‘In one
Uriang-Khadai did not look away. ‘We killed more. They have the same bows, the same skills. The toll was always going to be high.’
Kublai grimaced, raising his gaze to the stars. The numbers were appalling, as great as all his losses against the Sung. Many of them would be alive still, cold and lonely among the dead as they waited for Arik-Boke’s warriors to find them and plunge a knife into their flesh. He shuddered at the thought of such a final vigil. After years with them in the Sung territories, each one was a loss. Arik-Boke had no concept of the sort of loyalty that had grown up with his tumans over the years. He brushed the thought away, knowing he would only become enraged afresh at his foolish brother. The depth of his anger could still surprise him, but it felt like an indulgence to give it rein.
‘Four days to Karakorum,’ he said aloud. ‘And my brother’s men will be behind us all the way.’
Uriang-Khadai did not reply and Kublai realised he had not asked the man a question. It made him smile that the older man could be so tight-lipped after everything they had endured together.
‘I have one more bone to throw, orlok. Once we reach Karakorum, we can turn to defend the city and our people. I will make Arik-Boke the enemy in the eyes of the nation. And when the battle is at its height, Bayar will hit him.’ In the continuing silence, Kublai sighed. ‘What do you think of that?’
‘I think you have ten tumans or less to your brother’s twelve and more,’ Uriang-Khadai said at last. ‘I think we are running low on arrows and lances. I cannot plan around a reserve force that has had to ride two thousand miles or more.’
‘You came back from Hulegu. Bayar will get here,’ Kublai said.
‘And I will be pleased to see him, but we must prepare for the worst. We need weapons.’
Kublai grunted. He should have known better than to expect encouraging words. The Chagatai khanate had provided many of the supplies for his campaign. Lord Alghu had sent the Arab boys to raise the false trail of dust that played such a part in their first battle, and the food and drink they still had came from his cities. Yet Uriang- Khadai was right, arrows and lances were their most important stock and the last of them would go in one charge.
‘If you can make arrows and lances appear in the next few days, I would thank you on bended knee, orlok. Until then, there’s no point discussing it.’
Uriang-Khadai remained silent for a long time, thinking.
‘There are stocks in Karakorum, enough to fill every quiver we have,’ he said at last.
Kublai held back from mocking the idea. The older man knew the chances as well as he did.
‘You think we could get them?’ he asked.
‘No, but Arik-Boke Khan could.’
Kublai winced at the words, but he nodded. ‘The city knows nothing of the battles out here, not yet. I could send men in his name with orders to bring new shafts and lances out on carts. That’s good, I think. That could work.’
‘With your permission, I’ll send out a few scouts with the order, ones I trust to play a part.’
‘You have it,’ Kublai replied. He gave silent thanks for the man at his side. In the darkness, it was somehow easier to talk to him than usual. Neither man could see the other well and Kublai considered sharing the secret he had learned years before, in the archives of Karakorum. His weariness made him slur his words, but on impulse, he decided to speak.
‘I found a record of your father, once,’ he said. The silence seemed to swell around them until he wondered if Uriang-Khadai had even heard him. ‘Are you still awake?’
‘I am. I know who he was. It is not something I am used to …’ Uriang-Khadai’s voice trailed off.
Kublai tried to cudgel his thoughts into order, to find the right words. He had known for years that Uriang- Khadai was Tsubodai’s son, but the knowledge had never found a moment to present itself. Hearing that his orlok already knew was oddly deflating.
‘I liked him, you know. He was an extraordinary man.’
‘I … have heard many tales of him, my lord. He did not know me.’
‘He lived his last years as a simple herdsman, did you hear that?’
‘I did.’ Uriang-Khadai thought for a time and Kublai kept silent. ‘You grew up with Genghis as your grandfather, my lord. I suppose you know about a man’s long shadow.’
‘They seem like giants,’ Kublai muttered. ‘I know the feeling very well.’ It was an insight into Uriang-Khadai that he had not expected. The man had risen through the ranks without anyone’s name to help him. For the first time, Kublai felt he understood something of what drove the man.
‘He would be proud of you, I think,’ Kublai said.
Uriang-Khadai chuckled in the darkness.
‘And Genghis would be proud of you, my lord. Now let us leave shadows to the night. We must find a river for the horses and I will fall out of the saddle if I don’t rest soon.’
Kublai laughed, yawning again at the very idea of sleep.
‘Your will, orlok. We will make our fathers and grandfathers proud, you and I.’
‘Or join them,’ Uriang-Khadai replied.
‘Yes, or join them, one or the other.’ Kublai paused for a moment, rubbing grit from his eyes. ‘Arik-Boke will not stop now, not with us heading for the capital. He will push his men to complete exhaustion behind us.’
‘You wanted him to be desperate, with everything he has focused on the city. If Bayar does not come …’
‘He will come, orlok.’
The three days that followed were some of the strangest Kublai had ever known. He had been right about Arik-Boke pushing the tumans to their limits. On the second day, the armies passed four yam stations and knew they had covered a hundred miles between dawn and dusk. Scouts milled at the edges of each force, sometimes coming to blows, or drifting into range of arrows so that they were plucked from their mounts and sent sprawling to a great cheer from the nearest warriors. At sunset on the third day, the two armies were barely ten miles apart and neither could close or widen that gap. Kublai had lost count of the changes of mount as he and Uriang-Khadai did their best to keep their animals fresh, but there was never enough time to graze and they had to leave hundreds of horses when their wind broke or they went lame. All the time, he felt his brother’s breath on his neck and he could only crane into the distance, looking for Karakorum.
Sunset was hardest on the men. Kublai could not call a halt until he was absolutely certain his brother was done for the day. With the armies in such close range, he dared not rest where Arik-Boke could spring a sudden attack. His own scouts relayed the positions back to him in chains, over and over, until finally they brought the welcome news that their pursuers had stopped. Even then, Kublai insisted on going on, forcing each precious mile in sweat and stamina. His men slept like the dead under the stars and had to be kicked awake by the changing guards through the night. Men cried out in troubled sleep, worn down by the constant threat of being pursued. It sat badly with natural hunters to be hunted, while those behind grew in confidence like a wolf pack, knowing they would run them down eventually.
Kublai had welcome news from his scouts long before the tumans under his command, but he did not pass it on, knowing they would enjoy the sight of carts laden with weapons coming from Karakorum. They were guided in to his spartan camp as the sun died over the mountains on the third day, greeted with whoops and shouting from his men. One climbed each cart and began throwing full quivers and lances to outstretched hands, laughing at the thought that the city had given them such a gift in error. The men driving the carts were left untouched and they knew better than to protest as they were shouldered aside and sent back to the city. Karakorum lay barely forty miles away and Kublai knew he would reach it by noon the following day. He wished he had thought to ask for fresh skins of airag to go with the arrows and lances, but it was enough to see the glee on his men’s faces for what they had won with trickery.
Kublai felt a great tension ease in him as he settled down for sleep that night, taking a moment to thump the grass beneath him when a lump dug into his hip. His men would fight with Karakorum in sight. They would battle an enemy just as weary as they were and they would give a good account of themselves, he was certain. Even so, he feared for them all.
Twelve men fighting ten was a rough match. The two extra tumans his brother could still field were a different proposition. Twenty thousand men would be able to pour shafts into his flanks, or hammer his men in charges while they were locked in battle. Against the Sung, he would have laughed at the numbers. Facing his own people, he struggled with despair. He had done everything he could and he thought again of the last bone he had to
