Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

Bayar clapped Yao Shu on the back, feeling the bones beneath his colourful robe.

‘That will do,’ the general said, trying to conceal his relief. Uriang-Khadai was not there. The orlok had decided not to notice the sudden and massive labour that had overtaken the camp. While families worked the skins, oiling and sewing for all they were worth, the orlok had his men practising their archery and the cannon teams sweating to improve their speed with the guns. Bayar didn’t care. He found the work fascinating and on the evening of the second day he strode up to the ger erected for Kublai, hardly able to restrain his grin as he was allowed to enter.

‘It’s done, my lord,’ he said proudly.

To his relief, Kublai smiled, responding to the man’s evident satisfaction.

‘I never doubted it would be, general.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hulegu was hot and thirsty as he rode north. The bulk of his army had gone on without him, ready to lay a siege around Baghdad. The centre of Islam was a powerful city on the Tigris river and he knew it would not fall quickly. The decision had been difficult, but he had thought his detour to the stronghold of Alamut would be a quick strike, no more onerous than crushing the head of a snake under his heel before going on with the real work. Instead, he suffered through hundreds of miles of the most hostile country he had ever seen. The sun fed a simmering anger that seemed to have been with him for weeks. He shaded his eyes as he stared up into the mountains, seeing snow on the peak of the one known as Solomon’s Seat. Somewhere in those remote crags was the most powerful fortress of the Ismaili Assassins.

The last towns and villages were long behind. His warriors rode across a burning plain, over a surface of loose rocks and scree that made many of the horses go lame. There was no grazing in such a place and Hulegu had lost time securing grain and water for the men and animals. Three tumans had originally come north with him, but he had sent one back to Baghdad and another to act as a relay for water when he saw the desolation of the terrain. He had no wish to see his best mounts die of thirst. Yet Hulegu was not deterred by the difficulties. If anything, they reassured him. No worthy goal should come easily, he told himself. Suffering created value.

In another age, Genghis had vowed to annihilate the Assassin cult. The great khan may even have thought he had done so, but they had survived like weeds in the rocks. As Hulegu looked over the single tuman, he sat straighter in the saddle, his pride obvious to them all. He had grown up with stories of Genghis. To meet one of the old enemies in the field was more than satisfying. He would give orders for their precious fortresses to be taken down and left in the valleys as fire-blackened blocks of stone. Only snakes and lizards would creep where the Assassins had walked, he vowed to himself. Mongke would not begrudge him the time he lost, Hulegu was sure. Baghdad would not fall in the next season. He had time to finish the personal matter between his family and the Moslems who inhabited Alamut.

Three guides led the tuman across the plain, recruited at knife-point from the last town they had passed. Hulegu had scouts and spies across the country feeding him information, but none of them had been able to give him the exact location of the fortress. Even the letters he had exchanged with the Assassins had gone to prominent merchants in cities, passed on by their own riders. His best information gave him only the range of mountains and nothing more. Even that had cost him a fortune in silver and a day spent torturing a man given up by his friends. It did not matter. Hulegu had always known he would have to come to the area to hunt them down. He questioned the guides constantly, but they only argued with each other in Arabic and shrugged, pointing always into the mountains. He had not seen another living soul for a long time when his scouts came riding in, their horses lathered in soapy sweat.

Hulegu frowned when he saw them making for him across the face of the ranks. From a distance, he could see the urgency in the way they sat their horses and he forced himself to keep the cold face as a matter of habit.

‘My lord, there are men ahead,’ the first scout said. He touched his right hand to his forehead, lips and heart in a gesture of respect. ‘Twelve miles, or a little more. I saw only eight horses and a silk awning, so I went closer, while my companion stayed out of range, ready to ride back to you.’

‘You spoke to them?’ Hulegu asked. Sweat was trickling down his back under his armour and his mood improved at the thought that he must be close if there were strangers gathered in the foothills to wait for him. The scout nodded.

‘The leader said he was Rukn-al-Din, lord. He claimed to have authority to speak for the Ismailis. He told me to say he has prepared a cool tent and drinks for you, my lord.’

Hulegu thought, wrinkling his brow. He had no particular desire to sit down with men who dealt in death. He could certainly not eat or drink with them. Equally, he could not let his warriors see he was afraid of so few.

‘Tell him I will come,’ he said. The scout cantered off across the lines to get a fresh horse and Hulegu summoned General Ilugei, nodding to the man as he approached.

‘They have made a meeting place, general. I want to surround it, so that they understand the consequences of treachery. I will walk in, but if I do not walk out, I want you to visit destruction on them. If I fall, Ilugei, you are to leave a mark in their histories to show their error. Do you understand? Not for me, but for those who come after me.’

Ilugei bowed his head.

‘Your will, my lord, but they do not know your face. Let me go in your place to see what they intend. If they plan to kill, let me be the one who draws them out.’

Hulegu thought about it for a moment, but then shook his head. He felt a worm of fear in his stomach and it made anger rise in him like the heat of the day. He could not stop his fear, but he could face it down.

‘Not this time, Ilugei. They rely on the fear they create. It is part of their power, perhaps even the heart of it. With just a few deaths each year, they create a terror in all men. I will not give them that, not from me.’

Rukn-al-Din sat in light robes and sipped at a drink cooled with ice. If the Mongol general did not show himself soon, the precious stock brought down from the peaks would all have melted. He glanced at the dripping white block sitting in a wooden bucket and gestured to have a few more shavings added to his drink. At least he could enjoy the luxury while he waited.

Around his small group, the Mongols were still riding, a wall of moving men and horses. For half a day, they had amused themselves with yells and mock screams while Rukn’s men ignored them completely. It took time to move ten thousand warriors into position and Rukn wondered if he would see the khan’s brother before sunset. There were no hidden forces for the Mongols to find, though he did not doubt they wasted their energies searching the hills all around him. For the thousandth time, he went over the offers he could make in his father’s name. It was not a long list. Gold and eventually a fortress, offered in such a way that it seemed to be drawn out of him. Rukn frowned, wishing his father were there to conduct the negotiation. The old man could sell his own shadow at noon, but Rukn knew there was a chance he would not survive the meeting. The Mongols were unpredictable, like angry children with swords. They could treat him with honour and courtesy, or simply cut his throat and move on with utter indifference. Despite the afternoon breeze and the cool drink, Rukn found he was perspiring after all. He did not know what to do if his offers were refused. No one had expected the Mongols to appear in the area, when good sources said they were heading to Baghdad, hundreds of miles away. Even the natural barrier of the dry plain seemed hardly to have slowed them and Rukn realised he was afraid. Before sunset, he could be just another body waiting to be reclaimed by the dust.