Until the Sun Falls (13 page)

Novgorod was vast. Pennants floated from the peaks of its towers, and the sun glinted on the sloping roofs. Psin, shy in his patch of forest, could see people on the cleared ground outside the city. It was the first time he had ever seen Russians peacefully beyond their walls. A few carts stood in the snowfields.

He dismounted, his bow close to his hand on the cantle of his saddle, melted snow and drank it in slow sips. A whiff of smoke from a wood fire reached his nostrils. He wished he could go nearer so that he could tell what they were cooking. That kind of information could be got from merchants and captives but he never trusted their answers.

They would have a short growing season, whatever they grew in their fields. More likely they were merchants and hunters. The wind was rising, and it smelled of the town—dry wood, a lot of people, smoke, and vaguely of rot.

Something clattered in the distance, and he rose. Whatever it was was coming up along the lake. He thought he knew. Settling down again, he studied the town and the people outside the walls.

One of the men in the fields straightened and pointed, and another man, between the first and the town, shouted something. Psin caught the Russian word for horse. A troop of horsemen jogged out of the forest beside the lake, yelled, and waved their arms. He saw no prisoners with them, no Mongol horses.

The gate was opening. It swung out, a useful thing to know, perhaps. Psin checked his horses, who were watching the Russians. He could tell by the way the Russians rode that they thought they had won a great victory. He watched them ride into the town, and the men in the fields rushed after them, excitedly.

When it was dark he meant to go up closer and look at the structure of the walls. He made himself comfortable. The sun hovered in its winter zenith, barely out of the treetops; he wouldn’t have long to wait.

Going back, he rode almost constantly, cursing the forest and hunting while he rode. At sundown he slept, his belly half full of badly cooked meat. He didn’t dare make a proper fire for fear the heat would melt the snow off the upper branches of the trees near him and show, a great dark splash, that he was there. He slept with his face toward the sky, so that the rising moon woke him, and rode on until the moonset and slept again until sunrise. The sun was so briefly in the sky, with the shortest of days coming, that he had barely warmed himself up before it set again. Long before he reached the camp he was weary down to his marrow.

Nobody looked surprised to see him. When he tramped up to his fire and threw his gear down, Quyuk looked up and said, “What took you so long? We’ve been back nearly a full day.”

“I stayed the night in Novgorod.” He sighed and sank down on his heels. “Oh, God. I thought my legs would be permanently crooked.”

“They are.” Quyuk turned his head and yelled, “Tunkut, bring the Khan his dinner.”

“I’m too tired to eat.”

Baidar came over, a halter swinging from his hand. He nodded to Psin and sat down next to Quyuk. “And how was Novgorod?”

“Go look for yourself.”

Tunkut thrust a bowl into his hands. The scent of stewed meat made his stomach thrash. He dipped his fingers into it and the gravy burnt him and he swore.

“I thought some few days alone might improve his temper,” Quyuk said. “But he’s as surly as ever.”

Psin blew on his meat. “Did Buri follow that road?”

“Yes.” Baidar took an awl and began mending the halter. “It stretches on south. There are signs it’s often used, even in the winter.”

“What about Kadan?”

“The road to the west turns north five days’ ride from here.”

Baidar thrust the awl through the leather. “How did you know it would turn?”

“I guessed. Is it well-used?”

“Ask me,” Kadan said. He grinned down at Psin. Buri was right behind him. “The road is not used anymore. It was once, long ago, but the ruts are very old. It dwindles down to a goat track before it turns north.”

Psin nodded. “Did you find the city?”

Kadan’s mouth dropped open. The others murmured softly and looked at each other. Psin forced even more meat into his mouth and tried to chew and nearly choked.

“Yes,” Kadan said. “It was deserted—I think within ten years.”

Psin gulped down a piece of meat and coughed. Immediately all four of them leapt on him and pounded him on the back. He shouted and waved his arms, and one of them whacked him so hard his face hit the ground in front of his feet.

“I’ll fry the lot of you!”

They subsided. “Did you hear Psin say anything?” Quyuk asked Buri. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Psin brushed dirt off his nose. “I was asking you to desist.”

Kadan laughed. “Oh, Khan.” He sprawled out on his back. “Yes, I found the city. Why did they leave it?”

“I don’t know. Was it burned at all?” 

“No.”

“I thought maybe Novgorod had driven them out. Maybe… How is the hunting?”

“Good. The forest is full of deer, elk, wolves, bear—”

Baidar said, “Buri killed a bear with one arrow.”

“It was this big,” Buri said. He stood on his toes and held his hand at arm’s length over his head.

“A bear, in this season?”

Buri shrugged. “Sometimes they roam in the winter.”

“Not often. How is the grazing? I passed some racks of bones, coming in, that looked like horses—”

“Not that bad,” Quyuk said. He grinned. “But the horses are starting to wander. The grass is gone, and the trees don’t have much bark left.”

Psin lay back. “Tell me everything tomorrow.”

Quyuk snorted. “Old man. Go sleep in the sun. What about the prisoners?”

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” He shut his eyes. Kadan said, “What could they tell him he doesn’t already know? Buri, go fetch his slave over here.”

Psin yawned. “No, I’ll go to my own fire. Is anybody still out hunting?”

“No. Why, where do we go now?” 

“Home.”

PART TWO

TSHANT

Temujin said, “In everyday life like a fawn, at feasts and celebrations carefree as a colt, but on the day of battle swooping like a falcon to the attack. In daylight alert as a wolf, in the night vigilant as a black crow…”

Sabotai stood in the middle of the floor and let his slaves
peel off his winter clothes. His face, seamed and pouched beneath the eyes, looked far older now that Psin had spent two months with young men.

“We took Riazan with no trouble, aside from what my tumans gave me. You were right. They are inexperienced and badly disciplined, and the remounts are enough to strike a man blind.”

“Has Tshant come back yet?” Psin said.

“No. And will you kindly take your muddy boots off my carpet. Thank you. Batu and his brothers are enthusiastic and they know their work.”

“You were thorough. I passed Riazan coming back.”

Sabotai shrugged. “You said cities are for burning. The sack of it was a crime against war. They were looting before they’d taken half the city, and burning before the buildings were properly looted. Have you seen Mongke yet?”

“I talked to him this morning. How heavy were your casualties?”

“More than I expected. Many of them were accidents.” Sabotai pulled a chair around to face Psin’s and sat in it. “They got caught in burning houses, or trampled by men behind them. Most of the dead weren’t Mongol. I have one tuman of Kanglis, or I had, and I’ve combined them with the tuman I used to have of Bulgarians. Together they come barely to full strength.”

Psin grimaced. A slave poured out wine for him, and he drank some of it. The warmth of the room and the bright, shaped colors relaxed him.

“It was worth taking,” Sabotai said. “Ogodai will be pleased. I’ve sent off a train of plunder to Karakorum seventy-five carts long.”

“Just the Kha-Khan’s tenth, or your own as well?”

“The tenth. Not since Reyy fell have we taken a city quite so rich. Although in different things. Furs. The sables are excellent. Gold, silver, pearls and jewels—an emerald to rival the one your Chinese wife wears. We have grain enough to feed us through the winter, and lumber enough to build Batu another Volga camp. The slaves are of very high quality.”

“They’re merchants. There should be good plunder.”

“Yes. Riazan was the first step. Now for the major problem. Tell me things.”

Psin stretched his legs out. “The chief noyon is the Grand Duke Yuri. He winters in Vladimir, the largest city. Mongke says he is summoning his knights, and I suspect he’ll raise an army of at least three or four tumans, at least one quarter mounted. You know the way the towns lie between those rivers. If he is pushed he’ll probably retreat toward the southwest, where the food is.”

“What if he goes north?”

“It would be a great help to the Kha-Khan.”

“Good. If I take the cities west of Vladimir—Moskva, Susdal, Kolomna—what will I accomplish?”

“You’ll outflank him. He’ll have to go north.”

“I thought so. I have two tumans camped in the area around Riazan, and another patrolling the stretch of forest between Vladimir and Moskva. Within the month I’ll cross the rest of the army over the Volga—by then, I hope, we’ll have adequate remounts. Do I have to take Novgorod this year to protect what we conquer in the south?”

“No. But it would be useful. They can’t give us serious trouble from the north, but they can do us some damage if they want.”

“I’ll leave it for last.”

“What else?”

“Nothing but details. For example, you might want to go to the Volga camp before we attack.”

“Why?”

“Your wives are there.”

“So soon?” Psin rose. He hadn’t expected them before the spring. Chan’s face and Artai’s floated into his mind.

“Don’t leave immediately, please.” Sabotai smiled, and Psin plunked down again. “I sent an escort for them. They should be here fairly soon.”

“Then why did you—”

“I wanted to see what you’d do. Naturally I don’t want you running off to the Volga camp. How much do you trust Mongke?”

“Absolutely.”

Sabotai grimaced. “I don’t.”

“I’ll take responsibility for him. He says that we can’t lay siege to the Russian cities, and I agree with him, but they can be stormed easily enough. Are you going to split the army?”

“Yes. But you’re not commanding either branch. I’ll let Batu enjoy himself. We’ll divide after we take Moskva. How is your relationship with Quyuk?”

“He hates me like a father.”

“I thought he would. You brought them all back in one piece, though, and from what I’ve seen of your men they’re in better shape than mine.”

“They should be. I had them working.”

“Do they obey you?”

“Sabotai, you’re offensive. They’ll fight anything I point them at.”

“I meant no offense. Quyuk is sometimes… Anyway. When your women get here, enjoy them. You are going to ride vanguard for me when we move out.”

Psin groaned. “How kind you are.”

Sabotai grinned.

To accommodate Psin’s wives and slaves, Sabotai had provided him with a larger house near the north gate of Bulgar. Mongke had moved all their gear into it before Psin came back. The house had two storeys and an enclosed garden. Mongke took over the second storey for himself and a growing retinue of slaves, free servants, women and some friends from his new command; Psin discovered shortly after moving in himself that Mongke’s entourage consisted mostly of the women.

“What a joy to have you back,” Mongke said, sliding into a chair. He draped one leg across the table in front of him. Psin, hanging up his coat and baldric, noticed a new scar on Mongke’s face and more muscle on his slender body. “We had such fun while you were gone,” Mongke said. “I’m rather proud of my reconnaissance.”

“So am I.” Mongke had reported to him in full the day previous, before Psin went to see Sabotai. “Did you fight against Riazan?”

“No. How was Novgorod?”  
“Worth seeing.”

“None but you saw it, Quyuk tells me. What did you do to him? He hates you even worse than when you left.”

“Unfortunately, I was around when he got sick.”

Mongke’s head jerked up. “The headache.”

“Yes. Does he get them often?”

“Not… often. Did he let you near him? He killed a slave who tried to help him once, when he couldn’t see because of it.”

“Your father used to get headaches like that.”

“He drank too much.”

“So does Quyuk.”

“That’s so.” Mongke rose. “Well, I’m going into the city. About Quyuk, watch Buri. Buri shows what Quyuk’s thinking.”

“Thank you. I’ve already noticed that.”

“You would have.”

“Mongke, wait.”

Mongke paused in the doorway. Psin chewed on his mustaches, spat them out, and said, “When my son comes back, don’t fight with him. Put him off any way you care to. I’ll deal with him.”

“No.”

Psin’s teeth clicked together. The new weight in Mongke’s voice unsettled him. “I don’t want either of you killed.”

“I never started this,” Mongke said. “He did. I won’t push it to him, but when he comes at me, Khan, I’ll do all I can to kill him.”

Tshant fresh from a long raid would be hard to kill. “Don’t push. I can’t ask for much more than that.”

“Ask.” Mongke smiled. “That’s a pleasant word to hear from you, Khan.” He turned and went out the door.

Psin snorted. He heard a slave call out, and the gate into the courtyard boomed open. A woman’s voice, upstairs, said something questioningly. He shut his eyes, enjoying the emptiness of the day before him. Cartwheels rolled over the paving stones in the courtyard, and a drover’s whip cracked.

“Psin.”

His eyes flew open. Artai stood in the doorway, swathed in a great cloak, her gloves in her hand. He rose and held out his hands, and she rushed into his arms. He hugged her, his cheek against her hair, and sighed, overcome.

“Did you grow wings? How did you get here so quickly?” The smell of her hair stirred every memory in him.

“Oh, we brought carts.” She stood back and smiled at him. “Are you glad to see me?”