beak and sharp talons, that fluttered in the desert wind. The largest of the three was Gulnar; the others were his sons, Bayanchur and Kul.
Gulnar called his sons to him and they conferred. With a terse nod he broke away and rode along the battle line of horsemen, the bloodlust visible in his eyes. His riders cheered as he passed, raising their weapons in the air—crossbows, axes, swords, and war-clubs. Gulnar shouted to them promises of blood, victory, and spoils, and they rose to his cries. He turned and began the advance toward the Chinese position. A roar went up along the ragged line as they set off after him.
The Chinese heard the distant roar and saw the barbarians approaching. Still they waited for the order to form-up and advance, but it did not come. Instead, Captain Fu Sheng gave the order to fall back in a loose formation. There was a moment’s delay as they waited, wondering if they had misheard, but he repeated his order loudly and they turned as instructed and rode away.
Gulnar looked across to his elder son, Bayanchur. “A trap, you think?”
“I have never seen any Chinese retreat before,” Bayanchur shouted to his father.
Gulnar had seen Chinese generals put infantry in front of a river to block their retreat and force them to fight. He had seen them order a paltry force of Chinese cavalry to charge directly into a superior force. But he had never known them to retreat. He himself had no such objection to it and often used a retreat to lure the enemy into a fatal ambush. Perhaps the Chinese leader was doing the same? He scanned the terrain ahead, but there was no obvious advantage for the Chinese in fighting farther down on the plain. He noticed their retreat had grown disorganized. Some of the troops had already lost formation. He encouraged his horse into a canter, hoping to scatter the Chinese into a panic that would make them easy prey for his riders. Then he noticed a lone horseman approaching with a white banner. It seemed the Chinese wished to talk. Perhaps they wanted to surrender?
Gulnar held up his hand to halt the advance. He smirked at his sons. They would amuse themselves with this messenger first, before sending him back to the Chinese with no eyes, ears, or tongue. That would be their answer. The approaching messenger wore the uniform of a captain, but he looked too young for such a rank. He was almost certainly a decoy, Gulnar decided. Chinese leaders never went near the front lines, preferring to guide the battle from a safe vantage point at the rear.
The messenger halted before them. He appeared perfectly calm and Gulnar wondered if he was too inexperienced even to be afraid. Gulnar’s younger son, Kul, whipped out an arrow and loaded it into his crossbow, but Gulnar raised his hand to stop him. They would have some amusement first.
The messenger, still oblivious of the danger he was in, began to address them in a high, ceremonial voice. He seemed to be reciting an official Chinese message with all the dignity he could muster. Gulnar could not understand the exact words, but the meaning was clear enough. The messenger was demanding his surrender. He grinned at his sons, who began to circle the messenger as he spoke, riding so close that their horses brushed against his. It had no effect on the pompous young man and he continued with his long speech. He appeared to be laying down the terms of their surrender in great detail. As he spoke, he did not look at them directly, but instead gazed into the distance behind them. It was all rather comical. Gulnar allowed him to continue. Impatient, his riders began urging him to dispense with the messenger so they could set about the business of slaughter.
He was about to allow his sons to have their fun with the messenger when the messenger seemed to sense his time was up. He raised his hand, as if to say he was not finished yet. Gulnar found this highly amusing. It bought the messenger a few more seconds of life. But Kul had tired of the man’s arrogance and began to spit angry words in his face. Still the messenger continued, until Kul drew his short, razor-sharp sword and made several cuts in the air. Still, the messenger’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
Furious, Kul raised his sword high and struck at the messenger with such force that he overbalanced in his saddle. Gulnar watched in surprise as Kul slumped forward—his son had not been unseated from a pony since he was a small boy. Then the awful truth dawned on him as Kul’s body hit the ground and his head fell away at a grotesque angle. Gulnar had not seen the messenger move, but somehow a sword had appeared in his hand and bright blood dripped from its blade.
An eerie quiet fell over the plain. Even the incessant wind seemed to stop for a moment, until a roar from Gulnar and Bayanchur broke the silence. They spurred their horses forward and drew their weapons in fury. Fu Sheng slipped from his saddle and stood behind his horse. They circled to reach him, but he slipped beneath the horse and reappeared on the other side. Gulnar smashed at the horse with his war-club to get it out of the way while Bayanchur rode around the screaming animal to reach his brother’s killer. The horse reared up, kicking furiously. Gulnar saw the messenger pass unscathed beneath its thrashing hooves and emerge at Bayanchur’s flank. A deep gash appeared across Bayanchur’s thigh, while his horse, pierced in the belly, bucked wildly. Bayanchur had to dismount before it fell. He roared in agony as his wounded leg buckled beneath him.
Gulnar dismounted to help his son. As he did, the messenger appeared from nowhere and cut his bicep to the bone. Gulnar’s war-club slid from his useless fingers and he waited for the next cut—the killing blow.
It did not come.
Instead, the messenger surveyed the scene around him. Gulnar heard the cries of his men and saw arrows falling on them from the rear. He realized they were facing cavalry on two sides. His front ranks were already swarming forward to assist him, while those at the rear did their best to wheel around and face the enemy behind them.
Amidst this chaos, the main Chinese force began its charge. Satisfied that everything was going as planned, Fu Sheng turned his attention to Gulnar and his son once more. They were side by side now, observing the destruction of their warriors helplessly. Gulnar picked up his war-club in his left hand and Bayanchur drew his axe grimly. They were both afraid of the messenger now; he was a demon and not of this world, but they had no choice but to attack. Gulnar began to swing his lethal war-club. The deadly spikes whirred brutally through the air. In two turns, Fu Sheng had picked up his rhythm and anticipated the crude path of the approaching club. He slipped through its arc effortlessly, cutting as he passed, opening a deep wound across Gulnar’s abdomen. Bayanchur swung his axe with savage force. Fu Sheng evaded it with a graceful twist of the shoulders and circled, keeping father and son in a line to prevent them from attacking on both sides.
Bayanchur was nearer, but he hesitated, fearing the messenger would kill him. Fu Sheng sneered at him, mocking his fear. The insult was too much for the son of a Uighur chief and he lunged forward, his axe whirring in the air. Fu Sheng read the crude cadences of his attack easily and severed his arm. Gulnar attacked through a fountain of blood, but he was weak. Fu Sheng slashed his left arm so deeply that it hung limply from his side.
The front ranks of the Uighur horsemen were almost upon him, but he could not resist one more lingering look at the broken figures before him. Their eyes spoke of the horror of Kul’s severed head, the agony of their wounds, the dread of their own deaths, a heartbeat away. It was a sight Fu Sheng would treasure as one of his most exquisite memories.
He took two heads with two swift cuts and strode to Kul’s horse, which was standing riderless nearby. The Uighurs shot their arrows as he urged the horse into a gallop. He hung from its side to shield himself. The horse was hit, it stumbled and fell, but it did not matter. The oncoming Chinese cavalry reached him and parted in perfect formation to go around him. They had seen what he had done to the Uighur leaders and seen the red banners appearing at the enemy’s rear. Their captain had returned to them, miraculously unscathed. A roar of battle joy went up among them as they charged into the barbarians. There would be no stopping them.
They tore into the Uighurs with unbridled savagery. Leaderless and surrounded,
