his lines and smash through.
In the last heartbeats, arrows buzzed between the armies by the tens of thousand, crossing each other in the air. Horses and men went down hard and Kublai had to wrench his mount out of the way of one fallen rider, then kick in to make a half-stumbling leap over another. He found himself in the second rank as the lances came down on both sides. He drew his sword.
On his right, Arik-Boke’s tumans had brought lances to bear early, soaking up the arrow storm as they tried to punch right through to the yellow flags. Kublai could read his brother’s rage in their formations and he shouted without words, a roar of sound that was swallowed in the screams and crashes all around him.
A lance came at him, aimed squarely at his chest. At first it seemed to be slow, then his mind adjusted and it struck at him like a darting bird, drawn in at the speed of two horses galloping head-on. He turned the tip of it with a grunt, forcing it wide so the lancer went past him on his right. Kublai slashed across the man’s face as he went and felt a single spot of blood touch his cheek.
His own lance warriors took advantage of the weaker lines against them. Arik-Boke had committed his main strength to one wing, so that his tumans formed almost a spear on the land in the last moments. Kublai showed his teeth in the wind. He could not save the men who carried his banners, but he could hit the suddenly vulnerable flank they had helped to expose.
In just a few heartbeats, the two armies had slid past each other like dancers. It was a level of manoeuvre and formation only possible by the elite horsemen of the nation and yet Arik-Boke had made a mistake. As his tumans crashed deeper and deeper, throwing down lances as they broke, their flank was exposed to Kublai’s main strength. Uriang-Khadai bellowed new orders at the exact moment Kublai did, sending fresh volleys of arrows into the streaming mass as they passed, punching hundreds of men from their mounts.
It took time to turn his tumans and every moment was agony as more and more of the flank poured past him. Kublai reined in savagely, using his strength to drag the animal into a tight turn. It stumbled again on a body, but came upright, snorting in fear. He pointed his sword at the tumans of his brother and his men dug in their heels, roaring ‘Chuh!’ to their mounts in a great burst of sound.
They struck at barely more than a canter in the space they’d had to leap forward, but Arik-Boke’s tumans were focused forward and the swordsmen cut deep into them, hacking and slashing with the huge strength of men trained to the bow.
Kublai went with them, through the first rank galloping past him, then further as the lines crumpled. His minghaans kept his attacking line wide so that no single point could get ahead of the rest and find itself flanked in turn. With men dying on all sides, his officers kept calm and gave out a stream of orders. The khan’s command had dropped to them and they were veterans, stolid and serious about their work.
Arik-Boke’s flank collapsed as Kublai’s tumans cut it to pieces. His men had bitten a huge bowl into the enemy, and despite the efforts of the minghaan officers, they were in danger of going too far into the crush. Before Kublai could give new orders, Uriang-Khadai had committed two more tumans, widening the attack and battering the flank with arrows and then a lance charge. They had the time to get up to speed and they tore into them at full gallop, lances down so that men and horses were broken and sent tumbling.
Kublai saw his yellow banners fall out of the corner of his eye. A great roar went up from Arik-Boke’s tumans at the sight and they began to fight back with renewed ferocity. The single-minded drive that had ruined their formations for a single objective was gone. He felt the difference in moments as they pulled back from his men and began to re-form. He cursed. The arrows were still flying and he knew he would be the target if he gave the order.
Two of Arik-Boke’s tumans had swung out from the battle to reach a good position. As Kublai watched, they drove back in, sending arrows before them, then shoving the bows into the saddle hooks and drawing swords. They believed Kublai was already dead and it gave them heart to keep fighting. He grimaced to himself, then nodded, turning to his bondsmen.
‘Raise them up,’ he shouted. ‘Let them see how we fooled them.’
They grinned wildly as they unrolled great yellow streamers, sliding metal rings over the tips of banner-poles with practised efficiency. With a nod to each other, six of them raised the poles at the same time, sending Kublai’s banners fluttering in the wind.
His tumans raised their swords and bows as they saw it, roaring at the top of their lungs. The crash of sound seemed to send Arik-Boke’s tumans reeling back, but the reality was that Kublai’s men surged forward. Nothing pleased the Mongols more than a good trick on the field of battle. Not only was Kublai alive, but Arik-Boke had wasted the lives of many thousands to tear down a false position. For a short time, Kublai’s warriors laughed as they bent their bows and struck with swords, then the momentary giddiness dissolved and they were back to the grim-faced killing men of the tumans.
Over thousands of heads, Kublai could see his brother’s banners, half a mile distant. He had ignored the position, with no desire to see his brother dead. He wanted him alive if possible, though if the sky father took him with a shaft or a blow, he would not regret the loss. His own bondsmen pressed close around him as those of Arik- Boke’s archers in range sent looping shots high, hoping for a lucky strike. Kublai set his jaw as the air above him filled with whining shafts. He wished for a shield then, but he had not been able to carry one and maintain the deception. One of his bannermen was plucked away with a grunt and another man caught the falling banner as it was jolted out of his hand. Kublai made a growling sound as he saw he would have to pull back. The charge against the exposed flank had carried his rank deep into the enemy and he was exposed to the counter-attack that would surely come now his brother realised his true position.
For a frozen instant of time, Kublai searched the horizon for some sign of Bayar’s tumans. His men had fought well and his officers had shown themselves as an elite. Perhaps four of his brother’s tumans had been slaughtered for the loss of half that number, but the battle was far from over and Kublai was in desperate danger.
Even as he formed the thought, Uriang-Khadai brought tumans across him, forcing the enemy back and allowing him time to get clear.
Kublai shouted to his men to find him a position out of the front ranks and they began to drift through the warriors. They cheered him as he went, still delighted at the deception that had allowed them to humiliate Arik- Boke. Men he knew from years among the Sung raised their swords in salute as he passed them, then pressed on with their tumans.
The battlefield had spread almost a mile from the original site, as the tumans shifted and struck, pulled back and charged again. As Arik-Boke’s men pressed on in rage, Uriang-Khadai pulled four tumans out, leaving a sudden space. The enemy warriors rushed in after them, lost in the need to cut down the jeering horsemen, still hooting and calling to them as they went.
Uriang-Khadai made them run into fresh volleys of arrows from a halted line, emptying quivers by the ten thousand shafts. The broken lines they faced were torn apart, building lines of the dead. Their own archers replied without the massed force of a volley and were quickly cut from their saddles. Uriang-Khadai raised and dropped his arm to signal the shots, then rotated the front ranks to allow those who still had shafts to race forward. In the heart of the battle, the perfection of the manoeuvre broke the centre of Arik-Boke’s forces. Those who survived it pulled back from their mad rush and formed up around their khan, ready to be sent in again.
Kublai had moved back three hundred paces, frustrating the enemy archers who sought him out. From that position, he saw Uriang-Khadai take over and heard the beat of volleys snap once more. He turned his head to see a huge block of fresh warriors detach from his brother’s position and come swinging out. They rode around the wavering centre and Kublai swallowed hard when he saw Uriang-Khadai could be hit from the flank and rear in turn. He looked around for the forces available to him, sending runners to his generals as fast as he could speak and shove them away.
Once again, he looked for Bayar on the horizon. Ever since his return from the Sung, he had dreaded the thought of a battle so closely fought that the armies of the nation destroyed themselves. He had already lost count of the dead, and if it went on, the empire of Genghis would be defenceless, with wolves all around them. He
Kublai felt his initial surge of excitement fade as he saw the number of them. Too many. He breathed harder, feeling fear sink its teeth into him once again. Too many! He had sent only three tumans to Russia with Bayar. The army galloping towards him was far larger.
