Bones of the Hills (45 page)

He could see the whites of the eyes in many of his men as they listened, stunned.

“I will not order you to stay with me,” he said. “I cannot. I have no family in the gers, while many of you have wives and children you
would not see again. I make no demands on you, who are bound by oath to my father and Ogedai. You will be oath-breakers if you ride at my side, and there will be no return to the nation, no truce with my father. He will send hunters and they will search for many years for us. He will not show mercy. I am his son and I know this better than anyone.”

As he spoke, his fingers ruffled the stiff hair of the tiger skin at his pommel, feeling the rough edge where Genghis had hacked the head away. He saw one of his Chin minghaan officers rising slowly to his feet, and Jochi paused to hear him.

“My lord… general,” the man said, his voice breaking under immense strain. “Why do you consider this thing?”

Jochi smiled, though bitterness flooded through him. “Because I
am
my father’s son, Sen Tu. He made his tribe by drawing in all those around him. Shall I do less? Should I follow Ogedai too until I am old and my life is just regrets? I say to you now, it isn’t in me. My little brother will be khan to the nation. He will not search for me when the time comes. Until then, I will find my wives and sons and daughters in a place where they have not heard the name of Genghis.”

He swept his gaze across the gathering of men on the riverbank. They met his eyes without flinching, though some of them sat as if they had been struck.

“I will be my own man, perhaps for just a few years until I am run down and killed. Who can say how this will end? Yet for a time, I will be able to say that I am free. That is why I stand in this place.”

The Chin officer sat down slowly and thoughtfully. Jochi waited. His officers had adopted the cold face to a man, hiding their thoughts from those around him. There would be no rabble-rousing by the river. Each would make the decision alone, as he had.

Sen Tu spoke up again, suddenly. “You will have to kill the scouts, General.”

Jochi nodded. Those two young men had put their heads into the mouth of the wolf, though they did not know it. They could not be allowed to return to Genghis to betray his position, even if he turned north as they left. Jochi had considered sending them back with some false story for his father, but killing them was safer by far than playing games and hoping to mislead men like Tsubodai. He did not underestimate that man’s fierce intelligence, nor his father’s. If the scouts simply vanished, they would wait months before sending others. By then he would have gone.

Sen Tu was deep in thought and Jochi watched him closely, sensing like the men around him that the Chin officer would speak for many of them. Sen Tu had seen upheaval in his life, from the appearance of the khan in his Chin homeland, to the Arab nations and this peaceful spot by the river. He had stood in the front rank against the Shah’s best horsemen, and still Jochi did not know what he would say.

“I have a wife in the gers, lord, and two boys,” Sen Tu said, raising his head. “Will they be safe if I do not come back?”

Jochi wanted to lie, to say that Genghis would not touch women and children. He struggled for just an instant, then relaxed. He owed the man the truth.

“I don’t know. Let us not fool ourselves. My father is a vengeful man. He may spare them, or not, as he chooses.”

Sen Tu nodded. He had seen this young general tormented by his own people for years. Sen Tu respected the Great Khan, but he loved Jochi as a son. He had given his life to the young man who now stood so vulnerably before him, expecting yet another rejection. Sen Tu closed his eyes for a moment, praying to the Buddha that his children would live and one day know a man to follow, as he had done.

“I am with you, General, wherever you go,” Sen Tu said. Though he spoke quietly, the words carried to those around him.

Jochi swallowed hard. “You are welcome, my friend. I did not want to ride alone.”

Another minghaan officer spoke then. “You will not be alone, General. I will be there.”

Jochi nodded, his eyes stinging. His father had known this joy, this vow to follow one man, even if it meant death and destruction of everything else they loved. It was worth more than gold, more than cities. A ripple spread through his officers as they shouted out to him, calling their names and joining him one by one. For each it was a personal choice, but he had them all and always had. When there were enough, they gave out a raucous cheer, a battle shout that seemed to rock the ground on which he stood.

“When the scouts are dead, I will put it to the men,” he said.

“General,” Sen Tu said suddenly, “if some of them choose not to come, if they decide to ride back to the khan, they will betray us.”

Jochi looked into the man’s dark eyes. He had considered his plans for a long time. Part of him knew he should have such men killed. It was less dangerous to let the scouts live than have his own men return to Genghis. If he let them live, his own chances of survival vanished to
almost nothing. His knew his father would have made the decision in a heartbeat, but Jochi was torn. He felt the eyes of all his officers on him, waiting to see what he would order.

“I will not stop them, Sen Tu,” he said. “If any man wants to return to his family, I will let him leave.”

Sen Tu winced. “Let us see what happens, lord. If it is just a few, I can have men waiting with bows to make an end of them.”

Jochi smiled at the Chin officer’s unrelenting loyalty. His heart was full as he looked over the crowd gathered on the riverbank.

“I will kill the scouts,” he said, “and then we will see.”

THE VILLAGE IN THE MOUNTAINS WAS UNTOUCHED
. For three days, Tsubodai had ridden with Genghis and the tumans, at times following a narrow track that was barely three horses wide. The Mongols could not see how a village could even survive in such a place, though before noon on the third day, they had reached a heavily laden cart drawn by a mule. With a sheer drop on one side, the tumans could not pass in safety, so Jebe forced the owner to cut the mule free before his men heaved the cart over the edge. Tsubodai watched it fall with interest until it shattered on the rocks below, spilling grain and bolts of cloth over a wide area.

The terrified owner did not dare protest and Tsubodai tossed him a pouch of gold for his stoicism, which then broke as the man realized he had more wealth than he had ever seen before.

The village itself had been built from the stones of the mountains, the houses and single street made of cut blocks the color of the hills, so that they blended in like natural growths. Behind the small collection of buildings, a thin trail of water fell from dizzying heights above, making the air a mist. Chickens scratched in the dust and people stared in horror at the approaching Mongols before dipping their heads and hurrying away.

Tsubodai watched all this with interest, though he could not escape
a sense of unease. Warriors and carts stretched back along the mountain trail for many miles, and if there was to be a battle, only those in front would be able to fight. The land forced the general to break every rule he had devised for warfare over the years, and he could not relax as he rode along the street with Genghis.

Tsubodai sent a scout back to bring the man who had a sister in the village. With him went a dozen warriors to carry the gold and tip the cart off the cliff. If he had not, it would have blocked all the men behind and cut the army in half. As it was, Tsubodai could not see how to bring up the supplies from the rear. Without a staging area, the string of carts had to remain behind the warriors. Tsubodai struggled with the positions and terrain, hating the way the mountains held his men in a single, vulnerable line.

When the merchant arrived, he was almost in tears to see the village intact, having feared its destruction for days of travel. He found his sister’s house quickly and tried to calm her terror of the Mongols strolling outside. She watched openmouthed as warriors dumped bags of gold coins on her step, but the sight did not calm her. Instead, she paled further and further as the pile grew. As the warriors stood back, she slapped her brother hard across the face and tried to bar the door to him.

“You have killed me, you fool!” she screeched as he struggled with her in the doorway. He fell back a step, astonished at her rage, and as he did so, the door slammed shut and all the men could hear her weeping inside.

“That was touching,” Genghis murmured to Tsubodai.

Tsubodai did not smile. The village was surrounded by rocky heights and he was certain they were being watched. The crying woman had certainly thought so. Tsubodai had seen her eyes dart up to the surrounding peaks for an instant before she closed the door in her brother’s face. Tsubodai raised his head and scanned every high point, but nothing moved.

“I don’t like this place,” Tsubodai said. “This village exists to serve the assassins, I’m certain of it. Why else would it be so far from anywhere else in the mountains? How do they even pay for supplies brought by cart?” At the thought, he eased his horse nearer to Genghis, feeling the narrow street close in on him. A single lucky arrow could end it all, if the villagers were foolish or desperate enough.

“I do not think we should stop here, my lord khan,” he said.
“There are two paths further into the mountains and only one back. Let me send scouts along them both and find the way in.”

Genghis nodded, and at that moment, a bell rang, the sound muffled but echoing. The Mongols had bows and swords drawn before the notes died away, jerking in shock as the street doors thumped open and armed men and women rushed out.

In just heartbeats, the village went from being silent and deserted to a bloody attack. Tsubodai’s horse kicked out at a woman behind him, knocking her flying. They were converging on Genghis, he saw, swinging his sword in a great arc to take a screaming young man across the neck.

To Tsubodai’s surprise, the villagers were determined and desperate. His men were experienced in dealing with rioting crowds, but the violence could not be quelled with the shock of sudden bloodletting. He saw one of his warriors dragged off his horse by a man with an arrow in his chest, dying as he yanked with failing strength. Some of them screamed all the time they fought, the noise almost painful as it came from a hundred different throats and echoed back from the hills all around. Yet they were not warriors. Tsubodai took a blow from a long knife on his forearm bracer, turning the block into a short punch that cracked into his attacker’s jaw. The villagers had no defense against armored men and only their ferocity made them hard to stop. Tsubodai fought with manic concentration, risking his own life to protect Genghis. They were alone for just moments as more of the khan’s tuman struggled to reach him and face outward with their swords and bows. Arrows hissed through the throats of anyone who moved after that, and the iron circle fought its way through them, moving with Genghis at the center.

The sun had not moved above the hills by the time the streets were covered in the dead. The merchant’s sister lay among them, one of the first to be cut down. Her brother had survived and he knelt by her gashed body, weeping openly. When one of the warriors dismounted to pull her clothing aside, the man struggled briefly in tearful rage before he was cuffed onto his back. Tsubodai’s men found no one with the mark of serenity at their throats.

Tsubodai leaned over his saddle, panting with exertion and relief at having survived. He truly hated the enclosure of hills, and the feeling of eyes on him was even stronger than before.

“If they are not assassins, why would they attack us so wildly?” he
demanded of one of his minghaan officers. The man could not reply to such a question, so he merely bowed his head and looked away.

Genghis trotted his pony to Tsubodai as the general stared around him, still shocked by what had happened.

“I imagine they were ordered to get in our way,” Genghis said lightly. He was maddeningly calm and not even breathing heavily. “Against thieves or a raiding band, they would have done very well. It would take a determined army to get through this village to the stronghold of our enemies.” He grinned. “Fortunately, I have such an army. Send out your scouts, Tsubodai. Find me the way through.”

Under the yellow gaze of his khan, Tsubodai gathered himself quickly and sent two arbans of ten men racing deeper into the mountains. Both routes turned sharply after only a short distance, so that the warriors quickly vanished from view. He ordered others to search every house, making certain there were no more surprises hidden in them.

“I hope this means the assassins have not abandoned their home,” he said.

Genghis brightened still further at the thought.

By sunset, Tsubodai’s men had piled the dead at one edge of the village, by the icy waterfall. There was a pool there, before the water found its way further down the cliffs. Tsubodai organized the watering of the horses, a task which was maddeningly slow and laborious, but vital. For those too far back to come in, he used buckets from the village and had his warriors walk miles to them. Many would be forced to sleep on the narrow trail, just a few feet from a drop to their death. There was no grumbling from them, at least that reached the ears of the general. They accepted their lot as they had always done.

Only one group of Tsubodai’s scouts came back as the hills were lit with gold and the sun sank. The other had vanished and Tsubodai nodded to Genghis as the road remained empty. A single scout might have fallen or broken a leg. For ten young warriors to disappear in the mountains, another force had to exist, ruthless and patient. The Mongols had found the path to the assassins, and they slept where they stood, half frozen and with just a few mouthfuls of dried meat and water to keep them alive as they waited for dawn.

Tsubodai was up before first light, in part to be certain he could put a rank of men onto the narrow path before Genghis tried to lead them.
The general was convinced the first ones in would die, and he chose well-armored archers from his own tuman, giving them the best chance he could. He did not want Genghis to risk himself against an unseen enemy in such a place. The rock walls that lined the path were too easy to defend. As Tsubodai stared into the lightening gloom, he guessed they would face stones and arrows at the very least. He hoped the assassins did not have stocks of fire oil, but he was not confident. There was no point regretting past decisions, but the assassins had been given a long time to prepare the way. If they had chosen to fight, it would be a hard path to walk and many of his men would not return from the mountains.