Bones of the Hills. Conn Iggulden
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fell heavily and Inalchuk laughed.
‘You will not tempt me to lift you up, Akram. Once is enough for each trick.’
The instructor smiled and leapt to his feet, but the light was fading and Inalchuk bowed to him before handing over the blade.
As the sun set, Inalchuk heard the voices of the muezzins call the greatness of God across Otrar. It was time for evening prayers and the courtyard began to fill with the members of his household. They carried mats and lined up in rows, their heads bowed. Inalchuk led them in the responses, the thoughts and worries of the day vanishing as he took the first position.
As they chanted in unison, Inalchuk looked forward to breaking the day’s fast. Ramadan was close to its end and even he did not dare to ignore its disciplines. Servants chattered like birds and he knew better than to provide them with evidence against him for the shari’a courts. As he prostrated himself, touching his forehead to the ground, he thought of the women he would choose to bathe him. Even in the holy month, all things were possible after sunset, and there at least could a man be king in his own home. He would have honey brought and dribble it onto the back of his current favourite as he enjoyed her.
‘Allahu Akbar!’ he said aloud. God is great. Honey was a wonderful thing, he thought, the gift of Allah to all men. Inalchuk could have eaten it every day if it were not for his expanding waist. There was a price for every pleasure, it seemed.
He prostrated himself once more, a model of piety in front of his household. The sun had set during the ritual and Inalchuk was starving. He rolled up his prayer mat and walked swiftly through the yard, his scribe falling in behind him.
‘Where is the army of the khan?’ Inalchuk called over his shoulder.
His scribe fussed with a sheaf of papers as he always did, though Inalchuk did not doubt he had the answer ready. Zayed bin Saleh had grown old in his service, but age had not dulled his intelligence.
‘The Mongol army moves slowly, master,’ Zayed said. ‘Allah be thanked for that. They darken the earth all the way back to the mountains.’
Inalchuk frowned, the image of honey-covered skin vanishing from his imagination.
‘More than we thought before?’
‘Perhaps a hundred thousand fighting men, master, though I cannot be sure with so many carts. They ride as a great snake on the land.’
Inalchuk smiled at the image.
‘Even such a snake has but one head, Zayed. If the khan is troublesome, I will have the Assassins cut it off.’
The scribe grimaced, showing teeth like yellow ivory.
‘I would rather embrace a scorpion than deal with those Shia mystics, master. They are dangerous in more than just their daggers. Do they not reject the Caliphs? They are not true men of Islam, I think.’
Inalchuk laughed, clapping Zayed on the shoulder.
‘They frighten you, little Zayed, but they can be bought and there is no one as good. Did they not leave a poisoned cake on Saladin’s own chest as he slept? That is what matters. They honour their contracts and all their dark madness is just for show.’
Zayed shuddered delicately. The Assassins ruled in their mountain fortresses and even the shah himself could not command them to come out. They worshipped death and violence and Zayed felt Inalchuk should not be so casual in speaking of them, even in his own home. He hoped his silence would be taken as a subtle reproof, but Inalchuk went on as another thought struck him.
‘You have not mentioned word from Shah Mohammed,’ he said. ‘Can it be that he has not yet answered?’
Zayed shook his head.
‘There are no reinforcements yet, master. I have men waiting for them to the south. I will know as soon as they appear.’
They had reached the bathing complex in the governor’s house. As a male slave, Zayed could not pass through the door and Inalchuk paused with him, thinking through his orders.
‘My cousin has more than a million men under arms, Zayed, more than enough to crush this army of carts and skinny goats. Send another message with my personal seal. Tell him … two hundred thousand Mongol warriors have come through the mountains. Perhaps he will understand my garrison can only retreat before so many.’
‘The shah may not believe they will strike at Otrar, master. There are other cities without our walls.’
Inalchuk made a tutting sound and ran a hand down the oiled curls of his beard.
‘Where else would they come? It was here that I had the khan’s men flogged in the marketplace. Here that we made a pile of hands as high as a man’s waist. Did my cousin not guide me in that? I have followed his orders in the knowledge that his army would be ready to throw these Mongols back on their heels. Now I have called and still he delays.’
Zayed did not respond. The walls of Otrar had never been broken, but Arab merchants were beginning to come in from Chin lands. They talked of the Mongols using machines that could smash cities. It was not beyond possibility that the shah had decided to let the Otrar garrison test the mettle of the Mongol khan. Twenty thousand men rested within the walls, but Zayed did not feel confident.
‘Remind my cousin that I once saved his life when we were boys together,’ Inalchuk said. ‘He has never repaid that debt to me.’
Zayed bowed his head.
‘I will have word sent to him, master, by the fastest horses.’
Inalchuk nodded curtly, disappearing inside the door. Zayed watched him go and frowned to himself. The master would rut like a dog in heat until dawn, leaving the campaign planning to his servants.
Zayed did not understand lust, any more than he understood men like the Assassins who chose to eat the sticky brown lumps of hashish that banished fear and made them writhe with the desire to kill. When he was young his body had tormented him, but one blessing of old age was relief from the demands of flesh. The only true pleasure he had ever known came from planning and scholarship.
Zayed realised dimly that he would need to eat to sustain him in the long night ahead. He had more than a hundred spies in the path of the Mongol army and their reports came in every hour. He heard his master’s rhythmic grunting begin and shook his head as if at a wayward child. To act in such a way when the world was ready to topple mystified him. Zayed did not doubt Shah Mohammed had visions of becoming a new Saladin. Inalchuk had been just a child, but Zayed remembered the reign of the great king. He cherished memories of Saladin’s warriors passing through Bukhara to Jerusalem more than thirty years before. It had been a golden time!
The shah would not let Otrar fall, Zayed was almost certain. There were many leaders who had come to his banners, but they would be watching for weakness. It was the curse of all strong men and the shah could not give up a wealthy city. After all, the Chin had never been weaker. If Genghis could be stopped at Otrar, there was a world to win.
Zayed heard his master’s grunting passion grow in volume and sighed. No doubt Inalchuk had his own eyes on the shah’s throne. If the Mongols could be broken quickly, perhaps it was even in his reach.
The corridor was cool after sunset and Zayed barely noticed the slaves lighting oil lamps along its length. He was not tired. That too was a blessing of old age, that he needed very little sleep. He shuffled away into the gloom, his mind on a thousand things he had to do before dawn.
CHAPTER NINE
Jebe had lost count of the miles he had ridden in a month away from the khan’s army. At first he had headed south, coming across a vast lake in the shape of a crescent. Jebe had never seen such a body of fresh water, so wide that even the sharp-eyed scouts could not see the other side. For days,