Until the Sun Falls (55 page)

Baidar said, “I told you to handle him more carefully.”

“He’s not worth—”

“He’s trying to get you killed.”

“He won’t.”

“God. You are too sure.”

Tshant snorted, turned, and rode back toward his men. He had a little over half a tuman left. All the others were dead or wounded, back in the long drive across Poland. All his men carried swords, hung in clumsy scabbards from their belts. He found Djela and told him to stay by him, no matter what happened.

“I will.”

“Jube, white banner. Torches lit.”

Djela said, “What are we going to do?”

“Burn everything outside the walls. Pull them out of the city.”

“Where is Baidar?”

“Over there.” Tshant pointed south with his chin. He took a torch from the heap on the ground and lit it. He thought, Maybe I am too confident. He thought of sending Djela away.

The Mongols were trotting forward. He gestured to Jube to spread them out. The river sparkled in the sun, just beyond the city. The ice was breaking up already in it. He had to remember not to get pinned against it.

Riding down, he could see the people running back and forth on the walls. A shower of small round stones pelted him. Over the wall he could see the upper half of a mangonel frame. He swung up his shield and charged in among the huts. His men were screaming, waving their torches. The huts went up in flames all at once, and immediately the heat was enough to bring out the sweat on his face. He looked for Djela and saw him cantering along just behind him.

Among the huts were small haystacks, pens for animals, old sheds. He threw his torch into a haystack and wheeled. His men began to yell. The mangonel fired again, and two Mongols pitched out of their saddles. Tshant started back out of the city. An ember floated down onto his horse’s mane and he crushed it out.

Outside the ring of huts, he turned and looked back. His men were racing along under the walls of the city, shouting, throwing their torches up and over the ramparts. He called to Djela and started back down again. Jube broke out of the ring of blazing huts and started toward him.

Abruptly the Mongols veered toward him; they had seen the banner. The gate was opening. He cantered down toward the city. His men followed, pulling out their bows. Knights charged out the half-open gate and with lances set headed toward the Mongols. Tshant nocked an arrow.

Flocks of arrows hummed into the air. Most of them glanced off shields and armor. Here and there Tshant saw a knight fall. He set another arrow to his string and drew it. Over the point he saw the knights’ faces, their glittering eyes and the wet red of their open mouths. He took a deep breath and shot. The arrow drilled into a face, but the mass of armored knights were already on him. Their horses loomed over his. He jammed his bow into the case and snatched out his sword. His horse swerved, and he leaned hard and brought it spinning around away from the knights. They ranged up on either side of him. A lance passed over his shoulder. He stabbed with the sword and felt the edge turn on mail. His horse reared up.

The knights crowded him in. He could see nothing but iron bodies. A mace crashed down on his saddle. He whipped his horse once, dropped the rein, and with both hands on his sword drove it into the flank of the knight’s stallion, where they was no armor. The stallion screamed. A lance thrust up at Tshant, aimed straight for his chest. For a frozen moment he imagined it breaking through his ribs and out his back. He threw all his weight into one stirrup and wrenched himself around and the sleek tip of the lance slid by. The knight holding it was laughing. Tshant raised the sword and slashed it down like an axe on the knight’s forearm. There was no blood, but he felt the bone cave in under the sword’s edge.

Banners—the red banner was snapping in the sky. He took a deep breath and charged south, trying to pull out of the pack of knights, weaving and bending out of their way. A fist came at him, steel-knuckled, and he ducked, but not fast enough. The fist crashed into the side of his head. He hung onto his saddle; he could see nothing. Blood filled his mouth. The shrill noises of the fighting fell suddenly away, and he could hear his own horse’s hoofs on the ground.

“Yip-yip-yip—”

They were all racing south. He rubbed at his eyes until his vision cleared and looked around. Djela was far down the field, untouched, well out of the reach of the knights. All across the flat ground the Mongols were fleeing Liegnitz. A heavy cheer rose behind them. Tshant slowed his horse, looking for Jube. The knights were thundering after them. He pulled his bow out and started shooting.

His mouth was full of blood, and he had a loose tooth. He wiggled it with his tongue, all the while shooting into the broad front of the oncoming knights. Jube galloped over.

“What now?”

“Kaidu wants constant contact.”

Jube dipped the banner. All down the line, the Mongols slowed, so that the knights could catch up with them. Tshant stood in his stirrups to see. Many of his men were wounded. Several of them rode double with other men, who held them on their horses. He jabbed his horse in the mouth to make it slow, shot once more, cased the bow, and grabbed his sword.

The knights surged up beside him again. This time he kept them at arm’s length, so that he could parry with his sword. His arm was tired already. A knight drove a lance at him, and he dodged, and the momentum carried the knight on past him. An arrow took the man in the throat and he fell off his horse.

The arrows were coming close to Tshant. He let his horse drop back even more, so that a row of knights shielded him. The knights were spread out so that it was possible to fight only one at a time. He smashed his sword into one man’s chest, and the knight swayed but kept in his saddle. Tshant drew his arm back to stab him, but the knight pulled out of reach.

Just to his left rode a pack of the knights in white with the black crosses; they were fighting on the run with a much larger group of Mongols. Tshant veered his horse toward them. He caught sight of Djela, galloping along just ahead of the south wing of the Polish army. Abruptly trumpets blared in his ears. They startled him, and he whipped his horse into a flat run, afraid that more knights were coming up behind him.

The knights in the white cloaks yanked their horses around, turning south, away from him. He stood in his stirrups to look and saw Baidar’s tuman, sweeping down toward the knights. Arrows darkened the sky.

“Eeeeiiiyyyyaaah!”

The scream almost lifted him out of the saddle. The whole north flank of the Poles was collapsing in toward him under the pressure of Kaidu’s attack. He reined down to a trot, looking for Jube. Most of his men were caught in the middle of the Poles, where the knights were still spread out, but the ranks were tightening up.

Jube was riding toward him. Tshant yelled, “Let’s get out of here,” and swung his arm. He saw the bannerstaff slant down, saw Jube reach for his packs; Mongol arrows rained down on both of them, and Jube pitched out of his saddle. His foot caught in his stirrup and his horse dragged him straight into the heavy fighting.

Tshant swore. He whipped his horse east again. The two Polish flanks caved into the middle just after he raced clear. He drew his bow out of the case, turned his horse, and started shooting into the thickening mass of knights. Kaidu’s and Baidar’s columns had them completely surrounded. The knights stopped moving forward. Tshant could hear the ring of arrows striking armor. Many of his men had been caught between the two wings and crushed. He shot high, hoping one of his arrows would lift over the Poles and hit Kaidu.

“Ada, Ada, I’ve been hit.”

His breath caught. Djela galloped up, holding one arm. Tshant raced toward him. If it were a Mongol arrow, he would fry Kaidu. But it was not; Djela had a crossbow bolt through the flesh of his upper arm.

“Where did you pick that up?”

“I went back toward the city.”

A column of Mongols raced past them, all carrying swords: Baidar’s heavy cavalry. Tshant took Djela by the wrist, shoved the head of the bolt out through the skin, and snapped it off. Djela whined.

“You’ve been blooded,” Tshant said. He dipped his fingers in the blood and made an X on each of Djela’s palms. “Go wait for me.”

“I’ll find Jube.”

“Jube’s dead.”

He cantered down toward Baidar’s end of the battle. The knights, at a standstill, were drowning in the flood of Mongol arrows. They were steadily retreating into the middle of their circle, leaving a broad ring of bodies all around. Many of them dismounted. Tshant saw them develop a charge toward the head of Baidar’s column, but before the Polish horses were beyond the limit of the sprawled bodies all the charging knights were dead. The arrows did not slacken. He pulled up beside Baidar.

“Kaidu says no mercy,” Baidar said.

“Has he built a shambles for them all?”

Baidar shrugged. “How many of your men survived?”

“Not many. He was overshooting when he attacked, and he killed a lot of us.”

“He’s dead green.”

“Oh? He smells ripe enough to me.”

“Maybe. Don’t fuss with him about it. Look.”

Tshant looked. The knights in the white cloaks, all on foot, had broken out of the circle. They carried their shields high and close together, so that the storm of arrows could not penetrate it. The Mongols charged them. Like a tortoise the group of knights walked steadily onward, and the Mongols wheeled away, shooting harmlessly.

Baidar said, “Green pennant here.”

His standardbearer hung a long green ribbon on his staff and swung it up. Baidar said, “They could walk back to Liegnitz like that.”

Tshant nodded. He glanced toward the rest of the knights and trotted up toward the tortoise knights, ranged in a double rank, and saw them steadily dying. Two thousand of Baidar’s heavy cavalry charged.

The tortoise stopped, braced. Whooping, the Mongols slammed into them. Their swords chopped down across the shields. The knights staggered back; gaps opened in their formation, and the Mongols howled. Tshant leaned forward, ready to signal the bowmen in, but before he could open his mouth the tortoise pulled itself together again, heaved, and threw the Mongols back almost bodily.

“Yip-yip-yip—”

“Those damned Kipchaks,” Baidar said. “Yipping when there’s no chance of losing.” He bellowed at them, and the heavy cavalry reorganized itself and charged the tortoise again. When they struck there was an audible clang. Tshant saw three Kipchaks break into the shield ring; on horseback they were visible well above the knights. Before they had penetrated more than a few strides they were killed.

Tshant gathered his reins, called to the Mongol archers near him, and started down toward the knights. He rode at a low trot, his bow in his hands, circling the knights. The heavy cavalry pulled back again. Tshant moved in so close he could see the color of the knights’ eyes when they peeked over their shields, drew his bow as full as he could, and shot. His arrow hit a shield, and it thundered, but it did not break. He stopped his horse dead and nocked another arrow. The Mongols who had followed him circled the tortoise, came in as close as he was, and drew their bows.

The knights, understanding, lunged toward them. Tshant aimed for the bits of shoulder and face he could see over the shields. One knight fell, but Tshant had to back his horse up quickly to get out of the tortoise’s way. He shot for an eye, and the arrow skipped off the helmet and plunged into the throat of the knight behind. The tortoise was charging him, the knights running, and he turned to trot along ahead of them and shoot back over the horse’s rump. This time he shot at a mailed arm, and the arrow tore through the mail and passed all the way through the muscle underneath.

The tortoise was growing smaller; when a knight fell the others closed ranks. They stopped again, catching their breath, and Tshant and the other Mongols could find nothing to shoot at. They backed off to let the heavy cavalry charge in again. The Kipchaks looked grim. They smashed their horses into the shields and through them. Their swords hacked down. Blood fountained across them. One knight leapt up behind a Kipchak and threw him aside. Tshant lifted his bow, but before he could shoot five other arrows whammed into the knight from all sides. The knight slid down into the broken tortoise, now only a puddle of bodies in bloody armor.

“Fall back,” Tshant yelled. “Baidar—”

The heavy cavalry drew back. Tshant rode into the mess, looking closely at faces. He thought he recognized a pair of heavy shoulders and dismounted and turned the knight over. It was the knight Arnulf, who had spoken of Psin. Tshant pulled his helmet off. Two arrows jutted from the knight’s chest, but he was still alive.

“You and you. Come drag this one out into the open.” Tshant stepped over a body and mounted again. The two Mongols he had pointed to came in and hauled the knight out onto the clean snow.

Baidar said, “No mercy, remember?”

“Kaidu’s arrows killed my standardbearer. He owes me a blood debt. Let the knight pay it.” He dismounted again and watched the two men strip off the knight’s cloak. They broke the arrow shafts and worked the chain mail up over the stumps. The arrows were low. Tshant picked at a scratch on his cheek, wondering where he’d gotten it.

“They missed the lungs,” one of the Mongols working on the knight said. “He’s lucky.”

“Very.” Tshant knelt on the knight’s chest. The man’s eyes flickered open. Tshant took hold of one of the shafts and wrenched it loose. The blood drained out of the knight’s face but he made no sound. When the other came out, with flesh clinging to the triple barbs, the knight fainted.

Tshant looked at the arrowhead. “Mangghut. Do they think they’re killing fish?” He threw the shaft away. The two wounds looked bad, but they were clean and he thought the knight would live. “Baidar. What’s happening?”

Baidar looked off down the field. “Kaidu is still killing the others.”

“How many left?”

“A few hundred.”

Tshant looked down at the knight. The pain had woken him up again. His wide blue eyes were calm, staring up at Tshant’s, and only the white line around his mouth showed that he hurt. Tshant knelt suddenly beside him, put his mouth against the deeper of the two wounds, and sucked at it. The knight did not move. The other Mongols whispered, amazed. Tshant straightened up, spat the blood from his mouth, and went over to his horse. “Bandage him up. You saw what I did. He is mine.”