Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

The plain was long and flat, but the battle was still a tiny, surging throng of dust as darkness came. In the last moments before they were lost to sight, Arik-Boke was sure he saw tumans streaming away to the north. He clenched his jaw, the heat of his body feeling like fuel for the anger within. Karakorum had few defenders, with his entire army in the field. He felt sick at the thought that his brother could take the capital in a quick strike. He had ignored Alandar’s feeble worries, convinced back then that his brother would never get in range of the capital. It should have meant nothing, but Arik-Boke wanted to roar his frustration. Whoever held Karakorum had a claim to rule. It mattered in the eyes of the princes and the small khanates.

His general had reached him, riding alongside and shouting questions into the wind. At first, Arik-Boke ignored the man, but then the darkness was on them and he was forced to rein in and slow to a canter, then a trot. Their horses snorted and breathed hard and the searing energy drained out of Arik-Boke, leaving a coldness deeper than he had ever felt before. Not till that moment had he seriously considered Kublai might beat him in battle. His mind filled with images of facing the scholar within the length of a sword. It was satisfying but empty, and he shook his head to clear it of foolishness. He rode on, into the night.

All around him, warriors coming the other way were streaming past, keeping their faces down in shame before those they knew. They were joining his tumans at the back in tens and hundreds, coming out of the blackness ahead. Arik-Boke saw one of them wheel his horse, turning to match the trotting line as he tried to come across it. The man was within a horse-length of him and calling out before Arik-Boke knew it was Alandar. The khan’s knuckles were white on the reins as his orlok reached him, bringing a stench of fresh sweat and blood that hung on him like a cloak.

‘My lord khan,’ Alandar said.

He did not need to shout over the noise of the horses any longer. They were barely trotting by then, the black grass flowing under their hooves unseen. Arik-Boke almost called for torches, but there were still hundreds coming away from the battle and he did not know if they were all his own men. It would not do to light himself up in the line.

‘Orlok, I revoke your rank. You will not lead again in my armies.’ Arik-Boke tried to keep his voice calm, but the rage threatened to spill out of him. He wanted to see the man’s face, but the darkness was complete.

‘Your will, my lord,’ Alandar said, his voice unutterably weary.

‘Will you report then? Must I drag it out of you word by word?’ Arik-Boke’s voice grew louder as he spoke, until he was almost shouting. He sensed Alandar flinch from him.

‘I’m sorry, my lord. They set a trap to draw off my warriors, with a second position to make me think I had spotted the ruse.’ Alandar had worked it out by then, though he was still dazed after such a day and so tired he could barely speak at all. He could not be seen to praise the enemy, but there was a grudging respect in his voice as he went on. ‘They ambushed my forces once we had followed them into a valley. I saw some twelve tumans in all, under Kublai and Uriang-Khadai.’

‘Were my orders not to wait until the main army came up to you, if you saw the enemy?’ Arik-Boke asked. ‘Did I not consider exactly what has happened today?’

‘I’m sorry, my lord. I thought I saw through their planning and could strike a blow for you. I saw the chance to break them and I took it. I was wrong, my lord khan.’

‘You were wrong ,’ Arik-Boke echoed. It was too much to have the man yammering his apologies at him. He turned to the general on his other side.

‘Oirakh, take this man’s weapons and bind him. I will deal with him when there is daylight to see.’ He ignored the sounds of struggle as warriors closed on Alandar. Had he truly expected to live? The man was a fool.

As the crescent moon showed itself, casting a thin light, his tumans came to the edges of the battlefield Kublai had fled at the last. Some of the fallen men and horses were still alive, calling piteously for help to those who passed them. Arik-Boke picked his way carefully, slowing to a walk. The dead lay thick on the ground as he went on and he could hear wounded men sobbing with pain. The rage in him became a hard ball in his chest and stomach so that he could hardly straighten his back. Kublai’s orlok had done this thing.

At the centre of the dead, Arik-Boke dismounted and called for lamps. The smell was appalling, and despite the darkness, flies were everywhere already, buzzing into the faces of his men so that they had to wave them away every few moments. Arik-Boke breathed deeply, closing his eyes as the lamps were lit around him and placed onto poles. They cast a golden glow, revealing staring eyes and cold flesh on all sides. Arik-Boke shuddered slightly as he turned on the spot, taking it in. His lips thinned in disgust and anger blinded him. His brother was responsible for all of it.

‘Bring Alandar to me,’ he said. He had not bothered to look in any particular direction, but the order was carried out quickly even so. Alandar was dragged in and thrown face down at Arik-Boke’s feet.

‘Were they heading north at the end?’ Arik-Boke asked.

The man who had been his orlok struggled to his knees and nodded, keeping his head bowed as low as possible.

‘I think so, my lord.’

‘It will be Karakorum, then,’ Arik-Boke muttered. ‘I can catch him yet.’ He knew why Kublai wanted that city. Tens of thousands of women and children had formed their own slums on the plains around Karakorum, waiting for their men to return. Arik-Boke drew a long knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh. The torn flesh of his men lay all around him and there had to be reckoning, a price to pay for all of it. He knew then what he had to do.

Alandar had heard the knife come free and looked up in fear.

‘My lord khan, I …’ His voice choked off as Arik-Boke took him by the hair and cut his throat with powerful strokes, sawing into the flesh.

‘That is enough from you,’ Arik-Boke said into his ear. ‘Be silent now.’

Alandar jerked and struggled, the sharp smell of urine filling the air and steaming. Arik-Boke shoved him aside.

‘Scouts! To me!’ he roared into the night.

Two of the closest came in fast, leaping from their horses. They glanced at Alandar’s cooling body, then quickly away.

‘You have ridden hard today,’ Arik-Boke said. ‘But you will not rest tonight.’

The two scouts were both young men, not yet eighteen years of age. They nodded without speaking, awed at being in the presence of the khan.

‘Take fresh horses and go to Karakorum. Use the yam stations for remounts.’ He yanked a ring from his finger and tossed it to one of the young men. ‘You will have to pass my brother’s armies, so ride hard and fast. I want you to reach the city before him. Find the captain of my palace guard and tell him I said it was time. Do you understand? Those words, exactly. Repeat your orders.’

The two scouts chanted his words back at him and he nodded, satisfied. There was a price to pay for all things. By the time Kublai reached the city, he would learn the cost of his rebellion. Arik-Boke smiled at the thought. Perhaps Kublai’s men would mutiny when they realised what he had cost them. Arik-Boke might return to his city to find his brother already dead at their hands.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The night was cold and still as Kublai rode towards Karakorum. He and his men shared twists of black meat as they went, passing skins of sour milk or clear airag to ease parched throats. There was no time to stop and acknowledge the victories of the day, not with Arik-Boke’s tumans so close behind. Kublai had seen his son for just a brief moment as Zhenjin rode past him on some errand for his minghaan officer. No doubt the man had suggested he ride close to the khan as he went. It was the sort of subtle gesture his men arranged and Kublai knew they were proud to have his son riding with them, with all the trust that implied. Kublai pitied the enemy who tried to take on that particular minghaan. They would slaughter anyone who came close to the khan’s heir.