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of wedding bells, a sound he had fled from more than once in his life, a sound
that brought out an instant running reflex.
"Well," he said with what he hoped was due deliberation, "that sort of thing
might be nice for barbarian women, but it certainly isn't the sort of fate to
be wished on an intelligent, civilized girl." He waited tensely for an answer,
until he realized from the evenness of her breathing that she had fallen
asleep. That took care of that, at least for the time being.
Then he held the solid warmth of her body in his arms and he wondered what
exactly it was he was running from and, while he wondered, the drugs and
exhaustion hit and he fell asleep.
In the morning the new campaign began. Temuchin had issued his orders and the
march got under way at dawn, with a freezing, bonechilling wind sweeping down
from the mountains in the north. The carnachs, the escungs, even carrier
inoropes were left behind. Every warrior brought his own weapons and rations,
and was expected to take care of himself and his mount. At first the movement
was very unimpressive, a scattering of soldiers working their way through the
cainachs, among the shouting women and the ragged children running in the
dust. Then two men joined together, and a third, until an entire squad rode
together, the riders bobbing up and down in response to the undulating motion
of their mounts.
Jason rode next to Kerk, with the 94 Pyrran warriors following in a double
column. He turned in his saddle to look at them. The women could not ride with
them, and eight men had gone to the lowlands with Rhes, while the remainder
were on guard duty at the ship. That left 96 men in all to accomplish the
mission-to gain control of the barbarian army and this occupied portion of the
planet. On the surface it looked impossible, but the bearing of
the tiny Pyrran force did not reflect that. They were solemn and ready to take
on anything that came their way. It gave Jason an immense feeling of security
to have them riding behind him.
Once clear of the campsite, they could see other columns of men paralleling
their course across the rolling sweep of the steppe. Messengers had gone out
to all the tribes camped along the river to tell them that they were to ride
today. The horde was gathering. From all sides they came, drifting toward the
line of march, until there were riding men visible on all sides, clear to the
horizon. There was a marked sense of organization now, with different clans
falling in behind their captains and forming into squadrons. In the distance
Jason saw the black banners of Temuchin's household guards and pointed them
out to Kerk.
"Temuchin has two moropes loaded with our gunpowder bombs, and he wants me to
ride with him to supervise the operation. He pointedly did not mention the
rest of the Pyrrans, but we're all going to stay with him whether he likes it
or not. He needs me for the gunpowder-and I ride with my tribe. It's a winning
argument that I'm sure he can't beat."
"Then we shall put it to the test," Kerk said, spurring his beast into a
gallop. The Pyrran column sliced through the galloping horde toward their
leader.
They swung in from the right flank until they were riding level with
Temuchin's men, then slacked back to the same pace. Jason started forward,
ready with his foolproof arguments, but found them unnecessary. Temuchin took
one slow, cold look at the Pyrrans, then turned his eyes forward again. He was
like a chess master who sees a mate ra moves ahead and resigns without playing
the game out. Jason's arguments were obvious to him and he did not bother to
listen to them.
"Examine the lashings on the gunpowder bombs," he ordered. "They are your
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responsibility."
From his vantage point near the warlord, Jason witnessed the smooth
organization of the barbarian army and began to realize that Temuchin must be
a military genius, illiterate and untutored, with no authorities to rely on,
he had reinvented all of the basic principles of army maneuvers and large-
scale warfare. His captains were more than just leaders of independent
commands. They acted as a staff, taking messages and relaying orders on their
own initiative. A simple system of horn signals and arm motions controlled the
troops, so that the thousands of men formed a flexible and dangerous weapon.
Also an intensely rugged one. When all the troops had joined up, Temuchin
formed them into a kilometer-wide line and advanced on the entire front at
once. Without stopping. The advance, which had begun before dawn, continued
into the early afternoon without a halt for any reason. The rested and
well-fed inoropes did not like the continuous ride, but they were capable of
it when goaded on by the spurs. They shrieked protest, but the advance went
on. The endless jogging did not seem to bother the nomads, who had been in the
saddle almost since birth, but Jason, in spite of his recent riding
experience, was soon battered and sore. If the ride was affecting the Pyrrans
in any way, it was not noticeable.
Squadrons of riders scouted out ahead of the main company of troops, and by
late afternoon the invading army came across their handiwork. Slaughtered
nomads, first a single rider, his blood mixed with that of his butchered
inorope, then a family unit that had been unlucky enough to cross the path of
the army. The escungs and folded cainachs were still smoldering, surrounded by
a ghastly array of dead bodies. Men, women and children, even the moropes and
flocks, had been brutally slain. Temuchin fought total war and where he had
passed nothing remained alive. He was brutally pragmatic in his thinking. War
is fought to be won. Anything that assures victory is sensible. It is sensible
to make a three-day ride in a single day if it means the enemy can be
surprised. It is sensible to kill everyone you meet so that no alarm can be
given, just as it is sensible to destroy all their goods so your warriors will
not be burdened by booty.
The truth of Tetnuchin's tactics was proved when, just before dark, the racing
army swooped down upon a large-sized village of the weasel clan in the
foothills of the mountains.
As the great line of riders topped the last ridge, the alarm was given in the
camp, but it was too late for escape. The ends of the line swung in and met
behind the camp, though it looked as though some hardridden moropes had
slipped through before the forces joined. Sloppy, Jason thought, surprised
that Temuchin had not done a better job.
After this it was just slaughter. First by overwhelming flights of arrows that
drove back and decimated the defenders, then by a lance charge at full gallop.
Jason hung back, not out of cowardice, but from simple hatred of the
bloodshed. The Pyrrans attacked with the rest. Through constant practice they
were all now proficient with the short bow, though they still could not fire
as fast as the nomads, but it was in shock tactics that they proved what they
could do. If they had any qualms about killing the nomad tribe, they did not
show it. They struck like lightning and tore through the defenders and
overrode them. With their speed and weight they did not parry or attempt to
defend themselves. Instead, they hit like battering rams, slashed, killed and
kept on without slowing. Jason could not join them in this. He remained with
the two disgruntled men who had been detailed to guard the gunpowder bombs,
picking out chords on his lute as he composed a new song to describe this
great occasion. It was dark before the pillage was over and Jason rode slowly
into the ravished encampment. He met a rider who was searching for him.
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