The Mongoliad: Book Three

through the branches of the bushes sheltering the Khagan and two other men, and Gansukh winced as he saw the arrow spear one of the men in the gut.

“We have to get closer,” Alchiq snapped. “Otherwise we are all dead.” He darted out from behind the bear, scrambling across the rocky terrain with the agility of a mountain goat.

Gansukh followed, and the pair leap-frogged each other along the rounded scope of the hill. Cover was sparse, and Gansukh felt widely exposed each time he paused behind the trunk of an isolated tree. Most of them grew at an angle on the slope, and if he stood upright, his lower body was exposed; if he crouched, his head stuck out.

Finally, they reached a range that seemed possible for their smaller bows, and Alchiq let loose the first arrow as Gansukh scrambled past him to a flat-topped boulder that seemed like a good shooting position. Alchiq’s arrow skipped off the top of the largest of the three rocks they thought concealed the archers.

Gansukh peeked over the top of his rock, and he saw two heads briefly pop up. One of the pair was on the far side of the trio of boulders. That one had the shorter bow, not much larger than his and Alchiq’s, and he shifted his aim toward their positions. The first arrow overshot Gansukh’s position, ricocheting off a rock behind him with a brittle snap.

Gansukh stood, pulling his bowstring back and loosing his arrow in a smooth motion. He returned to his crouch, his eyes level with the top of the rock. His arrow vanished into the dark cleft between two of the rocks. Ducking down, he slid a handful of arrows out his quiver and balanced them on a nearby rock. Close at hand, easy to grab; he could stand, shoot, crouch, and ready another arrow without taking his attention off his target. Glancing back at Alchiq, he exhaled heavily, blowing out his cheeks.

As soon as he saw Alchiq stand and shoot an arrow, he did the same. He hesitated a split second, watching the flight of both arrows, trying to discern some meaning to the spatter of shadows behind the rocks. As he heard Alchiq move behind him, he shot three more arrows in quick succession.

Alchiq slammed into the rock beside him, grunted from the impact. “They’re fools,” he hissed, leaning to his left and peering down at the valley floor. “Ride!” he screamed, startling Gansukh. “Get the Khagan away from here.” Muttering under his breath, he scooted around on his ass until he could peer over the top of their cover. He ducked back down almost immediately and Gansukh heard the wooden rattle of an arrow bouncing off the top of the rock. “The archer isn’t trying to hit the Khagan,” he said to Gansukh, jerking a thumb toward the valley. “He had his shot. Now he’s just slowing them down.”

As Gansukh examined the chaos below, he saw a Darkhat horse take an arrow in the chest and stumble, throwing its rider. He counted bodies, and got the same number of horses as men. “There’s another group,” he said, divining the same strategy that Alchiq was seeing. “On horseback most likely.”

Alchiq nodded. “He’s got a longer range than us, but it means nothing when your targets are all scrambling for cover. His first two arrows were his only real chance at assassinating the Khagan.” He gestured down at the scattered bodies. “This is sowing confusion. It is a tactic they do well. It suggests they are outnumbered. They want us to not think about how many of them there are, and where they are located. They want us running in blind fear.”

“Back up the valley,” Gansukh said. “Right into an ambush.”

Alchiq rolled over and peered out beyond the far edge of their cover. “Where are the Torguud guards?” he wondered. “How far back did we leave them?”

As if in response, a booming echo rolled down the valley. “Chinese powder,” Alchiq spat angrily.

Gansukh had recognized the sound too. “Munokhoi had one,” he said. “A hand cannon. He got it from the raiders who attacked our caravan shortly after we left Karakorum. He had it with him when…” He tried to remember where he had last seen it. There had been a satchel that the ex-Torguud captain had dropped…

“It’s a signal,” Alchiq said. “Get the Khagan!” he shouted again, trying to catch the attention of the men below. “Now their real ambush will be sprung,” he snarled.

Gansukh understood his frustration. They were trapped on the hillside, unable to aid the Khagan. An idea occurred to him and he tapped Alchiq on the shoulder. “Up,” he said. “If we can’t go down, let’s go up. Get above the archers.”

Alchiq gave Gansukh a nasty smile. “Flush them out,” he said, nodding.

An odd serenity came over Master Chucai as the archers on the hillside started killing the Khagan’s hunting party. His qi was not agitated by the sudden and violent death being visited upon the men around him; instead he felt a placid calmness descend upon him.

Until he was turned as an arrow creased his jaw and punched through the tangle of his beard. He gasped as the world came rushing back: a tumult of sound making his ears ring, the rich scent of flesh blood, the texture of leather and horn under his hands as he grabbed his saddle and hauled himself onto his horse.

Behind him, the shaman cowered on his pony, his hands over his ears. The tiny man babbled, a string of prayers and magical cantrips meant to protect him from flying demons. Chucai leaned over and shoved the shaman out of his saddle; he grabbed the reins and led the pony as he kicked his horse into motion.

A Darkhat rider passed him, going in the opposite direction. The man loosed an arrow past his head, drew another from his quiver, and aimed without bothering to notice that he had nearly put an arrow into Chucai’s eye.

Chucai understood the man’s focus, and he was glad that someone was fighting back. It would make getting the Khagan to safety easier.

He swung around a cluster of bushes and spotted the Khagan lying on the ground next to two dying men. Both were begging the Khagan for mercy, and Ogedei was trying to back away from them while still maintaining as small a profile as possible against the ground.

“Ogedei,” Chucai shouted. He shook the pony’s reins at the Khagan. “A steed, my Khan.”

Ogedei looked around wildly at the sound of Chucai’s voice, and he slowly focused on the pair of horses. “You… you want me to ride that?” he sputtered.

Chucai shook the reins at the addled Khagan. “Decide quickly,” he snapped. “Do you want to be the Khan who was too proud to ride a pony and who died miserably in the woods? Or…?”

Another arrow punched through the brush, and silenced the cries of the gut-shot man. The other one, the man with the arrow through his face, shrieked and clawed at Ogedei’s boot, begging to be rescued.

Ogedei scrambled to his feet and snatched the offered reins from Chucai’s hands. He clambered onto the pony, his legs nearly touching the ground, and hunching over the small animal’s neck he smacked it fiercely on the ears. It bolted, darting toward the other end of the valley, and Chucai spurred his own steed after the galloping pony.

He had to guide the empire still. He had to make sure it was going the right direction.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

The Big Boss

As Rutger fought his way through the crowd toward Ashiq Temur, he eyed the man’s cudgel warily. The simplest weapons were often times the most effective, and Rutger knew all too well that a solid blow from the big Mongol’s weapon would shatter bone and pulp his flesh. Maks’s crushed face was the only reminder he needed of the weapon’s power. As he broke through the mob, he saw that the cudgel was more than a shaped piece of hardwood. Beneath the blood spatter and gore clinging to it, he could see the glint of metal. Heavy and slow, he thought, I must be quick.

He swung his sword, and Ashiq Temur saw him coming and raised his club to block Rutger’s attack. Their