'I…' Alkhun began, then fell silent as he considered. Sorhatani was willing to wait and she poured more tea, hoping that neither one noticed the way her shaking hands made the cups clink together.

'You are correct, of course,' Alkhun said, almost with relief. 'I am sorry to have disturbed you, mistress. My lady.' He bowed again to Torogene, this time much deeper.

'I will have your head if you displease me again, Alkhun,' Sorhatani continued. 'For the time being, secure the city as you say. I will let you know details of the funeral as I have them.'

'Yes, my lady,' Alkhun replied. The world had ceased spinning wildly, at least in those rooms. He did not know if the sense of chaos would return outside them.

'Bring your nine minghaan officers to the main audience chamber at sunset. I will have further orders for you by then. I do not doubt Chagatai Khan will be considering an assault on Karakorum, Alkhun. He must not set one foot in this city, do you understand?'

'I do,' Alkhun replied.

'Then leave us,' Sorhatani said, waving her hand to dismiss him. He closed the door carefully behind him and Sorhatani let out a huge breath. Torogene was watching her with wide eyes.

'May all our battles go so smoothly,' Sorhatani said grimly. Baidur rode north with a fierce pride in his heart, leaving Tsubodai and Batu behind. He suspected that Ilugei would report back his every action, but he was not daunted by thought of close scrutiny. His father Chagatai had trained him in every discipline and tactic – and his father was a son of Genghis Khan. Baidur had not gone into the wilderness unprepared. He just hoped he would have the chance to use some of the things he had packed onto spare horses. Tsubodai had given his approval to leave carts behind. The vast herd of ponies that travelled with a tuman could carry almost anything except the spars of heavy catapults.

It was difficult to smother his visible joy as he rode with two tumans through lands he had never imagined. They covered around sixty miles a day, by the best reckoning. Speed was important, Tsubodai had made that clear enough, but Baidur could not leave armies in his wake. That was why he had taken a path almost true north of the Carpathian mountains. Once he was in position, he would drive west in concert with Tsubodai, breaking anything that stood in his way. His men had begun to scour the land clear as they reached a position with Krakow to the west and the city of Lublin ahead of them.

As Baidur reined in, he stared at the walls of Lublin with a sour expression. The land around him was barren in winter, the fields black and bare. He dismounted to feel the soil, crumbling the black muck in his hands before moving on. It was good land. Only rich earth and horses could excite a real greed in him. Gold and palaces meant nothing at all; his father had taught him that much. Baidur had never heard of Krakow until Tsubodai had given him the name, but he hungered to claim the Polish principalities for the khan. It was even possible that Ogedai would reward a successful general with a khanate of his own. Stranger things had happened.

Tsubodai had given him vellum skins with all he knew about the land ahead, but he had not yet had a chance to read them. It did not matter. No matter who he faced, they would be as wheat.

He mounted again and rode closer to the city. It was not long till sunset and the gates were closed against him. As he approached, he saw the walls were shored up, showing the patches and marks of generations of poor repairs. In places, there was little more than a barrier of piled wood and stone. He smiled. Tsubodai expected speed and destruction.

He turned to Ilugei, who sat his mount and watched with an impassive expression.

'We will wait for darkness. One jagun of a hundred men will climb the walls on the other side, drawing their guards to them. Another hundred will go in and open the gates from inside. I want this place burning by sunrise.'

'It will be done,' Ilugei said, riding away to pass on the orders of the younger man.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Baidur and Ilugei moved at blistering speed across the landscape. No sooner had Lublin fallen than Baidur was urging the tumans onwards to the cities of Sandomir and Krakow. At such a pace, the tumans came across columns of men marching to relieve cities already taken. Again and again, Baidur was able to surprise the nobles in the area, his twenty thousand routing smaller forces, then hunting them down piecemeal. It was the sort of campaign Baidur's grandfather had relished and his father Chagatai recounted in detail. The enemy were sluggish and slow to react against a knife thrust across their lands. Baidur knew there would be no mercy if he failed, from his own people or those he faced. Given the chance, the Poles would wipe out his tumans to the last man. It made sense not to meet them on their own terms, or fight to their strengths. He had no reinforcements to call on and he husbanded his tumans carefully, knowing he had to keep them intact, even if it meant refusing to engage.

He did not know the name of the man who led out the regiments of bright knights and foot soldiers against him near Krakow. Baidur's scouts reported an army of around fifty thousand and Baidur swore to himself when he heard. He knew what Tsubodai would want him to do, but he had never seen the race across the north as suicide. At least the Polish noble hadn't retreated behind thick walls and dared them to take the city. Krakow was as open as Moscow and as hard to defend. Its strength lay in the massive army that gathered before it, waiting in camp for the Mongol tumans to attack.

Baidur rode dangerously close to the city with his senior minghaans, observing the formations of soldiers and the lie of the land. He had no idea whether the Poles presented a threat to Tsubodai, but it was for exactly this task that he had been sent north. Such an army could not be allowed to join forces with those in Hungary, but it was not enough to pin them down around Krakow. Baidur's task was to tear a strip right through the country, to make sure that no armed force could consider moving south in support, not with such a wolf loose among their own people. Apart from anything else, Tsubodai would have his ears if Baidur ignored those orders.

Baidur rode to a small hill and stared at the sea of men and horses revealed to him. In the distance, he could see his presence had been marked. Polish scouts were already galloping closer, their weapons drawn in clear threat. Other men were mounting on the outskirts, ready to defend or attack, whatever his presence called for. What would his father do? What would his grandfather have done against so many?

'That city must be rich to have so many men guarding it,' Ilugei muttered at his shoulder.

Baidur smiled, making a quick decision. His men had almost sixty thousand horses with them, a herd so vast it could never remain in one place for more than a day. The horses stripped the grass like locusts, just as the tumans ate anything that moved. Yet each spare mount carried bows and shafts, pots, food and a hundred other items the men needed for the campaign, even the wicker and felt for gers. Tsubodai had sent him well equipped, at least.

'I think you are right, Ilugei,' Baidur said, weighing his chances. 'They want to protect their precious city, so they cluster around it, waiting for us.' He grinned. 'If they are kind enough to stay in one place, our arrows will speak for us.'

He turned his pony and rode back, ignoring the enemy scouts who had come close while he sat and observed. As one of them darted in, Baidur drew an arrow smoothly, fitting it to his bowstring and loosing in one movement. It was a fine shot and the scout went tumbling. A good omen, he hoped.