The Great Khan Ch. 04

Forward: This story was given to me as a challenge. Think of it as an alternate history to some degree. There are historical personages represented who interact with my invented characters. Feel free to ask which is which. There is plenty of graphic sex in this story, along with a lot of combat and violence. Just warning you now. Reviews and genuine critiques are welcome. Flames will be snickered at. Enjoy!

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Chapter 4- Live In Glory Or Be Forgotten

The confusion of a battle between the clans was something to behold, and only the gods could truly comprehend such an event- thousands of horsemen thundering around, filling the sky with a withering rain of arrows, both sides trying to goad one another into an ill-timed charge with a feint or simply the madness of not being able to come to grips with the enemy.

Boldbator understood these tactics as well as anyone on the Steppe, perhaps better. He was a master of it, but he also understood when these maneuvers were redundant and a waste of time. One did not simply have to prove better than the enemy at the same tactic, what was imperative was to have superior tactics to your enemy, whatever those might be.

The alliance of tribes and clans he faced now, led by the Bulgan family and their khan, Tsetserleg, were using the tactics familiar to untold generations of steppe warriors. Entire units of warriors on both sides would ride into range, release arrows and beat a retreat before they could be caught, each side hoping to convince the other that charging was the right thing to do. He watched from the rear of his army, surrounded by the men of his keshig, his elite guard, as the battle became a wearying cycle of hit-and-run.

"Patience..." he told himself. Above all, if he was to break this idiotic stalemate, he needed patience.

The wind that blew across the flat plain was a dry and hot one, a devil wind that parched men's throats, made them desperate for water and could rob them of reason. The constant riding and firing, wheeling about and retreating, only to do it all again, could fray the nerves of even the most disciplined warriors. Boldbator did not doubt his men's nerves or willingness to do as he commanded, but he considered this a waste of time.

With any luck, so did his foe.

Thousands of warriors were present, and no more than a few score on either side had fallen, either by getting careless and straying too close to the enemy or being brought down by a shot from a skilled archer. What a waste, the Tengger khan thought darkly. The battle had begun, against his will, at the height of the afternoon's heat, but that was when his foe had moved against him. And they wouldn't fall for the same tactics he had defeated the Sukh with.

As troops tired, both sides rotated fresh forces into the fray, allowing blooded warriors to quench their thirst and soothe the frayed nerves of their ponies, who were covered in lather from their exertions. A total of thirty-five families comprised the Bulgan khan's army and Boldbator watched grimly as Tsetserleg rode forward, along with his own clan, daring the Tengger to face him.

As he had planned, though, two heavily-armed zuuns rode toward the center of his battle-line, commanded by his brother Kula and his sister Khorijin. They each thundered in from opposite flanks, while his spent troops rode back in the opposite direction, like a rolling wheel against which two carps jumped headlong in an attempt to reach the Divine River. It was unusual, and this is what he'd been counting on. Tsetserleg was no doubt wondering what the Hell his foe was doing, committing two heavy units so early, when they'd surely be shot to pieces.

And that's when Boldbator sprang his trap.

Behind the Bulgan warriors, a cry went up as the men of the Jirgin clan, known for their swift mounts and fleet style of warfare, suddenly plunged their spears and blades through the back armour of the Bulgan warriors in front of them. Havoc reigned and Kula and Khorijin both let out their ululating war-cries and charged into the fray- the Bulgan warriors who should have turned them into pin cushions with cloud of arrows were milling about confusion, while the other families were given pause, amazed at the seeming betrayal.

But it was no betrayal, not really- the Jirgin clan had pledged its loyalty to Boldbator even before the gorugen, where he had called all the tribes together for a great hunt and to propose his war against the might Song Dynasty. Knowing that the arrogant Tsetserleg would never accept the leadership of the Tengger clan or himself, Boldbator had convinced the Jirgin to pretend to side with the Bulgan against him and to be his counter-stroke when the moment was right. He had promised them a significant amount of the treasure of Targetai in exchange for this feigned treachery.

Khorijin and Kula both pivoted and drove their zuun into the enemy flanks, turning them. The lightly-armed archers retreated hastily before the troops wearing heavy armour and carrying long spears while riding barded mounts. More of Boldbator's troops charged with a wave of his hand, some heading out to the farthest flanks to prevent the enemy's escape while others darted up the center like lightning, to break the enemy army in two.

Though his blood was hot within him, Boldbator waited stoically- he would only enter the fray if necessary, to turn the tide of battle if it was going against him. Fortunately, it showed no signs of doing so. The enemy was in disarray, their center collapsing while the flanks fell back. Successive waves of Tengger zuuns thundered in, howling for blood.

He watched as Kula pivoted his zuun back toward the center, his axe now in hand, carving a bloody path toward the Bulgan warriors. Warriors on more fleet steeds were streaming in behind him and continuing to harry the enemy flanks that his zuun could not readily catch up with now, leaving him free to engage in combat. Khorijin's company, though not as heavily-armoured, were using their swiftness to overrun the Bulgan outlying units, bursting apart their formations and leaving follow-up troops to deal with the sundered enemy.

Kula leapt off his pony as the enemy resistance brought his mount to a halt. He roared loudly and began laying about with his axe, like some red god of fury and war. The younger brother's ferocity always impressed Boldbator- Kula was not his equal in skill, but he made up for it with unmatched savagery and a devotion to violence that any Mongol would envy. Men and horse were both cut down as he swung his axe in great arcs, ribbons of blood flying away from the blade in the afternoon sun.

Boldbator could see Tsetserleg in the center of his formation, surrounded by his keshig, angrily yelling orders and attempting to gain control of what was rapidly becoming a rout. He watched with interest to see who reached the Bulgan khan first- Kula, Khorijin or one of his Jirgin allies, who pressed in from the rear.

The chaos of the battle defied description, unless you were Boldbator, who could see it all unfolding exactly as he had envisioned nearly three moons before- he had taken the enemy in jaws of steel, and they would pay a steep price for defying him. The nucleus of the battle was Tsetserleg and his bodyguards, around which a noose of Bolbator's troops grew tighter. Outside that ring, a frantic and fluid struggle was underway, mostly involving the Bulgan clan's allies trying to re-order themselves while avoiding being massacred by the Tengger flanking units.

Khorijin pressed in still, her distinct war-cry like that of a deadly gyrfalcon on the hunt. Men died by the score as she and her zuun overran them, driving toward the enemy khan. The Jirgin warriors, led by Sorgha, son of their khan, pressed in from the rear, encountering fierce resistance. Kula trudged forward relentlessly, nothing staying the blade of his axe.

Boldbator's eyes narrowed as he watched the fight in the center intently- his forces had almost reached Tsetserleg, it was only a matter of time and a question of whether his personal intervention was necessary. The enemy khan's keshig and other nearby troops fought fiercely to protect their leader and the relentless advance of the Tennger troops was halted. It almost looked like water threatening to boil over the side of a pot.

Unwilling to be taken like a rat in a trap, Tsetserleg charged, straight at Kula, who was on foot and the easiest target. Worse still, Kula had buried his axe so deep inside of one the khan's bannermen that he could not dislodge it readily from inside his ribcage and the surrounding lamellar armour.

But if Boldbator was concerned that his brother had no weapon, he need not have worried. The Tengger khan laughed loudly as his younger brother grabbed the dead man by the ankles, his axe still wedged in the corpse's chest, and swung him around like a great flail, slamming the body into Tsetserleg and his horse, knocking the to the ground and sending the enemy leader tumbling across the earth.

The keshig attacked Kula savagely, the commander driving his spear point into the joint of Kula's shoulder armour. The younger Tengger brother howled in fury, dropping the body he was using as a club and grabbing hold of the spear, gripping it tight to make sure his foe could not get away. In spite of the immense pain it must have caused him, Kula threw the keshig commander from his horse, yanked the spear out of his shoulder in a welter of blood and drove it down through the downed man's neck. He then began spinning the weapon about savagely, compelling the other keshig members to keep their distance.

Boldbator spared a glance at Tsetserleg, watching as the khan staggered to his feet, but not before he was set upon by Khorijin, who leapt on him like a tiger. He hoped his impetuous sister would remember that he wanted the Bulgan khan alive. There was still glory to be had in taking an enemy prisoner, after all.

Tsetserleg had barely pulled his yataghan from its sheathe when Khorijin attacked, her flurry of lightning strikes driving him backward against his own troops, who were pressed from behind by the Jirgin warriors and in front by the rampaging Kula. The Tengger sister's eyes were shining with battle lust as she ducked under a swipe of Tsetserleg's blade and she spun low, her own sword slicing across the back of his knee. The khan grunted and stumbled, unable to recover before Khorijin kicked him across the jaw and felled him.

Boldbator's keshig commander, Gerel, gave a signal and a bannerman blew a wailing note on a conch shell, indicating an all-out advance. None of the enemy was to escape. The Tengger forces not yet engaged all leaped forward, their fleet ponies racing toward the beleaguered foe. Even as his bodyguard charged, Boldbator rode forward, calmly and slowly. The battle was won, he had no intention of adding to the confusion now.

Kula was still battling the Bulgan keshig single-handedly while the Jirgin men routed the enemy in the center. Khorijin, meanwhile, seemed to have remembered to not kill Tsetserleg, and had hauled him to his feet, binding his hands behind him with rope. One side of the khan's face was turning purple and swelling rapidly where Khorijin had kicked him with her iron-scaled boot.

Within minutes, the battle was well and truly over, Boldbator's fastest units riding down any enemy forces attempting to flee, while those left behind were taken prisoner or slain if their wounds were deemed inconvenient. Boldbator sat quietly atop his horse while thousands of men cheered in triumph, elated at their victory. Khorijin pulled Tsetserleg over the carpet of bloody and broken bodies, to stand in front of her brother, who regarded the defeated khan impassively. Tsetserleg glared at his triumphant foe, his face a mask of rage.

"Treachery, lord of the Tengger!" he snarled, while Khorijin gripped him roughly by his hair to make him look up at her brother. "This is how you propose to lead the tribes under Heaven?! This will be your legacy?!"

"Any legacy is more than you will have, Tsetserleg," Boldbator replied coolly, not rising to the bait. "My allies were in your midst since before the gorugen, and in your arrogance and folly, you failed to notice and have paid the price. You call it treachery, but that is a falsehood, because that would mean I had turned men loyal to you against you. The Jirgin were always my allies, never yours."

Tsetserleg glared hatefully, but said nothing, He spat a clot of blood at the ground in front of Boldbator.

"The tribes do naught but fight one another and accomplish nothing," Boldbator continued. "Our people must unite if we are to destroy the Song, and men like you do nothing but stand in the way of those aspirations. And I cannot destroy the Song if I am spending all my time slaughtering Mongols that I'll need for the war ahead. Any damned fool can see that."

Boldbator's mood ran cold now, contempt entering his voice. "Your head will sit on a spike outside my ger, a symbol of my supremacy over your family. Every member of the Bulgan family older than seven will be put to the sword, while those younger will be adopted and train to forget their past. Your allies and confederates will have the offer made to them again to rally to my banner, but without the incentive of the treasure of Targetai. It will be the price they pay to not be destroyed."

He now glared at the defeated khan, his voice like iron. "But for you and your family, nothing. The histories will not remember you, except as another clan that fell before me. Nameless and forgotten. Perhaps the Heavens will remember you, but no one under Heaven will."

He then made a curt gesture with his head and Tsetserleg was dragged off by Khorijin, followed by the survivors of his keshig. He regretted that he'd have to put such fine warriors to the sword, but he could not trust them to not try and avenge their khan. Such a waste.

Boldbator dismounted as Kula approached, walking somewhat unsteadily. His eyes were wide and somewhat glazed, the entire right side of his armour red from blood flowing from his shoulder wound. Kula seemed not to notice.

"Perhaps you'd best let the healers deal with that immediately," the older brother suggested. "Even you can't live without blood."

"s'fine," Kula drawled, waving dismissively. "Jus' a scratch. I'll have some khoumiss an' no one'll even notice. 's a scratch. I'll walk it off..."

Boldbator might have cuffed his brother across the ear, told him to take his head out of his ass and visit the damned healer, but he saw no point in contesting wills with Kula right now. Instead, he took a different approach.

"Getting them to look at it now will save you the hassle of the women fussing over it later when you return," he said. "Toragana tells me Solongo can be very fussy about this sort of thing. Not to mention mother."

Kula scowled at the thought before turning and lurching off. "Fine! 'll visit the fucking healers. Fucking women an' their fucking... fuck!"

Boldbator shook his head, relieved he had outmaneuvered his brother's legendary obstinacy. Though most of his army was still chasing down the remnants of the enemy troops, hundreds now stood nearby, taking prisoners or slaying those too wounded to bother with. Others chanted his name almost reverently, in awe of how easily he had won this battle. He didn't have an official tally yet, but he knew his own casualties would be very low. His innate sense of timing had paid off once again, much as it had in the battle that brought about the destruction of the Sukh clan.

He waited silently while the leader of the Jirgin forces approached. The young warrior, Sorgha, bowed his head in respect and then grinned wolfishly. "Did the Jirgin clan perform to your satisfaction, o khan?"

"Your men fought well," Boldbator said, nodding. "Tsetserleg suspected nothing and our surprise was total."

Something in Boldbator's voice seemed to bother Sorgha and he voiced his concern. "You do not approve our perceived treachery, Lord Boldbator?"

"There was no treachery on your part, Sorgha," Boldbator assured him. "I would not be much of a khan if I asked people to act on my behalf in a manner I disapproved of, would I? You and your men made this victory happen."

"You do not think you could have won, otherwise?" Sorgha inquired, curious.

"Perhaps, but at a much greater cost in lives," replied the Tengger khan. "A great leader knows when to not squander the lives of his warriors in battle. Even with your so-called treachery, this timing and execution of this battle needed to be precise, my friend. Your warriors were subject to no small amount of risk and I will not forget that."

"I am glad of it," Sorgha said, bowing his head again. "You promised us much gold from your hoard, as well as a significant tithe of the prisoners. This change in our fortunes will certainly tip the balance of local power in our favour and we will bring the tribes of the Dhagur region to heel quickly in your name. Within a season, lord, they will bend their knee to you."

"Excellent," Boldbator declared. "Once the enemy has been captured or obliterated here, join me back at my ger, I have things to discuss and messages for your father, the khan."

***

Boldbator swung open the door of his ger and trudged in, sighing heavily and tossing aside an enemy helmet. Inside the ger, waiting patiently in the wives' area, Sarantuya, Mai and Toragana all prostrated themselves and bowed humbly.

"Welcome, great khan..." they chorused.

"Airak," he grunted, heading over to the quarter of the domicile meant for the head of the family. "Sarantuya, Toragana, come!"

While Mai began to prepare the fermented mare's milk drink, his paired first wives approached while he sat in his sturdy wooden chair. They knelt in front of him and bowed their heads, awaiting his pleasure. He made a wry face as he looked around the ger, pondering what his wives and concubine had suggested to him.

"You still believe that I need a bigger ger, tiim e?"

Sarantuya nodded. "If for no other reason, my khan, that it is getting... cluttered around here. You have three full wives and one concubine, your battle trophies and personal plunder continue to grow and it is not becoming of the greatest warrior under the blue sky to live in chaos."

He grunted again, not liking the idea of something as ostentatious as a larger ger, but his wives made compelling arguments and his mother agreed with them. Shit.

Toragana bowed now. "Husband, if you aspire to your destiny and would be Kha-Khan, people will have expectations of that man and how he lives."

Boldbator snorted in disdain. "A true warrior lives and leads from his saddle."

"Perhaps, my khan," Toragana allowed. "And the Tengger would be happiest following you from their saddles. But even you cannot live in your saddle day and night, I doubt even Khongor and Pierroun do that. You need a larger ger, not only to accommodate your plunder, but also as a symbol and warning to others- that you, and you alone, are the Great Khan."

"You seem convinced this is the only way." Boldbator grumbled as he took a bowl from Mai. The frothy white offering has a sharp smell and it was exactly what he desired at the moment.

Toragana shrugged slightly. "It's that or we find you ponies that are significantly larger than anyone else's."

"A sense of humour is not always a desired quality in a bride, Toragana," he growled. "The Sukh clan might have done better at war if they had spent more time honing their blades instead of their levity."