Part 27 (1/2)

The Tartar camp had come prepared for a season, perhaps with the intention of hunting the raiders who had troubled them all winter. They moved with carts laden with gers and large herds whose droppings could be read and counted. Temujin wondered how close they were. He remembered his frustration as he lay with Tartar blood on his mouth and watched a peaceful camp too large to attack. There was no question of letting them escape. He had gone to Togrul as one having no other choice.

”There were many people in this place,” Yuan noted at his shoulder. The Chin warrior had counted the black circles and noted the tracks. ”More than the hundred you told Togrul.”

Temujin looked at him. ”Perhaps. I could not say for sure.”

Yuan watched the man who had brought them to kill across a wilderness. It occurred to him that fifty of Togrul's best men would have been better than thirty. The newcomers would have outnumbered Temujin's people, and perhaps that was not to the young man's liking. Yuan had noticed how Temujin had mixed the groups, making them work together. His reputation for ferocity was known- and for success. Already, they looked on him as a khan. Yuan wondered if Togrul knew the risk he had taken. He sighed to himself as Temujin moved away to talk with his brothers. Gold and land would buy great risks, if used well. Wen Chao had shown the truth of that.

Temujin nodded to his brothers, including Temuge in the gesture. His youngest brother had been given the smallest set of armor. Wen Chao's men were given to lightness of frame, but it was still too big for him, and Temujin repressed a smile as he saw Temuge turn stiffly to his pony, testing the straps and reins.

”You have done well, little brother,” Temujin said as he pa.s.sed him. He heard Khasar snort nearby, but ignored it. ”We will find them soon, Temuge. Will you be ready when we ride to the attack?”

Temuge looked up at the brother he revered. He did not speak of the cold fear in his stomach, nor of the way the riding had exhausted him until he thought he would drop from the saddle and shame them all. Every time he dismounted, his legs had stiffened to the point where he had to hold the pony tightly or drop to his knees.

”I will be ready, Temujin,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone. Inside, he despaired. He knew his own archery was barely worth the name, and the Tartar sword Temujin had given him was too heavy for his hand. He had a smaller blade hidden inside his deel, and he hoped to use that. Even then, the thought of actually cutting skin and muscle, of feeling blood pour over his hands, was something he dreaded. He could not be as strong and ruthless as the others. He did not yet know what use he could be to any of them, but he could not bear the scorn in Khasar's eyes. Kachiun had come to him the night before they left, saying that Borte and Hoelun would need support in the camp of the Kerait. It had been a transparent attempt to let him out of the fighting to come, but Temuge had refused it. If they needed help at all, fifty warriors could not save them in the heart of the Kerait. Their presence was a surety that Temujin would return with the heads he had promised.

Of all the brothers, only Temuge had not been made an officer. With Jelme, Arslan, and Yuan as well as his brothers, Temujin had the five he needed, and Temuge knew he was still too young, too inexperienced in war. He touched the blade of his long knife as he mounted, feeling its sharpness. He dreamed of saving their lives, over and over, so that they would look at him with astonishment and realize he was truly Yesugei's son. He did not like to wake from those dreams. He s.h.i.+vered as they rode out once again, feeling the cold more than the other men seemed to. He looked inside himself for the easy courage they displayed and found nothing but terror.

The scouts found the main force of the Tartars only two days after Temujin had visited the old camp. The men rode in at full gallop, leaping from their horses to report to Temujin.

”They are moving, my lord,” the first blurted out. ”They have outriders in all directions, but the army is moving slowly through the next valley, coming this way.”

Temujin showed his teeth. ”They sent out thirty men to find us and not a single one made it back alive. They must suspect a large tribe is in the area. Good. If they are cautious, they will hesitate.”

He raised his arm to bring his officers in close. They had all watched the excited actions of the scouts, and they came in fast, expecting the news.

”Tell your men to follow their orders,” Temujin said as he mounted. ”We ride as one, taking your speed from me. If any man breaks formation, I will leave him for the hawks.”

He saw Khasar grinning and glowered at him.

”Even if he is my own brother, Khasar, even then. Loose your arrows on my call, then draw swords. We will hit them as one line. If you are unhorsed, stay alive long enough for the rest of us to finish the killing.”

”You will not take prisoners?” Arslan asked.

Temujin did not hesitate. ”If any survive our attack, I will question their leaders to learn more. After that I have no use for them. I will not swell our ranks with blood enemies.”

The word spread quickly through the warriors as their officers returned to them. They walked their ponies forward in a single rank. As they pa.s.sed a ridge, each man could see the Tartar formation, with riders and carts moving slowly across the plain.

As one, they began to trot toward the enemy. Temujin heard distant alarm horns sound and he untied his bow, fitting a string and testing it. He reached back to open the quiver strapped to his saddle, raising the first arrow and testing the feathers with his thumb. It would fly straight and true, as they would.

Chapter 29.

THE TARTARS did not lack for courage. As their warning horns moaned across the plain, every warrior ran for his horse, mounting with shrill yells that carried to the ears of Temujin's warriors. His sixty rode together as they increased their pace to a gallop. His officers snarled orders at any man who proved too eager, watching Temujin himself as he drew his first arrow in perfect balance.

Yuan had discussed the advantage of hitting the enemy as a line, and it showed in the first b.l.o.o.d.y contacts with the Tartar outriders. As Temujin's men reached them the Tartar scouts were spitted on long shafts, their bodies falling with their horses. Temujin could see the Tartars had split their force to leave some to defend their carts, but there were still more than he had guessed, boiling out across the plains like wasps.

Temujin's charge swept through them, cras.h.i.+ng over dying horses and men as they were met in twos, in fives, a dozen at a time. The bows snapped quick death at the gallop and brought too great a force to resist on the loose Tartar formations. It seemed to Temujin as if just heartbeats pa.s.sed before they had left a trail of dead men and riderless horses behind them and the carts were approaching at dizzying speed. He glanced left and right before blowing three quick blasts, calling for the horns formation. He had almost left it too late, but Yuan's men moved up, matching Kachiun and Jelme on the right. They hit the carts in a crescent, enveloping the herds and Tartars with a roar.

Temujin's grasping fingers found his quiver was empty, and he threw his bow to the ground, drawing his sword. At the center of the crescent, he found his way blocked by a heavy cart laden with felt and leather. He barely saw the first man to step into his path, taking his head with a single swing of his blade before kicking in his heels and charging into a ma.s.s of Tartar warriors. Arslan and ten more went with him into the center, killing as they went. Women and children threw themselves under the carts in terror as the riders swept through, and their wailing was like the keening of hawks on the wind.

The change came without warning. One of the Tartars dropped his sword, and even then he would have been killed if he had not thrown himself flat as Khasar pa.s.sed by. Others did the same, lying prostrate as Temujin and his officers galloped around the camp, looking for resistance. It took time for the bloodl.u.s.t to ease in them, and it was Temujin himself who reached for his horn and blew the falling note that meant a slower pace. His men were spattered with fresh blood, but they heard him and ran their fingers along their blades, cleaning away the sheen of life.

There was a moment of utter stillness. Where, before, their ears had rung with pounding hooves and bellowing orders, the quiet now swelled around them. Temujin listened in wonder to a silence that lasted long enough for his brothers to come to his side. Somewhere a woman began to wail and the bleating of sheep and goats began again. Perhaps they had always been there, but Temujin had not heard them over the pulse of blood that stopped his ears and made his heart throb in his chest.

He tightened his reins, turning his horse around as he surveyed the scene. The camp had been shattered. Those Tartars who still lived were on their faces in the gra.s.s, silent and despairing. He looked back over the path of the attack and saw one rider who had somehow survived the charge. The man was slack-jawed at what he had witnessed, too stunned even to ride for his life.

Temujin squinted at the lone rider, nodding to Kachiun.

”Bring him in, or kill him,” he said.

Kachiun gave a brisk nod and tapped Khasar on the shoulder for more arrows. Khasar had only two, but he handed them over and Kachiun took up his bow from where it was neatly strapped to his saddle. He had not thrown the valuable weapon down, Temujin noticed, with wry amus.e.m.e.nt.

Temujin and Khasar watched as Kachiun galloped out after the Tartar rider. The sight of him coming seemed to jerk the man out of a trance, and he turned his mount to escape at last. Kachiun closed the gap before the Tartar could hit full gallop, then fired an arrow that took him high in the back. The man rode on for a few moments before he fell, and Kachiun left him there, turning back to the camp and raising his bow to signal the kill.

Temujin started as his men roared. They had all been watching and the gesture released their excitement. Those who had bows raised them up, jerking their arms in triumph. It had happened so fast that they had been caught somehow at the finish, unsure. Now the great rush of joy that comes from facing death and living filled them all, and they dismounted. Some of Togrul's bondsmen moved excitedly to the carts, pulling aside hides and felt to see what they had won for themselves.

Arslan's men tied the prisoners, taking away their weapons. Some of them were unmarked and they were treated roughly, with contempt. They had no right to be alive after such a battle, and Temujin cared nothing for them. He found his hands were shaking, and as he dismounted he led his horse to keep a grip on the reins that would hide the weakness.

He glanced up from his thoughts when he saw his brother Temuge ride in close and swing a leg down. The boy was milk-white and clearly shaken, but Temujin saw he carried a b.l.o.o.d.y blade as if he did not know how it came to be in his hand. Temujin tried to catch his brother's eye to congratulate him, but Temuge turned and vomited on the gra.s.s. Temujin walked away rather than shame him by noticing. When he had recovered, he would find a few words of praise for the boy.

Temujin stood in the center of the carts, feeling the eyes of his officers on him. They were waiting for something and he raised a hand to his eyes, pressing away the dark thoughts that slid and jostled for s.p.a.ce in his mind. He cleared his throat and made his voice carry.

”Arslan! Find whatever skins of airag they had with them and put a guard on them, someone you can trust. Khasar, send out eight men as scouts around us. There may be more of them.” He turned to Kachiun as he returned and leapt nimbly down from his pony. ”Gather the prisoners, Kachiun, and have your ten set up three of their gers as quickly as you can. We will stop here for tonight.”

It was not enough, he realized. They still watched him with gleaming eyes and the beginnings of smiles.

”You have done well,” he called to them. ”Whatever we have won is yours, to be split equally among you.”

They cheered at that, stealing glances at the Tartar carts laden with valuables. The horses alone would mean instant wealth for many of them, but Temujin did not care for that. At the moment the battle was won, he had faced the prospect of returning to Togrul. The khan of the Kerait would claim his share, of course. That was his right, even if he had not been present. Temujin would not begrudge him a few dozen ponies and swords. Still, it nagged at him. He did not want to return. The thought of meekly handing back the bondsmen who had served him so well made his jaw clench in irritation. He needed them all, and Togrul was a man who saw only the lands of the Chin as a reward. On impulse, Temujin reached down and brushed the gra.s.s at his feet. Someone had been killed over that patch, he realized. Tiny droplets of blood clung to the blades and spotted his hand as he stood straight. He raised his voice again.

”Remember this, when you tell your children you fought with the sons of Yesugei. There is one tribe and one land that recognizes no borders. This is merely a beginning.”

Perhaps they cheered because they were still filled with the excitement of victory; it did not matter.

The Tartars had come prepared for a long campaign. The carts contained oil for lamps, woven ropes, cloths from the thinnest silk to canvas so thick it would hardly bend. In addition, there was a leather bag of silver coins and enough black airag to warm the coldest throats on winter nights. Temujin had those last items brought to him and stacked against the inner wall of the first ger to be erected. More than twenty Tartars had survived the attack, and he had questioned them to find their leader. Most had merely looked at him, remaining silent. Temujin had drawn his sword and killed three before the fourth man swore and spat on the ground.

”There is no leader here,” the Tartar had said in fury. ”He died with the others.”

Without a word, Temujin had yanked the man to his feet and handed him over to stand by Arslan. He looked down the line of men, his face cold.

”I have no love for your people, no need to keep you alive,” he said. ”Unless you can be useful to me, you will be killed here.”

No one else responded and the Tartars did not meet his eyes.

”Very well,” Temujin said into the silence. He turned to the closest of his warriors, one of the brothers he had brought into his camp in the north. ”Kill the rest quickly, Batu,” he said. The little man drew his knife without expression.

”Wait! I can be of use to you,” another of the Tartars said suddenly.