Bones Of the Hills

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Even over the noise of galloping hooves, Tsubodai could hear the crackle of feathers at his ear as he drew his bow. He rose from the saddle and sighted on the front legs of an elephant that was coming at him like a landslide. On every side, his men copied the action and, when he released, a black blur of arrows snapped out. None of the warriors had to think about their actions. They had trained for it ever since they had been tied to a sheep and taught to ride at two or three years old. Before the first arrows hit, they had a second on the string. Powerful cords of muscle swelled in their right shoulders as they pulled back again.

The elephants bellowed and reared in pain, swinging their heads from side to side. Tsubodai saw shafts sink into the massive grey legs, catching them in full stride and breaking the rhythm of the charge. Half of the enormous animals stumbled as a leg buckled. Others raised their trunks and showed yellow tusks in enraged challenge. If anything, the speed increased, but the second wave of arrows cracked out and the elephants shuddered with the impacts. Arrows snagged between their legs, wrenching at wounds.

Tsubodai reached automatically for another arrow, but his fingers closed on an empty quiver. He was almost at the shah’s cavalry by then and he dropped his bow back into the stiff leather fold on his saddle and raised his sword over his right shoulder, ready to chop down.

The men around him loosed one last shaft at the approaching lines and Tsubodai stood in his stirrups as he saw the closest elephants rear on their hind legs, wild with pain. Their handlers screamed, beating wildly as they were spun around. His heart seemed to slow as he saw one of them plucked off a broad back and thrown to the ground with appalling force. The elephants turned in agony from the line of galloping warriors, knocking down horses and men.

Tsubodai shouted in triumph as the massive animals retreated blindly into the shah’s ranks. They cut lines through the advancing soldiers as if they waded through thick grass, using their tusks to toss aside fully grown men. Nothing could stop them in their madness. In just moments, Tsubodai faced broken front ranks, dazed and bloodied by the passing beasts. Some of the Arabs recovered quickly enough to send their own arrows whirring from double-curved bows. Mongol warriors and horses were cut down, but the others showed their teeth and rode. In the last instants before the forces met, Tsubodai picked his man and guided his pony with knees alone.

The Mongol warriors went over the first line into chaos. Tsubodai took the head of one soldier, then almost lost his seat as another aimed a blow at him and he ducked under it. As Tsubodai rose, he held out his blade and his shoulder wrenched at the impact against armour. His low stance and weight kept him in the saddle as an Arab fell and Tsubodai found himself in one of the bloody tracks the elephants had left. He could still see them charging away, tormented and blind to the destruction in their wake. Tsubodai silently thanked the monstrous animals as he looked around for another enemy.

The shah’s ranks had been shocked into immobility by the rampaging elephants. Arab archers scattered, dying as they bawled orders in fear while the Mongols came in hard, taking wounds without a sound while they hacked and chopped. Good blades were ruined on Arab armour, but their arms rose and fell without respite, and if a shield stopped one strike, they whipped another in above or below, cutting legs and throats. They were faster than those who faced them. Tsubodai clashed with a huge, bearded Arab, fighting in a mindless frenzy. Tsubodai could smell the man’s sweat as he used his pony’s shoulder to knock him off balance. In the instant before he was past, Tsubodai saw the curved sword had no guard and let his blade slide, cutting three fingers cleanly so that the weapon spun away. The shah’s men were large and Tsubodai wondered if they had been picked for their strength more than skill. Their blows hammered at his warriors, but again and again, Mongols ducked or swayed away, cutting back where they could and moving on. Many of the shah’s soldiers took three or four wounds before blood loss felled them.

Tsubodai saw hundreds of foot soldiers gather around a horseman riding a black stallion. Even at a distance, he could see the animal was very fine. Its rider was yelling orders and men formed up with him, making a wedge. Tsubodai braced for a counter-attack, but instead they raised shields and began a fighting retreat back to the main lines.

The Mongol general did not have to give new orders. His minghaan officers were on their own and four of them sensed the withdrawal and raced to attack. Arrows would have slaughtered the retreating soldiers, but there were none left and the Arab ranks stayed together in good order, leaving hills of the dead behind them.

In the distance, Tsubodai heard scout horns moaning across the land. He looked up and saw the tumans of Genghis riding in. The khan had entered the field at last and Tsubodai wiped his eyes of sweat, filled with a terrible pleasure.

His men had shattered those sent against them, but Tsubodai still chafed. The orderly withdrawal had done its work, preventing him from collapsing the lines in on themselves and cutting the head from the shah’s main army. He and his men milled around on the edge of the battle, some still engaged in fighting the last few knots of weary infantry. Tsubodai wondered who the young officer had been who had prevented a complete rout. The man had held his soldiers together in the fire of battle and Tsubodai added the knowledge to what he knew of the enemy. The shah had at least one competent officer under his command, it seemed.

The minghaans re-formed in a landscape of broken men, littered armour and weapons. Some of them dismounted to yank precious arrows out of flesh, but only a few were good enough to be used again. Tsubodai felt his heartbeat settle and took in the battlefield, judging where he was needed. The shah’s army was out of the passes and he could see the tumans of Jebe and Jochi cutting them bloody in the rear. The sun was deep in the west and he thought Genghis would hardly have time to attack before the light faded.

Tsubodai nodded to himself. He could see the last of the shah’s infantry were back on the flank, staring out balefully at the Mongol warriors milling amongst the bodies. Most of the elephants had vanished, though some lay kicking where they had been hit with more arrows from the shah’s own ranks, rather than letting them smash through. Tsubodai was tired and he ached in a dozen places, but the battle was far from over.

‘Form on me!’ he shouted and those who heard responded. As the shah’s ranks marched past, fresh foot soldiers came under Tsubodai’s cold gaze. He could hardly believe it, but the shah’s soldiers were so determined to reach Otrar that they pressed on regardless of the attacking forces.

Tsubodai shook his head. The generals had shown the strength of mobile forces, with the officers acting on their own. Yet the shah’s army lumbered on, holding to a single command no matter what faced them. Tsubodai thought the shah as ruthless as Genghis himself in the way he spent his men.

As Jelme’s men formed with his into columns, Tsubodai saw frightened faces in the shah’s army turn towards him. They knew what was coming, even as he made the decision. He watched them bend their bows and make ready.

Tsubodai reached for the scout’s horn at his neck, only to find it in two pieces, cut by a blow he could not remember. He swore to himself, blind to the grins his words produced in those close by.

‘With me,’ he bellowed. To his left, Jelme’s men dug in their heels and rode.

Genghis had pushed hard for twenty miles to be in that place, changing to fresh mounts when the battle was in sight. He saw the shah had come clear of the hills, but there was no help for that. He looked along the lines to where his son Chagatai galloped and further to Khasar. Fully fifty thousand men rode at his back, with a great tail of spare horses riding behind them. Yet they faced an army that stretched further than he could see. Tsubodai’s flags were barely visible on his left, attacking the flanks. Behind the Arab host, dust clouds roiled and raged. Genghis thought Samuka and Ho Sa would be dead by then, but Otrar was far away and its garrison could not reach the battle that day. He had done all he could, but this was the final fling of the bones. It came to this and he had no other plan except to hit the shah’s column and envelop it in horns.

Genghis snapped an order to a bannerman and heard the fluttering as a gold flag went up. All along the line, thousands of bows creaked. The shah’s army tried to brace for the impact, though their officers urged them on. No one wanted to face these grim warriors again, but there was nowhere to go. They screamed defiance as the gold flag dipped and the air blackened.

The Mongol lines struck at full speed, roaring, the sheer pace as dangerous as the weapons they carried. The wide Mongol horns spilled around the head of the shah’s army, racing along the flanks and cutting in. The light was already grey as the armies met, the sun sinking over the west. The evening was clear and perfect as the Mongols flung themselves at the host of their enemy.

Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed cried out in shock as a line of Mongols cut right through to him. His mounted guard slaughtered them to a man, but he was surrounded on all sides and half his army could not bring their weapons to bear. The shah was close to panic as he looked in every direction. It would be dark very soon and yet the Mongols still fought like madmen. They did not make a sound, even when life was ripped from them. The shah could only shake his head at such a display. Did they not feel pain? His son Jelaudin believed they were more like dumb animals than men and he could have been right.

Still the shah’s army moved, staggering as they fought the desire to run from this enemy. Ala-ud-Din saw bright columns of his men being smashed to pieces on the flanks and always the rumble of the Mongols in the rear drove them on.

More and more of the khan’s warriors died as they tried to fight their way to the centre. The shah’s soldiers held formation and cut them to pieces as they came galloping through. They could not match the Mongol speed, but their shields stopped many of the arrows and those who came in were hacked and slashed as they went, sent reeling back time and again. As the light faded, Ala-ud-Din exulted in the enemy dead as his elephant passed over them.

Darkness came and for a time it was a vision of hell. Men cried out as they struggled in a heaving mass of shadows and knives. The shah’s army seemed to be surrounded by a growling djinn, the thunder of hooves in their ears. Soldiers jerked around as they marched on, terrified that the noise of riders was coming straight at them. Above their heads, the stars were clear and bright as the crescent moon rose slowly.

The shah thought that the Mongol khan might continue right to dawn and he prayed constantly as he gave his orders, hoping that he would survive the dark hours. Once again, his guards had to fight off a stray column of raiding warriors, killing eighty or so men and sending the rest galloping away to be cut down by others. The sons of the ancient houses were enjoying themselves, Ala-ud-Din could see. Their teeth flashed as they mimed good cuts to their friends. The army around them was being battered to pieces, but such noble sons would not count those losses. Allah gave and took away as he pleased, after all.

Ala-ud-Din thought dawn would reveal a bloody tatter of the host he had commanded. Only the thought of his enemy suffering as much kept him resolute.

He did not notice the sound dwindle at first. It felt as if he had lived with the thump of hooves in all directions for ever. When it began to fade, he was still calling for his sons, for fresh reports. The army marched on and Otrar would surely be somewhere close before dawn.

At last, one of the shah’s senior men shouted that the khan had withdrawn. Ala-ud-Din gave thanks for his deliverance. He had known horsemen could not attack at night. With hardly any light from the moon, they could not coordinate their blows without crashing into one another. He listened to news as his scouts came in, estimating their distance from Otrar and passing on every detail they had seen of the khan’s position.

Ala-ud-Din prepared to make camp. Dawn would bring an end to it and the cursed Mongols would have left their arrows behind in the bodies of his men. With Otrar in sight, he would widen his lines and bring more swords to bear on their stinging attacks. In the last hour, they had lost as many men as he had, he was certain. Before that, they had gutted his host. He looked around at the marching lines, wondering how many had survived the fight through the mountains. He had once seen a hunting party follow a wounded lion as it dragged itself away from their spears. The animal had left a trail of blood as wide as itself as it crawled on its torn belly. He could not escape the vision of his own army in just such a state, the red smear bright behind them. He gave the order to halt at last and he could hear the massed sigh of thousands of men allowed to rest. The shah began to dismount, but as he did so, he saw lights spring up to the east. He knew the pinpoints of an army’s fires well and he stayed on the back of the elephant as more and more sprang into existence until they looked like distant stars. There was his enemy, resting and waiting for the dawn.

Around Ala-ud-Din, his own men began to make fires with wood and dried dung from the camel backs. The morning would see an end to it. The shah heard voices calling the faithful to prayer and nodded fiercely to himself. Allah was with them still and the Mongol khan was bleeding too.

As the moon crossed the black sky, Genghis gathered his generals around a fire. The mood was not jubilant as they waited for him to speak. Their tumans had slaughtered many of the shah’s men, but their own losses were appalling. In the last hour before darkness, four thousand veteran warriors had been killed. They had cut their way almost to the shah himself, but then the Arab swords had gathered against them and dug them out.

Jebe and Jochi had come into the camp together, greeted by Kachiun and Khasar while Genghis merely stared. Tsubodai and Jelme rose to congratulate the two young men, having heard the story of the long ride as it spread through the camp.

Chagatai too had heard the news and his expression was surly as he watched Jelme clap his older brother on the back. He could not understand why they seemed so pleased. He too had fought, following his father’s orders rather than disappearing for days at a time. He at least had been where Genghis needed him. Chagatai had hoped to see Jebe and Jochi humiliated for their absence, but even their late arrival at the shah’s rear ranks was being treated as a stroke of genius. He sucked his front teeth, looking to his father.

Genghis sat cross-legged, with a skin of airag on his hip and a bowl of sour cheese curds on his lap. The back of his left hand was caked in blood and his right shin was bound tightly, but still seeped. As Chagatai turned his face from the foolish praise of his brother, Genghis cleaned the bowl with a finger and chewed the last of it. Silence fell as he put the bowl aside and sat perfectly still.

‘Samuka and Ho Sa must be dead by now,’ Genghis said at last. ‘The garrison at Otrar cannot be far away and I do not know how many survived the fire and arrows.’

‘They won’t stop for darkness,’ Kachiun said. ‘Perhaps they will walk their horses, but they’ll still reach the shah before dawn.’ As he spoke, Kachiun stared out into the night, to where they could expect the garrison to arrive. Further off, he could see the fires of the shah’s camp, and even after so much death, there were still hundreds of pinpoints of light, just a few miles away. No doubt Arab scouts were already riding back to join with the Otrar garrison and lead them in. The darkness would hide them well enough.

‘I have scouts out in a ring around us,’ Genghis said. ‘If they attack tonight, there will be no surprises.’

‘Who attacks at night?’ Khasar said. His thoughts were with Samuka and Ho Sa and he barely looked up from the dry goat meat he forced between his lips.

In the light of the flames, Genghis turned a cold gaze on his brother.

‘We do,’ he said.

Khasar swallowed the meat faster than he had intended, but Genghis went on before he could reply.

‘What choice do we have? We know where they are and the arrows are all gone anyway. If we strike from all sides, we will not foul each other’s lines.’

Khasar cleared his throat and spoke thickly.

‘The moon is weak tonight, brother. How could we see flags or know how the battle is going?’

Genghis raised his head.

‘You will know when they break, or when you are killed. It is the only choice left to us. Would you have me wait until a garrison of twenty thousand men joins them at dawn – fresh men who have not fought as we have?’ In the firelight, he looked around at his generals. Many of them moved stiffly and Jelme’s right arm was wrapped in bloody cloth, still wet.

‘If I know Samuka, there won’t be half that number,’ Khasar muttered, but Genghis did not reply.

Tsubodai cleared his throat and Genghis’ eyes slid over to the young general.

‘My lord khan, the flying columns worked well when we had arrows. In the night, each attack would be met by men with shields in solid ranks. We could lose them all.’

Genghis snorted, but Tsubodai went on, his quiet voice calming the others.

‘One column could cut its way in, but we saw that today. They do not run from us, these Arabs, not easily. Every step brings more and more men onto the flank of the charge until it is overwhelmed.’

‘You have an alternative?’ Genghis snapped. Though his voice was hard, he was listening. He knew Tsubodai’s sharp mind and respected it.

‘We need to confuse them, lord. We can do that with a false second attack, circling around. They will send men to hold and we will roll them up from our side.’

Genghis shook his head, considering. Tsubodai pressed on.

‘What if we had a small number of men drive horses at the shah’s left wing, lord? Have them take all the spare mounts and make as much noise as they can. When the shah commits his soldiers there, we attack the right with everything we have. It might make a difference.’

He waited as Genghis thought it through, unaware that he was holding his breath.

‘It is a good plan,’ he began. All the men at the fire stiffened as they heard a scout’s horn sound in the night. Almost in response, a roar sounded in the distance, coming towards them. While they talked and ate, the shah had attacked their fires.

As one, the generals surged to their feet, keen to get back to their men.

‘This is simpler, though, Tsubodai,’ Khasar said as he passed.

Tsubodai grinned at the insolent tone. He had already planned for such an attack and the warriors were ready.