17

  By mid-autumn, when Norjin arrived in the Jochid ulus, the signs of winter were already deepening. He had never intended to stay for long—only to wait for Yelü Chucai’s anger to cool—and had come unprepared for the cold. Nearly everything he wore was borrowed.

  This time, as he accompanied Dogon’s force, he borrowed his equipment from Ehau. It had been several weeks since he last wore armor, during the hunting games. Back then, borrowing only a cuirass had been enough. This time, it was not.

  Ehau worked with practiced ease, fitting Norjin with light armor. Over his dark blue deel, he layered a leather cuirass reinforced with matte black metal plates, tightening the cords to fit his body.

  “It should be tight,” Ehau said. “But I’ve got a broader chest than you. That’s as far as it’ll go.”

  When Norjin shifted, he expected the shoulder plates and skirt lames to clatter, but they barely made a sound.

  “Fewer plates,” Ehau explained. “It won’t rattle much. If you’re moving at night, noise gets you noticed fast.”

  The clasps on the leather straps were shaped like plants, decorative in a way that felt different from Mongol work. Inside, felt and cloth had been layered thickly. It was warm enough that fur wouldn’t be necessary. Arm guards were wrapped on, a belt fastened at his waist, and his sword hung in place.

  “The skirt lames go on the hips, not the belly,” Ehau said. “If you’re running, don’t loosen them.”

  He lifted Norjin’s chin and adjusted the collar of the deel visible at the neckline of the cuirass. The white piping framed Norjin’s face well. Stepping back, Ehau took in the whole picture.

  “That’ll do.”

  Watching from nearby, Zaya grinned.

  “What was it again?” she said. “Ah yes. Makes me want to loosen those armor cords with my own hands.”

  “No,” Norjin said, covering his chest. “Be gentle.”

  Ehau burst out laughing.

  When Norjin mounted his horse, the faint sound of metal touching metal was already rising from all around. Dogon intended to sweep the entire region east of the Volga with his three hundred riders.

  Zaya emerged from her tent, wrapping fur around herself. Arms crossed, she watched Norjin intently. He gave a small wave, pressed his heels to his horse’s sides, and rode off. His attendant followed with a packhorse.

  Ehau appeared behind Zaya and stopped beside her, looking down.

  “So when do we leave?”

  “As soon as it gets dark.”

  Ehau nodded and went to check on the others behind the tents, where preparations for camp and food were already underway.

  Zaya’s plan was simple. They would follow Dogon’s force at a proper distance, keeping out of sight, and join only at the very end of the fighting. That way, she could keep her promise to Batu—not to interfere with Dogon’s operation.

  Once in motion, the Mongol soldiers were fast. A journey that had taken Norjin three days was covered in a day and a half, bringing them to the outskirts of the largest settlement. During the nights in camp, Norjin began to understand the kind of man Dogon was.

  Dogon had no strategy, no formations. He charged straight ahead and nothing else. Norjin wondered where Dogon had been during the elegant maneuvers he’d seen at the hunting games. Perhaps, as the youngest son charged with preserving the family line, he had rarely been sent into battle. If that was the case, there were ways to work with it.

  Norjin positioned Dogon’s force on open ground, where the sheep pens were out of sight. The plan was simple: break open the enclosures, then withdraw to a safe distance and watch from above. Several of Dogon’s officers began lining up the three hundred riders.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Before they had finished, Dogon gave the order to charge.

  Even if the commander was reckless, trained soldiers moved smoothly. Norjin drove his horse hard, keeping pace near the front. The thunder of hooves sent the settlement into panic. People burst from their tents, some scrambling onto horses, others loosing arrows in confusion.

  The riders tore through the camp, trampling tents, crushing everything that moved.

  Norjin smashed open the gate of a pen, and the sheep, already frantic and bleating, poured out at once. From afar, a sharp whistle cut through the noise. A few sheep ran toward the sound. Others followed, forming a line behind them.

  Seeing this, Norjin turned his horse. He was about to head for the rise where he had once counted tents when he spotted another group approaching from a distance.

  “Damn it.”

  No wonder the settlement had seemed lightly defended. The main force had been elsewhere.

  Arrows fell. One struck his horse. The horse reared, threw Norjin, and bolted.

  The attackers dismounted in quick succession, advancing with swords and spears raised. As Norjin reached for his sword hilt, an arrow flew from nowhere and struck an enemy in the neck, dropping him backward.

  A black wind rushed past Norjin. He heard the crack of a wrist breaking, then the snap of a neck.

  “Get up! Do you want to die?!”

  Zaya.

  Why was Zaya here?

  Norjin scrambled to his feet, drew his sword, and pressed his back against hers, taking his stance. Dogon’s cavalry was struggling against short spears thrust up from below.

  “Zaya—”

  He turned to speak and froze.

  She was smiling, her teeth showing— sharp, delighted.

  As a soldier raised his weapon before her, Zaya thrust her sword forward. She yanked it free and smashed the blade into another man’s shoulder. A third clutched his stomach, trying to hold in the blood spilling through his fingers as he collapsed.

  Norjin forced his racing heart to steady. He adjusted his grip. The world narrowed. Movements drilled into him since childhood surged back. He swung, driving his blade into the enemy.

  Behind him, Zaya moved as if dancing, wielding her sword—kicking one foe aside before lunging at the next. Suddenly, her shoulder was seized and spun halfway around. In the same motion, she drove her sword into the enemy before her. Norjin caught a spear thrust from her blind side with one hand and blocked another blade with the other.

  Zaya stepped, turned, and drove her blade toward the man’s belly. At that instant, Norjin yanked the spear free, and as the man stumbled forward, drove his sword into his back.

  “This feels good,” Zaya murmured.

  Their movements fit together perfectly, like long-time partners.

  Then Zaya’s body lifted off the ground. Ehau scooped her up and ran. Norjin rushed after them.

  The field was chaos, but with sheer numbers, Dogon’s force crushed the settlement and claimed victory. At the very least, a victory could be reported. Dogon’s shoulders heaved as he roared again and again, shouting triumph between ragged breaths.

  After the attack, Dogon’s men ate briefly, assessed the damage, left behind the wounded and useless horses, and moved on to the next settlement. Norjin wanted nothing more than to stop, but he still had to guide them onward.

  Arik brought Norjin his horse, grinning from ear to ear.

  “We’ve got three times the sheep now,” he said. “Richest family around.”

  It seemed Arik and the others had claimed most of the flock. He studied Norjin’s face.

  “Well, I mean… I could give you a few.”

  Norjin smiled.

  “Keep mine for me. Take the lambs and the milk as payment for tending them.”

  Arik grinned again.

  “Leave it to me. I’ll take good care of them.”

  “I’m counting on you.”

  There was no time to linger. He had questions for Zaya, but first he had to catch up with Dogon. Norjin mounted his horse and rode off.

  Thanks to the advance warning Arik and the others had given friendly tribes to move away, Dogon’s force—indiscriminate in its attacks—did not spread the damage further. They destroyed the next settlement and settled into camp, the men giddy with victory.

  Weaving between the makeshift tents, Norjin searched for his attendant. He found him already merged with Zaya’s group, Norjin’s tent pitched among theirs.

  Zaya’s people had set camp as they did in the ulus: a fire at the center, tents arranged around it. Several pots hung over the flames, meat roasting. Zaya sat in front of her tent, gnawing on a sheep’s leg.

  Norjin walked over.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were impressive.”

  Their voices overlapped. It seemed the strange synchrony between them hadn’t faded yet. Norjin fell silent. Zaya met his gaze, almost challenging him.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “You should start by thanking me.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Norjin slumped down beside her as if the strength had drained out of him. Zaya leaned in, peering at his face.

  “A civil official from Karakorum?” She said. “You seem far more at home with a sword than with a brush.” Norjin sighed.

  “I’ve been made to use both. Since I was very young. My family—”

  He broke off. Memories he never wanted to recall surged up. Norjin stood and, without another word, went into his tent.