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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.
