The Mongoliad: Book Three

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Raphael caught the Mongol’s sword on his shield, and as his horse thundered past, he pushed his shield down and swung his sword in a heavy chopping motion. It bit through leather and flesh, tugging as it caught on bone, and then his opponent was behind him. Another Mongol rider was galloping past on his right, and he angled his horse after the man. He passed behind the other’s horse, and the Mongol twisted adroitly in his saddle, loosing an arrow at close range. He pulled his upper body down toward his gut, tightening in his saddle in an effort to hide behind his shield. The arrow smacked hard into his shield, breaching its surface and protruding a few inches out the other side. He rose out of his crouch, swinging his sword, and the Mongol spun away, blood rising in a plume.

He caught sight of Percival smashing a Mongol’s shoulder to a bloody pulp with his mace and following through with a merciful stroke across the enemy’s throat. He looked for Vera and Eleazar-didn’t see either of them-and then caught sight of Feronantus being unhorsed by a broad Mongol wielding a long pole, festooned with a plethora of horsehair braids. As he watched, the broad Mongol caught up with a pony laboring under the weight of its rider, a man wearing plum-colored clothing, and in a maneuver that bespoke a life spent on horseback, the pony lost its rider to the other horse.

The Khagan, Raphael realized.

Ignoring the other pair of Mongol riders nearby, he kicked his mount toward the fleeing horse. They had to catch the Khagan before he managed to reach the vale leading out of the valley.

Something kicked him in the ribs and he pitched forward across the horn of his saddle. He knew, without contorting himself to check, that he had just been hit with an arrow. A second arrow passed through the maille on his shoulder, grazing his neck, and he cursed his foolishness.

He shouldn’t have turned his back on the Mongols. He had forgotten their skill with bows. But he couldn’t turn back now. He had to keep riding. He had to catch the Khagan…

Yasper, his ears still ringing, slid down the hillside on his rump. The second explosion had scattered the horses, and the remaining Mongols were either wounded or dazed. A few horses were trotting aimlessly about the floor of the valley. If he could catch one, he could go find the others. Maybe even lend a hand.

He drew up several paces short of the valley floor as he heard the sound of a horse approaching. As he crouched beside a flattened rock, the horse came into view, burdened by a pair of riders. He recognized the one wearing the fanciful outfit, and as he watched, they leaped off their weary horse. He couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly and effortlessly they caught two of the other horses, leaped into their saddles, and galloped off again.

Yasper stared after the fleeing pair, realizing he had just let the Khagan slip through his fingers.

Scrambling to his feet, he started toward the other horses and stopped as he realized he was about to run through a wide smear of gore. Gulping back his queasy stomach, he diverted his course, skirting the glistening patch of blood and body parts.

Some of the other Mongols were moving toward the horses too. The sight of the Khagan had broken their confusion. Yasper was going to have some competition for a steed.

Eleazar saw the huge Mongol unhorse Feronantus, and he mentally clucked his tongue at the elder warrior’s clumsiness. The Mongol had battered the Shield-Brethren with the horsehair lance he carried, the sort of clumsy buffeting employed by an initiate who knew little about fighting from horseback, and Feronantus should have been able to stay in the saddle. Eleazar squeezed his horse with his knees, guiding the animal toward the fallen Shield-Brethren master.

A mounted Mongol warrior charged toward him, bow drawn, and Eleazar raised his shield to block the horseman’s arrow. He felt the arrow hit his shield, and then the Mongol rider was behind him. Twisting in his saddle, Eleazar caught the second arrow in his shield too. The Mongols were really good at shooting their bows from horseback, and he had seen them twist their bodies and shoot arrows behind them.

He swept his shield around, in time to intercept a Mongol sword. He had seen the second rider coming, and knew the pair had been setting him up for a trap. The archer had wanted Eleazar to pay attention to him, so that he wouldn’t notice the other rider coming. Eleazar wasn’t that sort of fool, and he shoved his shield hard at the oncoming rider, bashing the warrior right out of his saddle.

He circled Feronantus, putting himself between the unhorsed knight and a trio of approaching Mongols. “Get on your horse, old man,” he shouted.

Feronantus shouted something in return, but his words were lost in the battlefield noise. Eleazar took several more arrows in his shield, and kneed his horse toward the three archers. They felt they were far enough away for another volley, and Eleazar grinned as he spotted Percival coming from their rear. We know how to distract our enemies too, he thought, holding his shield ready as if he were trying to hide behind it as he charged. Percival broke through them, catching one in the back of the skull with his mace and slicing the throat of another with a backhanded swing of his sword.

The third, distracted by the sudden death of his companions, released his arrow too early and it flew harmlessly past Eleazar’s head. He thrust with his sword as his horse galloped past, feeling the blade slide up the man’s leather armor and catch momentarily on the archer’s jaw. And then it kept moving, opening up the man’s throat.

“The Khagan has fled,” Percival shouted at him. “Waste no more time on this field.” He pointed toward the end of the valley. Eleazar wheeled his horse around and slapped the flat of his blade against his horse’s rump. The animal started, recovering quickly and running hard toward the end of the valley. There were still scattered groups of Mongols, but they looked unorganized. Percival and Vera could take care of them.

As he rode, body moving in concert with his horse’s steady gallop, the occasional Mongol arrow would come his way. Most of them fell short, but a few struck his maille, failing to do much more than get tangled in the chain. Eleazar had lived through a barrage of Mongol arrows before, at the river crossing battle. He laughed. That had been a battle, he thought.

He approached the narrow vale where the alchemist had planned his ambush, and he spotted the wreckage of broken stone and-his stomach tightened at the sight of the carnage wreaked by Yasper’s incendiaries. The route narrowed, and on the left side of the cleft, he spotted a number of unclaimed ponies and a few scattered Mongols.

And one man in Western armor who appeared to be in a losing wrestling match with a Mongol.

Yasper.

Several Mongols turned toward Eleazar, raising their bows, and he goaded his horse, trying to eke more speed out of the animal. Trying to get close enough to bring his weapons to bear. The horse was flagging already; he had ridden it too hard. The Mongols loosed arrows, and his horse stumbled.

It had been bound to happen. Eventually, one of the Mongols would shoot an arrow at his horse instead of him; given how futile their arrows were against Western maille, he was somewhat surprised it had taken them this long to change their tactics. As his horse stumbled again, its lungs laboring, he kicked his feet out of his stirrups and jumped. The horse tripped, plowing head first into the ground, but he was no longer in the saddle.

Eleazar hit the ground, the impact jarring his sword out of his hand, and he rolled, managing to hold on to his shield. As he came out of his roll, he hurled his shield at the Mongols. It was a clumsy missile, but it caused the archers to scatter out of the way. Eleazar darted back to his dying horse, and grabbed his two-handed sword, which was strapped along the horse’s flank.

Whirling the long blade in continuous circles, he charged the archers. One managed to shoot an arrow, and he felt it strike his shoulder, the point tangling in his maille. He cut the first man in half, the second stumbled back enough that Eleazar only managed a deep slice across the front of the man’s hip, and the third one turned and ran before Eleazar’s whirling sword could cut him down.

Yasper was on the ground, trying to shove off the Mongol who was trying to bury a knife in the alchemist’s chest. Eleazar came up behind the struggling pair, and the tip of his two-handed sword caught the Mongol in the side, under the arm, and the blade sliced right through to the spine. The blade caught on bone, but the force of Eleazar’s swing was enough to lift the man bodily off the supine alchemist. Eleazar shook his sword, an expert twitch of his hands, and the blade came free of the nearly severed Mongol, who fell a short distance and then sprawled on the ground, bleeding out in a few seconds.

“Get up, runt,” Eleazar laughed. “This is no time for napping.”

Yasper scrambled to his feet. His face was dark with soot and dirt, blood from a gash across his forehead a long smear across his face. “The Khagan,” Yasper gasped. “I saw him ride past.”

“Aye,” Eleazar said. “So I have heard.” He nodded toward one of the wandering ponies. “Catch yourself a horse,” he said. “Go after him.”

“What about you?” Yasper said.

Eleazar laughed again. “Me? On one of those tiny little horses?” He shook his head, glancing around the passage out of the valley. “I will stay here for the time being,” he said. “I’ll keep the stragglers busy.” He reached over and yanked the Mongol arrow out of his maille.

They both turned as they heard a pair of horses approaching. The riders wore maille and the red rose of the Shield-Brethren. Yasper pointed in the direction the Khagan had fled, and the horsemen thundered past. Raphael and Feronantus.

“I should be going then,” Yasper said.

“Aye, you should,” Eleazar replied.

“May the Virgin watch over you.” Yasper offered his hand to the Spaniard.

“May the Virgin watch over you as well, little alchemist,” Eleazar said, clasping Yasper’s hand firmly. “It has been good to ride with you.”

“I hope we’ll do it again,” Yasper said.

“Aye. Me too,” Eleazar said. “Now, go!”

Yasper nodded and ran toward one of the wandering Mongol ponies. Eleazar turned toward the valley of the cave bear. Three of the company were going after the Khagan. It fell upon him now to make sure none of the surviving Mongols followed.

He laughed, swinging his two-handed sword as he moved into position.

They weren’t getting past him.