The Great Khan Ch. 01

"That's a lot of horses," Kula rumbled, scowling as he watched the cloud. "Must be thousands of them."

"It's a ruse, my brother," said the older sibling simply. "Their ponies are fixed with rakes behind them, meant to kick up excessive amounts of dust and trick us into thinking that their numbers are greater than they are. It's an old trick, but not without its merits to the unintiated foe."

"So what do you believe they number, then?" asked the younger son, fidgeting with the yak-horn and wood grip of his yataghan.

Boldbator closed his eyes, thinking of the damnable mathematics Galina had taught him, at his request. While perhaps unbecoming a traditional warlord of the steppes, he needed every advantage her could get, including literacy and numbers.

"They look like twelve thousands," he said quietly, finally opening his eyes. "So they number no more than three."

"That's still... three to one..." Kula muttered, his expression darkening at the supposedly good news. "You're sure we are ready, brother?"

Boldbator nodded. "We're as ready as we can be. They attempt to decieve us, but we have seen through their lies. They will now encounter our subterfuge, but the difference is that ours will work. Go now, take our two heaviest zuuns and make your way around the far left flank at speed. They won't expect this, since they know we are outnumbered. Daichin and Pierroun watch over you, brother."

Kula grinned wolfishly and nodded, turning his horse about and galloping away. Boldbator had put his brother in charge of their two heaviest cavalry units, men wearing heavy armour and carrying sturdy lances, along with the wicked axes and curved swords that steppes warriors used. That left Boldbator with just over a thousand warriors to recieve the enemy charge, when it came.

He did not expect much tactical trickery from his enemy in this battle, since the Sukh would assume he could not be dislodged from his position and this was a war of vengeance. They would come at him, hard, with everything they had. And he would meet them with a deadly, cold ferocity that the Tengger people were renowned for.

Now that he had been officially recognized as orkhan of the tribe, none of the families that made up the Tengger clan refused his summons to battle. All the families that made up this complex social unit came- the Daidukul and Chuluun familes were the first to rally, followed by the hardy Bodonchar people who lived along the western banks of the Orhon Gol, and the swift, merciless Erdeni clan, warriors renowned for their bloodlust on the hunt. Other minor families sent all the warriors they could and they'd gathered here, at his command, to end the Sukh threat once and for all.

He'd had little choice in terms of prosecuting the battle, though he was determined to not let it happen as the enemy desired. Great had been the protests of several families and their tachii, their ruling figures, but they eventually relented before his determined logic on the issue. Of the thousand men he had to fight with, a full five hundred would fight unmounted.

Mounted behind him were twenty men, acting as his personal guard. They were young and fierce in battle, not always the most skilled warriors yet, but they were loyal even unto death. They were his keshig. He knew he could rely on them at all costs once the fighting had begun.

It was no small thing to declare that you had a keshig- it meant you considered yourself a lord of importance, a warrior of magnitude and that such suicidal loyalty was essential to the well-being of your people. The Tengger people were a comparatively small tribe, perhaps well-known for their skill in battle, but for Boldbator to form a keshig, many would take exception to his claim. Many more still would be watching.

And that's what he wanted.

Before long, the tanguul, his scouts and outriders, had returned bringing news of the enemy's movements. The lead man nodded hastily as he reported.

"Urjliiin, the Sukh and their allies are not far off," he said, still breathing heavily. "We encountered many scouting parties and managed to destroy them, but I lost three men in the process. They'll have little or no advance warning of our dispositions."

"Well done, Aldan," Boldbator said, nodding. "What of their numbers and their approach?"

The scout smirked. "Some three thousands. As you predicted, sire, there is no true thought or art in their approach or tactics. They intend to run roughshod over you, destroying everything in their path utterly as quickly as possible. They know their numbers are superior to yours and seem content to let brute force do the work for them."

"That will prove their undoing." Bolbator said, his mood darkening. "Send the word across the lines to prepare the positions and keep alert. No pity. I will kill any man I see with pity in him."

There was nothing to do now but wait. To occupy himself, he checked his armour and weapons one more time. His lamellar armour was bright and well-fitted, the metal scales carrying the slightest sheen of a coat of protective oil made from yak fat. His keen yataghan, the curved sword he fought with, glinted in the wan sun. He had sharpened the blade after his raid into the Sukh lands, concerned that maybe it had been dulled in the savage battle. He had cleaved much bone and soft flesh in his fight to escape, even once getting the sword caught in a thick wooden pillar when a foe ducked a surely fatal swipe of the weapon. But the edge was keen again, waiting to let blood flow.

He opened a boiled leather pouch and examined his bow, checking the tensile strength of the horsehair and sheepgut string and then examining the body of the weapon for warping or cracks in the sinew and glue. He had always treated this weapon reverently, as it was crafted for him when he was just old and strong enough to draw a bow. It had served him well and would honour him today, taking the lives of many foes.

A signal arrow shrieked overhead. He gazed out toward the approaching enemy, noting that they approached rapidly, in disorder. He had chosen this position carefully, because he knew the foe would see the flat ground as ideal terrain for their cavalry-heavy forces. But what they failed to note, in their fury, was that the brittle, crackling salt flats they were charging across were narrowing subtly, herding them into almost a corridor that helped to reduce the danger of their numbers.

Boldbator had also set up sutble markers on the wide flats, allowing him to guage the position and distance of the enemy. He needed to be alert, though, if he wanted the to be effective, because the dust raised by the foe's headlong charge obscured the sight of the markers.

"Five hundred ald..."

"At three hundred ald, begin a sustained fire!" he called loudly to his infantry. These men were accomplished archers, but he had also selected them for their prowess with the lance and steady nerves, since they might have to receive a cavalry charge. The men readied their composite bows. He was thinking they might get five solid volleys in before needing to take up their lances to defend themselves. There were five groups of one hundred men, spaced twenty ald apart. Behind the infantry were warriors on horseback, waiting to counter-attack wherever they were needed.

"Gerel, prepare the fire." Boldbator grunted to the men who commanded his keshig. The fierce-looking warrior nodded and barked out his lord's order. Boldbator intended to do everything possible to whittle down the enemy's numbers before battle was joined. Even if he was successful, every man he'd brought with him would have his share of blood and battle.

"Brother!" Khorijin called out, approaching while sitting atop her stout pony, her bow in hand and a blade on her hip. Her eyes flashed defiantly. "You will not let me ride with your keshig, yet you dishonour me by giving me no position at all! I have come to fight, I will not be sent back home!"

Boldbator sighed. He didn't have the time to argue with his sister. "Stand with me, then," he replied, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "When I fight, so will you."

She nodded brusquely and rode up beside him, gazing out toward the approaching enemy. Boldbator watched silently until the Sukh cavalry finally reached the red ald. He raised his hand.

Gerel shouted and hundreds of broad-headed arrows shrieked into the sky, arcing toward the blue vault before lancing down into the masses of teeming cavalry that now thundered towards them. Dozens of men and horses tumbled and crashed to the ground, disrupting the already tight formations. Another volley of arrows landed in their midst and the leader called for an all-out charge, desperate to close the distance. Hundreds of Sukh warriors began firing their composite bows ahead, hoping to whittle down the defenders' numbers before contact was made.

Another loud call across the Tengger line and now hidden rows of stakes were pulled up from the ground at a menacing angle to greet the attackers. Dozens died as they impaled themselves on the stakes while those behind them struggled frantically to get by. Herded into themselves, they pressed on desperately.

The ground gave way before them now, a series of trenches covered in dun hemp sheets having concealed the traps until it was too late. Horses collapsed and men were thrown, limbs, necks and backs broken as they crumpled to the hard earth. Arrows continued to land amongst them mercilessly, creating a sense of entrapment and panic.

The Sukh were less than one handred ald away when Boldbator sprang his final surprise. Naptha bombs were tossed into the enemy, who cried out in fear and agony as the liquid fire exploded in their midst. What remained of their relentless charge now made contact with the infantry, who stood their ground, long lances braced to receive the assault.

And all hell broke loose.

***

Boldbator blocked the strike with his round shield and then slashed with his yataghan, the blade biting deep into the man's neck and sending him spinning to the ground in a spray of blood. His lancers had held their line, with the enemy cavalry pouring between the gaps between their formations and into the waiting reserve units. A relentless hail of arrows greeted the Sukh warriors not entangled with the lancers as the Tengger cavalry archers backed away steadily, firing into the wad of men with deadly accuracy. Sensing that the enemy leader had called for a retreat in the face of speed and determination, the Sukh continued to charge, their formations becoming long, almost thin streams or columns of cavalrymen who now could not support one another and had an enemy in their rear. The attack had foundered and a confused brawl broke out, rather atypical of the fleet and mobile style of warfare preferred by the warriors of the steppes.

Boldbator knew he could not win in a traditional manner, that a different method would be required to overcome these odds. Once the enemy cavalry had supposedly broken through, he allowed them to charge into the shallow depression he had been defending while his own horse archers fanned out in a wide arc, forming a semi-circle around the enemy. He then had drawn his sword and led his keshig and other warriors in a savage charge.

Though the Sukh and their allies had numbers, this superiority was of little use when they were bunched together in the depression and the enemy had them hemmed in. Horns now blared in the east, signalling the arrival of Kula and his heavy cavalry, who thundered into the foe's rear, sweeping all before them, though they numbered only two hundred. Boldbator's careful planning and iron nerves made sure that the Sukh numbers counted for as little as possible.

A pushing match developed, men on horseback crowded into maddeningly small areas wrestling with one another. Horses whinnied and screamed in panic, barely able to move and never knowing who or what they were pressed up against. Hundreds of men died in the frenzy, lances and swords flailing about, trying to find a target.

Then Boldbator was through. His keshig burst the enemy cluster wide open and he thundered in, heading straight for the Sukh commander. Boldbator grabbed the lance from a Sukh man as he rode by and threw it, burying the tip in a bahatur's skull and knocking him back off his mount. Moments later, he felt his horse judder and then squeal as a lance pierced its flank. He leaped aside quickly as the beast pitched over, thrashing. He would mourn its passing once the battle was over. His steely gaze passed over the wild melee and he saw now the pole and horsetail banner of the Sukh commander.

He tromped forward, his eyes never leaving his prey. He ducked a desperate thrust from one warrior and bashed his shield into the man's face, sending him tumbling, his nose shattered. Another Sukh warrior confronted him and he batted the man's shield off to the side and kicked him in the midriff. As the man doubled over, he plunged his yataghan down through the warrior's shoulder and neck, skewering him. He whirled about as he pulled the blade free, slashing another foe across his lamellar armour, creating a wide rent, a ribbon of scarlet vitae following the sword.

Beside him, Khorijin fought fiercely, proving herself the equal of any man. Though slight of build compared to most of her foes, she was lithe and swift, able to dodge many blows and she was deadly in her accuracy, finding weak points in armour and exploiting them. She reminded Boldbator of a viper, precise, flowing and measured in her strikes. Most people compared him to a great tiger or savage wolf in battle, and Kula to a bear. The three of them as a unit were lethal.

He heard his brother now, laughing loudly as he rode in, having routed and slaughtered the Sukh cavalry facing the infantry. His heavy horsemen rode up now, trampling anyone unlucky enough to be in their way underfoot and the ground turned purple with blood. Unlike his older brother, Kula preferred to use an axe in close combat, hacking and slashing savagely and with a wild abandon. Kula's strength rivalled Boldbator's and even stout shields were not proof against his blows.

Boldbator saw his sister now facing off against the Sukh bannerman, a hulking brute who glowered at her, holding a huge, studded club in one hand on the Sukh horsehair banner in the other. He moved to assist her when the enemy keshig charged, diverting his attention. He dodged wildly as one man rode up, striking with his sword. Boldbator surged up, slamming his shield into another foe, knocking him from his horse. He grabbed the horse's reins and pulled it around violently, interposing the beast's mass between himself and his attackers. As the warriors of the keshig broke left and right to get around the horse, he charged again, taking the fight to the unprepared Sukh on the left.

He drove his sword into the face of the first foe and then dodged left. He caught a blow on his shield and counterstruck, creasing the enemy's shoulder and sending him staggering away. He exchanged furious blows with another man before the tip of his blade bit into the man's ribs. He wrenched the sword loose and charged on, relying on his own keshig to have his back. He battled forward, looking once again for the enemy commander when he heard his sister shout.

He whirled about and saw her rolling on the ground with the huge man, fighting desperately to not be pinned. He was about to charge in when he saw her manage to writhe out from beneath her foe and scramble onto his back. She had lost her sword but now had her slender khirris in hand. She reached down and pulled the straps of his helmet tight, restricting his breathing and pushing the iron and leather cap down over his eyes. He struggled wildly, trying to throw her off, but she would not relent. She gripped his chin and pulled up, every muscle contorting with the effort, exposing his neck.

There was a ragged tearing sound as her knife raked across the skin and severed his jugular. She screamed triumphantly as he died, standing tall and holding her bloody blade aloft.

"I, Khorijin of the Tengger, have slain Dogar of the Sukh clan!" she called loudly. Hundreds of voices called back, lauding her impressive victory. Boldbator took a moment to look around at the battle, getting his bearings when he noticed the enemy commander- the warrior seemed frozen in place, gazing at Khorijin and the slain bannerman in shock. A black swathe of silk wrapped their head, not unlike a Buddhist priest would do. Their sword was almost limp in their hand.

Boldbator wanted to charge but a sense of almost lethargic calmness came over him suddenly. The air seemed almost thick and the sounds of battle dragged by, like a droning khoomei chant in a monastery. The movement of those about him seemed almost suspended in time. He heard the howl of the wolf and saw its ethereal form loping across the battle plain, so real to him and yet so intangible. These moments seemed so strange to him, since he never knew when they would happen, but they always led to moments of perfect clarity and flawless judgment and action.

In spite of the fluid nonsense around him, Boldbator lunged in. He saw the strikes of his enemy before they happened, cutting men down with ease, as if they were no more than Chinese paper before his blade. The galzuural, the battle frenzy that took over him, made everything feel and seem effortless. Within moments, the bodies of the Sukh keshig lay in bloody, ruined heaps and he trudged toward the commander, who stared him down fearlessly. The world now consisted of the two of them alone.

He struck and his foe took the blow on their shield before counter-attacking. Boldbator parried with his blade and thrust in, the tip of his sword not piercing the shoulder armour but forcing his enemy back. His follow-up blow was caught on the shield again and he realized that his enemy was reliant on it for protection, considering it the only defence available, not an option. He struck again, one again forcing the shield to be raised. As he did so, he slid over to the outside and then bashed the shield with his own, spinning his foe and exposing their back...

He thrust out his foot in a brutal kick, right into the Sukh khan's lower spine and sending them to their knees with a grunt of pain. He knocked aside the shield and stepped on his foe's hand as soon as they'd gripped their sword again. His blade came to rest just below their chin and he grinned wolfishly, daring his foe to make a move.

"I am Boldbator, khan of the Tengger," he said levelly. "And this victory is mine."

"You have indeed triumphed, lord of the Tengger," replied his foe in a rapsing voice, a higher-pitched one than he would have expected. "Well done."

The defeated leader unwrapped the silk covering from their head, exposing themselves to him. Eyes glinting with intelligence stared back up at him.

"I am Toragana, daughter of Delger and khan of the Sukh confederacy," she declared, panting, her eyes never leaving his. "And I am your prisoner..."

***

Author's Notes: In case you're wondering, the name of Boldbator's tribe, the Tengger, is borrowed reverently from the Mongolian folk metal group 'Tengger Cavalry'. Give them a listen, they're quite phenomenal. They are my music of choice when writing this story. You'll find their lyrics spread throughout the narration, when they might be appropriate.

If you've read my other works on this site, you'll notice it is quite a bit different from the rest. There's an overall story and plot, and the graphic sex/erotica happens to just be one prominent aspect of it. Notice also, if you will, some themes of incest, romance and fetish. It'll be difficult to figure out what category to put this particular offering in.