"Now let's see about recovering your wife," Uga said. "That is supposed to be the point of all this! I heard she's a pretty one."
Alp didn't answer. There was no sense in giving away exactly how important she was to him.
The three armies sufficed. They fell upon the Markit chief Toktagha in the Selenga River section of space and routed him. Temujin landed on the Markit campsite planet and ran among the tents even as the battle raged on land and in space. "Borte! Borte!" he cried.
A woman ran out heavily. "Temujin!"
It was Borte—and she was pregnant. Only a few hours had passed since she had been taken from him—but twelve Hours was equivalent to six months. The Machine had indulged in another expert job of makeup.
Was it Alp's child— or the brat of one of the Markit abductors? Alp had never had illusions about the use the Markit would have made of this lovely woman. But the possibility of pregnancy had not occurred to him before. It was only the Game—but if this had happened in history, it would have been vital to know the proper parentage. The agony of doubt was acute.
Borte waited anxiously for recognition, beautiful despite her condition, fearful that he would no longer want her.
Abruptly Alp realized that this question of paternity was beside the point. He had her back! All her future sons would be his, without doubt. There was only one solution to his dilemma: this first child would be his, no matter what. He would never make an issue of the matter.
Chapter 16
PROGRESS
Togrul went home, satisfied, but Jamuqa stayed on. Alp discovered that their present roles now gave him a greater community of interest with Pei-li, to whom he had not been that close as a Uigur. Uga had become too old, and he was not a Mongol. And—he had a disquieting amount of power.
For a Day-and-a-half Temujin and Jamuqa ranged the Mongol spaceways, enlisting the support of the other clans. Their defeat of the fierce Markit had won them authority, and the tribes were now rallying to the banners of these allies. The Mongols desperately needed a real leader. A Mongol hegemony was forming at last. Perhaps this time the old enemies would be vanquished: the traitorous Tatars, the Kin Chinese...
But there were differences between the allies, Alp and Pei-li. The demands of their new parts reversed their natural temperaments; now Jamuqa was the adventurer, prone to innovations that were dramatic but not always sensible, while it was Temujin who took no unnecessary risks. "Take it easy!" he cautioned Pei-li repeatedly.
"Remember how the great Uigur empire fell! We don't want to throw away Jenghiz Qan before either of us becomes Qan!"
"You're too damned conservative!" Pei-li said, smiling. "Nobody is going to conquer the world by plodding along safely!"
He was too far gone. He was a Galactic, carried away by the sensation of youth, overdoing it. The Game could not be won by a man who played it as a game!
Every so often Alp caught Pei-li eyeing Borte speculatively. This filled him with unspoken rage. She had delivered her son Jochi and now was pregnant again, but still...! Temujin already had other wives, as befitted a Mongol leader; in many respects it was more economical to take an extra wife than to support a concubine. But the only one he cared about was Borte and the only sons he intended to recognize would be hers. Even the first...
Borchu the Arulat, Alp's first Mongol ally and general, was careful to keep his eyes on his own women. Was it that Pei-li recognized the maid of Uigur times?
It saddened Alp to see this wedge forming between them, for there were many qualities he respected in Pei-li, and they had worked well together as a Uigur team. But as the prospect for achieving the ultimate part grew, so did the competition between them. Power was tearing apart their friendship.
And Pei-li recognized this. "We're not good for each other, Alp," he said. "Not in this situation. When we both served Uga, it was easy to get along; now we are both striving to lead. We'd better separate and fight for it cleanly as Jamuqa and Temujin. That's the sporting way."
Sport... But Alp had to agree. "Maybe we can get together again, some other part—or even some other Game."
They shook hands, and Jamuqa took off, taking the fleets of his supporters with him. They amounted to about a third of the total Mongol force.
And what was Uga doing now, in his Kerayit kingdom? The only assembly that might have challenged his power had now broken in two.
For ten long Days Temujin and Jamuqa maneuvered, skirmishing with wandering fleets and lining up support for their separate causes, while the major cause of Jenghiz languished. The heirs of the old Mongol royalty preferred Temujin, seeing in him a more conservative, dependable, and perhaps docile leader—and he took care to foster that impression. But many dissidents supported Jamuqa, whose dramatic flair appealed to their frustrations. Horsemen rallied to Alp, herdsmen to Pei-li.
Alp drilled his Mongols constantly, forcing them to assemble their formations rapidly at a given signal. He had Qasar instruct them in accurate archery. The men, naturally unruly, did not like this—but Alp's new discipline was the strictest ever seen among Mongols. He was using Uigur techniques to forge a fighting machine to reckon with!
It was obvious that a unified Mongol Qanate was in the making, and this was something that every clan hungered for. It was past time to stop the internecine quarrels that weakened the Mongols and made them prey to the savage Markit to the west and Tatars to the east, with all the Steppe nomads intimidated and exploited by the Empire of Kin China to the south. As a Khitan, Alp had been betrayed by the Sung Chinese and the barbarian Jurchid nation who had taken over Khitan territory and formed the Kin Empire. As a Mongol, he was eager to be avenged on both Chinas—if he could only get around the determined competition of Jamuqa.
Alp realized that if many more Days went by without a decision, both he and Pei-li would lose out to some more enterprising chief... such as Uga. He doubted that the historical Jenghiz had had to cope with direct rivalry of this nature. But this was not history, it was Game—and stringent measures were required.
Temujin was now almost thirty years old, with four sons by Borte: Jochi, Jagatai, Ogodei and Tolui. The first was a promising lad of eleven (but was he really Temujin's own? Suppress that gnawing doubt!), the last a child of three, Jochi was coming up on the age Temujin had been when the Tatars poisoned his father. How young that seemed! It was past time to settle that account, too!
Alp had no intention of yielding his part the way Yesugei had! Let the Machine stop him if it chose! He was going to make his play for the big stakes!
Temujin called his followers together and had himself elected Qan of the Mongols, ignoring those under Jamuqa's banner. He chose the title Jenghiz: the Oceanic Qan. The date was 1196.
He waited apprehensively. Nothing happened. Apparently the Game Machine was not going to nullify Alp's presumption.
"Bastard!" Pei-li said in grudging private communication. "You had more nerve than I did. You took a leaf from Uga's book and simply declared yourself the winner! But we don't know how well that will work—and I haven't given up yet!"
And even Uga conveyed somewhat perfunctory congratulations. It had, after all, been his idea. Would he now be irked enough to make some serious countermove?
Alp knew he had not really won—yet. He now controlled half the true Mongols—who were the weakest of the major nations of the contemporary Steppe. In times past they had been more formidable. But the ravages of the Tatars and the Kin Empire had destroyed Mongol power a generation ago, and only now was it recovering.
But luck was with Alp. Soon after his declaration, a small formation of ships drifted in, long overdue for recharging. It was Uga himself, and his famished party.
"My brother conspired with the Naiman to dispossess me of my throne," Uga explained as he wolfed down the food Alp provided. "I fled to the southwest to ask help from the Empire of Black Cathay, but that turncoat threw me out! I wandered miserably around the Gobi desert section of space, seldom finding an adequate depot. Now I com
e to you. Remember how I helped you before—now I beg you to help me recover my throne!"
How the mighty had fallen! Alp saw he had no need to fear Uga's ambitions now. The man had bungled his part.
"Of course I'll help you!" Alp said graciously. "Think I want an unfriendly power on my southern flank?" But it was more than that, and they both knew it.
Alp provided the hard-pressed Kerayit chief with a fleet of ships, and in due course Togrul regained his throne.
The favor had been returned.
The politics of the Game were fluid. The Tatars had taken to harassing the Kin Empire frontiers, and the Kin were becoming increasingly annoyed. King Ma-ta-ku the Jurchid, Lord of the Kin, had allowed the empire's military discipline to relax (folly! Alp muttered), so was not well equipped to deal with these Tatar raids. So he reversed his alliances and made a deal with Togrul of the Kerayit.
Alp assured Uga that he was still a loyal vassal despite the recent favor he had rendered, and willingly joined the mission against the Tatars. It wasn't as if the project were contrary to Mongol interest—and he wanted Kerayit support for his title of Qan.
In 1198 the massed fleets of Togrul and Temujin invaded the Tatar dominions from the northwest, while the Kin attacked from the southeast. The Tatar forces were decimated.
Yesugei had been avenged. The Game continued.
The Game-galaxy was seasonal. Day was summer and Night was winter, when the food depots closed down in the northern regions and in most of the mountains. With proper management a man could readily last out the Night, but this became more difficult with large formations. It was better for a full clan to move to winter pastures in the Galactic lowlands, where a limited number of depots remained in operation. This was general practice among the Mongols. The Kiyat and their allies made this journey under Alp's supervision. The migration would take half an Hour, for women, children and flocks moved slowly. The ships skirted the mountainous red giants, sticking to the star-free valleys between the great whorls of the Milky Way. There was a constant barrage of minor crises: drives breaking down, women having Game-babies, scouts mistaking the route. Alp loved it.
A scoutship flashed up to Alp's own. "Qan—an enemy approaches!"
Alp's pleasure vanished. "Who? How many ships?"
"Targ's Tayichiuts! Estimated thirty thousand."
Alp clapped his hand to his forehead. He had barely thirteen thousand ships in fighting trim here, since he had not anticipated the attack. Why hadn't his spies told him of Targ's plan?
Without specific orders, Alp's generals closed in about him: brother Qasar, not bright but still the fleet's finest bowshot; Borchu, masterful leader of men; young Subotai, brilliant tactician.
To fight or to run? In an instant Alp assessed the alternatives. If he fought, he would be surrounded by more than double his own number of fighting ships: Mongols who were as experienced as he in nomad combat. That was almost certain defeat. But if he fled, the slow supply ships that were the clan's cattle would be sacrificed, together with many of the women defending them. Borte was back in that pack, with her sons.
Alp did not need to appraise the terrain; he maintained familiarity with it as a continuing policy. The valley was narrow here, with only light-minutes separating the substantial gravity wells of the star ranges. Poor room for elaborate maneuvering, and a poor avenue for flight from enemy cavalry, as the valley would funnel the attacking horde right onto the Kiyat rear.
So he had to fight, however hopeless it seemed. But he could not make his stand across the width of the valley, for it was three dimensional. No matter how tight the east-west ranges were, and how firmly he braced for a north-south battle, the enemy could outflank him above and below. The rift extended for light years, that way.
They were passing a forest of minor debris: the dusty fragment of some bygone nebula, or perhaps a supernova.
Horses could penetrate it, but only with extreme caution—a caution he could not now afford! But it served to block off one section of the northward thrust of the valley. A fighting fleet would have to circle the obstruction—and that could break up its formation and waste precious seconds. Quite suitable as a tactical barrier!
"Make a cube of the tent carts!" Alp ordered. "Man them with any women and boys who can handle a bow.
Drive the supply wagons inside that enclosure. Put the whole thing directly south of the forest-nebula, five light-minutes."
Subotai's ship detached and went to execute the formation.
"Form the fighting ships into squadrons of a thousand each," Alp continued. "Ten cubed. Fill the space between the forest and the wagon-cube. Wait for their attack—and hold that formation!"
Borchu's face in the screen looked doubtful, but he did not protest. Odd indeed was this defense Alp had initiated—but in a hopeless case like this, conventional tactics would gain him nothing. Targ could consider any orthodox battle won!
The Kiyat had hardly set it up when the Tays fell upon them. The enemy squadrons were five hundred ships each: a cross section of a hundred, five ranks deep. There were sixty of them—compared to Alp's thirteen.
The front Tay squadrons halted in space, allowing more agile horsemen to pass through them. These were the archers, flashing out to loose their bolts in a shower before disappearing into the protection of the squadron mass.
Such archery did not require specific aim; it depended on chance to bring down a percentage of the target force.
Conventional tactics—and Alp's forces were ready. His own archers, commanded by his brother Qasar, let fly with telling effect. Now all that bow-practice paid off; the men were not firing randomly but at selected spots. Tay losses appeared to be quadruple the Kiyat's.
But this was mere skirmishing. The Tays closed ranks and charged.
The warriors under Borchu met that rush with a dynamic countercharge. Because of the small compass of the engagement, restricted by the flanking nebula and wagon cube, only a portion of Targ's horde could engage Alp's at the moment. But his much greater overall strength was sure to tell in the end.
Something strange happened as the two forces met, their formations passing through each other while each horseman fired his arrows and hurled his spear at the enemy from a distance of a fraction of a light second. Actual sword fighting was not feasible in space, so the Game permitted the spears as an alternate mode despite the deviation from historical procedure. The Tay squadrons lost formation and drifted on, decimated—while the Kiyats went on to engage new squadrons.
Alp smiled as he watched his screens from his command post. Numbers did count—but in the immediate fray his squadrons of a thousand horses were twice as deep as the Tay squadrons of five hundred. That close-range superiority combined with the devastating accuracy of his archers gave him a tremendous spot advantage. Two of his ships engaged each of the enemy—when the Kiyats could have had a winning margin on a one-to-one basis.
This broke the Tay formations and demoralized Targ's troops.
The Tay ships tried to retreat—and were cut down even more rapidly as they interfered with their own following formations. The momentum had swung to Alp's cavalry.
It was over in two Minutes—a full historical day—and the darkness of the Game-night descended. The instruments on all ships faded out, making accuracy of aim impossible.
Alp had won the day. Over five thousand Tay ships drifted in space, their stunned players waiting for the reclamation by the Game Machine. Seventy Tay subchiefs were made captive: they would join Alp's horde or be dispatched.
"But Targ!" Alp cried, distressed that his arch-enemy was not among them. "If Targ escapes, this victory is for nothing!"
One of his lieutenants signaled for attention. It was Chilaun the Suldu—the son of Chief Sorqan-Shira who had rescued Alp from Targ's cangue so many days ago and swore to have an accounting for the humiliation Targ had brought upon them then. Alp had not forgotten his own promise, and Chilaun was the commander of one thousand horsemen. Alp granted him audience
immediately.
"Targ did not escape," Chilaun said. Alp saw that the man was pale; he had suffered a glancing stun in battle.
"Who killed him?" Alp demanded, perversely annoyed that the privilege had not fallen to himself.
"I did," Chilaun said.
Alp's jealousy vanished. "Henceforth you are tumen—commander of ten thousand," he said. At the moment there were not that many men in the Mongol cavalry to command, and Borchu was already a tumen—but the honor was valid. With the power of Targ broken, Alp's dominion over the Mongol tribes would be extended. There would soon be troops to fill Chilaun's complement. Alp never forgot the men who served him in time of crisis, and he was glad Chilaun had proved himself.
Chapter 17
POWER
But success only brought more trouble. No sooner had Alp reorganized his forces after the Tay battle, than a conspiracy formed against him. It seemed that a number of clans and even nations were appalled at his victories, fearing that he was becoming too strong to stop. Their plot was nearly successful.
An unmarked ship visited the Mongol camp by night. It was Dai-Sechen the Qongirat, Borte's father. He insisted on transferring personally to Alp's horse in space.
"Father of my most cherished bride, you have no need to slink about like this!" Alp exclaimed. "I shall be happy to welcome you with ceremony in my ger, as befits your station and the esteem due you, and if you need anything at all—"
"If they learn of this, they'll kill me!" Dai-Sechen said. "I must speak and get out of here before dawn!"
"That's only a Minute away!" Alp said with a smile.
But the man was serious. "Temujin, they're plotting to murder you! My own clan is in on it. An ambush near Lake Buyur—"
Alp snapped to attention. "Stay with me, Chief! I'll put out word that your ship was brought down by raiders, so they won't know you reached me." He touched the communications stud. "Borchu! Chilaun! Here to me."
Dai-Sechen insisted on hurrying home again. Outwardly nothing changed. Temujin and Togrul proceeded on their scheduled trek to Buyur.