Piers Anthony - Steppe

Piers Anthony

Steppe

CONTENTS

Part One — UIGUR

1.

2. HELL

3. HIDING

4. GAME

5. SUBCHIEF

6. CARTOONS

7. MISSION

8. PARTS AND PLAYERS

9. KOKA

10. BATTLE

11. TRUST

Part Two — MONGOL

12. REVELATIONS

13. TEMUJIN

14. FRIENDS

15. BORTE

16. PROGRESS

17. POWER

18. QAN

19. RECKONING

Author's Note

Part One — UIGUR

Chapter 1

GORGE

Alp slapped Surefoot on the flank and guided him toward the gorge. The barbarians probably thought he would head for the open plain, but they were about to discover that civilization was not synonymous with stupidity. Not entirely!

He eased the pace as he picked up the cover of the scattered trees of a large oasis. Surefoot would need his strength for the gorge!

It would be better to stop here and rest—but Alp could not take the chance. Once the pursuers realized he was not rushing directly south in blind panic, they would cut back, killing any oasis peasants who failed to point the way. That would be in a matter of hours—no more.

He would not have had even that much leeway, had he arrived in time to fight for his wife and child. But their demise had saved him, for he had seen the enemy standards at his tent. Too many to fight...

He broke out of the protective hollow and climbed the ridge. There was treacherous country to negotiate, and he was hardly fool enough to rush it. If Surefoot sprained an ankle here—

Shapes raced out of the late afternoon sunlight on either side. Kirghiz! They had anticipated him after all!

Alp knew that retreat was impossible. The savages were almost within arrow range already, and their steeds were fresh. To flee was to be cut down from behind—much as his Uigur countrymen had been decimated.

His dry lips drew back over white teeth. There had not been time for a general alert against him. At least some of these riders had to be from the horde that had overrun Alp's estate. His discipline had stopped him from attacking suicidally then—but the current situation, though bad, was improved. He could make his first payment on a very large debt of revenge.

So he charged. Not for the diminishing open spot ahead, the center of the barbarian pincers, but for the left group of horsemen. There were four on that side—more than enough to do the job, but not so many that he couldn't take one or two with him as he went down. Perhaps three. They thought the Uigur had forgotten how to fight, that he had fled the massacre of his family because of cowardice...

The four Kirghiz rallied as he came at them, forming a half circle for him to enter. Their bows were ready, but with native cunning they held their fire until their target was sure.

Alp grinned again—the bared fangs of the wolf. They were right about the average Uigur, for his people had grown soft in the course of a century of dominance over the steppe country. Many had moved into the great city of Karabalgasun, high on the Orkhon River, forgetting their plains-riding heritage that had made these Turks great. The Khagan, ruler of the Uigur, had adopted the foreign religion Manichaeism, and the nobles had turned to scholarly pursuits. They had mastered the difficult art of writing, so as to record the legends and history of the world. Thus the Uigur's nomad power had waned while his intellectual power waxed—and thus the primitive Kirghiz on the northern reaches had been able to rebel and prevail. The enemy had sacked the capital city and brought ruin to the Uigur empire.

And desolation to Alp himself. Only the need to make his vengeance count as heavily as possible sustained him now. He was one of the few who had maintained the old skills while mastering the best of the new. He had no use for Manichaeism, so he had been out of favor with the Khagan. Only his resolute fighting posture had saved Alp from the wrath of his ruler. He had remained technically loyal, and the Khagan had needed sturdy warriors as officers, so an uneasy truce had prevailed.

Now all that was done, with the Khagan dead and his power obliterated. The Kirghiz intended to eliminate the most serious remaining threat to their newfound empire. And they had just about done it—they thought.

Alp's bow was in his hand, the first arrow nocked. He had designed the set himself: the bow was larger than normal and was braced by the finest horn available, with a gut string from the leading specialist. The arrows too were long and finely balanced. It had taken him years to settle on the ideal proportions for this weapon, and its elements had cost him much, but the superior instrument had been well worth it. He could shoot farther than any other man he knew, and with truer impact.

He fired, rising momentarily on his stirrups for better aim. The arrow made a high arc—and struck in the belly of the nearest Kirghiz. The man gave a horrible cry, quite satisfying to Alp, and dropped off his horse. "That for my son!" Alp muttered.

Immediately the other three fired—but one arrow fell short and two went wide. Alp's second was already in the air, and this time his aim was better. The point scored on the second barbarian's face, penetrating his brain. "That for my wife!"

Alp ducked down as Surefoot automatically responded to battle conditions and ran a jerky evasive pattern. The horse had been almost as difficult to obtain and train as it had been to design and make the bow—but again the effort had been worthwhile. Two more arrows missed—but at Alp's signal Surefoot reared and stumbled as if hit. The two remaining Kirghiz exclaimed with joy, seeing victory—and Alp's third arrow, fired from the side of his stumbling horse, thunked into the shoulder of one. The fool had sat stationary for an instant too long! "And that for me!"

Alp could take the fourth enemy easily—except for the five warriors of the other wing now closing in. Yet he could not afford to leave that man behind, free to take careful aim at the retreating target. Alp's bow was no advantage now, for he was well within the Kirghiz range, and there were no cowards or bad shots in the barbarian cavalry! The element of surprise was gone; the Kirghiz knew they faced a fighting nomad.

"Now that the amenities are over, we shall begin the fray," Alp said. "Uigur cunning against Kirghiz." He felt a bit better, for he had avenged his family for today. Tomorrow, if he lived, he would avenge it again—and so on, until the need diminished. Then he would seek another wife.

Alp touched Surefoot again in a special way, and the horse responded with the certainty of a reliable, well-loved friend. Surefoot leaped, landed, and tumbled, rolling all the way over before struggling to his feet. Alp's precious bow was flung wide.

The fourth Kirghiz clung to the side of his own mount, proffering no target, bow ready—waiting for the Uigur to show, dead or alive. But Surefoot rose and trotted on, riderless. The Kirghiz charged the place where the horse had rolled, expecting to dispatch the injured rider—and died as Alp's accurately thrown knife caught his throat.

Surefoot charged back. Alp fetched his bow and leaped aboard. Now he fled—and the five other riders were still beyond range.

Alp knew he was not out of it yet. The Kirghiz would surely gain as Surefoot tired, and all Alp's tricks would be futile the next time around. The savages were very quick to catch on to new combat techniques and very slow to forgive them. If he exhausted his horse by racing to the gorge...