Rai Chiang wondered if Prince Wei would realise the Mongols had come round his precious wall in the northeast by entering the Xi Xia kingdom. It would do the Chin no good now the wolf had found the gate to the field.
‘You must support me,’ he whispered to himself. It galled him to depend on the Chin for military aid, after so many generations easing his people away from their dependence. He did not know yet if he could bear the price Prince Wei would ask for that support. The kingdom could be saved only to become a province again.
Rai Chiang tapped his fingers in irritation at the thought of a Chin army on his land. He needed them desperately, but what if they did not leave when the battle was over? What if they did not come at all?
Two hundred thousand people already sheltered within the walls of Yinchuan, with thousands more gathered outside the closed gates. In the night, the most desperate tried to climb into the city and the king’s guards were forced to drive them off with swords, or shoot a volley of arrows into their midst. The sun rose each day on fresh corpses and more soldiers had to leave Yinchuan to bury them before they could spread disease, labouring under the sullen stares of the rest. It was a grim and unpleasant business, but the city could feed only so many and the gates remained closed. Rai Chiang worried at the golden threads until beads of blood appeared under his fingernails.
Those who had found sanctuary slept in the streets, the beds of every inn and lodging house long taken. The price of food was rising every day and the black market thrived, though the guards hanged anyone caught hoarding. Yinchuan was a city of fear as they waited for the barbarians to attack, but three months had gone by with nothing but reports of destruction as the army of Genghis laid waste to everything in their path. They had not yet come to Yinchuan, though their scouts had been seen riding in the far distance.
A gong sounded, making Rai Chiang start. He could hardly believe it was the hour of the dragon already. He had been lost in contemplation, but it had not brought him the usual sense of peace before the day truly began. He shook his head against the malicious spirits that sapped the will of strong men. Perhaps the dawn would bring better news. Preparing himself to be seen, he straightened in his throne of lacquered gold and tucked the sleeve with the broken thread under the other. When he had spoken to his ministers, he would have a new robe brought and a cooling bath to make his blood flow with less turbulence.
The gong sounded again and the doors to the chamber opened in perfect silence. A line of his most trusted advisers walked in, their footsteps muffled by shoes of felt so the polished floor would not be scratched. Rai Chiang regarded them impassively, knowing that they took their confidence from his manner. Let him but show one trace of nervousness and they would feel the storms of panic that blew through the slums and streets of the city below.
Two slaves took up positions on either side of their king, creating a gentle breeze from large fans. Rai Chiang hardly noticed their presence as he saw his first minister could barely maintain his calm. He forced himself to wait until the men had touched their foreheads to the floor and proclaimed their oath of loyalty. The words were ancient and comforting. His father and grandfather had heard them many thousand times in this very room.
At last, they were ready to begin the business of the day and the great doors shut behind them. It was foolish to think they were completely private, Rai Chiang reflected. Anything of note in the throne room became market gossip before the sun set. He watched the ministers closely, looking for some sign that they felt the fear curdling in his breast. Nothing showed and his mood lightened a fraction.
‘Imperial Majesty, Son of Heaven, king and father to us all,’ his first minister began, ‘I bear a letter from Emperor Wei of the Chin.’ He did not approach himself, but handed the scroll to a bearer slave. The young man knelt and held out the roll of precious paper and Rai Chiang recognised the personal chop of Prince Wei. Rai Chiang hid the stirring of hope in his breast as he took it and broke the wax seal.
It did not take long to read the message and, despite his control, Rai Chiang frowned. He could sense the hunger for news in the room and his calm had been affected badly enough for him to read it aloud.
‘It is to our advantage when our enemies attack one another. Wherein lies the danger to us? Bleed these invaders and the Chin will avenge your memory.’
There was utter silence in the room as the ministers digested the words. One or two of them had paled, visibly disturbed. There would be no reinforcements. Worse, the new emperor had described them as enemies and could no longer be considered the ally his father had been. It was possible that they had heard the end of the Xi Xia kingdom in those few words.
‘Our army is ready?’ Rai Chiang said softly into the silence.
His first minister bowed deeply before replying, hiding his fear. He could not bring himself to tell his king how poorly prepared the soldiers were for war. Generations of peace had made them more adept at bullying favours from city prostitutes than martial skills.
‘The barracks are full, Majesty. With your royal guards to lead them, they will send these animals back into the desert.’
Rai Chiang sat perfectly still, knowing no one there would dare to interrupt his thoughts.
‘Who will keep the city safe if my personal guard goes out onto the plains?’ he said at last. ‘The peasants? No, I have sheltered and fed the militia for years. It is time they earned what they have had from my hand.’ He ignored the taut expression of his first minister. The man was merely a cousin and, though he ran the city’s scribes with rigid discipline, he was out of his depth with anything requiring original thought.
‘Send for my general, that I may plan an attack,’ Rai Chiang said. ‘The time for talk and letters is over, it seems. I will consider the words of … Emperor Wei, and my response, when we have dealt with the closer threat.’
The ministers filed out, their nervousness showing in their stiff bearing. The kingdom had been at peace for more than three centuries and no one there could remember the terrors of war.
‘This place is perfect for us,’ Kachiun said, looking out over the plain of the Xi Xia. At his back, the mountains loomed, but his gaze lingered over green and gold fields, lush with growing crops. The tribes had covered ground at incredible speed over the previous three months, riding hard from village to village with almost no opposition. Three large towns had fallen before the news had gone ahead and the people of the tiny kingdom began to flee the invaders. At first, the tribes had taken prisoners, but when they had close to forty thousand, Genghis had grown tired of their wailing voices. His army could not feed so many and he would not leave them behind him, though the miserable farmers did not look like any kind of threat. He had given the order and the slaughter had taken an entire day. The dead had been left to rot in the sun and Genghis had visited the hills of the dead only once to see that his orders had been carried out. After that, he thought no more of them.
Only the women had been left alive to be taken as prizes and Kachiun had found a couple of rare beauties that very morning. They waited for him in his ger and he found his thoughts straying in that direction instead of to the next move in the assault. He shook his head to clear it.
‘The peasants don’t seem warlike at all and these canals are perfect for watering our horses,’ he went on, glancing at his older brother.
Genghis sat on a pile of saddles next to his ger, resting his chin on his hands. The mood of the tribes was cheerful around the two men and he saw a group of boys setting wands of birch into the ground. He raised his head in interest as he saw his two eldest sons were part of the chattering gang, pushing and shoving each other as they argued over how best to set the sticks. Jochi and Chagatai were dangerous company for the boys of the tribes, often leading them into trouble and scuffles that resulted in them being slapped apart by the women of the gers.
Genghis sighed, running his tongue over his lower lip as he thought.
‘We’re