After the fight at the gate, Orkhon had gone to the physician station with his forearm wrapped in whatever cloth a nearby rider had been able to spare. Gal hadn't seen him since.
He took stock of what remained of the arban. Nasan, Chaqu, himself, four others and the horse wounded during the breach. The animal was still moving well enough, but every turn dragged it left. The injury was affecting its control. If the fighting continued, he would need a fresh mount before the day was over.
They rode north into the city with forty riders from the formation.
Destruction had already spread through the streets. Wood cracked somewhere ahead. Men shouted in Mongolian from several directions. Fires had begun chewing through the nearest buildings. Riders moved block by block through the city in an organized sweep, every group tearing apart a different section at the same time.
