“But has anyone seen him?” Rutger pressed. “Has anyone confirmed that Onghwe is even in his pavilion? If he senses the battle goes against him, he will flee. Have we accounted for all of his commanders? If any of them still live, they could be providing a cover for the Khan’s escape.”
Emmeran and Leuthere exchanged a quick glance, and Rutger felt an icy hand clutch his chest. “Who?” he demanded.
Leuthere shook his head angrily and jerked his horse’s head around. The Templar master galloped off, leaving Emmeran to answer Rutger’s question.
“The commander of the party who went to your chapter house,” Emmeran explained. “We did not find his body among those at the bridge. We suspect he made it across the river.”
“Where is he?” Rutger shouted, even as he realized the Hospitaller did not know the answer. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If the Khan escaped and managed to flee back to the main Mongolian army at Mohi, he would return with a host many times larger than the force he had commanded at Hünern. The people of Hünern could flee, but that would only exacerbate Onghwe’s rage, and Rutger knew the Khan would pillage and burn everything until his bloodlust was satisfied.
Breaking the Mongol grip on Hünern was an impossible feat—one so very nearly in their grasp—but without the death of Onghwe, their efforts would amount to little more than waking a slumbering bear.
They might win the day, but Christendom would only be even more imperiled by their actions.
“My men are scouring the camp,” Emmeran said. “There is no way out but through the main gate. Even if some of the Mongols manage to escape, we will have weeks to hunt them down.” The Hospitaller shook his head, a grim smile on his lips. “But the Khan will not escape.”
Rutger’s chest tightened, and his throat worked heavily. “I wish I shared your faith, Master Emmeran,” he wheezed. “But I have seen too many battles that were thought won—” An icy lance of pain ripped through his upper chest, and he staggered. He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs refused to work.
“Master Rutger...” Emmeran began.
Rutger stared at his left arm. His entire body felt cold, except for his arm, which burned with such heat that he thought it would burst into flame. His legs quivered and he fell to his knees. Streaks of white light flashed across his field of vision. He stared up at the Hospitaller, trying to make sense of the shadows moving across the man’s face.
A white light bloomed behind Emmeran and his horse, and Rutger blinked, tears starting in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he croaked with the last breath in his throat. It can’t be. Don’t take me, he pleaded. I am not ready.
The light erupted, an explosion of thousands of white petals flying outward like a snowstorm falling upward, soft, downy flakes rising up to Heaven. In the center of the light, Rutger saw entwined branches and—
The exhausted heart of Tyrshammar’s quartermaster finally stopped.
Onghwe broke the momentary respite in the duel by throwing his sword at Zug. With a shout, Kim dashed forward, but the Khan fled, dashing back toward his enormous platform of pillows and furs.
Zug twisted his body, evading the well-thrown blade, though the tip of the weapon raked across his right ear. Blood began to flow, and tiny pricks of pain nipped at his skull as if he was being stung by an extremely angry and persistent hornet.
Onghwe started throwing pillows as he reached his bed, and the Flower Knight adroitly knocked the first aside with his spear, let another bounce off his chest, and ducked under a third. He kept closing on the Khan throughout, and after the third missile, he thrust his spear at the Khan’s legs. The Khan, who had been digging through the layers of furs and pillows, found what he was looking for. As he pulled his legs back, getting out of range of Kim’s attack, he twisted his body, and levered up the long pole that had been hidden beneath the opulent layers.
It was a guan do, similar to Zug’s naginata, but the blade was shorter, thicker, and had a notch and a spike along the back edge. Onghwe whipped the pole-arm around, and Kim, having some experience fighting against this weapon, knocked Onghwe’s first strike aside and thrust his own spear point over the top of the Khan’s haft. Onghwe snapped the haft around, rotating it over Kim’s thrust, and shoved the spear aside. He flicked the guan do blade, and Kim leaned back, letting the curved edge of the pole-arm blade whisk past his face.