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Authors: Conn Iggulden
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Jelme’s lines, so Genghis could not. If his son chose to ride right down the throats of nervous men with drawn bows, Genghis could only swallow the sudden chill tugging at his drunkenness. He could only ride.
Jelme squinted into the blackness, his men ready. The warriors who rode like madmen in the dark were almost upon him. He had extended the wings around their column, so that they rode into a deepening cup. Though he could hardly see more than a black mass in the starlight, he could fill the air with shafts in a heartbeat.
He hesitated. It had to be Genghis, riding at the front. Who else could be so reckless? Yet no warning had been called. Jelme knew he would not let an enemy crash straight into his best men. He would send a storm of arrows first.
He squinted, turning his head left and right to make the moving shadows clear. Could it be the khan? He could have sworn he heard someone singing in the column that was charging right at him. In the dark, he alone stood in the light of a torch, to be seen. He raised his arm, and all along the lines, thousands of bows bent as one.
“On my order!” Jelme bellowed, as loud as he could. He could feel sweat chilling in the wind on his face, but he was not afraid. There was no one to ask, no one to tell him what to do. It was his decision alone. Jelme took one last look at the black riders coming and he smiled tightly, shaking his head like a nervous twitch. He could not
know.
“Stand down!” he roared suddenly. “Let them come in! Wide formation!”
His officers repeated the orders down the line to those that could not hear him. Jelme could only wait to see whether the riders would stop, or hit his lines and begin the killing. He watched the blur of shadows come to a hundred paces, deep in the cup made by the wings. Fiftypaces and still they followed the man who led them, into the mouth of their destruction.
Jelme saw some of them slow and men in the wings began calling out as they heard the voices of friends and family. Jelme relaxed, thanking the sky father that his instinct had been correct. He turned back to the front and his jaw dropped open as the tight-knit front rank punched into his own men with a crash loud enough to hurt the ears. Horses and warriors went down and suddenly every hand held a sword or a drawn bow once again.
“Torches! Bring torches there!” Jelme snapped. Slaves ran up through the ranks to light the scene of groaning men and kicking, sprawling horses.
Jelme recognized Genghis in the heart of it and he paled slightly, wondering if the khan would demand his head. Should he have fallen back or opened a path for them through the host? He let out a slow breath as Genghis opened his eyes and swore, sitting up with an effort. Jelme gestured for two warriors to help the khan to his feet, though he batted away their arms.
“Where are you, General?” Genghis called, shaking his head. Jelme stood forward, swallowing nervously as he saw Genghis touch his jaw and come away with a smear of blood.
“I am here, my lord khan,” he said, standing painfully straight. He dared not look at the other men lying around and groaning, though he recognized Khasar’s angry voice as he tried to get someone unconscious off him. Genghis turned to Jelme and his eyes focused at last.
“You will note, General, that no other man reached your lines before me?”
Jelme blinked. “I believe so, my lord khan,” he said.
Genghis nodded blearily to those behind him, satisfied. “The night is barely begun and already I have a sore head.” Genghis grinned and Jelme saw he had broken a tooth on the right side of his face in the impact. He watched as Genghis spat blood onto the grass, glaring at a nearby warrior who shrank back visibly.
“Light fires, Jelme. Your father is somewhere around, though he was not as quick as me, not even close. If Arslan is still alive, we will toast his life in rice wine and airag and whatever food you have.”
“You are welcome in my
Jelme squinted into the blackness, his men ready. The warriors who rode like madmen in the dark were almost upon him. He had extended the wings around their column, so that they rode into a deepening cup. Though he could hardly see more than a black mass in the starlight, he could fill the air with shafts in a heartbeat.
He hesitated. It had to be Genghis, riding at the front. Who else could be so reckless? Yet no warning had been called. Jelme knew he would not let an enemy crash straight into his best men. He would send a storm of arrows first.
He squinted, turning his head left and right to make the moving shadows clear. Could it be the khan? He could have sworn he heard someone singing in the column that was charging right at him. In the dark, he alone stood in the light of a torch, to be seen. He raised his arm, and all along the lines, thousands of bows bent as one.
“On my order!” Jelme bellowed, as loud as he could. He could feel sweat chilling in the wind on his face, but he was not afraid. There was no one to ask, no one to tell him what to do. It was his decision alone. Jelme took one last look at the black riders coming and he smiled tightly, shaking his head like a nervous twitch. He could not
know.
“Stand down!” he roared suddenly. “Let them come in! Wide formation!”
His officers repeated the orders down the line to those that could not hear him. Jelme could only wait to see whether the riders would stop, or hit his lines and begin the killing. He watched the blur of shadows come to a hundred paces, deep in the cup made by the wings. Fiftypaces and still they followed the man who led them, into the mouth of their destruction.
Jelme saw some of them slow and men in the wings began calling out as they heard the voices of friends and family. Jelme relaxed, thanking the sky father that his instinct had been correct. He turned back to the front and his jaw dropped open as the tight-knit front rank punched into his own men with a crash loud enough to hurt the ears. Horses and warriors went down and suddenly every hand held a sword or a drawn bow once again.
“Torches! Bring torches there!” Jelme snapped. Slaves ran up through the ranks to light the scene of groaning men and kicking, sprawling horses.
Jelme recognized Genghis in the heart of it and he paled slightly, wondering if the khan would demand his head. Should he have fallen back or opened a path for them through the host? He let out a slow breath as Genghis opened his eyes and swore, sitting up with an effort. Jelme gestured for two warriors to help the khan to his feet, though he batted away their arms.
“Where are you, General?” Genghis called, shaking his head. Jelme stood forward, swallowing nervously as he saw Genghis touch his jaw and come away with a smear of blood.
“I am here, my lord khan,” he said, standing painfully straight. He dared not look at the other men lying around and groaning, though he recognized Khasar’s angry voice as he tried to get someone unconscious off him. Genghis turned to Jelme and his eyes focused at last.
“You will note, General, that no other man reached your lines before me?”
Jelme blinked. “I believe so, my lord khan,” he said.
Genghis nodded blearily to those behind him, satisfied. “The night is barely begun and already I have a sore head.” Genghis grinned and Jelme saw he had broken a tooth on the right side of his face in the impact. He watched as Genghis spat blood onto the grass, glaring at a nearby warrior who shrank back visibly.
“Light fires, Jelme. Your father is somewhere around, though he was not as quick as me, not even close. If Arslan is still alive, we will toast his life in rice wine and airag and whatever food you have.”
“You are welcome in my
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