Bones Of the Hills

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the morning sun, Genghis turned quickly enough to make Khasar jump. When he saw it was his younger brother, the khan’s face grew a fraction less terrible, but the visible strain remained. Genghis had lived on anger and frustration for two days, while his men fought and died beyond the southern hills. If the walls of Otrar had been a little less thick, he would have had the catapults working all that time. Instead, it would have been a pointless gesture and he had waited. The city was not as important as surviving the shah’s army, but inaction had worn his temper to bare bones.

‘Give me good news,’ Genghis snapped.

Khasar hesitated and Genghis scowled as he saw it.

‘Then give me whatever you have,’ he said.

‘The scouts report a battle before the pass. The generals have thinned the shah’s men as you ordered, but the army is still mostly intact. Kachiun is ready with archers on the high slopes. They will kill many, but unless the army breaks and runs, the shah will come through. You knew it would be so, brother.’

He watched as Genghis clenched his left fist hard enough to make the arm shake.

‘Tell me how to stop twenty thousand warriors falling on us from behind and I will stand in the shah’s path as he comes out,’ Genghis said.

Khasar looked away at the city that mocked their preparations. With the camp stripped of warriors, five full tumans waited for orders and Genghis chafed at every wasted moment. He did not underestimate the risk he had taken. As well as his wives, his sons Ogedai and Tolui had been left without protection as he tried to wring every advantage from the forces available to him. As the sun had risen on a second day, only Khasar had dared speak to his brother and he could offer no solution.

Khasar knew as well as his brother that if the shah made it through the hills with his army, the garrison at Otrar would attack as soon as they saw his banners. The tumans would be crushed. Khasar knew he did not have the brilliance of Tsubodai or even the wits of Kachiun, but he could see only one order to give. They could not hold Otrar. All they could do was retreat, drawing all the generals with them. Still, he waited for Genghis.

The black smoke of the burning outer city had dwindled to nothing over the previous days. The air was clean and hot as Genghis looked over his army. The city was silent as they waited for deliverance.

‘There will be other years, brother,’ Khasar said, his patience dissolving. ‘Other battles.’

‘You would have me retreat, Khasar?’ Genghis turned to his brother once more.

Khasar shrugged.

‘Better than being killed. If you take the tumans ten miles north, this shah will join the garrison at Otrar and then at least we will face one army, with no one to attack the rear.’

Genghis snorted in disdain for the idea.

‘Miles of plains and mountains that they know better than we do. They would batter us all the way home and even my generals cannot stop so many. Yet if I can reach this pass, the shah will not be able to manoeuvre. Even now, it would be hard to reach him before the sun sets, brother. Time is killing us.’

Genghis fell silent suddenly, as a thought struck him.

‘The man who was your second, Samuka. Is he loyal?’

Khasar narrowed his eyes, wondering what Genghis was thinking.

‘Of course,’ he replied.

Genghis nodded sharply, making a decision.

‘Give him five thousand men and have him hold this place until I return. He does not have to win the battle, just prevent them from entering the field. Tell him I need time and that he must win it for me.’

Khasar did not reply at first. Chagatai’s tuman was closer to the city than Samuka’s men, but Khasar knew Genghis would not send his son to certain death, as he seemed willing to do with Samuka.

‘Very well, brother. I will tell him,’ he said.

Genghis was already mounting his horse and turning it to take his place at the head of the army. Khasar rode back to the ranks, cutting across at a gallop to reach Samuka.

He found his old second in command standing with Ho Sa, discussing the riding order. Their faces lit up as they saw Khasar and his heart sank at what he had to say. With a gesture, Khasar drew them apart from the other officers and spoke in a low voice.

‘My lord Genghis orders you to stay behind, Samuka. Take five thousand of the best archers and hold the city until we return.’

Ho Sa stiffened as if he had been struck. Samuka’s dark eyes searched Khasar’s for a moment. All three men knew it was a death sentence. The garrison would cut them to pieces in their desperation to get out of the city.

‘They will do their best to break through,’ Khasar went on. ‘It will be bloody work.’

Samuka nodded, already resigned. Five thousand men would not be enough to hold two gates. As a thought struck him, he glanced to Ho Sa.

‘I do not need this one, general. Let him go with you.’ Samuka smiled tiredly. ‘He is useless anyway and I will not need him here.’

Ho Sa suffered through a moment of utter weakness. He did not want to die in a land he barely knew. Samuka had given him a chance to live. Khasar looked away rather than watch the turmoil on Ho Sa’s face.

‘I will stay,’ Ho Sa said.

Samuka looked to the skies and blew air out of puffed cheeks.

‘You are a fool then,’ Samuka said. He turned to Khasar and took a deep breath, his manner suddenly brisk. ‘How long must I hold?’

Khasar gave no sign that he had noticed Ho Sa’s struggle.

‘Perhaps a day. I will relieve you myself.’

Both Ho Sa and Samuka bowed their heads, accepting the task before them. On impulse, Khasar reached out and gripped Ho Sa’s shoulder. He had known the Xi Xia officer for many years, ever since the first raids into Chin territory.

‘Stay alive, brother,’ Khasar said. ‘I will come if I can.’

‘I will be watching for you,’ Ho Sa said, his voice rough. His face showed none of the fear that churned in his stomach.

Genghis was already at the head of his army, staring coldly across at the three men. He waited until Samuka shouted orders to five minghaan officers and they rode clear of the main army. Khasar delayed a while to collect four arrows from each warrior of Chagatai’s tuman, passing them on in bundles. Samuka and Ho Sa would need every one. If they could hold the Otrar garrison even until dark, perhaps Genghis would have justified the waste of men.

As the order to remain spread among the five thousand, many heads turned to Khasar. They knew what the orders meant. He sat like a stone and was pleased to see no shouted arguments. They had learned discipline, his people, even unto death.

Genghis dug in his heels and his pony leapt forward. Chagatai and Khasar went with him towards the brown hills where the shah battled the generals. Behind them, the people of Otrar cheered on the walls and only the small, grim force with Samuka and Ho Sa rode back, dwarfed by the city.

The front ranks of the shah’s army marched out of the pass into bright sunlight, roaring at having survived. Arrows had fallen on them in tens of thousands as they forced their way through. Their shields bristled with spent shafts and many of the men used knives to cut them to stubs as they strode on towards Otrar.

Behind them, there was still screaming in the valley as the Mongols tore at the rear of his army, perhaps hoping the Arabs would panic and break. Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed smiled grimly at the thought. There was no shame in dying well and his men were strong in their faith. Not one of them had run from the bloody swords of the enemy. The Mongol bows had been silent at the back and that was Allah’s mercy, at least. The shah wondered if they had used up their arrows on Khalifa’s riders, and in his embattled state of mind, he hoped so. It was a better end for the desert thief than betrayal.

It had taken a long time to march through the storm of shafts from Mongols perched like hawks on the cliffs. The sun was long past noon and the shah did not know if the devils would continue their assaults into darkness. Otrar was no more than twenty miles north and he would push his men forward until the city was in sight. He would make his camp where the people of the city would know he had come to save them.

He heard fresh death cries behind and snarled to himself. The Mongols were everywhere, and though his men had locked shields, it was hard to have an enemy killing where you could not see him. His ranks marched on. Only death would stop them reaching the city.

From his high position on the elephant’s back, Ala-ud-Din was among the first to see Tsubodai and Jelme coming out of the mountains on his right side. He cursed under his breath, calling for his noble messengers once more. He cast a quick glance over his army, noting the strengths and regiments to hand, then nodded to the first man to ride close.

‘Tell my son Jelaudin to destroy the flanking force. He may have twelve elephants and ten thousand men under General Faisal. Tell him I will be watching.’

The rider pressed fingers to his lips and heart before racing away to pass on the order. Ala-ud-Din turned his gaze away from the right flank, knowing his son would ride them down.

The shah smiled grimly as his army left the mountain pass behind. Nothing could stop him reaching Otrar. Somewhere ahead, Genghis rode, but he had left it too late. Even if he was on his way, Inalchuk’s garrison would hamstring him. The Mongols were fast and more mobile than Shah Mohammed could believe, but he outnumbered them still and his men would not run while he lived.

It would be a fine battle and Ala-ud-Din was surprised to discover he was looking forward to seeing the khan crushed. It was almost with regret that he had to kill such a daring enemy. The last year had been both exciting and rewarding. He sighed to himself, remembering a childhood tale of a shah who feared black depression almost as much as the giddy heights of overconfidence. When he asked his advisers to find him a solution, they had forged a simple ring with the words ‘This too shall pass’ cut into the gold. There was truth in such simplicity and the shah was content as his battered army strode on to Otrar.

Tsubodai’s columns formed into a wide charging line as they came out of the hills. The head of the shah’s army was already in sight, but Tsubodai halted his men and made them pass arrows to the front ranks. There were very few. He had enough for three quick shots from five hundred men before it was down to swords.

Jelme came to ride at his side as the ponies surged forward.

‘Jochi and Jebe are on the tail of this snake,’ Jelme said. ‘Can we cut off the head?’

‘All things are possible,’ Tsubodai shouted over his shoulder. ‘I can hardly believe this enemy has weathered so many attacks without losing formation. It is one thing more to know, general: they have extraordinary discipline, almost as good as our own. Even with a fool for a leader, they will be hard to break.’

They had just over a mile to ride before they hit the right wing. Tsubodai calculated the time in his head. At that speed, they could reach the lines in two hundred heartbeats.

As they bore down on the army spilling out of the pass, Tsubodai saw a great piece of it break off and face them. He frowned at a line of elephants coming to the fore, jabbed and whipped by their handlers. He felt rather than saw his men hesitate and shouted encouragement to them.

‘The heads are armoured. Aim for the legs,’ he called. ‘Anything that lives can be killed by us.’

Those who heard grinned as the orders flew across the lines. The archers bent their bows in readiness, testing their strength.

The elephants began to lumber forward, picking up speed quickly. Tsubodai saw foot soldiers running alongside them. The elephants were terrifying as they grew and grew before his eyes. Tsubodai readied his sword, swinging it lightly along his horse’s flank, so that it swished the air. He could see the tumans under Genghis coming from the north and wondered idly how the khan had left Otrar at his back.

‘Kill the elephants first!’ he roared to his archers. They were ready and he felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest and throat. The sun was dipping towards the horizon and it was a good day to be alive.

Samuka had arranged his five thousand in two groups at either end of the city, each facing high gates set into the walls. Ho Sa commanded the second and Samuka approved of the cold face the Xi Xia officer had learned in his time with the tribes. Once both men were in position, Samuka became calm. His men had assembled rough barriers braced against rocks that would protect them from arrows while they held the gate. Samuka sighed to himself. Genghis had left him only one advantage and he would use it to the best of his ability. He ran a silk banner through his fingers, enjoying the feel of it. He could see dark faces watching him from the high towers of Otrar and he did not think he would have long to wait.

Genghis was not more than a few miles to the south when Samuka heard the garrison’s orders echoing inside the walls. He nodded to himself and checked his officers were ready one more time. They were as grim as their general and no one was foolish enough to think they would survive the battle to come.

The iron door in the eastern wall opened slowly. At the same time, ranks of dark bowmen appeared on the walls, thousands of them. Samuka stared up indifferently, judging the numbers. In the days previously, the Mongols had cleared a path to the gate, using pikes to pull down the rubble of charred houses. It had been a good plan at the time, but they had made it easier for the inhabitants to come storming out. Samuka snapped an order and his men readied their bows, placing arrows carefully at their feet where they could be snatched up at speed. One of the makeshift wooden barriers collapsed and Samuka heard an officer swear as he sent men to brace it. Samuka smiled tightly. Genghis had placed him there and he would not be moved easily.

He did not know if the garrison would come at just this one place or try to force Ho Sa’s gate as well, hidden from his sight. Either way, his path was set as he sat his pony just out of range and watched as the iron gates were pushed back. In the sunlit city beyond, ranks of well-armoured men waited on good Arab horses. Samuka squinted at them. They were the ones he had to destroy. Infantry could not reach Genghis in time.

For a man who loved horseflesh, it was a bitter order, but Samuka raised his head. ‘Kill the horses,’ he shouted, his voice carrying far. Like an echo, it was repeated, though with such a small force, there could not have been many who did not hear him. The Mongol ponies were of little use in a crescent formation that could not move, but it was comforting to be in his saddle and Samuka would not have wanted to stand on the ground with an enemy coming at him.

Voices roared in the city and the enemy lunged out. The gateway compressed their ranks, so that only five at a time could hit the gallop. Samuka raised his left hand, looking for the moment. A hundred men bent their bows at the gaps in the barricades. He knew he had to stagger the volleys to conserve the stock of arrows, but he wanted the first one to be terrifying.

The garrison had planned well enough, Samuka saw. They widened their rank as they came through the gate, getting as many men out as possible in the shortest time. Samuka watched impassively as they crossed the marker he had left at a hundred paces.

‘Horses first!’ he shouted again and dropped his hand.

The crack that followed made his heart race. A hundred long shafts soared out, hardly slowing before they hit the emerging horsemen. The first rank collapsed like a burst water-skin, horses and men falling on the dusty ground. Samuka raised his hand again and dropped it almost immediately, knowing the next hundred would be ready. Nothing could resist such hammering blows. Though the Arabs wore armour and carried shields, they fell hard with their horses, then more arrows impaled those who staggered to their feet.

The air above the gates filled with whirring shafts as the archers on the walls bent and loosed. Samuka ducked instinctively, though the barriers protected him. Those that shot high dropped on the shields of his men. They were experienced and took the blows with a light hand, soaking up the impacts.

Still the riders came out. Samuka sent volley after volley at the lines until there were hills of dead men and horses before Otrar. Some of his men were struck by arrows from the walls, but it was only a few.

Lulls came as the garrison used their own wooden barricades to clear the bodies. It took time and the Mongols were pleased to wait before beginning the slaughter once more. Even then, Samuka despaired as he estimated the arrows remaining. If every shot took a life, it would still come to swords in the end.

The brutal exchange went on. If the garrison were willing to ride straight out, Samuka could at least hold them until dark, he was almost sure. His confidence was on the rise when he saw fresh movement on the walls. He glanced up quickly, assuming it was a change of men, or arrows being brought up to them. He grimaced at the sight of ropes spilling over the crest and soldiers clambering down, burning their hands in the need to reach the ground quickly.

Samuka swore, though he had expected it. Already, hundreds were forming up out of his range, and all the time his men sent shafts into the gateway, killing screaming riders as they struggled to break out. Samuka summoned a scout and sent him to Ho Sa on the other side of the city. If the warriors there were still untouched, he could bring a few hundred around and sweep the new threat away. As Samuka watched, more and more ropes became black with climbing men and the ranks on the ground grew thicker and more confident. His heart sank as he saw them begin to run towards his position, swords and shields bright in the afternoon sun. Once more, he dropped his hand to send arrows at riders urging their mounts over their own dead. He could not manoeuvre until the arrows were gone.

If the Otrar officers had decided to take a wide route around him, Samuka would have been forced to cut them off. It was too early to allow them to ride in support of the shah. Samuka watched them carefully, but in his rage and excitement, the governor had clearly ordered them to sweep the Mongols away. They came at the run and Samuka had his mobile five hundred meet them with arrows as they closed, the shafts tearing through their ranks. More and more climbed out of the city and Samuka clenched his jaw in anger and frustration as the first garrison soldiers met his.

While his men fought savagely, four hundred Mongol riders came racing round the city and charged straight at the infantry of Otrar. At first, they cut through them, loosing one vicious wave of shafts before they drew their swords and fell to the killing. The garrison buckled under the onslaught, but every Mongol warrior was met by three or four Arab soldiers. Samuka saw their numbers dwindle as the charge came to a shuddering halt. Assailed on all sides, they fought well and no one broke, but the Arabs cut them down until just a few dozen remained in the press, hacking desperately at anything they could reach. They too fell at last and Samuka groaned aloud as almost ten thousand of the garrison re-formed. He had one last bone to throw and it would not be enough.

Inside the iron gate, he could see lines of fresh cavalry, shouting and holding up their shields. They knew they had the victory.

Wearily, Samuka pulled the silk banner from where he had stuffed it under a saddle cloth. The breeze made it flutter as he raised it over his head. He looked up at the hill behind the city and felt a shadow pass over his face before he heard the crack of the catapults.

Pottery balls shattered against the gate into Otrar, each as large as a man could carry. Samuka held out an arrow with the head bound in oil-soaked cloth and let a warrior light it from a shuttered lamp. He saw two more clay pots break in the gate, sending a horseman tumbling. Samuka sighted carefully and let the arrow go.

He was rewarded by a rush of flame that enveloped the gate and incinerated all those trying to come through it. The Chin fire oil was terrible to see, the heat so intense that many of the Mongol ponies danced back from it until they were brought under control. The catapults on the hill sent more clay pots over the heads of his men, adding to the inferno until the gate itself began to glow dull red. Samuka knew he could ignore the gate for a time. No one could cross those flames and live. He had intended to join Ho Sa on the other side while the first one roared in flames, but the plan had been ruined by the mass of soldiers who had climbed down.

As his men turned their bows on the Arab infantry and crumpled them, Samuka shook his head to clear it. Foot soldiers could not trouble Genghis, he reminded himself. One sharp blast on a scout horn had his men turning their horses to him.

Samuka used his sword to point and kicked his mount forward, passing close enough to the fiery gate to feel its warmth on his cheek. Even as he did so, the city vomited fresh soldiers down the ropes to replace the dead, but no enemy remained to face them.

It was strange to leave a battle behind. Otrar was not a small city and Samuka saw blurred figures on the walls as he and his men raced along in their shadow, alone with the rhythm of hooves and the smell of smoke. He did not know how long the supply of Chin fire oil would last and he suffered at the thought that a better thinker would have found a way to hold both gates.

He heard Ho Sa’s men before he saw them and Samuka drew his bow from its holder, an extension of his strong right arm. The walls rushed by and the sound grew until he came upon a scene of bloody chaos.

Ho Sa had struggled to hold the second gate, Samuka saw at a glance. Without the catapults, he and his men had been driven back by waves of soldiers. They roared at the Mongols, berserk to the point of pulling arrows from their own flesh as they marched and leaving bloody footsteps on the ground.

Samuka’s last thousand men hit them from behind, cutting into the Arab regiments in an impact so colossal that they smashed almost through to Ho Sa’s core of warriors in one sweep. Samuka felt them slowing around him as horses were killed or hemmed in too close by dying enemies. He reached for an arrow but found nothing and threw down the bow as he drew his sword once more.

He could see Ho Sa fighting for every step as the warriors were pushed back. Samuka grunted and hacked with all his strength to reach him, but more and more men came rushing round the city after him and he felt as if he were being swallowed in a dark and roaring sea.

The sun was dipping towards the west. Samuka realised he had been fighting for hours, but it was not long enough. The second gate was a hundred paces away and no flames burned there. He could see horsemen coming out and they did not join the others. Samuka cried out in rage and despair as they streamed away in a ragged column. Even a small number of cavalry hitting the khan’s rear could mean the difference between life and death.

Samuka blinked blood out of his eyes as he kicked a man away from his right stirrup. Of the men Khasar had left him, just a few hundred still lived. They had killed many more than their own number, but this was the end. Somehow, Samuka had believed he would survive it, despite the odds. The thought of his body cooling on the ground was beyond his imagination.

Samuka shouted Ho Sa’s name across the swarming heads and hands of men clutching at him. He could feel their fingers tugging at his legs and he kicked wildly and slashed with his sword as Ho Sa saw him. Perhaps for a moment, the Xi Xia officer thought he was calling for aid, but Samuka gestured with his sword after the fleeing cavalry. As Ho Sa turned to follow the gesture, Samuka saw him gashed across the neck, blood gushing as he collapsed.

Samuka howled in fury as he brought his blade down on fingers digging into his thighs. Bearded faces clustered so thickly around him that his horse came to a halt and Samuka felt a sudden calm, mingling with surprise. Khasar had not come back. He was lost and alone and all his men were dying.

Hands gained purchase on some part of his armour and, to his horror, Samuka felt himself begin to slip. He killed another man with a wild swing, but then his arm was trapped and the sword torn from his hand. His horse lurched with unseen wounds and the men around him were so close that he could see their red throats as they yelled. Samuka slid into the mass, still flailing. The setting sun vanished as he fell at the feet of stamping, stabbing men. The pain was worse than he had feared. He told himself that he had done all he could, but it was still a hard death and the garrison of Otrar was out.