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  Genghis too rode close, with his generals and officers. What he saw brought him no inspiration. Even the canals into the city were protected by iron bars as thick as a man’s forearm, set deep into stone. He thought they might still batter their way in, though the thought of crawling down dank tunnels was unpleasant to a man of the plains.

  As night fell, his brothers and generals gathered in the great ger to eat and discuss the problem. Genghis’s mood had grown dark once more, but Arslan had known him from the beginning of his rise and did not fear to speak bluntly.

  “With the sort of wooden shield we used against the fort, we could protect men long enough to hammer through the canal openings,” Arslan said, chewing. “Though I do not like the look of those constructions on the walls. I would not have believed a bow could be so large. If they’re real, they must fire arrows as long as a man. Who knows how much damage they can do?”

  “We cannot stay out here forever, while they send messages to their allies,” Kachiun murmured, “and we cannot pass by and leave their army free to strike at our back. We must enter the city, or return to the desert and give up everything we have won.”

  Genghis glanced at his younger brother, his expression sour. “That will not happen,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “We have their crops. How long can a city last before the people are eating each other? Time is on our side.”

  “We are not hurting them yet, I think,” Kachiun replied. “They have the canals to bring water, and for all we know, the city is stuffed with grain and salted meat.” He saw Genghis frown at the image, but continued. “We could be here for years, waiting, and who knows how many armies are marching to support them? By the time they are starving, we could be facing the Chin themselves and be caught between them.”

  “Then give me an answer!” Genghis snapped. “The Uighur scholars tell me that every city in Chin lands is like this one, or even larger, if you can imagine it. If they have been built by men, they can be destroyed by men, I am certain of it. Tell me how.”

  “We could poison the water in the canals,” Khasar said, reaching for another piece of meat with his knife. He speared it in sudden silence and looked round at the others. “What? This is not our land.”

  “That is an evil thing to say,” Kachiun chided his brother, speaking for all of them. “What would we drink ourselves, then?”

  Khasar shrugged. “We would drink clean water from further up.”

  Genghis listened, considering. “We need to sting them into coming out,” he said. “I will not see clean water poisoned, but we can break the canals and let the city go thirsty. Let them see the work of generations being destroyed and perhaps they will meet us on the plain.”

  “I will see it done,” Jelme said.

  Genghis nodded to him. “And you, Khasar. You will send a hundred men to break through the bars where the canals enter the city.”

  “Protecting them will mean more carts taken apart. The families will not like that at all,” Khasar said.

  Genghis snorted. “I will build more when we are in that cursed city. They will thank us then.”

  All the men in the ger heard galloping hoofbeats coming closer. Genghis paused with a piece of greasy mutton in his fingers. He looked up as a clatter sounded on the steps outside and the door to the ger opened.

  “They are coming out, lord.”

  “In the darkness?” Genghis said incredulously.

  “There is no moon, but I was close enough to hear them, lord. They chattered like birds and made more noise than children.”

  Genghis tossed the meat down into the platter in the center 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 of us 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 toward 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 armor, 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 forever. 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 realized, 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 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 center 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 toward 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 center 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 faces straining against the wind. Giam watched as they passed the line he had created and, for a terrifying instant, he thought they would somehow ride straight through the spikes. Then the first horse screamed, tumbling over itself in a great crash. Dozens more went down as the spikes pierced the soft part of their hooves and men were thrown to their death. The thin column faltered and Giam knew a moment of fierce joy. He saw the galloping line waver as the mass of following warriors yanked savagely on their reins. Almost all of those who had run full tilt into the spikes lay crippled or dead on the grass and a great cheer went up from the red ranks.

  Giam saw the pike flags were standing proud, and he clenched his left fist in excitement. Let them come on foot and see what he had for them!

  Beyond the screaming men and horses, the bulk of the enemy milled without formation, having lost all impetus in the death of their brothers. As Giam watched, the untrained tribesmen panicked. They had no tactics except for the wild charge, and they had lost that. Without warning, hundreds turned away to race back through their own lines. The rout spread with extraordinary speed and Giam saw Mongol officers bawling conflicting orders at their fleeing men, striking at them with the flats of their swords as they passed. Behind him, the people of Yinchuan roared at the sight.

  Giam jerked round in the saddle. His entire first rank took a half step forward, straining like dogs on a leash. He could see the bloodlust rising in them and knew it had to be controlled.

  “Stand!” he bellowed. “Officers, hold your men. The order is to stand!” They could not be held. Another step broke the last restraint and the yelling red ranks surged forward, their new armor shining. The air filled with dust. Only the king’s guard held their positions, and even then, the cavalry on the wings were forced to come forward with the others or leave them vulnerable. Giam shouted again and again in desperation and his own officers raced up and down the lines, trying to hold the army back. It was impossible. They had seen the enemy riding in the shadow of the city for almost two months. Here at last was a chance to make them bleed. The militia screamed defiance as they reached the barrier of iron spikes. These were no danger to men and they passed through quickly, killing those warriors who still lived and stabbing the dead over and over until they were bloody rags on the grass.

  Giam used his horse to block lines of men as best he could. In fury, he had the signal horns blow retreat, but the men were deaf and blind to everything except the enemy and the king who watched them. They could not be called back.

  On horseback, Giam saw the sudden change in the tribes before any of his running men. Before his eyes, the wild rout vanished and perfect new Mongol lines formed, the discipline terrifying. The scarlet army of the Xi Xia had come half a mile past the traps and pits they had dug the night before and still raced onwards to bloody their swords and send these enemies away from their city. Without warning, they faced a confident army of horsemen on exposed ground. Genghis gave a single order and the entire force moved into a trot. The Mongol warriors pulled bows from shaped leather holders on the saddles, taking the first long arrows from the quivers on their hips or backs. They guided the ponies with their knees alone, riding with the arrows pointing down. At another barked order from Genghis, they brought their lines to a canter and then instantly to full gallop, the arrows coming up to their faces for the first volley.

  Caught out in the open, fear swept through the massed red ranks. The Xi Xia lines compressed and some at the rear were still cheering ignorantly as the Mongol army swept back in. Giam roared desperate orders to increase the space between the ranks, but only the king’s guard responded. As they faced a massed charge for the second time, the militia bunched even tighter, terrified and confused.

  Twenty thousand buzzing arrows smashed the red lines to their knees. They could not return the volleys in the face of such destruction. Their own crossbowmen could only shoot blindly toward the enemy, hampered by the scramble of their own companions. The Mongols drew and shot ten times in every sixty heartbeats, and their accuracy was crushing. The red armor saved some, but as they rose screaming, they were hit again and again until they stayed down. As the Mongols darted in for the close killing, Giam dug in his heels and raced across the face of the bloody lines to the king’s pikemen, desperate to have them hold. Somehow he came through unscathed.

  The king’s guards looked no different from the militia in their red armor. As Giam took command, he saw some of the
militia rushing back through their ranks, chased down by screaming Mongol riders. The guards did not run and Giam gave a sharp order to raise pikes, passed on down the line. The tribesmen saw too late that these were not panicking like the others. Pike blades held up at an angle could cut a man in half as he charged, and dozens of Mongol riders went down as they tried to gallop through. Giam felt hope rise in him that he could yet salvage the day.

  The guard cavalry had moved out to defend the wings against the mobile enemy. As the militia was crushed, Giam was left with only the few thousand of the king’s trained men and a few hundred stragglers. The Mongols seemed to delight in hitting the Xi Xia riders. Whenever the guard cavalry tried to charge, the tribesmen would spear in at high speed and pick men off with bows. The wildest of them engaged the guards with swords, looping in and out again like stinging insects. Though the cavalry kept their discipline, they had been trained to ride down infantry on the open field and could not respond to attacks from all directions. Caught away from the city, it was slaughter.

  The pikemen survived the first charges against them, gutting the Mongol horses. When the king’s cavalry were crushed and scattered, those who fought on foot were exposed. The pikemen could not turn to face the enemy easily, and every time they tried, they were too slow. Giam bawled orders hopelessly, but the Mongols encircled them and cut them to pieces in a storm of arrows that still failed to claim him with them. Each man who died fell with a dozen shafts in him, or was cut from his saddle by a sword at full gallop. Pikes were broken and trampled in the press. Those who still survived tried to run to the shadow of the walls where archers could protect them. Almost all were ridden down.

  The gates were shut. As Giam glanced back at the city, he found himself hot with shame. The king would be watching in horror. The army was shattered, ruined. Only a few battered, weary men had made it to the walls. Somehow Giam had remained in the saddle, more aware than ever of his king’s gaze. In misery, he raised his sword and cantered gently toward the Mongol lines until they spotted him.