The spring winds of 1236 swept across the Kazakh steppe, wrapped in tiny bits of ice, and the tundra of the middle Volga was just beginning to turn green. Nine Mongolian scouts sliced through the mist like wedges, the reins of the spare horses tied to the left saddle ring - a unique method of horse taming used by the Shubutai clan. The leader of the scouting horses, the Red Army, strangled his horse violently, his nose twitching slightly, catching the faint trill of clashing iron weapons three miles away. He raised his hand and blew the eagle flute, and the cavalrymen on both flanks quickly plucked their four-pronged bone arrows, the arrowheads glowing coldly in the morning light.


    Three miles away, Ruthe Ivanovitch was lifting his hand to wipe the sand from the collar of his lockjaw. His party had just finished escorting the Volga Bulgarian caravan, and more than forty riders were trudging through the mud. As Vasily chewed the dry, hard pastry and grumbled in a low voice, Ruthe''s grey eyes snapped shut - reflections flashed like stars on the horizon."Stop, don''t panic!"His voice was steady, silencing the panicked ranks. Almost simultaneously, Mongolian scouts appeared from the top of the slope, three riders with their bows open and six riders encircling on both flanks. Lute glimpsed the silver heart protector on the chest of the other party''s main rider, which was a mark only found in Zarat Woodchucks, and his heart flashed with a hint of anticipation instead.


    "We mean no offence to the Mongol warriors!"Lut shouted in Mongolian, raising his hands in a friendly gesture and meeting his opponent with a firm gaze. The leader whispered a few words in guttural Mongolian, and beside him the dreadnought with half of his left ear missing galloped forward, "The honourable Lord Bolshoi asks - why do you lead an armed party across the Khan''s pastures?"


    Rutt''s heart stirred slightly. This young man with a gold leather belt around his waist was actually the nephew of Speed Buntai, who had killed three wolves alone during a roundup in Khalkha Mongolia last year. The opportunity had come. He unzipped the cloth bag beside the saddle and took out the parchment scroll of the caravan''s contract: "This is the Volga Bulgars'' salt and iron trade concession, stamped with the fire-painted seal of your country''s border officer. But we are more than just escorts - we seek to join the Mongol hordes."


    The words made Vasily and the others turn their heads in surprise, but Ruthe had long since subtly signalled them not to act rashly. Bolshoi picked up the parchment scroll with his scimitar, the yak tail cord on the hilt fluttering in the wind. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and smiled coldly, "The Mongol army has no need for foreign waste."


    Rutt returned nonchalantly, "Please tell Lord Bolshoi that I know the heights of the walls, the depths of the moats, and the locations of the barns of the Rus nations. I am tired of running around as a mercenary, and joining the Mongol hordes will give me power and money."


    Behind the party, the horses neighing suddenly. Andrei turned his head and galloped wildly with three men, clearly having trouble accepting Ruthe''s position. Bolshoi''s arrow pierced the front hooves of his mounts with precision, and the four men fell into the mire with a filthy splash."Traitor!"Andrei roared as he struggled. A coldness flashed in Ruthe''s eyes as he turned to Bolshoi, "These people do not understand the big picture. I will only bring truly loyal people to serve Mongolia."


    Bol Khu looked at Ruthe thoughtfully, "Prove your worth to me."Rutt took out the small scroll he carried with him and slowly unfolded it - it was a map of the layout of Ryazan''s city defences that he had drawn privately, "I drew this the year before when I was serving in Ryazan. Within three days, I can complete it in detail for the Great Khan."Bolshoi made Rut stay behind to draw the map, while the rest of the men were imprisoned in felt tents to observe. Three days later, Rutt sat in his tent, his wolf-hair brush twirling between his fingers as he perfected the details of the map.


    Bol Hu sat cross-legged opposite, half of his face hidden in the shadows, his fingertips lightly tapping the scimitar on the side of his waist, and coldly said, "Is the defence of Liangzan city you drew credible?"Rutt raised his eyes, calm and collected, "I have spent two winters there, and every culvert and tower is as familiar as my palm prints. I have drawn the defences of the towns on the border of Volga Bulgaria for reference, you could have sent someone to check."Bolshoi did not answer immediately. He reached for the parchment scroll and squinted slightly, his eyes skimming over the marked directions to the towers and the well exits, and after a moment, he nodded and said, "If what you say is true, I will recommend it to the Khan. If there is a discrepancy..."His eyes were cold as knives.


    Lute calmly responded, "If there is any discrepancy, I am willing to bear the punishment. But I know that the Mongol army needs someone like me who understands the West."


    He waved his hand, and the guards outside stepped forward, leading Ruthe to another felt tent - where several artisans who had defected to the Mongols were already working on a topographical map of western Rus. Ruthe observed for a few moments, pointing out a few errors and earning approving glances from the Mongolian officers present.


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    Early the next morning, Bolshoi brought Rute to an open grassland with three maps in front of him."This is the layout of three cities." Bol Hu said in a cold voice, "Two of them are ones we have scouted before, and one is fictitious. If you are truly a warrior familiar with border city defences, you should be able to tell which one is faked."Rutt crouched down and swept his eyes over the map. He pointed his finger next to the moat on one of them and snorted, "The direction of the water flow at this angle is not right, if this city really had this river, the water would have accumulated into a lake in the east of the city long ago."


    Bol neglected to stare at him, and after a moment, the corners of his mouth rose slightly."Very well." His tone was still cold and hard, but less hostile."Now, you may see the Grand Commander of the army."


    The hooves of Rutt''s horse crushed through a clump of mugwort, the small purple flowers bursting into sap under the iron hooves. The wilderness that had shot Andrei had fallen seventy miles to the southwest. The Mongol camp was like a ring of wolves rounding up, each felt tent resembling a sharp tooth, and the Souruzhin spears the erected tails of the wolves. Bolshoi''s scouts were divided into three groups, one group set up a bullhorn on the high ground, and two groups hid behind the hills - the standard "three crows" scouting formation.


    "Look at those ears!"Vasily lowered his voice and pointed his whip at the entrance to the camp. Nine Souroux spindle spears were stuck in the earthen platform, their shafts hanging from burlap ear sacks, their air-dried outlines fluttering like dead petals. Under each bag hung a wooden sign, with a number marking the number of captures, the fourth bag''s "two-seven" already blurred and blackened. Lute counted to the fourth bag, stomach tightened - that pair of ears with emerald earrings, let him remember the morning light when his hometown was plundered.


    Across the horse-taming arena came the sound of hammering from the blacksmith''s shop, sparks flying as the smith forged four-pronged, armour-piercing arrowheads engraved with wolf''s head emblems and blood grooves designed to tear through the fibres of lockjaw armour. In the distance, Mongolian teenagers sharpened arrow feathers with daggers, as skilful as peeling onions."Dismount!"Bolshoi''s roar interrupted the thoughts. In front of the tent, the guards crossed their halberds and blocked the way, the dirt from a battlefield somewhere lingering in the gaps between their scales and armour. After Bol Hu reprimanded, the guards retreated, revealing the indigo tattoos on the back of their hands - that is the mark of the Qincha surrendered soldiers.


    Inside the tent, Batu and Subutai were sitting side by side on white felt, studying the road map of the westward march. Batu had cut the map of the cities of Rus with a gold-handled dagger, and on the edge of the sheepskin was written the words "Wait until the mud dries up in spring before marching" in Woodland script. He is dressed in silk, and the fire pit casts an elongated shadow on the wall of his tent. The corner of the tent scattered conquered areas of various scriptures, different faiths of the badge nailed to the support pillar, reflecting the cold light. Bolshoi stepped forward to report, "Khan, this is Ruthe Ivanovich, who has travelled among the western lords and is familiar with western city defences."


    Batu raised his head, his gaze like an eagle, penetrating the heart. In the middle of the day, his fingers pressed against the map, his leather gloves rubbing against the sheepskin with a fine sound, "Why would a westerner be willing to provide us with information?"Lut meets his gaze, unassuming: "Khan, I have witnessed the stupidity and incompetence of the western lords, who only fight for petty gains and know nothing of true power. Your army, on the other hand, is as unstoppable as a torrent of steel. Anyone with eyes can see that the future belongs to Mongolia. I have not come to surrender, but to choose the winner. In the past, I would have been the sword of some petty marquis, never to be seen again. But under the Mongol banner, all who are brave and resourceful are given their rightful place. I know every weakness in the defences of western cities, every road from Kiev to Novgorod that is suitable for an army. I''m sure the Khan has a measure of what that knowledge deserves. To you, it is the key to a city and a country; to me, it is a ladder to true glory."


    The generals in the tent murmured, some snickered, others nodded. Subutai''s eyes flashed with brilliance, and he nodded slightly to Batu. Batu snorted coldly and pointed to an area in the west, "Good words will be said by anyone. Tell me, if we were to attack the cities and towns here, how would we break the defences with the least effort?"Rutt approached the map and carefully observed the terrain. He traced his finger over a few points and said in a deep voice, "Most of these small towns are built on the river, and the rising water in the spring will flood the short walls on the eastern side. The defenders are concentrated on the high ground, but most of the granaries are on the south side, so we can cut off the supplies before breaking through from the northeast corner."


    Batu narrowed his eyes and exchanged glances with Subutai. Subutai, wrinkled like a knife, nodded his head in approval of Rutt''s statement."Good words," Batu said, "The battlefield will depend on real skill."He ordered horse''s milk wine to be brought to him, and floating in the bowl were a few drops of blood that he himself had squeezed into it - the Mongol ritual of ''sharing blood as an oath'', "Drink from this bowl, and you shall be the guide of our army. If there is any falsehood," he stomped on an empty ear bag, "your ears will fill the tenth bag."


    Rutt took the bowl, hesitated for a moment, and drank it down. Exiting the tent, the night wind brought the fishy smell of the steppe. He looked out into the darkening twilight with mixed feelings. For the sake of status and money, he would lead the storm to sweep over his own countrymen. His fate was tied to the conqueror of this grassland.