Even then, the emperor had almost reached the southern empire, where his family still ruled in splendid isolation. If Genghis had been given just a few more years, he would have entered those lands, Khasar was certain. He knew nothing of the twists and turns of politics between the two nations, except that the Sung seemed to have armies in the millions. It was enough for the moment to bring death to the emperor of the north. It was enough to ride with his tuman. He was only sorry Genghis had not lived to see it.
Lost in wistful memories, Khasar half-turned to give an order to Ho Sa and Samuka before he remembered they were both dead, years before. He shivered slightly in the wind. There had been so many dead since he and his brothers had hidden from their enemies in a tiny fold of ground, with winter on the way. From those frightened and starving children a new force had entered the world, but only Kachiun, Temuge and Khasar himself had survived. The cost had been high, though he knew Genghis had not begrudged it.
'The best of us,' Khasar whispered to himself, watching Ogedai's forces ride steadily closer. He had seen enough. He dropped back into the saddle and whistled sharply. Two messengers galloped up to his side. They were both bare-armed, black with dirt and wearing only silk tunics and leggings to be fast and light.
'Minghaans one to four to bring pressure on their western flank,' Khasar snapped to the first. 'Do not let the enemy drift out of the path of the khan.'
The messenger raced away across the battlefield, his young face alight with excitement. The other waited patiently while Khasar watched the ebb and flow of men like an old hawk over a field of wheat. He saw hares racing towards him from some burrow, before his delighted bondsmen shot them through with arrows and dismounted to pick them up. It was another sign that the ground was rough and filled with obstacles. A charge would be even more dangerous when a horse could snap a leg in a hole and kill its rider with the impact.
Khasar winced at the thought. There was no easy victory to be snatched, not that day. The Chin army outnumbered his by more than six to one. Even when Ogedai and Tolui arrived, it would be two to one. Khasar had harried and cut them as they moved south, but he had been unable to force the emperor to stand and fight. It had been Ogedai himself who suggested the vast circle around to come back from the south. Three days had gone past with agonising slowness, until he had begun to think the emperor would find his way to the border and safety before Ogedai even returned.
Khasar found himself wishing it was Genghis coming from the south. It broke his heart to imagine it and he shook his head to clear it of an old man's dreams. There was work to do.
'Take this order to Yusep,' he told the messenger. 'Grip the east wing, force them into a funnel towards the khan. Use all the shafts if they must. He is to command minghaans five to eight. I have two thousand as a reserve. Acknowledge your orders.' Khasar waited impatiently as the scout repeated them, then dismissed him to gallop away.
Staring across the open plain, Khasar wondered how the Chin emperor had grown. No longer a proud little boy, he would be a man in his prime, but denied his birthright. The lands he had known were ruled by Mongolian princes. The huge armies of his father had been crushed. All he had left were these. Perhaps that was why they fought so hard, he thought. They were the last hope of their emperor and they knew it. The Sung border lay tantalisingly close and they were still strong, still many, like multicoloured wasps.
Khasar rode back to his reserve, where they sat their mounts easily and watched the enemy, resting their elbows on the saddle horns. They straightened as Khasar took his position with them, knowing he would notice every small detail.
Ahead, they watched the Chin ranks re-form to deal with the new threat, bristling with pikes and spears. As Khasar had expected, they began to manoeuvre away from the direct route south. He would not have minded if Ogedai had not been there. The Chin emperor wanted to reach the Sung border. If he could be forced along its edges without crossing, eventually his army would tire and the Mongol tumans would tear slices off its flanks. Sunset was still some way off and the foot soldiers of the emperor would weaken before the Mongol riders. The Chin cavalry had been Khasar's first targets, torn away from those they protected over days of blood and arrows. Those who survived were deep in the centre, humiliated and broken.
When Ogedai reached the Chin, they would be trapped between two foes. Khasar hummed under his breath, enjoying the prospect. Nothing sapped morale like the fear of being attacked from behind.
He watched as his first four thousand warriors rode slowly through a swarm of bolts, ducking low in their saddles and trusting their armour. Some crashed down, but the rest forced their way closer and closer. Small trees lashed at them and Khasar saw animals stumble. One fell to its knees as the ground subsided, but the rider heaved the animal up by main force and went on. Khasar whitened his own grip on his reins as he watched.
At fifty paces, the air was thick with whining bolts and the closest Chin ranks were throwing spears, though most fell short or tumbled in the grass. The Mongol lines were ragged over the poor ground, but their bows bent as one. The emperor's soldiers flinched back, despite their roaring officers. They had faced the same storm too many times and they were desperate. From the rapidly closing range, the Mongol bows could hammer through almost anything. His men heaved with writhing shoulder muscles, holding the strings with bone thumb rings. No other bows had that power, nor men the strength to use them.
They released with a snap that echoed to where Khasar watched. The volley tore a great hole in the enemy lines, yanking men backwards so that their pikes and crossbows jerked up all along the line. Khasar nodded sharply. Neither he nor Jebe had won the gold at the festival. That honour had gone to Tsubodai's archers. Even so, this was work he knew.
Bodies fell with many shafts in them and screaming carried on the breeze to where Khasar sat. He grinned. They had broken through the army's skin. He longed to give an order to follow with axe and lances, deep into them. He'd seen armies cut into strips in such a way, for all their strength and drums and coloured banners.
The Mongol discipline held, hardened in battles across the world. His men loosed shaft after shaft, picking their targets from men trying to turn away or hiding behind shields as they were battered to pieces. The outermost fringes met with swinging swords, and more men fell on both sides before the minghaan officers blew a low note and pulled them back, jubilant.
A ragged cheer sounded from untouched Chin ranks further back, but then Khasar's men turned in the saddle and loosed a final shaft, just as the enemy stood tall again. The sound choked off and the minghaans whooped as they wheeled to a new position and prepared to come in again. The movement of the Chin army had been slowed over half a mile and the wounded were left behind in wailing, writhing heaps.
'Here they come,' Khasar murmured. 'The khan enters the field.'
He could see Ogedai's bannermen in the host that trotted across the broken land. The Chin ranks braced to meet them, lowering shields and pikes that could gut a charging horse. As they reached two hundred paces, the Mongol arrows started to come in black waves. The crackle of thousands of bows releasing was like a raging bonfire, a sound that Khasar knew as well as any other. He had them, he was suddenly certain. The emperor would not pass to safety that day.
Another thump sounded, far louder than the bowstring rattle he had known from childhood. It boomed like rolling thunder and was followed by a breath that washed across his men. Khasar stared at a rising cloud of smoke that obscured part of the lines where Ogedai and the Chin force had clashed.