‘You have killed me, you fool!’ she screeched as he struggled with her in the doorway. He fell back a step, astonished at her rage, and as he did so, the door slammed shut and all the men could hear her weeping inside.
‘That was touching,’ Genghis murmured to Tsubodai.
Tsubodai did not smile. The village was surrounded by rocky heights and he was certain they were being watched. The crying woman had certainly thought so. Tsubodai had seen her eyes dart up to the surrounding peaks for an instant before she closed the door in her brother’s face. Tsubodai raised his head and scanned every high point, but nothing moved.
‘I don’t like this place,’ Tsubodai said. ‘This village exists to serve the Assassins, I’m certain of it. Why else would it be so far from anywhere else in the mountains? How do they even pay for supplies brought by cart?’ At the thought, he eased his horse nearer to Genghis, feeling the narrow street close in on him. A single lucky arrow could end it all, if the villagers were foolish or desperate enough.
‘I do not think we should stop here, my lord khan,’ he said. ‘There are two paths further into the mountains and only one back. Let me send scouts along them both and find the way in.’
Genghis nodded and at that moment a bell rang, the sound muffled but echoing. The Mongols had bows and swords drawn before the notes died away, jerking in shock as the street doors thumped open and armed men and women rushed out.
In just heartbeats, the village went from being silent and deserted to a bloody attack. Tsubodai’s horse kicked out at a woman behind him, knocking her flying. They were converging on Genghis, who was swinging his sword in a great arc to take a screaming young man across the neck.
To Tsubodai’s surprise, the villagers were determined and desperate. His men were experienced in dealing with rioting crowds, but the violence could not be quelled with the shock of sudden blood-letting. He saw one of his warriors dragged off his horse by a man with an arrow in his chest, dying as he yanked with failing strength. Some of them screamed all the time they fought, the noise almost painful as it came from a hundred different throats and echoed back from the hills all around. Yet they were not warriors. Tsubodai took a blow from a long knife on his forearm bracer, turning the block into a short punch that cracked into his attacker’s jaw. The villagers had no defence against armoured men and only their ferocity made them hard to stop. Tsubodai fought with manic concentration, risking his own life to protect Genghis. They were alone for just moments as more of the khan’s tuman struggled to reach him and face outwards with their swords and bows. Arrows hissed through the throats of anyone who moved after that and the iron circle fought its way through them, moving with Genghis at the centre.
The sun had not moved above the hills by the time the streets were covered in the dead. The merchant’s sister lay among them, one of the first to be cut down. Her brother had survived and he knelt by her gashed body, weeping openly. When one of the warriors dismounted to pull her clothing aside, the man struggled briefly in tearful rage before he was cuffed onto his back. Tsubodai’s men found no one with the mark of serenity at their throats.
Tsubodai leant over his saddle, panting with exertion and relief at having survived. He truly hated the enclosure of hills, and the feeling of eyes on him was even stronger than before.
‘If they are not Assassins, why would they attack us so wildly?’ he demanded of one of his minghaan officers. The man could not reply to such a question, so merely bowed his head and looked away.
Genghis trotted his pony to Tsubodai as the general stared around him, still shocked by what had happened.
‘I imagine they were ordered to get in our way,’ Genghis said lightly. He was maddeningly calm and not even breathing heavily. ‘Against thieves, or a raiding band, they would have done very well. It would take a determined army to get through this village to the stronghold of our enemies.’ He grinned. ‘Fortunately, I have such an army. Send out your scouts, Tsubodai. Find me the way through.’
Under the yellow gaze of his khan, Tsubodai gathered himself quickly and sent two arbans of ten men racing deeper into the mountains. Both routes turned sharply after only a short distance, so that the warriors quickly vanished from view. He ordered others to search every house, making certain there were no more surprises hidden in them.
‘I hope this means the Assassins have not abandoned their home,’ he said.
Genghis brightened still further at the thought.
By sunset, Tsubodai’s men had piled the dead at one edge of the village, by the icy waterfall. There was a pool there, before the water found its way further down the cliffs. Tsubodai organised the watering of the horses, a task which was maddeningly slow and laborious, but vital. For those too far back to come in, he used buckets from the village and had his warriors walk miles to them. Many would be forced to sleep on the narrow trail, just a few feet from a drop to their death. There was no grumbling from them, at least none that reached the ears of the general. They accepted their lot as they had always done.
Only one group of Tsubodai’s scouts came back as the hills were lit with gold and the sun sank. The other had vanished and Tsubodai nodded to Genghis as the road remained empty. A single scout might have fallen, or broken a leg. For ten young warriors to disappear in the mountains, another force had to exist, ruthless and patient.
The Mongols had found the path to the Assassins and they slept where they stood, half-frozen and with just a few mouth-fuls of dried meat and water to keep them alive as they waited for dawn.
Tsubodai was up before first light, in part to be certain he could put a rank of men onto the narrow path before Genghis tried to lead them. The general was convinced the first ones in would die and he chose well-armoured archers from his own tuman, giving them the best chance he could. He did not want Genghis to risk himself against an unseen enemy in such a place. The rock walls that lined the path were too easy to defend. As Tsubodai stared into the lightening gloom, he guessed they would face stones and arrows at the very least. He hoped the Assassins did not have stocks of fire oil, but he was not confident. There was no point regretting past decisions, but the Assassins had been given a long time to prepare the way. If they had chosen to fight, it would be a hard path to walk and many of his men would not return from the mountains.
The sun could not be seen for much of the morning in that place of peaks and stone, so that Tsubodai wondered at the half-lit existence of the villagers. Even in high summer, their homes would have been cold for most of the day. Only when the sun was overhead would light and warmth reach the street below. By then, he did not doubt that the villagers were all servants of the ones he had come to root out from their stronghold. Nothing else explained why they would choose such a life.
Tsubodai rode in the second rank and looked back only once as the army began to move, a vast slow tail that stretched back almost to the first village he had found destroyed. Some of them still had no idea what had happened the day before, but they followed in his steps and wound their way deeper into the hostile terrain.
The path narrowed still further as he left the village behind, forcing his men to ride two across. It was almost a crack in the mountain, the air cold from constant gloom and shadows. Tsubodai kept his weapons ready, straining his eyes ahead for some sign of the arban he had sent. Only hoofprints remained and Tsubodai’s men followed them slowly, wary of an ambush, but still going on.
The sense of enclosure became stifling as the slope began to rise. To Tsubodai’s discomfort, the trail narrowed again, so that only one man at a time could squeeze his horse through. Still the hoofprints led them. Tsubodai had never felt so helpless in his life and he had to struggle with swelling panic. If they were attacked, the first ones killed would block the path of those behind, leaving them easy targets. He did not think he could even turn his mount in such a narrow pass and winced every time his legs brushed the mossy rock on either side.