Lords of the Bow. Conn Iggulden

than children.’

      Genghis tossed the meat down into the platter in the centre of the ger.

      ‘Return to your men, my brothers. Make them ready.’ His gaze flickered around the ger to Arslan and Jelme, the father and son sitting together.

      ‘Arslan, you will keep five thousand to protect the families. The rest will ride with me.’ He grinned at the prospect and they responded.

      ‘Not years, Kachiun. Not one more day. Get the fastest scouts riding. I want to know what they are doing as soon as dawn comes. I will have orders for you then.’

      So far south, the autumn was still hot, the uncut crops drooping under their own weight as they began to rot in the fields. The Mongol scouts shouted challenges to the red army that had marched from the safety of Yinchuan, while others rode back to Genghis with details. They entered the great ger in groups of three, passing on what they had learned.

      Genghis strode back and forth, listening to each man as he described the scene.

      ‘I do not like this business with the baskets,’ he said to Kachiun. ‘What could they be sowing on this ground?’ He had heard of hundreds of men walking together in patterns before the host from Yinchuan. Each had carried a basket on his shoulders while a man behind him reached into it, over and over, casting his arms wide.

      The khan of the Uighurs had been summoned to explain the mystery. Barchuk had questioned the scouts closely, demanding every scrap of information they could recall.

      ‘It could be something to slow our horses, lord,’ he said at last. ‘Sharp stones, perhaps, or iron. They have sown a wide band of these seeds outside the army and they show no sign of crossing it. If they are intent on drawing us in, perhaps they expect the charge to founder.’

      Genghis clapped him on the shoulder.

      ‘Whatever it is, I will not let them choose the ground,’ he said. ‘You will have your scrolls yet, Barchuk.’ He looked around him at the bright faces of his most trusted men. None of them could truly know the enemy they faced. The slaughter at the fort to enter Xi Xia lands bore little relation to the fighting formations of the king’s own city. He could feel his heart beating quickly at the thought of finally standing against his people’s enemies. Surely they would not fail, after so long in preparation? Kokchu said the stars themselves proclaimed a new destiny for his people. With the shaman attending him, Genghis had sacrificed a white goat to the sky father, using the name in the most ancient shaman’s tongue. Tängri would not refuse them. They had been weak for too long, made so by the Chin in their cities of gold. Now they were strong and he would see the cities fall.

      The generals stood perfectly still as Kokchu reached into tiny pots and drew lines on their faces. When they looked at each other, they could not see the men they knew. They saw only the masks of war and eyes that were fierce and terrible.

      The shaman left Genghis until last, dragging a red line from high on the khan’s forehead, over the eyes and down on each side of his mouth.

      ‘Iron will not touch you, lord. Stone will not break you. You are the Wolf and the sky father watches.’

      Genghis stared without blinking, the blood somehow hot on his skin. At last, he nodded and left the ger, mounting his pony with the lines of warriors drawn up on either side. He could see the city in the distance and, before it, a blurry mass of red men waiting to see his ambitions humbled. He looked left and right along the line and raised his arm.

      The drums started, carried by a hundred unarmed boys. Each one of them had fought his fellows for the right to ride with the warriors and many of them bore the marks of their struggle. Genghis felt his strength as he touched the hilt of his father’s sword for luck. He dropped his arm and, as one, they thundered forward over the plain of the Xi Xia, towards the city of Yinchuan.

      ‘They are coming, lord,’ Rai Chiang’s first minister said excitedly. The vantage point from the king’s tower offered the best view of the plain from anywhere in the city and Rai Chiang had not objected to the presence of his councillors in his private chambers.

      In their lacquered armour, the soldiers resembled a bright splash of blood on the ground before the city. Rai Chiang thought he could see the distant white-bearded figure of General Giam riding up and down the lines. Pikes gleamed in the morning sun as the regiments formed up and he could see his own royal guard held the wings. They were the best horsemen of the Xi Xia and he did not regret giving them to this task.

      It had hurt him deeply to hide in the city while his lands were ravaged. Just the sight of an army facing the invader lifted his spirits. Giam was a solid thinker, a dependable man. It was true that he had not seen battle in his rise to power in the army, but Rai Chiang had reviewed his plans and found no fault with them. The king drank a pale white wine as he waited, relishing the thought of seeing his enemies destroyed before his eyes. News of the victory would reach Emperor Wei and he would know bitterness. If the Chin had reinforced them, Rai Chiang would have been in his debt for ever. Emperor Wei was subtle enough to know when he had given up an advantage in trade and power and the thought was intoxicating to Rai Chiang. He would see to it that the Chin were informed of every detail of the battle.

      General Giam watched the dust cloud as the enemy advanced. The ground was drying out, he realised, with no farmers daring to water their crops. Those who had tried had been cut down by the scouts of the invader, apparently for sport or to blood the younger men. That would stop today, Giam thought.

      His orders were relayed to the ranks on high poles, fluttering in the breeze for all to see. As he glanced up and down the lines, black crosses mingled with the red pennants, a symbol that meant they would hold the ground. Beyond the army, the fields were sown with a hundred thousand spikes of iron, hidden in the grass. Giam waited impatiently for the tribesmen to hit them. It would be carnage and then he would raise flags to attack in close formation, while the Mongols were still dazed.

      The royal cavalry held the wings and he nodded to himself at the sight of their fine horses, snorting and pawing at the ground in excitement. The king’s pike guards stood resolute in the centre of his army, splendid in their scarlet, like the scales of exotic fish. Their grim faces helped to steady the others as the dust cloud grew larger and they all felt the earth tremble under their feet. Giam saw one of the flag pikes dip and sent a man over to chastise the bearer. The army of Xi Xia was nervous, he could see it in their faces. When they saw the enemy line crumple, it would encourage them. Giam felt his bladder complain and swore softly under his breath, knowing he could not dismount with the enemy rushing towards them. In the ranks, he saw many of the men urinating onto the dusty ground, readying themselves.

      He had to shout his orders over the swelling thunder of galloping horses. The guard officers were spread along the line and they repeated the command to stand and wait.

      ‘Just a little longer,’ he murmured. He could see individuals amongst the enemy and his stomach tightened at the sight of so many. He felt the gaze of the citizens on his back and he knew the king would be watching with every other man and woman who could find a place on the walls. Yinchuan depended on them for survival, but they would not be found lacking.

      His second in command stood ready to relay Giam’s orders.

      ‘It will be a great victory, general,’ he said. Giam could hear the strain in the man’s voice and forced himself to turn away from the enemy.

      ‘With the king’s eye on us, the men must not lose heart. They know he watches?’

      ‘I have made certain of it, general. They …’ The man’s eyes widened and Giam snapped his gaze back to the charging line hammering across the plain.

      From the centre of it, a hundred galloping ponies moved forward, their riders forming a column like an arrow shaft. Giam watched without understanding as they approached the hidden line of spikes in the grass. He hesitated, unsure how the new formation affected his plans. He felt a line of sweat trickle from his hair and drew his sword to steady his hands.

      ‘Nearly there …’ he whispered. The horsemen were low on the backs of their ponies, their