came bouncing down, ripping through men and horses in a series of sickening cracks. Khalifa cried out as one came close enough for him to feel the wind of its passage. As it passed, it seemed to leap like something alive, striking the man behind with a great crunch. He could see only six of the stones scything through his men, but each one took many lives and left the ground littered with pieces of armour and men. They were riding in close ranks and there was no room to dodge the stones.
When no more boulders came, a ragged cheer went up from those who still laboured on the slope. The ridge was no more than four hundred paces away and Khalifa kicked his mount on, hungry now to bring vengeance to those who killed his men. He saw a dark line of archers ahead and raised his shield instinctively, ducking his head beneath the rim. He was close enough to hear orders called in a strange language and he clenched his teeth. The shah had sent forty thousand men up that slope. No force in the world could do more than thin the ranks before they were among them and killing.
Firing downhill, the Mongol archers could send their shafts further than normal. Khalifa could only keep his head down as arrows thumped against his shield. The one time he raised his head, it was immediately rocked back by a glancing blow that yanked the turban from his head and left it dangling. Rather than have it snag, he cut it free with part of his long hair and it bounded down the hill behind him.
At first, the shields protected his men, but as they reached the last hundred paces, the air was thick with whistling shafts and men died in scores. Khalifa’s shield was of wood, covered in the dried hide of a hippopotamus — the lightest and best of all the shah’s equipment. It held, though the muscles of his arm were bruised and battered until he could barely hold it. Without warning, he felt his horse shudder and begin to die.
Khalifa would have leapt clear, but his feet snagged in the stirrups and, for a breathless moment of panic, his right leg was trapped under the dying horse. Another mount crashed into his as it fell and he jerked free, thanking Allah for his deliverance. He rose on sandy ground, spitting blood and wild with rage.
The entire front rank had been brought down by the archers, fouling those behind. Many of his men were yelling, tugging at shafts through their legs and arms while others lay sprawled and unmoving. Khalifa roared fresh orders and the men behind dismounted to lead their mounts through the broken dead. The gap closed further and Khalifa held his sword high, pointing it at the enemy above. One hundred paces and he was lost in his desire to kill. If anything, he was faster on foot, though every step on loose ground sapped his strength. He scrambled up with his sword ready for the first blow. The shah was watching and Khalifa could almost feel the old man’s eyes on his back.
The Mongols poured over the ridge, straight down the steep slope. Their ponies slid, with front legs straight and stiff while the back legs bunched to keep them upright. The desert warriors strained to take the first impact, but to Khalifa’s shock, another wave of arrows punched them from their feet before the two forces met. He could not understand how the Mongols could draw and loose while guiding their mounts down such a slope, but the volley devastated his men. Hundreds died on foot or leading their mounts and this time the shafts were followed by the Mongol front line crashing down on them. Khalifa heard their yelling swell until it seemed to echo back from the hills all around.
The Mongol horsemen came like a breaking wave, smashing anything in their path by sheer weight. Khalifa was standing behind the bodies of two horses and could only watch in astonishment as the charge roared past him, a wedge tipped with lances that struck deep and deeper into the climbing lines below.
He was left alive, but still they came. Khalifa could not climb further. The way was blocked by thousands of Mongol horsemen, guiding their mounts with just their knees while they loosed arrows at anything that moved. A long shaft ripped through his side, parting the steel links of his armour as if they had been made of paper. He fell, shouting incoherently, and it was then that he glimpsed another force cutting across the face of the slope.
Jochi’s men hit the flank of the Arab riders below Jebe’s charge. Their arrows tore a hole in the ranks and they followed it with lances and swords, cutting men down while they were held in the press. Khalifa stood to see them, fear and bile rising in his throat. Arrows still whirred by his bare head, but he did not flinch. He saw the two forces meet in the centre and the combined mass drove his men further down so that they almost reached the valley floor. Bodies covered the ground behind them and riderless horses ran wild, knocking fresh warriors from their saddles in their panic.
The Mongol charge from the ridge had passed him by and Khalifa saw one horse with its reins trapped under a dead man. He ran to it, ignoring the pain in his side as he mounted, throwing his shield aside with a curse when the arrow shafts snagged. The air was thick with dust and the cries of dying brothers, but he had a horse and a sword and had never asked for more. Perhaps thirty thousand desert men still lived, struggling below to hold back the twin charge. Khalifa could see the Mongols had gambled their full force in the attack and he shouted as he rode wildly down the hill towards the ranks. They could be held. They could be broken, he was sure of it.
As he reached his men, he bellowed commands to the closest officers. A solid square began to form, ringed with shields. The Mongols threw themselves at the edges and began to die as they met the swords of his tribe. Khalifa felt the battle like a live thing and knew he could still turn the losses to triumph. He had his men retreat in order back to the flat ground, harried all the way by the Mongol warriors. He drew them away from the slope they had used to such effect, and when the earth was hard under his mount, Khalifa ordered a charge into them, urging his men on with words of the prophet.
‘They shall be slain or crucified or have their hands and feet cut off on alternate sides, or be banished from the land. They shall be held up to shame in this world and sternly punished in the hereafter!’
His men were true Arabs of the blood. They heard and became fierce once more, taking the fight to the enemy. At the same time, the shah moved at last, sending fresh soldiers racing in squares as the Mongols came within range. The lines met and a roar went up as the Mongols were knocked back, defending desperately as attacks came from more than one direction. Khalifa saw the shah’s ranks move wide to surround them, marching steadily in.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
