The young general laughed to see him alive, even as he ducked under a sweeping sword and gutted the man who held it. He pulled the blade out with a great heave and stamped down on a dead body as he stepped past. The Chin were reeling, but they still swarmed in such numbers that even Tsubodai's ten thousand could be engulfed. On the flank of the great army of the Chin, cavalry horns sounded and Genghis turned in the saddle as the Chin ranks fell back in order, opening a path for the charge. The Mongol warriors looked at each other as the Chin cavalry broke into a gallop through their own ranks. Genghis grinned, panting as his men formed up around him.
"Those are good horses," he said. "I will have the first choice of them when we are done." Those who heard him laughed, then as one, they kicked their weary mounts into a canter, leaning low over the saddles. They left Tsubodai alone to hold the ground around the pass and slid into a gallop on their ponies just before the two forces crashed together.
The Chin cavalry commander died in the first instant of meeting the Mongol horsemen. Over the thunder of hooves, his men were cut from their saddles. Those who could strike back swung on empty air as the Mongols ducked or swayed aside. They had practiced for this all their lives. Genghis galloped on, deeper and deeper into the ranks of horsemen, his sword arm burning. There was no end to them and he took a fresh cut above his hip where the armor had broken away. Another impact knocked him back so that he saw the pale sky swinging above before he could recover. He did not fall; he could not. He heard screams as Kachiun's mounts hit the Chin riders from behind and wondered if he would meet his brother in the middle or die first. There were just so many enemies. He no longer expected to survive and that brought a lightness to his mood that made the gallop through his enemies a moment of pure joy. It was easy to imagine his father riding with him. Perhaps the old man would be proud at last. His sons could not have chosen a better end.
Behind him the tree was finally rolled back in three pieces. The Mongol army rode slowly out onto the icy flats, grim and poised to avenge their khan. Jelme and Arslan rode at the head and both father and son were ready. They looked out at the Chin flags and banners that swirled into the distance.
"I would not change my life, Jelme, if I could go back," Arslan called to his son. "I would still be here."
"Where else would you be, old man?" Jelme replied with a smile. He set an arrow on the bowstring and took a deep breath before loosing the first shaft into the enemy ranks.
Zhi Zhong watched in frustration as the pass opened and twenty thousand warriors came storming out, ready to fight. The gods had not given the khan into his hands. Zhi Zhong's own cavalry was engaging the khan's small force, while another group cut into the Chin like a tiger ripping at the belly of a running deer. The Mongols did not seem to communicate, yet they worked together across the battlefield, while his was the only center of command. Zhi Zhong rubbed his eyes, staring into the dust clouds as they fought.
His pikemen were in chaos and some had left the plain, the figures already distant specks among the hills. Could he yet save the battle? All the tricks were finished. It came down to a fight on a flat plain, and he still had the numbers.
He gave fresh orders to his messengers and watched as they galloped across the battlefield. The Mongols from the pass were hammering his men with shaft after shaft, cutting a trench right through the center of the army that waited for them. The relentless accuracy was forcing his ranks back on themselves, making them bunch up where they should have stayed apart. Zhi Zhong wiped sweat from his brow as he saw riders ripping through his pikemen as if they were unarmed. He could only watch frozen as they split into groups of a hundred, attacking from all angles with their shafts, cutting his army to pieces.
It seemed only a moment before one of the marauding groups spotted him standing there, directing the battle. Zhi Zhong saw their faces light up as they saw the massive war banners around his command tent. As he stared he saw a dozen bows bent in his direction and others yanking at reins to turn their mounts. Surely the range was too great? Hundreds of his personal guard lay in their path, but they could not stop the arrows and the general was suddenly terrified. They were demonic, these men from the plains. He had tried everything and still they came. Many of them had been cut in the fighting, but they seemed to feel no pain as they drew their bows with bloody hands and kicked their horses at him.
A half-spent arrow thumped into his chest, sticking out of his armor and making him cry out. As if the sound released his fear, his nerve failed completely and he yelled for his guard, pulling his horse around by brute strength and hunching low in the saddle. Other shafts whistled over his head, killing men around him. General Zhi Zhong was mindless in the face of his own death, his confidence shattering. He dug in his heels and his horse bolted, galloping through the ranks to leave his guard behind.
He did not look down at the wide-eyed faces of his soldiers as they saw him desert them. Many threw down their weapons and simply ran, following his example. Some were knocked aside by his horse as they moved too slowly. His eyes blurred in the frozen wind and he knew nothing except the need to escape the cruel-faced Mongols at his back. Behind him his army crumbled in complete rout and the slaughter went on. The army of Genghis rolled over the Imperial soldiers, killing until their arms were exhausted and the mouths of their horses were white with frothy spit.
Senior officers tried three times to rally their men, each attempt failing as Genghis was able to use the wider ground to send charges in to smash them. When the last of Jelme's arrows were gone, the lances worked well at full speed, taking men off their feet with the impact. Genghis had seen the Chin general run and no longer felt the terrible wounds he had taken. The sun rose higher on the killing, and by noon, the forces of the emperor lay in bloody mountains of the dead, the remainder scattered in every direction and still pursued.
As Zhi Zhong rode, his mind lost the numbness that had unmanned him. The sounds of battle faded into the distance as he galloped along the road to Yenking. He looked back only once at the great roiling mass of fighting men, and shame and rage were bitter in his throat. Some of his personal guard had taken horses to follow their general, loyal despite his failure. Without a word, they formed up around him, so that a grim phalanx of almost a hundred riders approached the gates of the emperor's city.
Zhi Zhong recognized one man riding abreast, a senior officer from Baotou. At first he could not recall his name and he could only wonder at his spinning thoughts. The city grew quickly before them and it took a huge effort of will to steady himself and calm his thumping heart. Lujan. The man's name was Lujan, he remembered at last.
The general sweated in his armor as he looked at the high walls and the moat surrounding the city. After the chaos and bloodshed, it looked sleepily peaceful, waking slowly for the new day. Zhi Zhong had outraced any messengers and the emperor remained unaware of the catastrophe only twenty miles away.
"Do you want to be executed, Lujan?" he said to the man at his side.
"I have a family, General," the man replied. He was pale, understanding what they faced.
"Then listen to me and follow my orders," Zhi Zhong replied.
The general was recognized at a distance and the outer gate was lowered over the expanse of water. Zhi Zhong turned in the saddle to shout orders to the men with him.
"The emperor must be told," he snapped. "We can counterattack with the city guard." He saw the words have an effect on the defeated men, straightening them in their saddles. They still trusted their general to salvage something from the disaster. Zhi Zhong made his face a mask as he passed into the city, the sound of hooves on paved streets loud in his ears. He had lost. Worse, he had run.