By now the rest of Subotai’s thousand were in arrow’s range and all the carnosaurs were under relentless attack. The Mongols are brave, but not foolhardy. Their first goal was to rescue their leader, Subotai. Once they saw that he was out of trouble they hung back away from the enemy and attacked with arrows.
Quickly, methodically they picked off the Shaydanians mounted atop the dragons. The carnosaurs themselves were another matter. Too big to be more than annoyed by the Mongols’ arrows, they dashed at their tormentors, who galloped off a safe distance before returning to the attack. It was like a bullfight, with the huge monsters being bled until their strength and courage lay pooling on the grass.
As they fired at the milling, screeching carnosaurs I jumped atop one of the riderless horses and followed Subotai as he rejoined his men. He had never let go his grip on his bow, and he was firing at the beasts even as he rode away from them, turning in his saddle to let an arrow fly while his pony galloped toward the rest of the warriors.
The poor outnumbered beasts tried to escape but the Mongols showed no more mercy than fear. They pursued the carnosaurs, pumping more arrows into them until the animals slowed, gasping and hissing, and turned to face their tormentors.
Then came the coup de grace: Mongol lancers charged the weakened, slowed carnosaurs on their sinewy little ponies, a dozen scarred dark-skinned St. Georges spitting a dozen very real hissing, writhing dragons on their spears.
I rode back to retrieve my sword as Subotai trotted back to the carcasses by the knoll and got off his pony to examine the bodies of the slain Shaydanians.
“They do look like the tsan goblins that the men of the high mountains speak of,” he said.
I looked down at the dead body of one of Set’s clones. Its reptile’s eyes were open, staring coldly. Its reddish scales were smeared with blood where three arrows protruded from its flesh. Its clawed hands and feet were stilled forever, yet they still looked dangerous, frightening.
“They are not human,” I said, “but they are mortal. They die just as a man does, and their blood is as red as ours.”
Subotai looked at me; then past me to where his men were laying out the bodies of the slain Mongols side by side.
“Five killed,” he muttered. “How many of these dragons does the enemy possess?”
“Hundreds, at least,” I said, watching the Mongol warriors as they tore branches from the bushes around the knoll and began to build a makeshift funeral pyre.
Thinking of Set’s core tap that gave him the energy to leap backward in time, I added, “He can probably get more to make up his losses in battle.”
Subotai nodded. “And his city is fortified.”
“Yes. The walls are higher than five men standing on each other’s shoulders.”
“This skirmish,” said Subotai, “was merely the enemy commander’s attempt to determine how many men we have, and what kind of fighters we are. When none of his scouts return home, he will know the second, but not the first.”
I bowed my head. He had military wisdom, but he could not realize that Set had witnessed this fight, seeing us through the eyes of his clones.
“You must go back and bring the rest of the army here,” Subotai decided. “And do it quickly, Orion, before the enemy realizes that we are only a thousand men—minus five.”
“I will do it this night, my lord Subotai.”
“Good,” he grunted.
I was about to turn away when he reached up and clasped me on the shoulder. “I saw you charge into that beast when my mount was bucking. You protected me when I was most vulnerable. That took courage, friend Orion.”
“It seemed the wisest thing to do, my lord.”
He smiled. This gray-bearded Mongol general, his hair braided, his face still shining with the sweat of battle, this man who had conquered cities and slain thousands, smiled up at me as a father might.
“Such wisdom—and courage—deserve a reward. What would you have of me, man of the west?”