Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

Before the last light had gone, Kublai’s gun teams finished their preparations, marking sites and placing shuttered lamps on poles. In the night, before the moon rose, the cannons were heaved forward to the marked positions, pushed in silence by dozens of straining volunteers. At the same time, the main force moved further back, away from the river. Kublai had seen no sign of similar work going on in the Sung camp, but he did not want to be surprised by some enterprising officer with the same idea. For once, his warriors would spend the night in the saddle or on the grass by their horses. The families were a mile further away from the river, well clear of danger. Kublai wondered what Chabi was doing at that moment. She had known tonight would be dangerous for him, but she’d shown no fear at all, as if there wasn’t a man alive who could trouble her husband. He knew her well enough to sense the performance in it, but even so he found it oddly reassuring. The thought of telling his wife and son he had failed was a better motivation than anything Mongke could do to him.

The moon rose slowly and Kublai stood and watched it, rubbing his damp palms down his armour and wishing he wore a lighter robe. Even the nights were warm so far to the south and he was never comfortable. His cannons were covered by loose branches to confuse their shapes and he did not think the enemy would be able to see what he had done. On its own, it would be only a gesture at best, a brief taste of fear in the night before they pulled back and restored order. A young commander might have made the decision, intending to kill a few and make the enemy run about for a while. Kublai chuckled to himself. He hoped for more. Timing was going to be important and he strained his eyes in the darkness, looking for a sign. He had not spoken to Uriang-Khadai for some days, beyond the most basic courtesies. The man clearly resented the authority Kublai had exercised over him, suddenly a reality rather than an empty formality. Kublai sensed Uriang-Khadai was holding himself in check, waiting for some error to be made. The battle to come was important in many ways and the stakes worried him. Not only did he have to break the Sung army against him, but he also had to show his own generals that he was fit to lead. Kublai felt a headache begin behind his eyes and considered visiting a shaman for willow-bark powder or myrtle leaves. No, he dared not be out of position when the time came.

Bayar watched the moon rise and began a slow trot. By his best reckoning, he was less than ten miles north of the Sung army, on the other side of the river. In the end, he and Kublai had agreed to lose two more days to ferry enough men across on the sheepskin rafts. Three tumans had made the crossing, with their horses and weapons taking most of the time. The rafts worked and Bayar sensed the anticipation in the ranks. With just a little luck, the Sung would have no idea they had even left Kublai’s army. Bayar stepped up the pace, judging the speed he needed to cover the ground and still keep the horses fresh. Ten miles was not far for the Mongolian ponies. They could cover it before the moon reached its zenith and at the end he could still order a gallop and be answered.

The ground was firm away from the river and there were few obstacles, though no horsemen liked riding at night, regardless of the conditions. There would be falls and casualties, yet Bayar had his orders and he was cheerful. No one loved a surprise attack more than his people. The very idea filled him with glee. It did not hurt that Uriang-Khadai was still on Kublai’s side of the river. The orlok had been scornful of the great rafts and Bayar was pleased to be away from his baleful gaze for once. He sensed a camaraderie with Kublai that he had not expected. The khan’s brother was out of his depth in many ways, facing one of the most powerful enemies in the nation’s history. Bayar smiled as he rode. He did not intend to let him down.

In the distance, Kublai saw a bright spark sear a trail across the sky. From so far away, it was little more than a needle of light that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. He had feared he would miss the sign and tried to relax his cramped muscles, held tight for too long. Bayar was there, with a Chin firework he had lit and thrown into the air from the saddle. As Kublai turned to give his orders, another spark appeared, in case the first one had been missed. High-pitched voices began to roar confused orders on the other side of the river.

‘Begin firing on my signal,’ Kublai shouted. He dismounted to attend to his own device, a long tube of black powder resting in an iron cradle. He brought a shuttered lamp close and lit the taper from it, standing back as it fizzed and sputtered before rising into the air in a great whoosh of light.

The cannon teams had been waiting patiently for their moment and as they saw the signal the great iron weapons began to sound, cracking thunder across the river. The flashes lit up both banks for the briefest of moments, leaving ghosts on the vision of all those who stared into the blackness. They could not see where the balls landed, but distant screams made the gun teams laugh as they sponged down the barrels and reloaded, jamming in bags of black powder and fitting the hollow reeds to the touch-holes. The mouths of the cannon erupted in belches of flame, but the balls themselves were invisible as they soared across the water. Kublai noted the best rates of fire and wondered how it could be improved. There was just too long a gap between each shot, but he had the best part of a hundred heavy cannon lined up on the banks, all he could bring to bear on the Sung positions. The barrage would surely be devastating. He could imagine the flashes of light and cracks from the Sung perspective, followed by the whistle of stone balls ripping through the camp. Many of the shot balls disintegrated at the moment of firing, reducing their range, but sending razor shards along the firing path.

On any other night, the Sung soldiers would have pulled back quickly. Kublai wished he could listen for Bayar’s tumans, but the noise was too great as the shots rippled on and on. He waited as long as he dared, then sent a second rocket up into the night sky. The thunder died as the teams saw it, though a last few cracks sounded as they got off one final shot. After the noise, the night was suddenly silent and the darkness was absolute. Kublai strained to hear. Far away, there was a new noise, growing steadily. He laughed aloud as he recognised the sound of Mongol drummer boys, beating their own thunder in the darkness across the river.

Bayar had never known a battle at night. He had seen the signal rocket and then watched in amazement as the river bank was lit in flashes of gold, a rolling wave of destruction. He had once seen a dry lightning storm, with the thick air lit at intervals by flashes. This was like that, but each crack of light and sound revealed chaos in the Sung camp. He had to trust that Kublai would stop the barrage before Bayar’s warriors were among them. The spikes of light gave him the arrow range and he began to empty his quiver of thirty arrows, whipping them out and onto the string almost without thought. He could not aim with only the flashes to guide him, but he had a wide charging line of thousands of men and the arrows poured out of them. He lost count of the shafts he had shot and it was only when his grasping fingers closed on nothing that he cursed and hooked the bow to his saddle. Bayar drew his sword and the action was copied all along the line.

The Sung had heard them coming, but dead men lay everywhere among their packed ranks. Kublai had been far more successful than he had known. The Sung soldiers had clustered on the river banks, pressing close to repel the night river-crossing they thought would come. Into that mass of waiting men, the cannonballs had torn red paths. Thousands had been killed. The forming lines dissolved in sheer panic as men ran from the terrible unseen death that was still cutting through their camp. They ran to get out of range, some of them dropping their shields and swords and pelting away.