

It was Jochi who saw the scouts riding back from a ridge ahead. In Jebe, he had found a man who understood the need to know terrain as well as Tsubodai, and they were always surrounded by a ring of riders many miles out. Jochi whistled to catch Jebe’s attention, but the other general had also seen and merely raised his eyebrows in surmise.

“Did I not send
two
men that way?” Jochi called. Three were returning and even from a distance, they could see the other rider was a scout like their own, without armor or anything but a sword to slow him down. Some even rode without that weapon, depending on speed alone.