Bones of the Hills. Conn Iggulden
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His warriors had crept through the last of the darkness, moving stealthily to surround a valley where they could hear warriors and horses. The whinnying calls carried far in the bowl of hills and Jebe had left forty mares in season well back, where they would not call to stallions.
The first light made the young general smile to see the terrain ahead. Warriors moved in dark smudges on the land, surrounded on all sides by slopes and crags. The shamans told stories of great stones hurtling from the stars and gouging valleys. This looked like such a place. Jebe spotted a prominent ridge where he could direct the flanking groups and used the tree cover to move towards it, always out of sight from those on the valley floor. He did not intend to take lives, only to show the Mongol tuman that he could have destroyed them. They would not forget the sight of his armed lines thundering down the slopes.
Jebe’s eyes were sharp over distance and he was pleased to see no sign of alarm in those he watched. They were clearly training and he could see a line of distant discs that could only be straw archery targets. Rank after rank galloped and shot their arrows at full speed before looping back for another try. Jebe chuckled as he heard the distant calls of Mongol horns.
With two senior men and two flag-bearers, Jebe tied his reins to a pine tree and crouched, moving slowly to the ridge. For the last few paces, he approached on his stomach, worming forward until he could see the entire green valley. It was still too far to recognise the general, but Jebe nodded at the sharp formations as they wheeled and manoeuvred. Whoever it was had trained his men well.
Half a mile away, Jebe saw a flash of red, gone as quickly as it had appeared on a high crag. His left flank had found themselves a slope they could ride and they were ready. He waited for the right to do the same and his heart beat faster when a flag of blue flickered.
Something nagged at him then, spoiling his concentration. Where were the other scouts, the men who were meant to watch for exactly this sort of attack? The valley floor was vulnerable to any hostile force and Jebe could not think of one of Genghis’ generals who would leave himself blind. His men had orders to disarm the scouts before they could sound their horns, but that was down to luck. Perhaps the sky father was watching over his endeavours this day and the scouts had been taken in silence. He shook his head warily.
‘Where are the scouts?’ he muttered.
The closest man to him was Palchuk, who had married Genghis’ sister, Temulun. Jebe had found him a solid choice, for all he suspected Genghis had broken his own rules to promote him.
‘There is no large army close to this place,’ Palchuk said, shrugging. ‘Perhaps they have brought the scouts further in.’
On the other side of the valley, Jebe saw a twinkle of light. The distance was too far for flags to be seen, but his man carried a piece of Chin glass and used it to reflect the sun. Jebe put aside his doubts and stood. A hundred paces behind the general lay two thousand men with their ponies beside them. The animals were well trained and hardly made a sound as the men removed their arms from the necks and allowed them to stand.
‘Keep the bows in the holders,’ Jebe called. ‘We are training men, not killing them.’
Palchuk chuckled softly as he and Jebe mounted with the rest. They would charge on four fronts, converging in the centre, where Jebe would meet the general. He reminded himself not to gloat when the man acknowledged him.
As Jebe raised his arm to give the order, he saw a red flash on the left, as if his flank were signalling again.
‘What are they doing?’ he said aloud.
Before Palchuk could answer, men erupted from the ground on every side. Jebe’s warriors shouted in confusion as warriors stood up from shallow pits, holding drawn bows. They had waited through the last of the darkness in complete silence, covered in a thick layer of leaf mulch and dead pine needles. In just moments, more and more of them were aiming sharp arrows at Jebe as he turned his mount in amazement.
He saw Jochi come striding out from between the trees and threw his head back to laugh. The khan’s son did not reply until he had walked to Jebe’s stirrup. Jochi dropped his hand to the wolf’s-head sword.
‘Your men are taken, general,’ he said. ‘No one is coming and you are mine.’ Only then did Jochi smile, and those closest surrounded Jebe, grinning evilly.
‘I knew there should have been more scouts out,’ Jebe said. Accepting the mood, he handed over his own sword. Jochi bowed to him and handed it back, his face bright with success. As Jebe watched in amusement, Jochi blew a long note on a scout’s horn that echoed across the valley. Far below, the warriors stopped their manoeuvres and their cheering voices carried even to the heights.
‘You are welcome in my camp, general,’ Jochi said. ‘Will you ride down to the valley with me?’
Jebe bowed to the inevitable. He waited until Jochi’s men had put aside their weapons and horses had been brought up to the ridge.
‘How did you know I would direct my men from here?’ he asked Jochi.
The khan’s son shrugged.
‘It’s where I would have chosen.’
‘And you were trained by Tsubodai,’ Jebe replied wryly.
Jochi smiled, choosing not to mention the men he had hidden at four other places along the ridge. The hours of silent waiting had been damp and cold, but seeing Jebe’s expression when they stood up had made the discomfort worthwhile.
The two generals rode together down the slope to the valley, comfortable in each other’s presence.
‘I have been giving thought to a name for my tuman,’ Jochi said.
Jebe looked at him, raising his eyebrows.
‘Tsubodai has his Young Wolves and it has a better ring than “Jochi’s warriors” or “Jebe’s tuman”, don’t you think?’
Jebe had witnessed this strange young man standing his ground when a tiger leapt at him. The striped skin lay under Jochi’s saddle and Jebe was uncomfortably aware of the rotting bearskin he sat upon. Jochi did not seem to have noticed it.
‘Are you thinking of tigers, or something of that sort?’ Jebe said warily.
‘Oh no, it doesn’t have to be an animal,’ Jochi said, and then he did glance at the bearskin.
Jebe felt his cheeks flush and chuckled again. He liked this khan’s son, no matter what was said of him in the camps. Whether he was truly Genghis’ son or not, Jebe relaxed. He sensed none of the blustering arrogance he had seen in Chagatai and it pleased him.
They had ridden down to where Jochi’s men waited in perfect squares. Jebe inclined his head to the officers, giving them honour in front of their men.
‘They look dangerous enough,’ Jebe said. ‘What about the “iron lance”?’
‘Iron lance,’ Jochi repeated, testing the sound. ‘I like “iron”, but I have too few lances to make the name work. It wouldn’t seem right to make them retrain to fit the name.’
‘Iron horse then,’ Jebe replied, caught up in the game. ‘They all have mounts, at least.’
Jochi reined in.
‘I like that! Tsubodai has the Young Wolves. I have the Iron Horse. Yes, it is very stirring.’ He smiled as he spoke and suddenly both men were laughing, to the confusion of the officers around them.
‘How did you know we were coming?’ Jebe asked.
‘I smelled that bearskin,’ Jochi replied, setting them both off again.
Jochi’s men had hunted well and had meat enough for all Jebe’s warriors. Taking the lead from the two generals who sat together like old friends, the tumans mingled easily and the mood was light. Only the scouts stayed high on the hills and this time Jochi sent men out for miles as he had every day of the training.