Jerusalem Calling - A Khazarian AAR

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 58 – Feet of Clay



October 26, 905 AD

Kherson Castle

"One! Two! THREE!" it sounded through the courtyard of Kherson castle, the old Gothic fortress that lent its name to the surrounding province. Khazarian soldiers swarmed all around the place, and a band of about thirty men were trying to break open the sturdy wooden gateway to the inner castle with a large makeshift ram. Left and right, injured or captured members of Count Petronas' garrison were carted off into prisoner camps.

Tarkhan Ashina stood on top of the wall around the castle keep, observing the scenery with satisfaction. There it was again, the thrill of a plan working as intended. Assaulting Kherson head-on had been the right decision - thanks to reinforcements from Bulçir who had received and heeded the Khagan's call to war, the troops under Tarkhan's command outnumbered the unenviable garrison of the place vastly. With the local count's levies and himself off to fight against the persistent scores of rebels in the mainland, only about three hundred poorly equipped and trained men were left to defend Kherson - the gate to the Byzantine exclave on the Crimean peninsula.

"One! Two! THREE!" The men kept on bashing the ram into the door, which didn't show the slightest inclination to give way soon. Tarkhan sighed and made his way to help them. Patience was a virtue, but so was taking things into your own hands.



Earlier...

Six weeks after Baghatur's gaining of Antioch and Alexandretta to its north, the victorious horde under the seasoned command of Guyug Khöndlöngiin, Yeçtirek of Kozar and Yilig of Bulçir arrived back in friendly territory. The moment Tarkhan, and a growing portion of the Khazarian people, had been waiting for. So many promises had he screwed out of his father. Finally the time to strike had come.

The Byzantine Empire, the behemoth to the other side of the Black Sea, had famously been struggling heavily since Basileios Bardas' enthronement. While they could still field an impressive host in theory, their troops were getting worn down on several fronts and there would be plenty of opportunity for the Horde to put its newly acquired experience in mountainous terrain to use. While a full-scale invasion was discussed in the council, it was ultimately doubted that the Basileios would last long enough for such a large-scale campaign to come to a conclusion. Seizing Cherson would have to be enough for the moment.

To add to Tarkhan's contentment, his formerly prodigal brother Baghatur did not find much time to enjoy his new position. Somehow his lands were still considered a part of the Duchy of Edessa, and his former target was thus now his liege. It became ever more obvious that Baghatur had not had a clue what he was getting into when vying for lands that were so much different from the Steppes.

Duke Hethum first attempted to taunt his new vassal by appointing him as his ducal musician, but it turned out Baghatur was actually a decent singer and Hethum's daughter of fourteen years was enraptured by him. Hethum's next step was less ambiguous – he formally revoked one of Baghatur's counties, which was of course unacceptable to the proud and stubborn young man. Less than two months after his supposed victory, Baghatur found himself standing against Duke Hethum once more. The whole affair had cost him pretty much his entire reputation, and support from Khazaria was unlikely, with the war on Byzantium pending and Zachariah hardly showing himself in public anymore.

***

When evening broke over Kherson, General Tarkhan and his adjutants had accomodated themselves in the castle, along with the most accomplished legion among the Khazarian horde. Not that their efforts to break down the door would have been successful (a distinct cue as to where improvements were due), but a fortunate soldier found a key on one of the imprisoned Greek soldiers and earned himself a warm and dry place for the night, before the horde would march on to the city of Neapol tomorrow.

Despite these technical difficulties, the day had been a tremendous success for Tarkhan and his men. The losses were minimal and there was no sign whatsoever of anyone coming to the defense of the region. The Empire had its hands full with the various rebellions in the mainland and if they didn't want to leave it undefended, they had no choice but to essentially give up Cherson.

The larger part of the Khazarian horde was positioned in the region of Trapezous in the meantime and put the castle guarding the further coastline under siege. They did not report any activity near them either and their scouts had strong suspicions that Bardas' troops were trying to liberate territory in the Armenian region, a bit further south. It would not be soon until they could put up a fight.



February 10, 906 AD

Near Koralla, County of Trapezous

Khan Yilig of Bulçir and his personal guard had just finished their usual round through the vicinity and were slowly trotting through the makeshift camp behind the siege ring around the city of Koralla. The command in Anatolia had of course heard of Tarkhan's coup in Kherson, but opted to keep to the slower and safer approach of forcing a surrender by locking down the important Imperial holdings. These lands were more populous and far better fortified than Cherson, and it was still not sure if the Byzantines could try their luck if the horde lost too many men. Tarkhan and his host had conquered all of Cherson and were on their way, but it would take them at least one month to arrive.

The small group of riders had arrived in front of the command yurt. The guards tended to the horses and Yilig stepped in. His fellow general Yeçtirek of Kozar was already there, intensely studying a map of the surroundings and looking up when Yilig entered.

Yeçtirek gave a weary salute. "Greetings, Khan Yilig. Nothing new from the mountains, I suppose?"

"Fortunately not. No sign of anything coming toward us, says the scout division. I take it Guyug is supervising the siege ring?"

"That is correct. I'm sure the men can way more efficiently stand about and keep clear of arrows and bandits when he's out there snarling at them."

Yilig frowned and replied in stern voice, "Sieges like this one are all about keeping the men alert and content at the same time. You could well know this by now."

He sat down on a stool in the corner and started to remove his armor. "But that's for a different day – this city will fall with or without you being motivated. We're lucky that the Khagan could call upon a few warships from Georgian docks that are disrupting the supply from the seaside."

"Absolutely. Otherwise we could as well sit here forever. Does anyone know where the Roman fleet might be though? I imagine there would be little we can do if they decide to take over the shore..."

"They're not here now, and it's not even sure if Bardas does want to fight back with all means. For all we know, he might as well already have written off Cherson."

Yeçtirek scoffed, "That sounds pretty good - which also makes it unlikely. We'd better not count on the Byzantines just handing us the land, Yilig. They're not some lowly Caucasian Duchy."

"That's not what I was saying." replied Yilig with little emotion. "If that was an option, he could have spared us this war altogether. No, we will have to fight them eventually...I only doubt that Bardas can win this fight. And he might know it."

"I only hope that when the day comes, we will not have to rely on orders from Tmutarakan. There are still no further instructions for when Trapezous is secured", Yeçtirek continued to complain.

"Of course we won't. It's not exactly a new situation that we're the ones making the decisions at the front. The Khagan himself doesn't reign much anymore these days due to his illness, but he has never been involved in the specifics anyway. The new Marshal is quite preoccupied with his own business rather than the Ashina horde, but so was Itakh for the longest time."

"That's what you get from naming the late Marshal's brother and successor, I suppose." grumbled Yeçtirek.

"It doesn't matter much, if you ask me. The Court Marshal doesn't need to fine tune the moves of a horde hundreds of miles away as long as he keeps them trained, equipped and well paid. From everything I know, Samsam had his own quite successful mercenary band for fifteen years. He's said to be a great warrior – and he probably wouldn't be content to only sit around in Tmutarakan for long anyway. I guess we'll be seeing him on the front sooner or later."

Yeçtirek nodded. "A fair point, from the impression he made on his debut visit to the troops. A rather hands-on fellow, always pushing his men and working on something...and he is set on correcting the dent his father and his older brother have left in the Clan's reputation.

And apparently he also wants to conclude that old, unbalanced 'feud' with the Hekel clan. It is said it all started decades ago when the Khans Yavdi and Hezekiah argued in council over that piece of land he is now openly contesting. Isn't your base in Etelköz right next to that?"

Yilig sighed. "Yes, it is. Vakrim will have no chance of holding the province. And I'm worried about it, if you wonder. A confrontation wouldn't benefit anyone. Time will tell, that's all there is to say as of now. Until then, we should focus on our duty right here. There are wealthy traders in Trapezous, only waiting for our visit."

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 59 – The Golden Gate



August 14, 906 AD

Tmutarakan

Khagan Zachariah could feel how he was recovering since the lurking shadow Shimon was no longer. Three weeks ago, Khan Böri had informed him that the plot was successful, and so clandestine that it looked like a natural death. Menümarót and Çilen, who took turns tending to their father along with the physicians, were later cited that they had never seen a smile as broad and released on his face for all their lives. The spymaster and all the co-plotters sure had outdone themselves, and now that his clan was safe, Zachariah could finally think of the future again.

All summer had he been dozing along more than anything else for the better part of the year. The illness and the ever stronger poppy concoctions weared him out, and more often than not he was found sleeping in his throne, breathing, but unable to be awoken or say a word.

Not today. Today, well, he had held his usual morning nap, but not because he was tired, just because it was appropriate for a man of his age. Now he was wide awake, and it couldn't be that late yet. With astounding ease, Zachariah stood up and walked outside the Council Hall he had commissioned many years ago. The sun was shining, and everything felt so fresh. He decided to go for a ride, like he had done so often. The falcon posed too much struggle for an old man as Zachariah, but this would surely work.



The stables were right around the corner, and Zachariah was surprised at first that only one horse was there. Usually, at least six animals were kept in reserve for all cases. But as soon as the Khagan recognized the horse in question, he forgot about the sloppiness of his stablemaster.

"Glitterhoof!" Zachariah ran towards his old friend and gave him a hearty embrace. "Just when I thought this day could hardly get any better...What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, old man." replied Glitterhoof, serene as always. "There's a meeting scheduled later that I need to attend, but...there's also something I've been meaning to show you. Jump up."

"A meeting? About what?"

"Ah, I wouldn't wanna bother you. More important: The ride we're on to might get a bit rocky at times, but there's literally nothing that can happen. Just hold on to me and you'll see." Glitterhoof fell into movement.

"Where are we even going?" asked Zachariah.

"Theodosia", replied Glitterhoof and went into gallop.

"What? But that would take half a day at least...."

"No. We're already there. See?"

Indeed they were there, but there had been no enormous acceleration or flight like last time. It was rather as if the road had somehow shortened to a mere stone's throw. It was Theodosia indeed, but it wasn't summer anymore, and a familiar, but rather simple-looking encampment showed, embedded into rolling hills on the verge of a seemingly endless plain stretching to the horizon. Within seconds, the camp was in full sight. Then everything happened in very fast succession, yet perfectly discernible to the gaping Zachariah.




A short and functional coronation. Banners of marriage and childbirth raised and lowered again. A horde assembling, uttering a war cry and rushing off westwards. A statue being uncovered. A young man, suspiciously akin to the Khagan, rushing into the wilderness and coming back rugged and smelly. A girl and a dog attacking the same man in a backyard. A glittering carousal devolving into a brutal fight between hundreds of men. Then, a string of messengers entering and leaving the camp...and then the camp itself disappeared.



"Where have they gone?" was all Zachariah could say.

"They're heading to Oleshye, and so should we."

Zachariah started to grasp a pattern. Only minutes later, they arrived at another camp, this one already far more extensive than the first one and with a large yurt in the center. It was decorated with large and colorful banners – this time, they signified allegiance. Again, the sequence fired.



Horses in a pit, another coronation, this time far more pompous. The horde rushing to the East and bodies coming back the same way. A seemingly never-ending carousal. A man in shining regalia – upon a large throne that was entirely clad in human skulls. The man stumbling out a yurt and hitting his head. Two lads being presented to a large crowd. The camp being occupied by soldiers in steel armor and them being driven out by a barrage of screaming arrows. A falcon making his rounds and screeching. A much larger horde going to war again...and then nothing.



"What is happening, Glitterhoof? I'm not sure if I..."

"Like I said, I just wanted to show you something."

"But this is..." Zachariah swallowed "this my own life...how do you...?"

"Why do you keep asking questions, Zachariah?", Glitterhoof replied sounding strangely absent. "We can just as well skip to the...uh..."

"What?! What are you talking about?"

"I mean we can skip the next place and go to the one I've really wanted to show you all the time. Trust me one last time."

Zachariah had a strange feeling about all this, but deep down he knew that he relied on Glitterhoof in this...as odd as his behaviour was, so monosyllabic and reserved whereas he was otherwise talkative and all about explaining the world... "Where are we heading?"

"Home." Glitterhoof turned and started to move again, heading toward a gleaming beacon of light towering toward the sky, seemingly endless.

Zachariah was struck again. "That wasn't there a moment ago, was it?"

"No." Glitterhoof accelerated and they headed toward the light in what seemed only seconds.



Then Zachariah saw it. The source of the shining light was a bright golden gate in the middle of a swath of steppe, glimmering and pulsating around the edges and sending the bright beam of light upwards. The closer Glitterhof got to the gate, the more Zachariah could feel how it somehow...attracted him. A deep desire to touch the gate spread inside him, an almost physically painful urge to get there. As if a force pulled on him. Zachariah couldn't explain to himself what was happening. A moment later, they were there.

Glitterhoof stopped. As calm as ever, he uttered "You can safely get off now. We're there."

"What is this, Glitterhoof? I don't..." Zachariah asked, trembling, slowly and unconsciously walking toward the gate.

"Go through it, and you will see."

A sudden spark of anger ignited inside Zachariah. Glitterhoof used to clarify things for him, not talk in riddles. He jolted around, away from this encroaching gate.

The words reluctantly left his mouth, as if the sound itself was pulled into the glowing portal. "No, Glitterhoof. That isn't enough for me. You said you wanted to show me something. And later you promised to take me home. Tell me what this is about, now."

"You would not want me to. Trust me, Khagan Zachariah." Glitterhoof's voice was cold and deep, almost otherworldly. Zachariah stumbled back in shock, toward the gate, and fell on his bottom. "GO." The voice resounded in his head hundredfold.

"You...you aren't Glitterhoof...", Zachariah stammered in terror.

"You could not leave it be, Zachariah Ashina...You cannot let go...You leave me no choice...No, I am not Glitterhoof."



The horse disappeared into nothing. In the same moment, the sky darkened and all his strength left Zachariah. Suddenly he was a terminally ill man again, unable to get on his feet and in excruciating pain. Desperation creeped into his heart when he felt the gate dragging on him and turned his head.

The gate wasn't glowing anymore. It had turned to pitch-black nothingness that seemed to consume its surroundings bit by bit, feeding on them and ever expanding. Zachariah tried to grip anything in his vicinity, but he was too weak and the drag got stronger the more the gate grew.

This was a mistake was the last thing he could think when his hand let go of the last grass stalk. Then everything went black and silent.



***

Khagan Zachariah Ashina 'the Scourge of God' drew his final breath in the early morning of August 14 in the presence of his close family, as confirmed by his head physician and Court Rabbi Azariah of Bryakhimov. It was reported that in his last moments, his eyes twitched and his hands seemed to grab into the mattress tighter, as if to hold onto the world for a little longer.

Only an hour later, the quickly assembled Council of the Elders officially declared the succession ruling, in adherence to the century-old customs of the Steppes. The new Khagan would be Zachariah's second-born son Tarkhan Ashina, as everyone expected. Claims to honorably challenge Tarkhan's rulership were acclaimed not only to all of his living siblings, but also to the Khans Yeçtirek of Kozar and Menümarót of Kabar, who despite the small size of their lands were deemed dignified enough to at least be formally considered contenders to Tarkhan.

The coronation was scheduled right after the festive funeral for the late Khagan, whose reign of almost 40 years had seen the Ashina clan rise from the brink of extinction to the dominant power from the Dniester to the Caspian Sea. In his unique way, through deftness, occasional ruthlessness and not least the right things happening at the right time, Zachariah did after all match the deeds of his great ancestor Muhan and crafted a legacy to be spoken of through generations to come – a strong Khaganate under Ashina rule.

***

The designated Khagan Tarkhan Ashina and his wife Yartilek Jabdertim waited nervously in a small yurt for the ceremony to begin. Finally, Azariah of Bryakhimov appeared in the tent flap. "It is time, Tarkhan."

They looked each other deep in the eyes. This was their moment. While them being betrothed in the first place was a token of friendship of their fathers, over the years they got to know and appreciate each other. Yartilek was a true steppe princess, strong-willed and determined, up to all the dodges of a Khaganate's court. Tarkhan was glad to have her on his side and sometimes regretted that he had been away with the horde for so much of the time, for their marriage still had not resulted in a child.

The pair stepped into the open and followed Rabbi Azariah. Throughout the way to the large plaza in front of the Clan gathering hall, the ranks of the Divine Guards were placed and bid their salute. When they entered the square, a large crowd of peasants already awaited them, as well as the court of Khazaria forming a lane.

After the lower courtiers and the emissaries from other courts, Tarkhan and Yartilek treaded past the remaining Ashina children.

Tarkhan's twin brother Muhan. The two had spent all their childhood and youth very close to each other. That emotional bond had never ceased to affect both of the brothers, although over the years Muhan somehow had changed and drifted away from his family in Khazaria. His success on the field was undisputed, but on his rare visits home, he seemed increasingly absent-minded and wouldn't talk much about his life in the Far East. Life as a mercenary far away from home took its toll on him, yet no one knew exactly why he wouldn't return and settle down.

Beside him stood his wife Wojslawa, in deep sorrow and still occasionally sobbing from her emotional reaction to the funeral. Now she would be alone again. Sure, she and Tarkhan knew and respected each other, but he was not the fatherly benefactor that Zachariah posed for Wojslawa. What would become of her, in thsis strange land, with Muhan only coming around once every few years?

Opposite the two stood Tarkhan's sister Sarantay and her husband Vencel, a prince (mostly in name) from Hungary, with their three boys Samsam, Yerneslu and Tabghaç and their foster child Mala, orphaned by Yabghu Ashina's demise and her mother's subsequent hurried flight. While both were frank about not wanting to stay landless forever and there had been rumours about the two meddling in the court's affairs, nobody knew of anything solid – and as of now, with Tarkhan still being childless, Sarantay's sons would have as good a chance on being the next Khagan as any other boy with Ashina blood.

Next in the row was Tarkhan's brother Menümarót, who was still a little boy when Tarkhan headed out to his first campaign as a commander and had grown to an exceptionally charismatic and well-mannered young man by now. In a society full of rowdy warriors, the always well groomed and clothed Menümarót and his at least equally genteel spouse Princess Zoete of Frisia were a constant source of attention to the regular folks. In secret, Menümarót looked down on Tarkhan whose ways he deemed rude and oftentimes needlessly barbaric.

Khatir Ashina had always been neglected by the Khagan and kept as far away from the court as possible. Khan Menümarót of Kabar, namesake of the aforementioned brother, surely didn't know what he was doing when proposing to marry one of his seven daughters to the lad. Now he was drooling and rambling as most of the time, held in check by two guards. The poor Ilkay was visibly embarrassed.

Çilen Ashina drew a lot of attention because for the first time she presented the twin girls to the public she had given birth to three months ago. Her young love with Egill, the Viking from afar, surely was shining bright, as did her intellect and her ambition. Her first-born girl was named Yeldem, and insiders knew this was no coincidence. Çilen and her aunt had always been fond of each other, as rare as the occasions they even met were, and Yeldem was a role model to her niece in all aspects.

Tarkhan's youngest brother Simsam was the last one to pay his respects orderly (but with slight defiance, as teenagers do). He was deemed intelligent and full of perspective, but he already knew that as the youngest of six living sons of Zachariah he would not have it easy. At least the Karling princess promised to him was something rather exceptional, though it would still take a few years for her to come of age.

After Tarkhan's family (with the obvious exception of Baghatur, who could not make the way to Khazaria because of being in the middle of a war for his survival), the Khans were placed in a half-circle, each with his declaration of fealty. Careful distance was placed between Samsam of Jabdertim and Vakrim of Hekel, for they were still formally at war with each other (although Simsam's horde had beaten the Hekel forces thoroughly and it could not be long until Vakrim surrendered) as well as Yilig of Bulçir and the most frequent targets of his unashamed domestic looting operations.

Even King Okhropir of Georgia had sent a high-ranked emissary who would turn in the declaration for him. That had not been expected by everyone, with the Georgians never making much of a secret of how much they disdained the Khazar yoke on their lands. Nonetheless, it appeared that keeping on paying taxes for the unquestionable boon of horde protection was favorable to another war after all.



The moment had come. Rabbi Azariah raised his voice.

"In the name of God and our great ancestors, in accordance with the declaration of the Council of the Eldest and the laws of the Steppe, I declare you, Tarkhan Ashina, the new Khagan of Khazaria, King of Crimea, Duke of Azov and Cherson, ..."

The remainder of Zachariah's - and now Tarkhan's - long list of formal titles submerged in the cheers from the crowd, and ultimately nobody minded. Khazaria had a new ruler, and there was no sign of instability. That was worth enough.

"Long live the Khagan!", it sounded through the Ashina camp.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 60 – New Faces



August 15, 906 AD

Tmutarakan

The new Khagan Tarkhan Ashina entered a compartment of the council hall where his steward was already waiting. "Good morning, your majesty", Zakkai of Bartenstein welcomed him. "And I'm honored to give you my personal congratulations to your new position – even though they do come with condolences for your loss."

"God with you, Zakkai." replied a light-mooded Tarkhan and took seat in a bag chair opposite Zakkai.

"You seem to handle yourself well through this, your majesty. That is good. Losing one's father and gaining such a huge responsibility cannot be easy."

"Certainly. Yet I could prepare myself at least to some degree. Father was sick for quite some time, and everybody knew it was going to happen eventually. I'm glad I could be with him for his final hours."

Zakkai nodded. "That sounds sensible. Now, I've sent for you because I wanted to talk to you in private before the council convenes for the first time. First things first, I would advise you to be on your guard about the other Khans. Many of them would have favored Baghatur as their new ruler, but – honestly spoken – did not have the scope to look beyond their own lands or plain did not care enough. While none of them is actually rebellious, they have their own interests which are not necessarily equal to the Khaganate's. I just wanted to remind you of that."

Tarkhan looked at Zakkai. "I guess it's an art of its own to distinguish that...one I will need to practice thoroughly. I will always keep it on my mind, be sure of that."

"You will be reminded soon enough if you ever forget it", replied Zakkai. "On a more practical note...you will need to find a new chancellor if you are not planning to keep this madness with the horse up. And you better prepare a speech to the people for the end of the mourning period. You'll be expected to hold one."

"Good points indeed, as usual. I will see to it." Tarkhan took a short break, as if to think. "I'll probably tell them something about an age of Khazarian strength projected far beyond the borders, or something like that...and I will ensure them that the lineage will continue. I've already looked out for concubines, although Yartilek wasn't exactly thrilled about it."

Then he added, "You are a formidable man, Zakkai. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't stand here now at all. I will show myself grateful come time, I swear."

Zakkai tried to hide his smile and replied, "Don't overestimate my role. Neither Baghatur's eventual downfall nor the unknown 'no feudal lands' provision in the succession rules were my work. I barely knew to figure out what was happening."

"And you kept me informed. I hope that is the quality of work I can expect from you in the future. The only thing I still don't know is...why did you do that?"

Zakkai took a breath. "I will gladly tell you, now that we're at the finish.

Most people around here admire heroism, audacity and prowess in combat. The Khagans and Khans in the steppe are usually elevated that way. That's just the culture, and it's nothing to blame anyone about. It is also the reason your brother was so popular so soon and you struggled so much. You are in all aspects a warrior, Tarkhan, but he is a hero.

The only problem with heroes is....they fall eventually. So would Baghatur - it was only a matter of time from the day he went to Antioch. Had he just kept looting the countryside, there would have been little to stop him from becoming Khagan, but it wasn't enough for him. So he declared war and sealed his fate. And that is why heroes, as fascinating as they seem, are bound to fall – it is never enough, there is always this one more goal, and in the end they take one step too much.

Baghatur was a great commander, but he also was a risk. Khazaria would have joined his downfall sooner or later. I hope and believe that you benefit the Khaganate more. I have found a home here, and so have many other displaced people from the Jewish diaspora all over Europe. Along with the Radhanites, they have begun to form trading cooperatives and settled along the coastal regions and the Silk Road's local branch. This is a special place, Khagan Tarkhan, and there is reason to preserve it. Hence I did what I could to support your claim, no more and no less."

Tarkhan kept silent for a while. With a slight nod, he replied "And I will prove you right. Thank you for your honesty, Zakkai."

The council meeting later went its way without many surprises and saw Tarkhan's first decisions and orders as the Khagan of Khazaria. His first official act was to release the poor Glitterhoof from his "duties" and onto the pastures of Tmutarakan after years and years of rather inappropriate treatment for a horse. He was still awarded a stable all for himself, a lifelong hay pension and all comfort for retirement worthy of an exceptional animal.



August 23, 906 AD

Khagan Tarkhan Ashina and his successor as a General of the Horde, Egill Rögnvaldrsson, boarded the small one masted ship laying on the beach of Tmutarakan that would bring them back to the horde in Byzantine lands. The Khagan and his brother-in-law didn't like each other very much, but Tarkhan recognized that Egill was a formidable warrior and deserved at least a chance. Also, Çilen had not stopped to go on his nerves until she had him convinced that a man heeding from the jagged coast of Norway could only be useful in the mountainous terrain they were dealing with in Anatolia.

Khatun Yartilek and Çilen had chosen to accompany their husbands, said goodbye with more or less emotion and now remained ashore, waving with tissues. We really need a harbor, Tarkhan thought, waving back and feeling slightly foolish. This is ridiculous, having to rent a merchant's boat for the passage and my Khatun wetting her feet at the beach...

The enamored Çilen was crying, and Yartilek, who knew the feeling from younger years but was used to farewells by now, did her best to solace her. They had known each other since Çilen was a little girl and Yartilek a young woman, freshly arrived in Oleshye where the Ashina clan resided at the time. Due to their clans being friendly toward each other and Yartilek finding some joy in the curious and thrifty Çilen, they had developed a sisterly friendship over the years. And now their husbands were going to war together.

Egill was not the only family member that Tarkhan took into his services. Finding a new chancellor turned out to be tricky over the next days – either the candidates were very old, rather incompetent, disliked by another member or...his supercilious little brother Menümarót. The man had potential, there was no doubt about it, but he would sure try to cause trouble for the new Khagan.

In the end, Tarkhan, in lack of less questionable choices, figured that his brother might as well turn out a good politician, as much as they despised each other's ways. Maybe he would also learn where his place was in time. The other councillors had by and large served the Khaganate well in the past and viewed Tarkhan's ascension with neutral benevolence. Seeing no reason to cause more disruption than necessary, at least until peacetime, the new Khagan left the remainder of his father's council in place until further notice.

February 15, 907 AD

Amisos, Theme of Armeniacon

It was early in the morning, and Tarkhan had just finished a refreshing morning washing in the cold, clear waters of a mountain creek. It was freezing cold outside, and the more comforting was the fire crackling in the mid of his yurt and the warmth it radiated into the room. Now he was dressed in the usual woolen winter garments and felt comfortable.

Why was this ever so hard? To just take the moment as it is...and be? These lands are so precious, and who knows how long we'll still be here?

Ever since I am back in Byzantium, everything feels so natural. Finally no more quarrels about the command chain, no hot plans and last-minute revocations from home...just me and the generals against the enemy. This is all I ever asked for...maybe I just had never realized this is the true meaning of having to bow to no one and having to fear only God.

The Kabar and Kozar Khans claim they would be suitable Khagans, but they are weak. My brothers do so too, and still all you hear from them is more death and despair. I'm sorry for Khatir's wife who now has to bear his child on her own...but in the end it is probably for the better. Who knows what might have happened in the future.

Baghatur is losing his war and will then likely be off the grid. He might have gone over the top with his fury at the Armenians...I wonder what Duke Hethum is going to do to him once he gets hold of Baghatur, now that he has sworn revenge. Although the Countess of Tortosa was of no particular matter to the Duke, hacking off her hand was probably not the best idea. You don't just go to a foreign country, behave like a barbarian and get away with it...unless you have a far larger horde than his sorry bunch.

That made Tarkhan think about the host outside the tent under his very command, and his heart was again filled with pride.

Upon Khagan Tarkhan Ashina's triumphal return to the horde, or at least the part of it he and Egill were now leading, a change of strategy was announced. Taking over Byzantine lands was fine and well, but repeated demands for surrender had already gone unanswered - save for the last one, which ended in the messenger returning castrated and with an unmistakable reply that Basileus Bardas wasn't going to accept anything.

Tarkhan proclaimed that retribution for this disrespect would be executed and ordered the 5000 men under his command to go further south. There they got a closer look on the Byzantine army, which struggled to take back their lands from the Armenian liberation movement in the area and was effectively blocked to the North by another civil war faction.

Although the Byzantines were slightly outnumbered by his men, Tarkhan was not willing to risk hundreds of lives and possibly an important battle by rushing into an enemy dug up in the mountains. Time worked for Khazaria in this war, and so the general staff kept looking for an opportunity to confront Basileus Bardas. Tarkhan's and Egill's troops were deployed to Amisos, further west to the Black Sea coast, to keep the vision of the surroundings up should the Byzantines make a move. The men under Guyug, Yilig and Yeçtirek were to stay in the occupied eastern lands, avoid losses and support the others once it became necessary.

I should get ready for the day, thought Tarkhan. Hopefully it's not going to...and in this moment, his adjutant General Egill Rögnvaldrsson burst into the tent in great commotion and almost knocked the Khagan down. His helmet was slightly lopsided and the boots not properly laced.

"Huh....I'm sorry, your majesty. I didn't mean to... I have... very urgent news", Egill panted.

Tarkhan immediately got back onto his feet. "What? Out with it, General!"

"The scout troop has just returned...they are reporting heavy movements in Charsianon. The rebel troops have taken over the town and are now leaving." Egill took a deep breath, then continued hurriedly. "Apparently the Byzantine army is now on its way, planning to retake the county before it can be properly manned by the rebels, but from their informations we could make it there ahead of them and fall into their backs as soon as they try to make their way for..."

"Then we move out immediately", interjected Tarkhan. "I figure we have no time to lose. Tell me the details once we're on the road."

"Yes, sir...majesty. It is going to be a tough march if we want to make it on time, but the route is secure as far as we know."

"Good. Give out the order to pack up and leave for Charsianon as quick as possible. Two hours should be enough. I will also have messengers dispatched to Guyug and the others to come to our assistance. Once they arrive, there should be no more questions... And keep the majesty for the throne hall. We're all warriors out here."

Egill saluted and left the yurt quickly. Tarkhan felt energized and thirsty for action when he got into his armor. A year and a half was Khazaria now at war with the once greatest power of the world, and until now all soldiers he and his men had seen were hidden behind high walls. Those decadent fools. Now their pathetic Emperor would regret his impertinence.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 61 – The Fall Of The Giant



February 24, 907 AD

Charsianon, Eastern Anatolia

"I have a bad feeling about this", grumbled Captain Tryphon of the Varangian Guard when the army of the proud Roman Empire entered the gorge, maybe sixty metres wide, attached to the mountain pass leading to the castle of Charsianon from the South. Their scouts had not returned on the prior evening and no one knew why exactly. Maybe the garrison around Charsianon got hold of them – or worse. "Lots of cover, lots of high ground. God help us if the Khazars are already here."

The High Command of the Empire knew that the hordes from the other side of the Black Sea were on their way. Still Basileios Bardas, riding at Tryphon's side at the front of the 5.400 men under their command, insisted on moving quickly to secure the strategically important fortress before the rebels had the chance to send additional defenders and fortify their own positions before the steppe hordes arrived.

"How could they? It's a difficult path through the mountains from Amisous, and they cannot possibly be that fast, even on horseback. Trust me, when the Khazars arrive we will be prepared. Once we enter the valley, we will lay siege to the fortress and block all entrances."

"We can hope you are right", the experienced veteran, born as Trifon to a Slavic maid and a Norse warrior in the Ladoga area and Captain of the Varangian Guard for more than twenty years, replied without enthusiasm. "We'd better be on our guard in any case."

The Byzantine Army marched into the gorge. Three blocks of men, with the centre slightly broader and mostly composed of archers and footmen, while their cavalry kept to the flanks and pikemen covered the front and back of each segment. Soldiers from all parts of the Empire, from Athens to Trapezous and even a small levy from Sicily. The mood was tense and hardly anyone spoke a word.

Suddenly, a shout and then loud crashing noise emanated from behind. The ranks at the bottom whirled around first and saw that a large tree lay on the road. In that moment, they saw men on the other side of the ridge dropping another tree. Then the first arrows flew down towards the Byzantine army.

Please let it be the rebels, thought Tryphon, uttered a Norse imprecation and quickly shouted out orders. "We keep going forward! Shields up! Archers, give us cover fire! See that they cannot fall into our backs!" The well-trained legion quickly fell back into their usual order and kept moving toward the other end of the gorge. Yet with their own archers firing uphill, they were barely able to pose a threat to the still unknown enemies. Finally someone recognized the Ashina herald on the man in front of the typical light-armored horsemen appeared behind them. They didn't dare to come close to the spear-guarded rear end of the Byzantine army, but made more than obvious who they were dealing with.

***

"Follow them! Keep up the pressure without getting too close!", shouted Egill, full of excitement for the upcoming battle, while he and his men chased the Byzantines into the valley ahead of them.

Everything was going as expected. Had the Romans caught upon them earlier, they could have avoided the site altogether. Had the ambush in the gorge – which involved only a few hundred men - somehow failed or drawn too little attention, the larger host waiting for the Romans under Tarkhan's command would have met a much better organized opponent. The Byzantines were well trained and disciplined, and Tarkhan and Egill relied on disruption and the element of surprise to keep their positional advantage over time.

The valley that hosted Charsianon castle was a large hollow, wide enough to give the Khazar horsemen room to maneuver, but it inclined steep enough to leave only two ways out: the one they were occupying now, and one that was guarded by the castle. Through its lowest point ran a creek, not wide but rapid and freezing cold. The plan was to keep the Romans stuck here and wear them out until Khan Yilig and the others arrived with reinforcements and the full offense could start. In the past night the horde had taken position on the ledges and in the woods surrounding the narrower western boundary of the valley, from where they could harass the trapped Romans with little risk.

The Roman army poured into the valley and regrouped to face the troops in their back. Khagan Tarkhan had watched the scene from a high ledge and held his breath. The enemies were in disarray for a few seconds, convinced they had a suitable window of time before their persecutors arrived. This was the moment.

Tarkhan shouted from the top of his lungs, and his men set themselves into motion. Tarkhan himself joined the charge, and thousands of hooves echoed on the mountain ridges when a brigade of Khazar horsemen stormed into the Byzantine troops who were completely overwhelmed by this second ambush.

***

"REGROUP! Pikemen to the rear! It was all a setup!"

Captain Tryphon was desperately trying to keep the troops in order. If their ranks fell apart, this would be the end for all of them. He saw the Basileios, who seemed paralyzed in disbelief, and sent a quick prayer to God. At least his counterpart, the local Strategos Eudokimos whose very existence was threatened by the situation, kept control and made the other flank quickly align.

Two hours and several attack waves later, the situation was tolerably under control again. The lines of the Romans held their ground, and the Khazar riders were rightfully reluctant to engage the wall of shields and pikes that formed when Captain Tryphon and his equals recognized the situation. When the struggle subsided for the moment, the Byzantine command got to coordinate itself and assess the situation.

The Byzantines were still at a striking positional disadvantage, at lower ground and with the icy creek disrupting their possible retreating path. To regain the upper hand, the Byzantines would have to take over a number of hostile positions in the woods and the mountains surrounding them. It was a dangerous proposition – but there was little alternative, with both ways out of the valley easily sealed off by the enemy and the rumours of another Khazar host on its way.



March 2, 907 AD

Captain Tryphon stood in front of the Basileus who was lounging in a large, well furnished tent to the back of the army's provisional war camp. His face was stained with splatters of blood, but he didn't know anymore whose it was. The days started to blur into each other, in this endless battle for every yard under constant prodding of the Khazars. Three dozen men had his brigade lost only today, and for the other platoons the numbers didn't look much better. At least, scouts had located the main lair of the Khazar forces in the valley and determined they were about equal in numbers. This is turn meant that there was little hope to drive them off eventually.

"I have to insist that we need to apply a different plan, Your Infinite Grace. It has been almost a week, and we are taking ever more grave losses trying to break the blockade. Without any success whatsoever. And there are rumours among the men that there is a second Khazarian host on its way..."

"Well, there we have the reason why our legions cannot manage to subdue a bunch of steppe riders in the mountains. I am positive the Khazars themselves have somehow initiated this scaremongering talk. The fear in the men's hearts, not the swords and spears of the Khazarian horde, is what causes these losses. The enemy clearly looks stronger than he is – otherwise they would have tried to overrun us long ago. I expect you and Eudokimos to ensure the proper motivation, so we will beat them back and march onto the fortress by the evening."

Captain Tryphon ran his hand through his face in silence, not knowing what to do. For days he and Strategos Eudokimos had tried to convince Basileus Bardas to evacuate the armies. The only possible way out of the valley for an army of several thousand men was right past the fortress and the Roman generals knew that it would be costly to lead their armies right past the rebels' bowmen – but it was obvious by now that there was nothing to win here. And Bardas, in his deluded pride, still acted like he was invincible.

"What are you still doing here? We are getting out to the men now!" snarled the Basileus, interrupting Tryphon's thoughts and slowly getting up from his chair. "I will look immediately to get back into my armor...now what is all the noise outside about?"

Indeed there was noticeable turmoil to hear from the camp. A grim suspicion creeped up Tryphon's mind. He looked at Bardas with graveness. "Yes, we ought to get out there."

When Captain Tryphon and Basileus Bardas stepped out the tent, they immediately saw what was causing the unrest. From the direction of Charsianon castle, a seemingly endless mass of riders streamed into the valley at a quick pace and took position in broad rows.

So the stories were right...they have another army. God help us. Tryphon cursed again, then turned to the Basileus.

Bardas was frozen in shock and as pale as a corpse. "It can't be...they cannot...God is..."

Tryphon shook him and ungently pulled him along on his arm. "There is no time, Emperor. We have to get out of here. The Khazars will slaughter every last of us."

"But how?"

"I do not know yet. When the moment comes, we need to be ready."




***

"Täbär!", shouted a delighted Khan Yilig of Bulçir when he spotted his brother riding towards him. While Yilig and the troops under his command were marching towards Charsianon, Täbär was at the head of the Bulçir horde that had stayed with Tarkhan's host the whole time. "It's great to see you well."

"Oh, the Romans don't stand much of a chance to get to our higher ranks. We are not really sure what they have been trying over the past days, but as it stands they are burning their men against our raiders without causing us much worry. Now that you are here, the Khagan's orders are to crush them entirely."

"Any specifics I should know of?", Yilig asked. Both men grinned and went on to determine the plan.

A few minutes later, Täbär Bulçir returned to his troops - and hell broke loose for the trapped Byzantines. The horde under Khagan Tarkhan that had set up the ambush in the gorge and kept its full strength back before was now storming toward them.

"CARRY ON! DON'T RELENT!" Tarkhan rode across the Byzantine lines, to avoid the Roman's pikes and prepare for the next attack wave. Crashing into them frontally would only cause unnecessary losses as long as their lines held. Around him, arrows flew and once every few yards the shielded Divine Guards could entangle their opponents in melee, creating small gaps for mounted support to get through the defense line. In the hind ranks of the Byzantines, movement was visible. Where are Yilig, Guyug and Yeçtirek? Their men should arrive any second...



***

When the Khazars that had plagued them for the past days broke out of the woods and stormed onto them, Captain Tryphon had quickly derived an emergency plan. Now that the Khazars were off the plateau that guarded the gorge constituting the northern exit to the valley, fleeing through there would be their only chance.

"We move toward the gorge! NOW! Cover the retreat!"

Shouting further orders to his sergeants, Tryphon rushed back into what was now a rearguard battle. The Khazars were hardy warriors, but there was a reason Captain Tryphon was leading the Emperor's personal guard. He single-handedly slew three of their skirmishers and in doing so prevented them from getting behind the front line. The pikemen at the front were still constantly decreasing, and soon there would be no way to hold the Khazars back whatsoever.

When he turned around, Tryphon saw with dread that the retreat did not in the least go fast enough. There was movement, and the front lines were constantly drawing back, but now the second Khazar host was heading for them too. He witnessed Bardas' men still holding their position, as if the Basileus still was unwilling to accept the dire situation and cursed again.

"BASILEUS BARDAS! WE MOVE TOWARD THE GORGE! ALL OF US!"

The Basileus turned around in surprise, but Tryphon was already beside him. "Are you out of your mind?! I TOLD you we need to get out of here. This is our only chance. It will be a bloody ordeal any way, and every second costs lives. Now get your men moving!"

In that moment, the Khazarian horde under Khan Yilig hit the Byzantines' much less heavily defended flank. With little to slow the five thousand horsemen down, they plowed through their opponents with enormous force. Mere fractions of a second before one could reach the Basileus, Captain Tryphon pulled his lord out of harm's way and unhorsed the man with his hammer.

A freeman from Tryphon's ranks took care of the man. Tryphon turned to the Emperor again. "The lines are breaking. If there were any doubts, reconsider right now - or get familiar with the thought of a dungeon cell. Or a grave."

The retreat did not stay organized for long, and when catching upon the plan of the Byzantines, Tarkhan's men saw to man the positions along the gorge again. This and the constant attacks from behind caused horrible losses to the fleeing Romans, and in the end only 1800 men made their way through this gauntlet of arrows from above and spears from behind. The only silver lining, if one could speak of such after a bloody day like this one, was that the Basileus along with his generals made his way out safely.

March 25, 907 AD

Koralla, Trapezous

Strategos Antonios Maurikios of Opsikion, Chancellor to the Byzantine Emperor, had sweaty palms. Sure, the Khazarian envoy had promised diplomatic protection – but what was this worth in those days of chaos? And those people weren't like the Kings and Dukes he was used to deal with - or at least he was firmly convinced of that. In the steppes, raw force ruled rather than nobility and statecraft. The Lord protect us from those barbarians was all he could think when riding towards the walls of the occupied town of Koralla.

Here he was, sent to negotiate a peace agreement with the Khagan in person. The man who had allegedly brought the desaster in Charsianon upon them. Never had the proud Roman Empire thought that the Khazarians, little more than a bunch of horse breeders to the public, would be able to beat the legions. The Khagans would be all tied up fighting one another, that's what Basileios always said.

To Antonios' surprise, the town did not look devastated when he and his envoy entered. There were reports of looting and displacement from the occupied territories, and everything was quiet on the streets of Koralla because the Horde and especially the Divine Guard exercised a firm regiment over the remaining people, but there were few signs of destruction. They must have left their rage out on the women, Antonios thought to himself and spent the rest of the walk in silent prayer for the victims of these heretics from the steppes.

"Let him in." Khagan Tarkhan of Khazaria waved from the mayor's pompous chair to the guards at the door of the town hall where he and his men had taken residence for the peace negotiations. Beside him sat Khan Yilig, who had lead the decisive charge on the Byzantine army, and his younger brother and chancellor Menümarót who had traveled to Trapezous swiftly after the news of the enemy faltering reached Tmutarakan.

Strategos Antonios, a grey-bearded, dignified man wearing a simple but well-worked tiara, and his translator behind him entered the room. Antonios bowed, but the Khazarian lords showed no sign to get up.

"I bid you welcome, Strategos", Tarkhan expressed in broken Greek and carried on in his own tongue, with a sardonic grin: "I reckon your Basileus has finally come to his senses. Let us waste no time. I assume you and your men are very busy these days, with so many families to bring condolences to."

The interpreter looked insecure and hesitantly spoke in Greek to Antonios, who looked back doubtfully and seemed to ask him something. Menümarót whispered to Tarkhan: "From the bits of Greek I know, I don't think he carried on the last part properly."

"You should have brought a man of our own along", grumbled Tarkhan.

Finally, the interpreter turned back to the Khazarians. "The Strategos is thankful for your good will. He bears the mandate to fulfill the late Khagan Zachariah of Khazaria's, and in consequence your own, claim to the County of Cherson and transfer all obligations of Count Petronas to you. In turn, the Basileus asks for nothing but what is considered rightful among Kings - a truce of ten years and the return of all prisoners of war."

"Tell him to not lecture me about what is considered rightful", replied Tarkhan with cold voice. "And you better care about passing my words on correctly. You are only getting out of this city the moment I say so."

"Of course, your highness." the interpreter said hastily. With a hint of sweat on his forehead, he spoke to Strategos Antonios again. "The Strategos...apologizes for the impression."

"Then he will surely approve of the prisoners not being returned, considered rightful or not among your royalty. We have a persistent demand for slaves."

This time Strategos Antonios was visibly discontent with the answer. With anger in his voice he bellowed something, directed toward the Khazarian lords. "He says...there is little to do about it, but you shall rest assured you will regret this...outrageous behaviour."

"I'm pretty sure I've heard something about unwashed cavemen in there", added Menümarót and leaned back in his chair.

"On the contrary. I rest assured that we will not see nor hear anything from your Empire...until we meet again. You shall have your truce – no more, no less. I do not care in the least what your decadent, bloated so-called Lords think is appropriate. Was it not the Emperor you swear allegiance to who deemed it rightful to cut off the testicles of a diplomatic envoy? I wonder what this despicable creep calls barbaric if this is considered civilized."

The interpreter looked at Tarkhan in desperation. "I can't...translate all of that unless...."

The Khagan cut him off. "Oh, is there one person in your realm who isn't a bloody coward?" He looked at his advisors, who only nodded in approval. "Tell him we keep the prisoners and Cherson. Anything else than an acceptance will have dire consequences for you, the realm and the Emperor. In stark contrast to you, we have the means to enforce these consequences."

Strategos Antonios listened to the translation. It was visible he needed to suppress his wrath about the demeanor of the Khagan, but eventually he gave a reluctant nod. Without a further word, everyone signed the peace declaration – Antonios on behalf of Basileus Bardas, Khagan Tarkhan on his own and Yilig and Menümarót for the Khazarian council.

When that was done with, Khan Yilig asked the Khagan "Will you have their balls cut off too?", half aloud and in straight face.

The translator turned pale, but Tarkhan only snickered. "No. We can sure all agree we are better than that." And toward Antonios, he added "I insist you let Bardas know."

The chancellor and his servant were lead out of Koralla unscathed. Khazaria had bested the proud Roman Empire and was now in full control of the northern Black Sea coast, while the battered Byzantines had to admit yet another defeat.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 62 – Hard Slog



August 15, 907 AD

A small coastal settlement, Tmutarakan

The Divine Guard was about to finish its ceremonial parade through the newly enlarged settlement on the coast. There were coordinated fishing operations since Zachariah's early days, but the cutters were small enough to be operated without specific structures, and little thought had ever been given to the employment of larger ships. Despite dwelling on the Black Sea coast for decades, Khazaria was still a steppe empire in its heart, with little regard for naval matters. Today this should change. Although the piers that protruded into the water were primitive, for the first time in the history of Khazaria something akin to a port was taken in service.

Khagan Tarkhan Ashina and his steward Zakkai of Bartenstein stood at a distance and looked at the troops paying their respects in satisfaction. "Finally something is completed rather than destroyed before my eyes", a thoughtful Tarkhan uttered. "Peace isn't all bad, I guess".

Zakkai grinned and nodded. "I keep telling you there's lots of purpose in life beyond warring. Making life easier for people – including yourself – has its appeal too."

"You'll be a beloved Baron if you follow your principles", Tarkhan laughed nervously.

"I sure intend to", replied a content Zakkai. "I've heard that the men are in place to take over the fortress once and for all."

"That is true. Marshal Samsam reported on it this morning. The ultimatum to Count Petronas is already underways."

Zakkai raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "The Marshal? Is he staying in Tmutarakan? I thought he would accompany his men to Russia, as his brother used to..."

"No, he says he wants to not let this 'unfinished family business' get in the way of his duties to Khazaria. And he is doing a tremendous job with recruitment, to be fair – as did Itakh before him. As little as I understand why he tries it on his own again, where his brother and his father kept on failing.

And he wouldn't want to hear of the Rus or even Poland joining in the war. Didn't take two weeks until they did – Kiev at least. No great surprise, with their 'new' King's history and his profound hatred of Jews. It was obvious he would defend his own brother, now that he's finally in charge of things."


Earlier...

In May, King Ingvar of the Kievan Rus was finally released from Khan Yilig's dungeons after two decades. Most people in Kiev had already assumed that the King would die in prison some day, yet an unprecedented turn of events opened a window of opportunity for Ingvar to finally get himself freed.

While the Bulçir horde and their Khan were off in Anatolia for the war on Byzantium, Khan Menümarót of Kabar saw his chance to finally get back at his bothersome neighbour. After a prolonged siege of the Bulçir encampment and with Yilig's troops already on their way back home, the Kabar horde finally got the camp guards to surrender and managed to get hold of the Khan's extended family – his children, brother, nephews and nieces, concubines, totalling 17 people who were now in custody of Khan Menümarót.

The resulting need for money to ransom Khan Yilig's own family off made his steward reconsider, and soon Ingvar could buy his own freedom for a rather reasonable sum. With the better part of his life consisting of sitting around in a cage, it had to be expected that he hadn't exactly turned out majestic. His mind and his physique alike were weakened by the long imprisonment, a burning hate for his captors had been nurtured in his soul and as triumphal as his return home was on the surface, it showed soon that he was likely not made for greatness.

***

The crowd applauded for the Divine Guards who stood steady in their salute to the Khagan. Tarkhan waved as benign as he could manage, the soldiers dispersed and slowly the peasants followed their example. Most of them were the designated dockworkers and shipbuilders that the new part of the settlement next to the dock would house.

A slight smile on his face, the Khagan quipped: "So we'll be heading to the seas soon. Who knows how far it will take us."

"It will be up to you, my Khagan. Always mind that maintaining a fleet is a costly thing", Zakkai answered pensively. "I would also strongly advise you to avoid Antioch for a while", he added with some amusement.

Tarkhan laughed. "I guess I will be reminded of that whenever someone asks about my dare-devil brother. I wonder what Duke Hethum plans for him, now that he's sitting in jail and stripped of his lands. He even surrendered Antioch itself to Cyprus before Duke Hethum could get a hold on him, as if to mock him further."

Zakkai got serious again. "If anything, Baghatur has made his mark on the map of the Levant. This final act of defiance suits him...although it might not be to his benefit. Much like the entirety of his actions since he arrived down there. At least, you won't have anything to fear about him, now that he is locked up. Khan Böri told me that his old plot to somehow get a dagger into your back is now neutralized."

"In turn, he is theoretically eligible to inherit Khazaria again now that he's no longer landed", Tarkhan added, hardly concealing he could still hardly believe it. "Once everyone thought he would be the one to succeed Father...now it sounds like a joke. How deep one can fall in short time."

"Hybris is what brings you there. For all his life, Baghatur was taught that he could not do anything wrong, that his strength and his will would overcome any obstacle. In the end, the world does not work like that, neither in the Steppes nor in Europe. The forgotten parts of history are littered with men who thought no one could beat them. I trust you are aware of that, your majesty."

"I will keep it in mind, be sure of that. Let us head back to the main camp. We have a lot of work before us."



October 31, 907 AD

Tmutarakan

Six of the Khaganate's councillors sat on their usual chairs around the large table where the matters of the realm were discussed between its most important men. At the top of the table, the largest chair belonged to Khagan Tarkhan Ashina of Khazaria, who was just stepping in. His younger brother Menümarót, the chancellor to the realm, was missing.

"Greetings, my fellows", the Khagan exclaimed ostentatively cheerfully. "Shall we begin?"

"Uh...but chancellor Menümarót is still missing" objected his name twin Khan Menümarót of Kabar. "As long as he is not here, we can not vote..."

"Is that so? The customs of governance say that if someone is absent, his vote can well be counted as a negative", Tarkhan replied with scrutinizing gaze. "And why would this matter for handing out lands? I presume there is little reason to oppose our revered colleague Zakkai gaining the Barony of Cherson."

Khan Menümarót did not seem impressed. "Well, that is true. Still I think it is necessary to..."

"I personally could not support any such endeavours before we are complete", Khan Yilig interjected. "The council has to be respected...Why should we not just wait for him?"

"Interesting that you two of all people would say something like that. Is there anyone else who worries about the council being curbed in its rights?", the Khagan asked sharply. Silence followed. It was obviously not a good time to make a point. Tarkhan gave a minute nod to the accomplished spymaster Khan Böri of Khwaliz.

While the revocation of Cherson could be implemented without an official incorporation of the council and the former Count Petronas had surrendered the day before, it would inevitably take a vote to pass it on to Zakkai and Tarkhan had scheduled one for today's meeting. While the Khagan had thought it a formality at first, the prior evening Böri had informed the Khagan of a political scheme to obstruct the council, with all signs leading to Menümarót Ashina.

Of course he had kept his mouth shut about his own complicity, as he didn't actually want to oppose the Khagan. On the contrary – he and Tarkhan were growing more trustful of each other over their mutual interest in innovative persuasion methods, now that there was no one to overrule them in practice.

No, he – and presumably the other councillors – was only seizing an opportunity. Once Menümarót was dealt with, which would be soon once the Khagan learned of his antics, he would still be owing to Böri. He was still a prince, and it certainly couldn't hurt.

"No more objections, I see", the Khagan finally continued. "Then I can inform you at last that Menümarót Ashina is no longer chancellor of Khazaria. I have dismissed him this morning. I will not tolerate the abuse of council positions to obstruct progress instead of promoting the interests of the Khaganate."

The surprise was great among the council, with the obvious exception of Böri Khwaliz - and Marshal Samsam, who had never held Menümarót in high esteem. "A good decision, Khagan", the Khan of Jabdertim exclaimed contently and leaned back. "That snake was trying what he could to be a pain from the day you appointed him. I hope you'll think twice when naming his his successor."

Khagan Tarkhan turned toward him. "I already have, Samsam. The new man is about to join us, so we can hold our vote in a proper way. I'm afraid though that you will not particularly like the new chancellor either. There was little opportunity."

He waved at the guard who disappeared outside the tent, and moments later a young man was accompanied into the council hall – Khan Vakrim of Hekel, the only son to the legendary warlord Hezekiah. He was said to be rather different from his father, a modest and restrained lad who preferred settling conflicts without spilling blood. Nonetheless his efforts to come to terms with the Jabdertim were fruitless until now, and mutual attacks and raids were commonplace.

Khan Samsam was not amused, as Tarkhan predicted, but restrained himself to a disapproving gaze toward the Khagan. Vakrim took his oath to protect the interests of Khazaria, and the now completed council could proceed to decide on the handing of the Kherson castle to Zakkai of Bartenstein, who would furthermore be known as Baron Zakkai. Without Menümarót's attempts to sway the council, no one had any reason to oppose the Khagan giving away an estate none of them had much use for.

When that was done with, Tarkhan took the word once again. "I have another assignment of land to proclaim. To make sure the new chancellor proves himself less preoccupied against the Khaganate's authority, Khan Vakrim shall be awarded Sakmara. The Ashina clan still owns these lands from the expulsion of the Karakhanids to behind the Ural, and I hear that the Hekel clan are in need of grazing land."

Although Khan Samsam of Jabdertim naturally opposed his rival from the Hekel Khanate essentially being compensated for the loss of Korsun to his clan, the other councillors could get behind that reasoning. Vakrim was pleasantly surprised and promised to show himself grateful.

Tarkhan was very content with himself. He thoroughly despised being bothered with politics - but now Khazaria was at peace, his brother's influence dissolved until further notice and the lords under him were loyal. It was unlikely to last forever and Tarkhan knew it well – but at least for the moment, it felt good to be the Khagan.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 63 – To the Ural and back



May 12, 908 AD

Command quarters, Tmutarakan

The Ançaryon with the report from the east saluted and left the large yurt where Khagan Tarkhan and Khan Samsam of Jabdertim receipted important visitors. Tarkhan and Samsam stayed behind, deep in thought. In the past weeks, the Khagan and his Court Marshal had spent a lot of time brooding over maps together and discussing strategies.

"That will sure be inconvenient. Not unexpected, but it complicates things.", Samsam finally broke the contemplative silence.

"Indeed. We will need to reconsider a few things.", Khagan Tarkhan replied.



Earlier...

The defeat in Charsianon left the glorious Eastern Roman Empire virtually without defenses. In the following months, the Duke of Tao, a vassal to Georgia, managed to press his claim on the namesake county on Basileus Bardas, and the Armenian revolters declared their independence. Nonetheless Bardas still stood against the would-be usurpers to his throne. The question was now how much of the empire would be left for them, should one eventually take Bardas' place.

While those were pleasant news to the Khazars, the campaign on Byzantium also unfolded its unprecedented perils in the aftermath. While Khazaria was busy in Anatolia, the Cumans had taken the chance to steadily grow their influence in Central Asia. Last year Khagan Sokal II, who had come into power barely a grown man nine years ago and struggled heavily against the notorious Karakhanids for a long time, was able to subdue the Subashi Khaganate in the lands bordering Persia east of the Caspian Sea. This carved out a rather sizeable personal domain for his Andjogli Clan in the region.

By itself, this did not raise a lot of attention in Tmutarakan. That changed in November, when Chancellor Vakrim brought news that Khagan Sokal aimed to get back at his old adversaries, the Karakhanids. Their Khagan Bazir 'the Butcher' was still weakened by an attempt to revolt by one of his vassal Khans, and there was a real possibility he couldn't withstand. Should Bazir fall under Cuman suzerainty, the threat to the eastern borders of Khazaria would inevitably reemerge - and worse than before.

Khagan Tarkhan and the council were agreed that Khazaria could not have that. While Marshal Samsam and a group of councillors were advocating a full-on counter attack on the Cumans independent from their faring against the Karakhanids, Tarkhan and the other generals preferred to deploy 3500 men – half of the available forces - at first and have the rest move only slowly. Leaving the heartland unprotected entirely could well inspire endeavours from Bolghar or even the Russians, and with as large a realm as Khazaria, a two-front war would pose a serious problem.

As soon as the Horde arrived at the border to Cumania, it turned out this, while decently thought out, would not be enough. Sokal and his troops had already won several important battles against the Karakhanids and the war was looking as if it could be over quickly. Khazaria needed to react, and the war declaration and the incursion of the horde in the east followed promptly. The other half of the Khazarian troops kept itself prepared for possible reactions in the coastal region of Itil.

Little news reached Tmutarakan in the first weeks of the war, and the letter from the commanders that had now reached the Khagan was the first major update on the situation in Cumania. While the host deployed in Or, where the small Clan of Adirlu resided, faced little opposition until now, the general staff on site had learned that the other vassal Khans of Cumania had accepted the calls to war without exception. Particularly Khan Uzur of Toksoba, suzerain over a large tribal territory to the North, could bring a sizeable host to the field that Tarkhan had not quite been aware of in advance.

***



"Let us be clear", Samsam said with confidence in his voice, "there is no sensible way we can keep them from joining forces. The lands to the east, where the bulk of the Cuman Khans are based, are vast. They can draw back quite a distance if they need to."

"I know that. Without reinforcements, Yeçtirek and the others will find themselves outnumbered sooner or later." replied Tarkhan.

"In the long term, we will also need a small force to secure Usturt. Otherwise Sokal will always have room to fall back there and prolong the war indefinitely. And this small force needs protection in turn."

"I know where you are heading, Samsam. It looks like the other generals have made up their mind too. We'll need to throw in more of our weight." Tarkhan walked toward the large table where the map of the region around the Caspian Sea was spread out and slammed his fist onto it.

"And this is why the troops in Itil will join the war efforts immediately. Under my command. And you will accompany me, Khan Samsam. Our talents go to waste if we sit around in court all the time. The Khanates will have to defend themselves on their own against the usual raider bands for a while."

Samsam was visibly surprised, but then he nodded slowly and with a broad smile on his face. "I like the way you're thinking, your majesty. It's been a while for me to lead troops and fight in person. I look forward to spreading terror along your side."

"Yes....spread terror we will." Tarkhan looked at Samsam, but he was not smiling. His gaze was piercing, yet at the same time he seemed entirely detached, as if looking at something far behind Samsam.

All of a sudden the Marshal felt a lot more insecure, without knowing why exactly. He'd been right all along, and the Khagan had just confirmed that. But what was this look?

"I....will immediately get everything prepared for the voyage to Itil. We should be there in no more than a week."

October 7, 908 AD



Magnitaya, Cumania

The Khazarian troops under Tarkhan's and Samsam's lead had moved east without further incidents and sent a small corps to take hold of Usturt over the summer, while their counterpart under Egill, Guyug and Yeçtirek of Kozar would continue to secure the path to the disputed region. The Cuman troops were still busy with the Karakhanids who had taken over Sokal's main camp in the meantime, and no larger fights had taken place over the past months. Eventually it was decided that Tarkhan and his men should turn north and start exerting pressure on the Cuman heartland. Magnitaya, a small province afoot the Ural Mountains and the home of the Terteroba clan, was their first target. About four weeks ago, the Terteroba camp was surrounded by Khazarian troops. Little did anyone expect how much trouble this otherwise rather unremarkable piece of land would see over the coming time.

The summers were short in these latitudes, and since their arrival it became colder by the day. Khagan Tarkhan and Khan Samsam returned to their command center from their daily routinely collection of reports from the various brigades sealing off the camp, both vested in a thick pelt.

"Turns out we're not all that used to vast swaths of steppe anymore...We'd be well advised to either get this over with quickly", Samsam pondered. "We are doing fine until now, but the men are ill prepared for a winter war so far inland."

"The Terteroba won't hold out for much longer. These lands are harsh, and the supplies dwindle quickly when they are cut off from the outside", Tarkhan replied unimpressed. "But you are of course right – we should avoid staying here longer than necessary. As soon as we secure the camp, we can head south again, hold position there and let the Cumans deal with the winter. We will start another offensive come spring. There is little reason to fight it out under these conditions. I will personally care that the retreat goes smoothly."

"That is good.", Samsam said with a broad grin. "As impressive as the Ançaryon might be, moving a whole army takes a lot more than only fast horses. So many things have to be cared for. Supplies, marching orders, navigation...without proper organization, nothing at all moves. And somehow the lower ranks, the people we rely on for all those things, listen to you."

Tarkhan took seat and after a content sigh, he replied "Not entirely coincidental, I suppose. They are as important as the fighting troops, after all. I've had more than enough time as a commander to recognize that a horde is like a wildcat.

While it pounces with the front paw, it jumps with its hind legs. Without the leap taking the cat where it needs to be, it does not matter how strong and precise its paw can strike. The men in the field are our front paw. The people taking care of everything else are our hind legs. And both parts are equally important. Knowing this already makes a lot of difference. If you communicate to the lower ranks that you appreciate their work, they will gladly tell you what to improve."

"That sounds really smart. There might be a philosopher hidden deep inside you. Or a Chinese", Samsam laughed resoundingly. "I'm not one for metaphors usually, but I will keep that in mind."

"No, you're not." Now Tarkhan had to grin as well. "It's barely been a week since I had to translate the letter from your contact in Cherson into 'horse shit explosion' for you."

"Oh, please. I only wanted to hear the term out of a Khagan's mouth. Now I did for the second time. That's how a plan is supposed to work!"

Again roaring laughter followed. Tarkhan and Samsam had grown closer during the campaign, as commanders and personally. Their clans were loosely allied since their fathers' time and Tarkhan's marriage to Samsam's sister Yartilek, and they knew each other from the time when they were both still young lads. Yet the chance never ensued for them until now to realize they could actually bear each other quite well and shared a lot of views on the world.

The explosion Tarkhan was referring to was meant for Witiges, the Orthodox Bishop of Doros. While the Khazar traditions were rather tolerant toward differing religious views and most people – including the leading stratum - practiced some kind of syncretic faith with more or less emphasis on Jewish liturgy, Christians in particular were frowned upon exactly because they rarely reciprocated this approach. Witiges showed himself unwilling to accept a role among equals, staunchly convinced that everything but advocating the unconditional superiority of Christendom would lead straight into the fires of Hell.

To prevent missioning attempts and religious unrest, the council had decided that the central church in Doros was to be rededicated to Judaism and a local Rabbi appointed to reign over the current Bishopric's holdings. While the Christian population was to retain its rights and property, the Church and its bishop were to be stripped from any leverage over the people in Cherson.

The removal of the local Count was a worldly matter and eventually could be taken care of by means of force. Deposing a religious leader showed more complicated than forging a few documents, and Witiges showed no intention to step down by himself, arguing that the majority of Cherson's population was still Christian and would not accept the temple being defiled. This notion and the general tone of his answer did not exactly please the Khagan, and soon after, a trusted circle around Tarkhan vowed to provide the bishop's undoing. Apart from Samsam and Böri the spymaster, Tarkhan's wife Yartilek and Rabbi Azariah assisted in the plan that would now hopefully come to a close.

Only a week later, the remaining garrison of Magnitaya gave up their resistance. A small host was left to secure the camp and scout the surroundings over the winter while Tarkhan and Samsam turned south with the others. When the horde arrived back in friendly lands, the Khagan and his Marshal headed back to their homes for once. There was business to tend to – and as much rejoice as Tarkhan took in leading men to victory and as long and annoying as the ride home would be, spending the winter in the East was something he gladly prevented.



November 23, 908 AD

Tmutarakan

It was early afternoon, but the cloud blanket in the sky dampened the daylight over the Ashina main encampment in Tmutarakan, home to the clan and the Khaganate for over a decade now. The large circular yurt in the center of the court quarters, commonly called the Council Hall, was rarely used over the summer with the Khagan and his advisors either campaining in the East or spending the summer in their own lands. Now there was more activity again. Tarkhan had returned to Tmutarakan and taken up the daily business a week ago.

He was just in time to witness the plan to get rid of Bishop Witiges bearing fruit. His fellow conspirators had pulled the right strings, and the unsuspecting Bishop went up in smoke with no one seeming to know anything about it afterwards.

Azariah the Court Rabbi was well connected throughout Doros and saw that the new man in charge, Rabbi Nisi, could take over smoothly. Nisi was of low birth, but he was a well educated and virtuous man, held in high esteem by his commune and, as a Khazar native, much more inclined to respect the Khaganate's primacy over the former Bishopric.

"You know, Nisi would make a fine Court Rabbi as well", said Khan Böri who was sitting in one of the large bean bags in the smaller compartments to the sides of the council hall.

"Indeed he would. But to be honest, I would rather keep being able to trust the most renowned medicus of Khazaria", Tarkhan replied in serious tone. "There are plenty of more urgent things to do than anger my physician."

"Of course. I was not suggesting to replace Azariah immediately. It's just a remark that Khazaria does not exactly abound with capable Rabbis."

"That's not much of a secret. I also don't see why it would matter much." Tarkhan raised an eyebrow.

"If we are now expanding into more densely inhabited lands and not planning to raze everything to the ground, as your father did with the Alanian tribes, we at least need to stay aware of religious matters if we want to prevent trouble. An expert on these matters won't hurt for sure."

"Fair enough. Nisi will still have to wait. I take it this is not why you are here."

"That is true. Shortly before noon, news from the prison guard reached me that their only inmate until then, the mad conspirator Tarmaç, is dead. He was sick for days, but he was so aggressive in his fever that no one could approach him in his cage. In the end he died in his own excrements. Must have been quite the sight.", Khan Böri recounted unmoved.

"Serves him right", replied Tarkhan. "You don't cross the Ashina clan. Simple as that."

"Most definitely not", Böri proclaimed hastily. "It got me thinking. We actually have one more prisoner in open detention. The Duchess of Edessa is in our custody since the war three years ago. Unlikely that her husband will make up his mind and pay ransom after all. No big love between them, apparently – and I heard she's been a lot of trouble for him in the past. Allegedly she's responsible for the death of one of his sons and attempts on two more."

"You don't say...", Tarkhan answered and scratched his beard. He still had an open tab with Duke Hethum of Edessa. In August, when Tarkhan was off leading the horde eastwards, word reached him that his brother Baghatur was released from Hethum's dungeon – without paying a ransom, but for a much more severe price.

"Very interesting indeed.", Tarkhan resumed after a short pause. "If you wonder, I will not do Duke Hethum the favor to rid him of his unruly wife. Not after the treatment of my brother in his lands."

"I thought you were glad to have Baghatur off your back", Böri replied with some confusion.

"It's not about that, Böri. Baghatur is a fool and tried to have me killed for the longest time...but he is still of Ashina blood, and beyond doubt a true Khazar warrior. Condemning him to a life in darkness instead of at least granting him an honorable death is an insult to the Clan and the people of the Steppe as a whole", the Khagan exclaimed grimly.

"I see...So what do you propose?", Böri asked with interest, keeping silent about his initial thought that Duke Hethum might not be too familiar with Khazar honor standards after all.

"How does the Torah say again? 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'. I've found to like that particular passage a lot.", Tarkhan replied.

"That's my favorite too", Böri snickered. "There's a problem though...the Duchess does not have eyes anymore. She was blinded too. Duke Hethum must have some issues about eyes..."

A more adept Theologian could have informed them that the Talmud was not in favor of a literal interpretation of this dictum in the Torah (the reason being precisely its inapplicability to blind people) and advocated monetary compensations as a suitable interpretation.

Unfortunately for the Duchess, no one was present to point this out. With a crooked grin, Tarkhan uttered "I'm sure we will find an adequate solution to obtain satisfaction. Hethum will be thrilled to see his treasured wife again."

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 64 – Harsh Justice

June 28, 909 AD

Magnitaya



So here we are again, Khagan Tarkhan thought to himself when his warhorse passed the main entrance to the Terteroba camp that he and his men had just successfully overrun. The Toksoba horde was able to retake the region during the winter, but the renewed offensive upon the Khagan's return to his men proved successful.

In April, the host under his and Marshal Samsam's command was able to catch the Toksoba horde on its way southwards. The other half of the horde quickly came to their assist and the outnumbered Toksoba forces were beaten and driven off to the east. Khan Yeçtirek and his troops took to their heels immediately, while Tarkhan and Simsam marched their men west to take over Magnitaya once again.

At the same time, not far from Tarkhan's victory, the horde of the Hekel clan proved less adept. Over the stories from the war in the east, Khan Vakrim of Hekel figured he could profit from the chaos around the borders and expand his new exclave in Sakmara by attacking the Karakhanid. The thought was sound – the Karakhanid forces were tied up in Cuman lands and his own people thousands of miles away while his horde stood ready in Sakmara. The Hekel host was able to make quick advances into Karakhanid territory and take over Yangikent on the shores of the Aral Sea.

Their luck ran out when the enemy, although of slightly smaller numbers, lured the advancing Hekel into a trap. On the banks of the massive Syr-Darja river, Khagan Yarish Karakhanid (who had succeeded his brother Bazir 'the Butcher' after a heart attack a year ago) and his forces made full use of their superior knowledge about the currents and winds, harassing the Hekel troops until they were forced into a perilous crossing. The subsequent fight against the waters and the arrows of Yarish's men resulted in horrendous casualties and eventually a full retreat of the Hekel troops not yet drowned or fallen.

Not much had changed in the Terteroba camp since last time, and the Khazarian horde cold quickly assert control of the surroundings and deal with the remaining defenders under the supervision of Marshal Samsam of Jabdertim. Tarkhan and the brigade under his command took care of providing for supplies and found that Magnitaya's civilians were by and large still present, despite the region's repeated change of hands. Due to the quick assault, the supplies of the populace were also largely untouched.



The Khagan and two of his personal guards stood outside a tent while half a dozen men were checking upon the interior. Lieutenant Karadakh, a young officer under Tarkhan, stepped towards him and saluted. "Sir, we've got something you might want to see."

The officer lead Tarkhan to a large yurt near the center of the camp. Judging from the standarts outside it, this was the gathering Hall of the Terteroba clan. When they stepped in, the Khagan looked upon a whole range of Cuman people with tied hands, obviously nobles judging from their attire but rather dirty and worn out.

Karadakh explained, "The men that remained here last time discovered a secret tunnel out of the camp and were smart enough to block it off from the other side before they were driven out again. Now we know nobody noticed this little tweak in our absence. We already awaited them when they climbed out again", the officer grinned and pointed to a hatch in the ground. "This is the extended family of Khan Uzur of Terteroba, your majesty. From what we know, the Khan himself is off with Khagan Sokal's horde."

Tarkhan nodded and placed his hand on Karadakh's shoulder. "Tremendous work, Lieutenant. I am sincerely impressed. Do we already have further details about them?"

"Yes, sir. We could get some locals to verify their statements. Among the prisoners are Khan Uzur's wife and his two daughters" the lieutenant explained while showing Tarkhan the prisoners, "two of his concubines, three nephews and their respective families, one niece and two women whose business at the court is still unclear."

"I am sure that the Khan himself will gladly answer all remaining questions when he hears about this. Which will happen as soon as possible, as I hereby decree", uttered Tarkhan while taking a more thorough look at the people now in his custody.

A young, blue-eyed woman caught his particular interest. She had light skin and a pretty, almost doll-like face that distinctly pointed toward the floor when the Khagan stopped in front of her. For a few seconds, nobody said anything. Then Tarkhan looked to Karadakh who hurried to explain, "That is the wife of Uzur Terteroba, but not the Khan, one of his nephews...who is also standing beside her."

"Interesting", replied Tarkhan. "And what would your name be, young lady?"

The woman kept looking to the floor, visibly distressed. "Don't talk to her like that, Khazar dog!" shouted the man on her left side who had to be Uzur.

Tarkhan looked at the man blankly. "Who in the Nine Hells do you think you are?"

"Uzur Terteroba, son of Khan Kuntuvdi, rightful heir to the Terteroba Clan and the husband of this woman. Now get away from her, honorless...ouch!"

Tarkhan nodded at a guard and Uzur's rant was interrupted rudely by a spear shaft to his knee pit. Uzur tumbled and hit the floor, with his hands tied and little stopping his fall. A painful groan came from below.

"Congratulations. She's stunning, really", Tarkhan quipped toward Uzur on the floor and turned to the woman again.

"Now where were we? Ah, right. My apologies, it was rude to not introduce myself first. But as I see, you are used to questionable behaviour." He looked down at the cursing Uzur. "Khagan Tarkhan Ashina of Khazaria. You might have heard of me."

The young woman kept silent and still would not look up. Tarkhan waited a few seconds, then grabbed her face and pulled her head up with gentle, but unmistakable force. "And who do I owe the pleasure to...?"

From below, Uzur protested loudly, but Tarkhan gave a sign to two guards who started to kick at him. A boot to his groin silenced him again quickly, but this did not compel the guards to stop beating him up. Neither did the Khagan make any impression of telling them to. He devoted his attention to the young woman in his grip again.

"S-Sochkava", the trembling lass finally ejected. "Sochkava Arvoyid...is the name."

Tarkhan immediately let go and waved at the guards again who got off the bleeding Uzur. "Why not like this right away? It is a pleasure to meet you, Sochkava. I'm sure we will get along so well."

"What- what do you mean, get along...?"

Tarkhan sighed. "You are not from here, are you, Sochkava?"

"No..."

"And you are not here because one day you decided that Magnitaya is where you've always wanted to live, is that right?"

Sochkava looked to the floor again and just nodded, struggling to not break down crying. She knew what was happening. She knew that look Tarkhan had given her. And it was more than obvious how much he respected her marriage.

Tarkhan let out another sigh. "Oh well, we will have a lot more time for questions. Now Karadakh, you have told me that this young woman here" – he proceeded along the row and carefully stepped over the moaning Uzur – "is the Khan's niece...does she have a husband too? And guards, have a medic take care of this rascal here. It would be a tragedy if he took persistent damage, really."

"I didn't...ask her?" replied Karadakh. "At least no one around here claims to be married to her."

"I hope none of her brothers gets stupid ideas when I ask her a few questions", Tarkhan replied unmoved and walked toward the woman in question. "We don't have all day, you know. Now, milady, what is your name and who do I anger by asking?"

"Dilek" was the reluctant answer.

"My pleasure. Khagan Tarkhan Ashina of Khazaria – I mentioned it earlier. I see there are no objections to us having a conversation. Your husband must be a sensible man."

Dilek stared at Tarkhan's feet full of disgust. "No husband."

"Now is that not a lucky coincidence. You must be disappointed that there is no suitable match for a woman as noble as you in your own home. I might have just the solution for you." The Khagan turned to Lieutenant Karadakh. "See that Marshal Samsam gets here when he finds the time."

He continued, "We will head out again soon and we cannot afford to take the rest along. Only the close family of Khan Uzur stays with us until he ransoms them off. Sochava and Dilek will head to their new homes with the next messenger convoy. The rest is taken to Utva and detained in Khan Menümarót's facilities. We will find a solution for them when the war is concluded.

"Understood, sir. What about the other Uzur?"

Tarkhan grinned. "The poor man cannot afford a longer stay in prison, I fully understand. He will need a new wife. He'll be released into the wilderness when we move out so he has lots of space to look for one. Until then, I will take personal responsibility for his well-being."

At least he stayed alive.



***

Tiflis, Georgia

The war in Cumania was the least of worries for the council in Tiflis. Their King, officially going by the title of Khan since the subjugation of Georgia through Khagan Zachariah, had long been obsessed about blood vengeance and satisfaction for what he perceived as an affront (which was a lot). They had known for a long time this would not end well.

Immediately upon turning adult and thus fully responsible for himself, Okhropir Bagrationi started challenging people to duels on a regular basis, oftentimes with sharp weapons and more than once resulting in failure. One of these accidents left him blinded rather early, which posed a decisive disadvantage for his continuing attempts to find satisfaction – but no reason for him to stop trying whatsoever. In the following years, Okhropir also lost his left hand and an increasing proportion of his face to his dangerous passion, still to no discernible effect on his eagerness.

While everyone knew he was rapidly marching into his own undoing and many tried to talk him out of it, ultimately there was no way anyone could keep him from getting himself into trouble time and again – and Okhropir himself had lost control long ago. As soon as the wounds were healed, he was already looking for the next provocation. His last duel, three weeks ago, resulted in a gashing wound across his face that infected quickly under the mask he insisted to wear day and night, so no one would get the idea he was defeated.

Today the time had come, early in life, yet overdue to most. "'tis but a flesh wound...let's call it a draw..." were the last words a delirial Okhropir Bagrationi could form before he fell into a fever convulsion that he did not recover from. His son Kvirike was only five years old, a little boy with no way to possibly grasp what lay ahead of him. Once again, a child was to rule over Georgia.

Author's note: Both scenes are not terribly relevant to an actual plot, hence the update in between two "regular" ones. No imminent ruler death this time.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 65 – The Price of Power



December 24, 909 AD

It was December, nearing the end of the Julian year, and as usual each clan got together for the Chanukkah celebrations. While the soldiers in the steppes of Cumania naturally weren't granted such a privilege, the Khagan and his generals of noble descent were entitled to spend the festive period at home. The Cumans were not putting up all too much resistance anyway. The distances and the climate posed much more of a drag to the Khazar war effort and no one was all too keen to spend the winter in Siberia. As last year, the horde fortified their position in more favorable areas for the colder months and prepared for a new push once spring came.

In Tmutarakan, a special visitor was expected who was now supposed to arrive by the minute. Çilen Ashina, whose twin daughters had turned four years old a month ago, was already hyped the whole day. Now she was waiting nervously at the entrance to the camp. Finally, a group of riders in quick movement emerged on the horizon.

The riders arrived minutes later. Two squires from the Divine Guard hurried toward the old, but spry woman in their center to help her out the saddle.

"Aunt Yeldem!", Çilen shouted and ran toward her. Yeldem Ashina smiled melancholically and the two women shared a long, heartfelt embrace.

"Çilen, my love. It's so beautiful to see you." Yeldem looked at her niece and carefully swept a strand of hair out of Çilen's face. "You look stunning. Last time I saw you you were a teenager, but before me stands a grown woman."

"It's been much too long. I've been dying to introduce the girls to you. Finally they get to meet the woman I'm telling all these stories about", an excited Çilen replied.

"And I am heartbroken that it took me until today. I was not able to be here for their birth, nor to pay the according honor to Zachariah. There was nothing I could do about it, and it pained me every day... Only now that the civil war in Bulgaria is finally over for good, the roads are safe to travel for me again."

"What matters is that you're here now, Aunt. I've not been looking forward to Chanukkah so much since I was a little child."

"It feels good to be home. Thank you, Çilen." Yeldem smiled in her mysterious way and embraced her niece again. "There's Tarkhan. We'll carry on talking later."

In the meantime, the Khagan and his honor guard had arrived as well to welcome the rare visitor. Yeldem turned toward them, the men saluted and Tarkhan bowed deeply. His aunt responded with a flawless curtsey, to the impression of the bystanders. "Khagan Tarkhan. You've come a long way for sure, young man."

"Good to see you, Queen Yeldem", Tarkhan replied with a slight grin, yet in equally professional manner.

"From what I hear, the Khaganate flourishes, and so does the clan. You also must have made a lasting impression on Byzantium. Ever since Charsianon, it's hard for our diplomats to determine if they hate or fear Khazaria more right now."

Tarkhan's grin got more pronounced. "If they know what's good for them, they will opt for the fear - and be prepared next time. Or they keep fighting each other and perish eventually - one way or the other."

"Agreed. Inner conflicts are a surefire way to destroy an otherwise strong realm...and much more", Yeldem added with a hint of bitterness. "But I am digressing...I hope your women are all fine? Awkward that I cannot mention a family yet."

Tarkhan was unsure whether his otherwise always well-informed aunt actually wasn't aware of his concubine Noushin's pregnancy, announced in October shortly after his return from Cumania, or she just wanted to taunt him.

"They're all fine and well, thank you. Sochava, my newest...acquaintance from Siberia, will probably still need some time to adjust, but I am sure that in time, she will fit in just fine. And as for the family – no need to be embarassed, there's remedy on the way", Tarkhan replied in roguish tone.

"Now those are even more good news! It was really about time I paid a visit", laughed Yeldem. "I am looking forward to meet them all tonight. Until them, I am going to take a rest and accomodate myself."

"Very well. Should you need something, the Divine Guard is at your disposal.", proclaimed Tarkhan.

"I know, thank you. For now, it's sufficient if they show me to my quarters", returned Yeldem.



***

After the dinner, the Ashina clan along with their families had taken place on comfortable woolen pillows and blankets around a campfire in the middle of the large gathering hall. Now the mood was relieved, the adults were chatting and Sarantay's children, a lively bunch of eight to nine years, were playing catch. Çilen's girls were already brought to bed - by their nurse, as the young princess was eager to converse with her aunt.

"Your daughters are absolutely delightful, my child", Yeldem said to Çilen. "You are right to be proud. I hope I also meet your husband next time."

Çilen beamed with joy. "Thank you. If God wills it, they might become Queens someday too. Egill is only a simple man, but I know He has a plan for them. I'm sure of it."

There it was again, this look in Yeldem's eyes. Benevolent and yet filled with sorrow. "Be careful what you wish for, Çilen. You are so young still, you have so much to learn..."

Çilen was puzzled. "Why would you say that? You lived up to everything a Khazar princess could hope for, and more."

"Yes. And I did not even have to put up with a narcissistic, violent or imbecile man for decades to get there. That is indeed more than one could wish for. It is only once you are on top that you realize it's not all throwing feasts, wearing nice jewels and being admired by handsome princes."

"When you say it like that, it sounds obvious...but it's hard to grip why it would not be desirable after all. Does not every young woman dream of becoming a Queen?"

Yeldem turned serious. "You did not understand me properly. It isn't about becoming a Queen. That's exciting, and depending on the circumstances you can even assure yourself you're on the right side of history. Simeon's brother, for instance, was an abysmal King, a coward who hid behind his walls and oppressed his people. Everyone wanted him to go. I never would have given second thought to backing Simeon's claim to the throne. I even took care to acquire a Khazarian host to support us – because there was no reason to doubt we were doing the right thing.

No, being a Queen – or a King, for that matter - is what I am talking about. You don't have to look further than to your brother over there. Have you wondered why there was a new Court Rabbi holding the ceremony this afternoon?"

"Not really, no. I did of course notice, but I was too busy looking after the children to ask Tarkhan what's with it..."

Yeldem lowered her voice. "While that's understandable, I have indeed wondered. Azariah is an old friend and has always been a loyal servant to Khazaria, so I went to see him and his family."

"And what did they say?"

"Not much. Which is no surprise, considered that his only son died during the night. Cancer, apparently. Just as his other son, twenty years ago. And on the same day, Tarkhan retires him from all positions. In a few hours, the man has lost his legacy – and then his existence."

Çilen frowned. "That is tragic, but I don't see why..."

"They're not the only ones. Zachariah, Yabghu, Itakh Jabdertim and his father before him...the list goes on, and all were under his supervision. As accomplished as Azariah is as a medicus – it's hard to believe in a coincidence. If he sees cancer where there is none, or worse, he has fallen in disgrace with God and somehow causes the disease, Tarkhan is right to remove him from his positions, no matter how much it devastates an already battered man whose occupation is his life. Which makes it no less a terrible thing to do to a person."

Looking towards Tarkhan who was telling a humorous story from the march to Cumania to the great amusement of Sarantay, her husband Vencel and Çilen's mother Irge, the princess couldn't but remark "It does not seem like Tarkhan struggles too much with it."

"You are right, he probably doesn't. It is up to one's own whether you let the unpleasant decisions, like firing a man who has lost his family on Chanukkah, get to you – and whether you recognize their consequences. The point is that a ruler will encounter those decisions sooner or later...and sometimes, they will not only involve dismissing someone from your services."

"What are you speaking of, Aunt?"

Yeldem sighed deeply. "I guess you're not a little girl anymore...and still there's so much you need to learn. I mentioned earlier that I was not able to travel for a long time, right?"

"Yes. And you said it was because of the war."

"Mostly because of that, yes. Now tell me, my child, what do you know about this war?"

"Well, that it went down between King Simeon and his brother who would not accept his rule...that it lasted for over seven years, cost many lives on both sides and recently ended in your favor. I was always wondering when it would finally be over, with everyone being sure there was no way you would lose to those renegades."

Yeldem showed a mild smile. "Those are the hard facts...but there is more to a war like this, Çilen. Let me tell you the story of another young Khazar princess who wanted to be a Queen with all her heart.

When I married Simeon, he and his older brother Gavril were still Dukes and their father King Boris 'Ironside' on the throne. It was already apparent to me and many others by then that Gavril wasn't a good ruler. He terrorized his court in his ubiquitous fear of backstabbers, thereby creating all the reasons for people to hate him in the first place. And he squeezed the peasants out of taxes to the brink of famine to provide for his own 'security'.

Yet, he was the older of the two and therefore stood to inherit the crown. The only way to change that would be to dispose of him altogether. Simeon refused staunchly to even consider that. He's a good-hearted man and has always been, believe me that. He never would have raised a hand against his brother. And yet...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

So Gavril was crowned King when Boris died, almost thirty years ago by now. Simeon accepted this, and with the lands from Boris' inheritance he was easily the most powerful of the lords under Gavril. While he never planned to raise arms against his brother, it soon turned out that Gavril would not grow into his role as King. For fifteen years, Gavril angered the Dukes with excessive tax and levy demands and kept up his mismanagement of his now much larger domain. I told you earlier how unpopular he was.

The suspicions Gavril was having about his court and his vassals got worse over time. With more power came greater fear of losing it. And with Simeon being the next one in line except for his own son Trpimir who was only a toddler at the time, it seemed obvious to Gavril that only he – or someone close to him - could be responsible for the supposed murder plans against his family. It took Simeon a failed attempt from Gavril's thugs on his own life, and some additional persuasion, to realize this could not go on forever.

So there we were, pursued by the King for the crime of being his brother, although Simeon had always been loyal and only wanted to avoid harm being done to anyone. The alternatives were to wait for our own execution...or go to war. Against Simeon's own brother. Bulgarians being sent to fight their own people...This is the kind of decisions I speak of."

Yeldem took a deep drag of her ale and gazed into the far. Çilen had listened closely and her expression got more serious the longer her aunt was recounting.

"So Simeon didn't actually want to depose his brother? But he would likely never have become King with Gavril already having a son, would he?"

"Correct. Maybe he already sensed what was to come. Yet there was no other option. The war that followed already lasted close to five years – longer than anyone would have expected. Gavril was convinced that foreign powers were behind all this. He was unwilling to surrender until the very last moment before he would have had nowhere to run. Countless lives were lost and a divide among the people created that only deepened since then.

After the war, Simeon wanted to give the kingdom time to recover, so he chose to leave Gavril alone, figuring that it would be settled who's the stronger one...and once again, from the best intentions came only more suffering. It did not take half a year until Gavril rose up in arms again and started the second war, this one seven years long as you already know. Once again, men were deployed against their own kinsmen. Simeon wanted to preserve the peace...and what he got was an even longer and more emaciating war."

"So you should take care of your enemies while you still can.", interjected Çilen.

"One could think that. Then again, it is what Gavril tried when he went after Simeon and me. At least he thought so. And from his point of view, it seemed logical and justified. And yet, everything ended in endless fighting. What I am trying to tell you is that there are no easy thumb rules, and often enough there are no good options and you have to choose between more or less probable catastrophic outcomes.

I cannot say you are entirely wrong though. You know, the reason why the second civil war finally ended was beyond military ones. Gavril died last summer, of natural causes as far as anyone knows. Now his son Trpimir was in power – and his regent immediately called this long-lost endeavour off. Trpimir was also in our custody at the time, from the earlier sack of Gavril's home castle...he should have known he cannot win by then, but he never would have surrendered."

"I have a feeling where this is going..." replied Çilen, who had already heard rumours. Something as heinous as was reported from Bulgaria these days was bound to spread like wildfire. Yeldem only looked at her in deep sorrow.

"Trpimir would beyond doubt have wanted to avenge his father and challenge our own son Boris one day, plunging the country into disarray again. It had to be done, but the burden is heavy. You do not know the self-accusation, the doubt whether your actions are in any way justifiable before God, but not knowing what else to do..."

Çilen was sincerely shocked. "So it is true that you...", she toned down to a whisper, "threw him into a pit full of...venomous snakes?"

"What?! No! That is bizarre! Who on Earth would do such a thing?" Yeldem looked completely quizzical, then got serious again. "...He died in his sleep. Unlikely that he ever felt anything of it. Did you by chance hear the snake-pit story from your husband?"

"How do you..."

"Oh, dear." Now Yeldem had to smile again. "Don't believe everything those Northmen tell you by the letter. They have a tendency to value poetry over factual accuracy. And courts do have a tendency to resemble snake pits in that way, I'll give them that.

More importantly, as you might have figured by now: think twice before you indulge into power struggles. What I just told you is what might happen when you succeed. Better not think about trying and failing. Few people get a second chance."

"I promise, Aunt. I need to think about this...and I want to see Bulgaria soon and hear more stories about being a Queen. Thank you for all the advice."

"You are always welcome, my child. And now I would like another ale."

Yeldem waved a servant towards her and Çilen looked around the scene deep in thought. What to make of this? It wasn't that she was any less inclined to see her daughters – or even herself – on a throne some day, but obviously there were a great deal of perils to it.

Me and Egill will manage come time, she finally thought. The fatalism comes soon enough once we're old...

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 66 - Detour


January 30, 910 AD

Bulçir encampment, Saqsin

The war on Cumania was sloughing along, although the Khazar horde was unbeaten on the battlefield. While the Cumans could not field a host capable of endangering the Khazar troops, they were regularly able to use the vastness of their homeland to maneuver around them and retake the lands that Khazaria occupied before. This way, Magnitaya had once again changed hands a few weeks earlier, and with it the foothold of the Khazars in the Cuman mainland. At least there was no sign of the Cumans going after Usturt either. Still, something had to happen – and thus Tarkhan had decided to lead his troops far into Siberia this time. The home of Khagan Sokal was under Karakhanid occupation, and Tarkhan presumed that an explicit demonstration of power projection would prove his superiority once and for all.

On their way back to the Eastern border and to the host that General Egill was leading at the moment, Khagan Tarkhan and his entourage were stopping by at the Bulçir camp to take a short rest and refresh their supplies. Khan Yilig, who would take over the other half of the Khazar forces stationed in the occupied province Or, would join them for at least part of the further voyage in the early morning, but not before inviting his highborn guest to a feast.

"I have to say, I am impressed. It has been some time since I visited Saqsin, and it has sure come a long way", Khagan Tarkhan Ashina just told his advisor and general.

"We all do what we can" replied a content Yilig of Bulçir. "When you refrain from perpetual pointless wars, a lot is possible."

Tarkhan grinned. "I hope your words won't come back to you. It's easy to be smart in hindsight."

Yilig raised an eyebrow. "Rest assured that the Bulçir clan knows well what it is doing. We would not have attacked Bolghar out of the blue. Khagan Batir and his men are in Russia, and there is little to stop them. Täbär and his men are plowing through the Khanates under Bolghar rule as we speak. If everything keeps going as planned, the war will be over by summer."

Indeed Yilig's clan was prospering under his rule, fueled by the wealthy lands on the Caspian coast he had conquered from Alania a decade ago. The Khan and his council had thus recently decided to put their newfound resources to the field and conquer Uzen, north of the trade post in Itil, from Khan Gostun of Kashu, a vassal to Khagan Batir 'the Spider' of Bolghar. With Yilig presumably on duty for the Khaganate, his brother Täbär had again taken over the Bulçir horde and stormed into Bolghar, which was no longer under Ashina suzerainty since Zachariah's demise.

"I take your word for it. In an emergency, it would be unpleasant to have another well-armed Khanate busy elsewhere for an indefinite time", a pondering Tarkhan replied. "Although I'm not sure if this time Samsam's attempt is as pointless as it may seem."

What they were both referring to was the news that had reached Saqsin in the morning. Tarkhan still remembered Samsam's words that this old family business wouldn't disrupt his duties to the Khaganate. His war on Novgorod had gone roughly as predicted after Kiev stepped in, and in the past summer Samsam called it off after a lost battle in the plains of Chernigov and admitted defeat. The enemy had assembled over 8000 troops, and Samsam was thought to avoid even greater damage to his horde. Now word spread that the Jabdertim had declared war on the Kievan Rus itself – for its subjugation, a far more ambitious goal than in the last forfeited campaign.

Tarkhan continued: "The Russians have always been strong when they were united. The Jabdertim had to make this experience time and time again. It is different now, with King Ingvar's most important ally and his largest subject at war with each other. The chiefdoms in the East struggle with the Bolghar advancing and never supported King Ingvar much - and on his own, he is vulnerable.

In Summer, the High Chief of Polotsk figured his moment had come and broke the inner peace in the Rus that had lasted since the Kingdom's formation and carried it through all attacks from outside so far. While Novgorod could eventually best Khan Samsam Jabdertim with the help of its allies, it came out of the war weakened – and there would be much less support against Polotsk, with King Ingvar unable to protect his brother.

"I see", replied Yilig. "It is true, if their inner conflicts persist, there might be the opportunity for Samsam that Itakh always wanted to enforce. It will still be a long and costly war – and even if he succeeds, his new neighbour would be Poland, the chief defender of the Slavs by now and very expansive, as has been proved. They recently subjugated Pruthenia and now have lands from the Elbe and the Baltic Sea to the Carpathian basin, and it is rumoured that their King Zbigniew and his vassals can muster as many as twenty thousand men.

Kiev will also not accept a Khazarian as their overlord just like that. As soon as the Rus recovers, the whole question will rise anew. More trouble would only be a matter of time."

"More trouble is always only a matter of time. That is the way things go in the steppes. No matter how wise you deem yourself."

"Of course you're correct, my Khagan." Yilig knew well when to leave a disagreement be. "I will still keep to avoiding more of it than is necessary. As you said, someone has to be ready to defend the Khaganate alongside you should the need arise... and look at how much assistance Hekel, for instance, could offer you right now, after their embarrassing performance in the East."

"Don't get me started on this. Vakrim stormed in there entirely unprepared and had no idea how the Karakhanids were actually faring against Cumania. He was entirely surprised when he learned they put up resistance. And worse for him, everyone knows it by now. 'The unready', they call him. Just great. Imagine a herald shouting 'meet the ambassador of the Khaganate of Khazaria, Vakrim the Unready!'"

Yilig had to chuckle. "Vakrim is actually lucky this is the worst of his problems now. A more pleasant side effect of Samsam continuing his efforts in Russia, if you ask me. Inner conflicts never benefit anyone."

Tarkhan nodded and waved to a servant for another cup. "That ale is rather tasty. Where is it from?"

"A monastery in Balanjar, down to the south. Those Orthodoxs monks sure are a weird bunch, but their brewing skills are beyond doubt", a pleased Yilig replied. "Just be careful with it. We have a long way ahead of us."





May 29, 910 AD

Near Qashliq, Sibir

Besieging a wooden hillfort was familiar terrain for General Egill Rögnvaldrsson, and the promise that the war would be concluded upon their success spurred his motivation. He spent the whole day organizing and supervising the siege ring. After the winter in Siberia, there was nothing that he and his soldiers wished more than to finally get back home. The losses to the cold were limited as the command had provided for winterproof gear this time, but the long marches through the vast plains and the rough conditions, even in summer when it rained for days on end and the ground turned into a vast array of mud, took their toll on everyone.

At least the latest offensive had been largely successful. While Egill and his men took lands in Siberia, the southern branch of the horde could score another important victory on the battlefield, catching Khagan Sokal's men off guard through a cunning maneuver. There was little doubt by now that the Khazar forces were superior and any straw could break Cumania's back.

Egill was giving out orders to a squad of scouts when he heard his name being shouted somewhere behind him and recognized the Khagan's voice. "Excuse me for a moment. In the meantime, get your disguises back in order. There is going to be little to fear with them being locked in, but you never know."

Only a few moments later, Egill almost ran into the visibly disgruntled Tarkhan. "Ah, there you are, General. It is urgent.... and infuriating, to be honest. I should never have let the staff from my father's time just carry on. How would he have known anything about these matters at all?"

"Wasn't he the one who appointed you as commander, too?" was the first thing that came to the surprised Egill's mind.

Tarkhan rolled his eyes. "Not what I need to discuss with you right now. Do you remember when I told you of the attack on Magnitaya?"

"Of course. I was not even aware we hold Magnitaya again until then. You said that you've sent the other host in to prevent it being taken."

"Yes, and to bring this war to a conclusion. It's gone too long. The Cumans are worn out, as stubborn as they may be. Yilig and his fellows had more men than the enemy, the better equip, and yet they managed to lose Magnitaya first and then the following battle. They've actually lost, Egill."

Egill let out a prolonged sigh of frustration. He had uttered his skepticism about an open attack in advance. Yilig, Yeçtirek and Guyug were capable and experienced men, and there was probably a reason why they had not resorted to an attack themselves. The Khagan would not listen by then, and it sure did not look like he was admitting to a mistake now.

"How could that happen? And how many men did they lose?" was all Egill could say.

"About seven hundred, according to the report. The generals state that everything was going according to plan until Guyug's brigade misinterpeted a feint attack and got itself encircled. They had to flee, which left the remainder of the battlefield to a superior force. Yilig and Yeçtirek already had their enemies subdued , but when the fresh reinforcements rode in they were unable to fight back." Tarkhan elaborated grimly. "Yilig is going to have a lot of explaining to do when he gets here."

"What? But that could take weeks..."

"I'm not talking about waiting for him in this particular place, you fool.", Tarkhan cut him off and walked past him. "Yilig is going to join us wherever we are at the time, of course. In fact, we will leave soon. The Toksoba horde will not have the last laugh. The report says they have headed off in our direction. We will find them and beat them...but not before this place is ours."

He made a short break and turned to Egill again. "We did not come to Sibir to leave with empty hands. And this is why we're storming the fort. Prepare everything, so we can start by the evening. I cannot imagine the defenders will last for long."

Egill, still processing the sudden change of circumstances, pulled himself together. "It will be done. My spies have identified a number of weaknesses in their defense over the last days."

"Then see to it. Prove that I can count on you at least, and Magnitaya will be naught but a minor setback."

Egill saluted and headed off to prepare the assault. So much for being home in a few weeks, he thought in silent indignation. When will I finally return to Çilen and the girls?



July 25, 910 AD

Tobol, Sibir

Proud and sturdy, Khagan Tarkhan Ashina gazed into the far, where the Toksoba horde was galloping away from his army in full retreat.

The Khazarian horde was on its way south and rather unsuspecting when the scouts delivered notice that the Toksoba were on their way toward them – and possibly unaware of their presence. Aware that the tactical advantage would be on their side this time, Tarkhan immediately decided to take the fight and deliver the due payback to Khan Uzur of Toksoba (not to be confused with his namesake fellow from Terteroba) and his troops. The horde took position near the banks of the Ob and opened the fight when Khan Uzur and his horde attempted to cross the river.

The Khagan himself had seen to lead the brigade opposing Khan Uzur, whose men had almost single-handedly won the day in Magnitaya. The men along Uzur's side obviously tried to subvert their opponents as they successfully did last time, but Tarkhan did not fall for it. His men spread quickly instead of flocking together, thus they were able to counter the Toksoban attempt to surround them and broke the Cumans' lines in two sections instead. The isolated half had to flee, while the other men were pushed toward Egill Rögnvaldrsson's brigade that was short of breaking their own opposing force.

This move, along with the generally favorable conditions of engagement, brought the victory for Khazaria and put an end to the war in immediate reach again. The whole encounter lasted no longer than two hours, yet almost thousand men of both sides lay dead.

The Khazar troops were taking up the collection of the bodies and General Egill had joined the Khagan. He was quite the sight among the Khazars, with his old Nordic armor and the unusual helmet he had inherited years ago from the uncle that originally had taken him on the raid leading to Tana and into Çilen's arms.

"Admirable work, my Khagan. Quick and efficient."

"That's how we do in the steppes", a smiling Tarkhan replied. "They were smart to retreat quickly."

"No doubt about that. They made a mistake already when crossing that river. Hard to imagine how they wanted to win this in the first place."

"Oh, it was not the river that stopped them. The Cumans do not back before running water. It was the prowess of the men on the front that made the difference between the last battle and this one."

Egill frowned. The crossing of the Ob did objectively disrupt the Toksoba, as it would any army. They were both experienced enough to know that. And the last battle had been an attack on a prepared enemy – one on his explicit order. Khan Yilig had told them in detail what went wrong in Magnitaya, and now the Khagan was acting as if he did not believe any of it.

"Well, I do not want to downplay the tactical performance of today, but..."

"Why would you want to? There's only this way to separate the great leaders from the mediocre ones", Tarkhan quickly threw in.

"I just said I do not want to..."

"That's what I wanted to hear. You're a good man, Egill. We will win many more battles together, I am sure of that."

The Norse general was flattered, if slightly confused. "Of that I am sure. Do you think the Cuman Khagan will give in, now that the Toksoba have been defeated?"

"I would wish so too, yet I suspect he will hold out. We will have to go to Magnitaya once again", replied Tarkhan, gazing into the open again.

Egill sighed. "What is it with that place? It's like the whole war between two vast Khaganates revolves in this backwater along the Ural."

"It's odd, right...? Yet in the first place, there is little else left to occupy by now." Tarkhan turned back to Egill. "Except if you fancy leading a host even further into Siberia, that is."

"Not in the least", Egill replied quickly.

"I thought so. We will be moving by the evening. Victory will only come to us if we always keep going."

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 67- Conquer And Divide

December 13, 910 AD

Tmutarakan

Word spread quickly when Khagan Sokal II of Cumania finally surrendered after much reluctance and lengthy negotiations. Back in Tmutarakan, Baron Zakkai of Cherson and Rabbi Nisi of Doros immediately went to prepare a suitable ceremony to welcome their victorious Khagan.

When Batir Dulo of Bolghar had conceded his defeat to Khan Yilig in September, his fellow Sokal of Cumania could somehow talk him into joining his nearly lost war against Khazaria. Although Batir was in no position to make any kind of tangible difference anymore, it postponed the peace treaty further. Tarkhan had been away for almost the entire year, and quite a bunch of news were awaiting him.

In his absence, the steward Zakkai and Tarkhan's wife Yartilek had taken over most of the daily business while Khan Böri worked tirelessly behind the scenes to identify and contain threats to the Khagan's rule. Over the year, his efforts bore fruit. While the Khans and the councillors could arrange with Tarkhan, it was hardly a secret that he wasn't favored as much among the courtiers and especially his family.

Böri was not surprised when the evidence about people plotting on Tarkhan turned ever more conclusive in the summer months. Only a few days earlier, when his informers learned about who was allegedly behind the whole thing, eyebrows were raised among the spies. Muhan was still off in China and nobody in Tmutarakan had heard anything of him since Tarkhan's coronation – seemingly except for Khagan Zachariah's widow Irge Yabguid, who Khan Böri suspected to be the factual figure behind the plot in Tmutarakan.

On the other hand, Muhan was still Tarkhan's undisputed heir and thus had an all too obvious motive. The same went for Azariah of Bryakhimov, who had turned bitter over the pain and the disappointment of the past years, and Irge who detested the Khagan for his disapproval of her own sons. Her daughter Çilen's complicity, while it would surely sadden Khatun Yartilek, was also her business to figure out. The only piece of the puzzle Khan Böri was missing was what Khan Yeçtirek of Kozar might be thinking. Tarkhan was known to show his enemies little mercy, and Yeçtirek, though his Khanate was small, sure stood to lose something.



Finally they arrived. Along Khagan Tarkhan and his honor guard, traditionally bearing the battle standart of the defeated Cumans under their own, Khan Yilig of Bulçir and Guyug Khöndlöngiin rode into the Ashina camp in Tmutarakan. There were many curious and respectful gazes, but rather restrained cheers compared to the reception after the war on Byzantium. The unexpectedly long war had taken more of a toll on the Ashina clan than expected, and many families had lost a son, brother or father to it - although at no point Cuman troops managed to enter Khazaria.

Among the people welcoming the homecoming soldiers was a familiar face. Çilen Ashina liked to mingle with the commonfolk, particularly when she was in no mood to be looked after closely. When the generals rode by, her expression froze. There were only three of them...and Egill wasn't among them. A terrible apprehension made her heart stop for a moment, then Çilen bolted off.

A few minutes later, she arrived at the Khagan's yurt, entirely out of breath. "I....I need to speak to Khatun Yartilek."

The guard she was addressing nodded and left. A little later, instead of inviting her in, Yartilek appeared in the tent flap with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, if that isn't my little lovebird. I fear that with Tarkhan coming back soon, it will become more troublesome than usual to offer you my hospitality. Why don't we go for a little walk together?"

Çilen looked back at Yartilek in surprise. "I only wanted to ask you something. I figured you might be busy on such a day."

"I'm busy most of the time. Leave the worries about that to me. Let's go."

The Khatun fell into movement before Çilen could place further objections. After a short walk, Yartilek lowered her pace. "Thank you for your understanding. I'm sure you know that some things don't need to be discussed in plain earshot, do they?"

"I don't know exactly what this is about, but I just want to know where Egill is. He wasn't with the other generals when they just rode in. I fear something might have happened to him."

Yartilek let out a strangely sad laugh. "Oh, Çilen. Sometimes I think you're pulling an act on us all and no one can be so cunning and so naive at the same time."

Çilen stopped her step, completely confused. "What? That isn't an answer."

Yartilek sighed. "Egill is as alive and well as ever. He and Khan Yeçtirek volunteered to lead a small raiding host into Persia, into the realm of our new neighbours, the Samanids."

"What?! I do not believe a single word of this! I know how much he longed to come back home after every deployment, and now you are telling me..."

"You are a smart young woman after all", Yartilek fell into the princess' protests. "In fact, commanders rarely really volunteer to go on such an operation. Raiding is dangerous, you know? Your life and limb mostly relies on not being worth the bother – and if that does not work, on getting away quickly enough."

Çilen looked at the Khatun. "So this is...a punishment?"

"Not quite. Egill himself has done little wrong. It is a warning. A warning from Tarkhan - to you."

"Me? But...what do I have to do with anything?"

"And now you're playing dumb again." Yartilek smiled once more, almost gracefully. "Listen to me, Çilen. I am telling you this as a friend. I know well that you know what I am talking about and this is the only opportunity you will get."

The Khatun let an instant pass in silence before she continued. "Stay out of this cabal trying to mess with the Khaganate, Çilen. For your own sake and for your family's. You might think you can outsmart Böri, but he has a wide network and maybe...you're just not that good. You are thus far protected by your bloodline, but this does not mean your continued involvement would remain without consequences. I do not know or care what you hope to accomplish by this, but I advise you to cut it for good."

Çilen stared to the floor, recognizing there was no point in further denials. Reluctantly, she nodded. "I admit it. I've been drawn into this whole thing and didn't think about it properly...it is not going to happen again."

"I am curious how much your word is worth these days. And if you wondered, Egill knows nothing of who he owes his continued deployment to. Yet."

Çilen only stood there, angry at herself for being so incautious and at Yartilek for belittling her. And now Tarkhan was essentially holding her husband hostage. Nothing was stopping him from perpetually deploying Egill somewhere out in the steppes. I should have listened to Aunt Yeldem, Adonai knows. Hopefully He will find forgiveness and lead Egill back to me.



A little later

Tarkhan's throne was placed in front of the gathering hall for the upcoming ceremony. The war banner was now flowing beside his throne, openly signaling the Khazarian victory to everyone. The Court Rabbi who would bestow his new titles upon Tarkhan, the other councillors and Tarkhan's wife and concubines were already waiting.

Inside, Khagan Tarkhan Ashina tried his best to hide his annoyance. From the moment he had entered the palisades around Tmutarakan, he had not enjoyed a single free minute – not even to pay a visit to his own baby daughter Kelyamal, whose birth to Tarkhan's concubine Noushin had unfortunately coincided with the defeat in Magnitaya and who had therefore never seen her father until now.

There was always one more little formal thing to take care of before the ceremony, which had to be done as immediate as humanly possible because of more formal things. He knew that Zakkai and Nisi were only doing their duty, but did it all have to be this minutely correct? He was the Khagan, after all. I should be the one telling them what to do. I'll definitely handle this differently next time. Still there was little to be done about it by now, and Tarkhan figured he might as well get it over with. At least Noushin and Kelyamal were both well and present for today's occasion, so he could finally meet his firstborn.

The Khagan stepped out of the hall in his full ornate. Apart from the distinctive crown jewels that Tarkhan wore only for the most formal occasions and deeply detested in secret, it consisted of an elaborately adorned traditional Khazar garment along with fitting boots, Tarkhan's leather bracers and legplates. The most valuable piece was the ornamented breastplate that the new Khagan gave in order soon after his coronation and that had seen its first use in the campaign on Cumania.

It was undeniable that Tarkhan, in his distinct way, very much resembled a fierce and noble warrior king. The awe among his court and the peasants who had gathered was great, and it made him feel a lot better already. On this day, both his ability to secure his bloodline and the one to expand his domain – exactly what he had promised his people upon his coronation - would be publicly celebrated.

Where I attempt, I succeed. There is not a lot of men who can say this of themselves, Tarkhan thought and waved gracefully toward his subjects.

January 23, 911 AD

Tana, near the Don estuary

It was a rather mild winter night, and the crescent moon illuminated the majestic Don river that flew by leisurely. Only a short walk from the river's banks, just before it spread out into a wide fertile delta, the Ashina clan had taken up camp recently.

Shortly after his return home, the council of Khazaria suggested to their Khagan the relocation of the central Ashina encampment to Tana. The trading post there was established by now and running well, although its supply routes were not unaffected by the prolonged conflicts further east. Moving the Ashina center of operations closer to the Radhanites' dwellings would open up new opportunities for cooperation between the trader caste inhabiting the settlements around the Silk Road and the Khazar lords over the lands.

Baron Zakkai even spoke of the possibility to issue a proper Khazar currency and bring it into wider circulation with the Radhanites' help. To date, the bulk of trade that involved a token at all (the peasants still relied almost completely on the exchange of naturals, particularly livestock) was conducted with foreign coins or raw metals, which often lead to frictions and inconveniences about payments. The presence of Khazar coins would give the Khaganate a lever to deal with the problem, and the steward could be very convincing when he delved into the specifics of economic measures that were well established in his German homelands but mostly unheard of in the vast, thinly if at all settled Khazaria.

While Tarkhan was glad to let advances such as these shape his image in the open, he and a small group of trusted people were looking to work behind the scenes to ensure Khazaria's safety. As it was tonight. In all secrecy, Tarkhan and his inner circle were regularly meeting at ever changing places. Tonight it was the Hekel embassy, where Chancellor Vakrim worked and resided when he wasn't home in his own lands or on missions to other realms. Besides Vakrim himself and the Khagan, Yilig of Bulçir, Khatun Yartilek and Spymaster Böri of Khwaliz were present.

"I have personally taken to Khan Yeçtirek", the Khagan was just recounting. "With the perspective of staying in Persia a little longer, he was very talkative. Said he was framed by Irge and that he never would have agreed to anything if he had known better, the usual excuses."

"Indeed, that's what everyone always says", replied Böri. "I hope you did not fall for that unimaginative idle talk."

"I don't believe any of it. Words are cheap, much like you said. Yet it also does not matter much. As well as every other Khan, he is better off working with me than against me. I reminded him of that, and he is not going to cause more fuss anytime soon. With him and Çilen out of the picture, we can hopefully proceed to the next step."

"Indeed we can", said Vakrim while a servant of his poured fresh tea and wine. "The collaboration of both Nisi of Doros and Khan Samsam of Jabdertim is settled as well. It is surprising how many influential people are seriously annoyed of Irge."

"Oh, you don't know her", quipped Tarkhan, to general amusement. "It's ironic though that even a supposed man of God deems our approach worth of supporting..."

"Not that much when you consider how Nisi got into that position in the first place", Yilig of Bulçir threw in.

"That wasn't his idea", Tarkhan replied with a grin.

"Fair point...so do you already have a plan in stock, Böri?"

"There's a variety of options with the people backing us", the spymaster answered, tangibly in his element. "I will see to gain insight into Irge's habits and possible occasions where she lets her guard down, then come back with a proposition to one of you. Just keep yourselves prepared."

Tarkhan nodded in approval. "Very good. I'm convinced we can rely on you. And Vakrim, I am also pleased about the strong support from the others. Together we will state the necessary example. This should settle it for tonight."

When everyone headed out, Böri gently held Tarkhan back. "What exactly did you mean by reminding Yeçtirek that he's better off working with you? I know of him being sent to Persia as an example, but..."

"Oh, that isn't a secret, don't worry. You would have heard about it in council anyway."

"You want to imprison him? I don't think the council is going to..."

"No, you fool. How would that make my point? Yeçtirek is not a threat. He is upset only because the Kozar clan has not gained land since the Great Reformation. So he gets some land - and a little reminder where his place is, while..."

Böri thought he had misheard the Khagan. "You didn't just tell me that you are going to reward his defiance with land."

"No one spoke of a reward. I told you how it is. He gets land so he is off my back. And I was just about to tell you that in your case, the reminder is not necessary. I know your people long for new lands too, and you have shown to be a valuable asset. You'll be the Count of Buzachi shortly, Böri."

Böri's face showed his joyous surprise. "Now that sounds much better already!", he exclaimed. "But...where exactly is Buzachi?"

"It's part of the lands that Cumania had to cede to us. Although the lands beyond the Caspian are far away from yours, the opportunities there are plenty with Persia right around the corner", Tarkhan replied contently.

Böri bowed. "I am deeply grateful, my Khagan. I am not sure if raids on the other end of the empire would be the best strategy to a small Khanate based next to a large and expansive one", he added with a slight grin, "but the pastures should prove useful enough by themselves."

Tarkhan placed his hand upon Böri's shoulder. "The land is yours now, you're entitled to do with it as you please. And rest assured that I know it's not optimal. If you keep to my side, we will find a better solution soon."

"That would be more than I could ever ask for. You can count on me, my Khagan", Böri replied steadfast.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 68 – Keep going

July 23, 911 AD

Tana

As ever so often in this damp and rainy summer, Tarkhan took his horse for a ride along the Don when the skies were clear for a change. His spymaster had once placed objections to him taking such trips alone, but Tarkhan unmistakably made it clear that Böri was supposed to encircle the enemy more thoroughly next time if he wanted to help with his security. Shortly before, a first assasination attempt on Tarkhan's former stepmother Irge had failed.

No, Tarkhan was not going to become a voluntary prisoner in his own home, just because of a conspiracy in plain sight. Staying in Tana for months on end was enough of a drag to him, the accomplished steppe warrior, and he needed room to breathe. He found some degree of solace watching the local children play in the waters while their mothers washed their laundry and exchanged the most recent chatter. The herdsmen tending to the river with their thirsty livestock. Trade carts rolling past, laden with fish, cheese and animal skins from the local craftsmen, imports and tributes from other parts of Khazaria or occasionally even precious goods from the Far East.

In addition Tarkhan felt there wasn't much else to do for him, with the horde still steadily moving westward. Sure, the reports from Zakkai and Vakrim were informative, but sitting and reading all day was not suitable for a man such as himself. He had upped his regiment of daily physical exercise to remain in shape and possibly become even hardier, but the void in his days remained unfilled. And at night, the dreams came back, robbing him of his sleep and frightening him deeply, although he never told anyone of them.

At least it could not be long now until the men finally arrived at the border of their next target, which he had shortly proclaimed to be Moldavia. The small Duchy beyond the Dniester neighboured Khazaria since the Magyar's ultimately failed migration beyond the Carpathian mountains and Zachariah's conquest of their lands. That was decades ago, yet Zachariah had always been reluctant to venture into Slavic lands for fear of a curse he wouldn't stop talking about. Zakkai seemed to have listened to him a little too much, as he still tried to talk Tarkhan out of his plan, insisting that the cost in coin and lives would likely once again be great.

The Khagan barely listened to his steward's eternal preoccupations anymore. Wasn't he the one whose strategies had yet to fail? He had given thought more than once to the next step, especially since things were ever more rapidly evolving in the western neighbourhood. Seeing that Samsam's efforts in Kiev were yielding quick successes due to the Russian lords' infights, Khan Yilig of Bulçir and Khagan Batir of Bolghar who had fought each other not long ago declared their own wars on the Rus and Novgorod.

The Russians were busy struggling to protect themselves, and the Ashina clan could hardly stand idle while other players were dividing the lands among them. Poland seemed to look the other way, probably busy projecting its own rule to the numerous lands King Zbigniew had acquired throughout the last years. If this was not the time, what would ever be? And luckily there was no obstruction in sight this time, as Böri – a staunch supporter of a campaign to Moldavia himself – was assuring to Tarkhan.

Only a few more weeks. This thought and the peaceful scenery in front of him placated Khagan Tarkhan's mind for a moment.



October 3, 911 AD

Iasi, Moldavia

Tarkhan and his men were leading their horses through a wide swampy plain. It had to have rained a lot recently, and the Khazar horsemen could only advance slowly and carefully. For two weeks were they now marching into Iasi and toward the local Count's castle, which could not be far anymore. Yet the Khagan couldn't quite recall how they had ended up here of all places, where Moldavia seemingly was at its most desolate. Nothing was to see on the horizon, except more brushes and occasional trees. It reminded Tarkhan of the North, rather than what he remembered of this region.

But this was their way, the one they were following, no doubt about it. Victory would only come to them if they kept going. Nine months had it taken the horde to get from Cumania to the western borders so the war on Moldavia could start. Now there was no time to lose.

The silence among the riders, otherwise a rather jaunty bunch when on the move, was odd. Even the horses seemed like they were on their guard. The only sounds were trotting hooves and deep breaths.

Until a wolf howled somewhere afar. It was not much, but in the general tension it was seemingly enough to make Tarkhan's war horse Lightning, otherwise so reliable, immediately panick. Only for the split of a second did the Khagan not pay attention, and the animal bolted right into a deep sinkhole, thereby throwing him off like a squire on his first tries. Horse and rider were submerged in soft mud, and particularly Lightning struggled bad to not entirely sink in. The horse let out a bloodcurdling howl. Tarkhan cursed, but then realized they needed help quickly and began to shout at the soliders still passing them.

"Hey! Over here! Get us out!"

His voice boomed through the swamp. Strangely, nobody seemed to react even in the slightest. The men just kept moving forward, without looking left and right. What was the deal with those men?

Tarkhan shouted louder and angrier. "This is an order! I COMMAND you to immediately help me!"

Nothing. None of the soldiers that were still passing by Tarkhan and Lightning, some closer, some further away, turned his head.

But what was that? All the time it had been silent, but now Tarkhan could hear a mumbling choir of voices, disorganized at first, but the closer he looked, the more discernible it got:

"Victory will only come to us if we keep going."

Tarkhan immediately understood. They were focused on moving forward, toward their next destination. Would they cease, they would break...and he was only a casualty, a possible disruption. He was on his own. They were sinking. Beside him, Lightning's screams got more desperate.

And then it crept up inside him again. The panic...The horror. He thought he'd subdued this foul presence inside his mind, that the pressure had fallen off of him – but then the dreams had come back. The perpetual dreams, disturbing and constricting, always reliving what was far behind...

Wait, Tarkhan suddenly thought. The dreams...How did I even get to this swamp? What have I...



With a sudden moan, Tarkhan Ashina jolted awake in his hammock. He was drenched in sweat and his heart raced. The relief that he was safe fainted within fractions of a second and his first thought was Oh Lord, not again.

Tarkhan knew these nightmares from many uncomfortable nights, back in the time before his ascension, when the pressure often seemed unbearable. Nowadays, they seemed to appear only when he stayed in one place for too long and started to see patterns where there were none. This particular version of him being subjected to a hopeless situation and the people around him being out of reach had reemerged during the siege on Iasi, which they had actually reached a week ago. There also was no swamp on the way.

Another problem had shown itself instead: the Moldavians were determined to make life miserable for the foreign invaders. Much of the countryside was abandoned entirely, with nothing of note left to feed an army of more than three thousand men, but in turn abounding with traps. The Khazars lost dozens of men, some in rather gruesome ways, and a lot of confidence about their own safety through these devices. Soon, the Khazar horde had to ration their food and drink, which in turn left the men more susceptible to the frequent small raids by bandits and renegade units. And winter was about to set in. It was going to be an unpleasant one for Tarkhan and his men. Maybe this is what the dream was about, Tarkhan tried to reassure himself.

At least their numbers had one distinctive advantage: the Moldavian army did not dare to move in on them and the positions around Iasi could be secured quickly. The fall of the castle would be a matter of time, save for additional entries into the war on the Moldavian side. Until now, only their contractual allies Pomerania and Novgorod were involved – the latter mostly bled dry and in over their heads with the various wars on King Stanislav's own territory and his brother Ingvar.

Tarkhan tried his best to find sleep again, but the thoughts about what was possibly coming raced in his head, leaving him no rest until the sun dawned and a new day threw itself upon the tired Khagan.



July 13, 912 AD

Ushytsia, Eastern Galich

Levi of Toledo was a little short on his breath lately, but he sure was an accomplished and dignified man.

Twenty-two years had he, the son of refugees from central Iberia which was now under Muslim rule, spent as the Count of Kastoria in Epirus, elevated by the old Doux because of his valuable services as his steward. Levi had always placed his duty above everything else, even marriage and family, determined that strong ties like these were only a burden to a truly great man. Determination and diligence, along with his positive disposition toward his fellows, shaped his rule and he was highly popular among his people and the Epirotian court alike.

Then his benefactor died, his heir came of age a little later and almost immediately cracked down on the Jewish minority. Before he could get imprisoned or assasinated, Levi managed to flee the country, took to Russia first and ended up in the Hekel clan's settlings in Novgorod Seversky after an adventurous journey. Khan Vakrim, always looking for capable men to join his ranks, immediately found the man to his liking, and soon he was named his Court Marshal.

Despite his high age, Levi still accompanied the horde to the field whenever possible. When the call to war from Khagan Tarkhan arrived and Vakrim asked for his expertise to watch over the men, there was no second thought for him. The orders for the Hekel horde were to stay put and cover the Ashina troops sieging in Iasi and Peresechen from Ushytsia, the westernmost part of Khazaria. The reason why this was deemed necessary after all was that in spring the Polish king joined into the war on Moldavia, after he had kept out of the troubles in Russia until now.

Although Levi knew the message in his hands would come sooner or later, he felt uneasy. It was only a matter of time before Poland would show up in the vicinity. And now the helpful scouts from the Jabdertim horde were reporting activity of about five thousand men near their positions. Five thousand. Even if they were only tribesmen, these news certainly were troubling.

It wasn't as if everything had gone smoothly for the Khazarian troops before, although they were doubtlessly progressing. The quick realization that the Moldavian people would defend their land vigorously kept the horde from uniting because the losses would have been too heavy, and the Duchy's allies from Pomerania showed up shortly after the Polish declaration. They threatened to pass into Khazaria through the occupied Kievan lands to the north, and the Khagan decided to retract the troops under his command into Etelköz and possibly catch them should they pull through with their incursion plans.

As it turned out, this was a purposeful distraction. When Tarkhan's host headed east to counter the Pomeranians' alleged approach, the Moldavians took their chance to attack the other Khazar army who had taken the Barony of Iasi by now and besieged the other holdings in the area - under undiminished losses and rather far from its full fighting capacity. The Moldavians scored quick successes against the Khazars' centre, and only the timely arrival of Levi and his Hekel troops, along with the men from Khwaliz, prevented a painful loss for them.

After this narrowly avoided setback, Tarkhan and his host went back to siege the hinterland of Peresechen. While the Khagan insisted that he knew all the time that the support of the Khanates would be enough to repel the Moldavians, he since then showed no intent to leave the troops in Iasi without cover again.

Levi grumbled and got up from his chair. Word had to be sent quickly to the other armies, and of course to the Khagan. Would the Poles join the Moldavian army, another attack could be imminent – and it would be a bloody affair no matter the outcome.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 69 – What's in a name?



January 22, 913 AD

Cernauti, Moldavia

The Khazar troops were busy all day already, carrying supplies and other possibly valuable loot out of the castle. Upon tearing down the Moldavian banner flying over the tower, Tarkhan had proclaimed to his men that the fortress, and with it the surrounding villages and farming communities, was to be razed to the ground as soon as its lord was brought to his knees. The lush lands would ultimately fall to nature again and become a valuable pasture for the growing Khazarian Khaganate. The last official act the Barony of Cernauti would see was the imminent signing of the peace treaty and its own ceding to Khagan Tarkhan Ashina. The contract would fulfil the Khazarian demands in their entirety and thus seal High Chief Sudislav's loss of his original realm.

It remained unexplained to the Khazars why the Polish troops kept refraining from moving onto them when they eventually arrived at the Moldavian defenders' position. Maybe the Poles got cold feet at the sight of the seven thousand men facing them. Maybe they reasoned that even a successful assault would be too great a sacrifice on the young kingdom's resources, with the eastern border likely to become more perilous in the future.

In September, an army of almost five thousand Kievan troops moved toward the Bulçir horde that was on their way west, aiming to cut them off around their occupied capital region. What they did not expect was that Samsam of Jabdertim's host who controlled Kiev was still in the immediate vicinity. The Jabdertim had a lot to gain from aiding the Bulçir brought down, and shortly after the battle of Kiev dawned the Russians found themselves against an overwhelming force from two fronts and could only retreat eventually, under heavy losses to the horsemen pursuing them without mercy.

No matter what it was exactly that held the Poles back, but ultimately Tarkhan and his men were able to hold their positions in the southeastern part of Moldavia. They could even keep the enemy out of their territory without offering the main force an all too easy chance to make a move on Iasi. Three days ago the fortress of Cernauti, the last stronghold of the High Chiefdom in the area, had fallen.

Although High Chief Sudislav's seat in Suceava was still well guarded, his realm was a small one and he could not sustain having half of it occupied for long. With his allies apparently unwilling to try and do something about it, Sudislav saw little choice when the suggestion to surrender was delivered to him.

What he did not know was that the Khazar horde was in trouble as much as him. The casualties through attrition from the hostile terrain and the difficult conditions piled up, and the Khazars were now running out of fresh reserve troops quickly. The additional recruiting efforts involved a lot of people who would have preferred to remain simple herders or traders, which made the war wildly unpopular among the Khazar peasants. Every setback would have caused even greater problems to Tarkhan and his troops.

But High Chief Sudislav and his allies had no way of knowing this. To him and his people, Khazaria was still a sealed book, a seemingly unending source of fierce warriors ready to cause havoc wherever they went.

***

Tarkhan, Egill and Khan Ötemis of Kozar waited in a spacious yurt outside the walls of Cernauti. Ötemis had succeeded his older brother half a year ago and was named commander of Khazaria little later. In all the years of service as a commander, the late Khan Yeçtirek never sustained an injury in battle. He even got caught plotting against Tarkhan recently and got away with it unharmed. What it eventually took was only a little adventure on his short assignment to Persia – and a severe inflammation with the Great Pox.

The High Chief would likely send an emissary - it was rumoured that he was already fleeing to Galich, the last bit of land remaining to him, and would soon attempt to join King Zbigniew of Poland's realm. Finally, the guard shouted "My Khagan, Shaman Radoslav of Bogdana is here!"

"Let him in", the Khagan said and the current chancellor to High Chief Sudislav stepped in front of them. A tall and upright man whose spare blonde hair was almost entirely osbcured by his pompous headdress of black cloth and bones and who showed no sign of fear. His domain was the temple of Bogdana, further west near Suceava.

The man bowed deeply when he faced his Khazar counterparts and addressed them: "I bid you greetings, however unpleasant to us your visit turned out."

"Rest assured that we imagined less trouble along the way too, Shaman. You people are a stubborn bunch. But sometimes that is not enough, as we all see...I take it you have the mandate to accept our demands."

Radoslav drew a sealed scroll out of his mantle. "Indeed I do. As demanded, High Chief Sudislav will cede all lands and his personal holdings in Suceava, Iasi and Peresechen to you, Khagan Tarkhan Ashina of Khazaria. That also makes you suzerain over the cities and temples in these provinces."

A scribe took a closer look at the scroll and confirmed that everything was in order. Tarkhan nodded contented. "So be it. The war is over. Let Sudislav know I expect the garrison in Suceava to be retracted and the castle evacuated within three days. Otherwise, we will take over this task ourselves."

"Understood, your Highness. Should we expect the Barony of Suceava to disappear too?"

Tarkhan was slightly taken aback. "In what way is that your business?"

"I figured I might as well just ask. See, you're not the enemy to me. As soon as the peace treaty takes effect, my domain becomes part of your Empire – in immediate distance of the Barony. Word has spread among the people what happened to Orhei before and what the plans are for Cernauti behind us..."

How the planned sacking of Cernauti had reached Radoslav's ears was beyond the Khazars, though the massacre of Orhei was common knowledge throughout Moldavia by now. When the city had to surrender to the Khazars in the past year, the horsemen, hungry and frustrated by bandit attacks, unleashed a spree of looting and destruction throughout the town that cost hundreds of civilans their lives and many more their home and belongings.

"He who asks shall receive answers", Tarkhan replied calmly, to the silent surprise of Egill beside him. "Suceava is strategically valuable and Sudislav has fortified it well in the past. I have other plans for it."

"That is reassuring. I am grateful for your sincerity...my Khagan." Radoslav bowed again. "I will send word to the High Chief as my last service to him, if you do not require anything further of me. Next time we meet, it will be as liege and vassal."

Tarkhan nodded again and Radoslav disappeared. Indeed, the Khagan approved a lot of a particular idea about Suceava that his wife had told him about. His sister Sarantay's husband Arpád Vencel was still eyeing (and had claims on) his native lands in the Carpathian Basin, and providing him with a Barony in the relative vicinity would plausibly assure him this was an issue for the Khaganate.

"That would be that", Tarkhan said dryly. "Let us pack up at once. There's work to be done, and I already have an idea where to strike next."

Egill only looked at him with annoyment. Ötemis asked, "And what do you have in mind?"

"Alania. They sit right in our lands, have no means of defending themselves and according to Khan Vakrim they are unwilling to subject in kind because their Duke feels too Christian for it or something. A small host will suffice."

"That is reasonable, my Khagan", Egill replied. Surprisingly reasonable, for once he could not help but thinking.



October 20, 913 AD

Tana

Under Tarkhan's reign, the festivities in the Ashina camp had become fewer and humbler, maybe because the Khagan was away on campaigns so much. To those who could remember, the daily life felt slower nowadays than when Zachariah was still in power.

Not today. The Ashina camp was bustling once again. It seemed like everyone was in the streets, in anticipation of the alleged proclamation from the Khaganate and the subsequent carousal. The Duke of Alania had declared his surrender and his allegiance to Khazaria after a quick and uneventful campaign, and rumour had it that another piece of joyous news was to be announced.

The Divine Guard was back in town and patrolled in full dress uniform. Banners of victory and of fertility decorated the gathering hall and its surroundings, and there were stands on each corner that gave out food and drink on the Khagan's expense. The stable income through Georgian tax money and Silk Road trade, along with the returns from the raid on Persia and the recent sacking of the Moldavian baronies allowed for a generous celebration.

The latter came with a certain price though. The mass displacements caused a lot of tension among the local peasants. Around the cities and the temples, scores of refugees appeared who had lost nearly everything, and no one knew how to feed all the additional mouths all of a sudden. Rumours soon ran abound about heinous crimes being committed by the impoverished new arrivals, angry men called out for action on the streets, and ever more often they reacted with violence.

Tarkhan also had reason to appease the peasantfolk at home, in a time when more and more young men were recruited to keep the ranks of the horde filled. The ongoing campaigns were a continuous drain on the peasants, and as they perceived it, it was all for the dubious glory of a man that had little to do with their daily struggle. Moreover, the Moldavian refugees within and across the borders inevitably told tales of their home's fate. Their stories, along with the discontent among the Khazar populace, had gained the Khagan an epithel that caught on a little too much for his own taste.

At least he was not the only leader of a major realm in the neighbourhood who perceived a lack of admiration. Tarkhan's old adversary, Basileus Bardas of the Byzantine Empire, surprisingly managed to come out on top of the revolts against himself from within the Empire, mostly by sitting them out until his rebellious vassals perished one by one. Due to the nature of the Themes, they went back to the Emperor in person when their holders died instead of being inherited by their descendants. This way Bardas could appoint more loyal lords for each one that fell out and slowly gain the upper hand over his enemies again.

Shortly, the emissary to Kaliopolis, the Emperor's seat while Constantinople was still ruled by Count Ioseph, reported that the rebellions were now entirely thwarted and Bardas uncontested, at least in the open, for the first time since his ascension. Alas, his subjects had already agreed which aspect of him to focus on.

***

Khan Vakrim the chancellor and Khatun Yartilek watched the final preparations from aside, waiting for their upcoming part in the ceremony. They were to receipt Tarkhan on the wooden stage along Rabbi Nisi and the other councillors and dignitaries of the Khaganate. The Khagan wished to make his entry through the waiting crowd, flanked by his honor guard.

"One has to pay Zakkai and Nisi all due credit", said Vakrim. "The people obviously appreciate what they've put on for today."

"There's no doubt they have become quite the team at what they do. It's good to have capable people around Tarkhan", Yartilek replied with benevolence. A little fainter, she added: "It makes life easier, not only on ceremonial occasions. As much as all the pomp will put the peasants in awe, I know first hand that Tarkhan appreciates at least as much that certain people are not there to witness it."

Vakrim took a second to understand the appreciation the Khatun had just shown him. He wasn't usually one of the shady types, but recently an old acquaintance of his, a supposed snake master from Sarkel, showed surprisingly useful for the Khagan's internal security. After two unsuccessful attempts to poison her drink, Zachariahs widow Irge fell victim to a mysterious bite in February.

Only two weeks ago, a similar fate befell Azariah, the former court physician who never quite got over his retirement and the loss of both his sons and died a bitter and lonely man. While there were suspicions among the court that there was more than just a coincidence to these apparent accidents and the remainder of the Ashina clan turned rather reclusive in their wake, no one could prove anything and all theories remained mere speculation.

"I am sure of that, my Khatun", Vakrim replied, barely hiding his pride.

Yartilek nodded at him and and pointed to a maid approaching them, a sleeping newborn tucked in fine grey-white velvet in her arms. "There's our new prince. A strong little lad."

Tarkhan's concubine Paykelti had given birth to the boy the night before, but he would be brought up by Yartilek, as it was customary for firstborn males in the steppes. She was the one considered his mother by Khazarian law, and as such she would care for him in the ceremony, so he could be blessed under the eyes of God before being handed to the Khagan himself.

The name of the newborn was set for quite some time already. Although Tarkhan's relationship with his father was strenuous at times, he had always insisted that his firstborn son would be named after Zachariah, just as he was himself bearing the name of his grandfather.

"Wonderful that everything is alright with him. I hope Paykelti is well, too?", Vakrim – himself a father to seven children - asked politely.

"Yençepi said she has lost a lot of blood, but she will be healthy in no time with the appropriate care", Yartilek replied. The cheering throughout the crowd erupted, and the Divine Guard with Tarkhan in their mid made their entrance.

Khan Vakrim and Rabbi Nisi declared Tarkhan's lordship over Alania before the realm and God without wasting many words. Most people were used to new conquests and the like, with the Ashina undefeated in numerous wars against their neighbours for almost fifty years. The more important issue was the birth of the Khagan's first son,

Rabbi Nisi raised his voice again. "Most honorable men and women of the Ashina clan, I am elated to present to you Zachariah Ashina, the firstborn son to our Khagan!"

Yartilek stepped onto the stage, gently holding the baby in her arms. She and Tarkhan looked at each other gracefully, and the noise from the spectators died down. The Rabbi made a gesture with his hand toward Tarkhan, who stepped forward and declaimed the Jewish blessing to welcome a newborn son to the world: "Baruch ata Ado-naj, Elohenu Melech Ha’Olam, HaTov veHaMeitiv". This meant something along the lines of "Blessed are You, Adonai, King of the universe, who is good and bestows good". Tarkhan had practiced it all night and almost got it right.

Rabbi Nisi gave him a reassuring nod, but the Khagan also noticed the incomprehension among the peasants whose daily life had little to do with orthodox practices. Some of them were even whispering to each other. A sinister lineament flew over his face. This riff-raff could at least pay their respects if they were not as well-read and diligent as he. But before he could indulge further into his discontent with the ignorant peasantfolk before him, Yartilek carefully placed the little bundle in Tarkhan's arms and the Rabbi and the Khatun started a gentle applause.

Tarkhan stood there, feeling tense and helpless. He had never held a newborn, much less his own successor. Sure, he had a daughter already, a clever and crafty girl of three and a half years by now, but he'd been away for her birth (and most of her life). This was different. This little being seemed so fragile, so ephemeral...was he up to the task? Or would the little boy be trampled by horses, crushed or stoned to death, burnt on a stake, poisoned, impaled by a sword or spear, would he die trapped in a carriage or in a manure explosion...?

And then the little Zachariah woke up - and immediately started to cry with astounding volume and in long-drawn, yelping cries. Tarkhan was yanked out of his dire imaginations about all the violence he had seen or ordered himself throughout his forty years. The Khagan tried to pacify the wailing newborn, rocking him in his arms with increasing desperation, but to no avail. Zachariah cried even louder. Suddenly the gazes of so many people felt like a yoke on Tarkhan's neck. He could feel the sweat breaking out.

For one moment, Tarkhan had impulse to throw the child to the floor. He did not, of course, but resorted to push Zachariah back into Yartilek's arm before leaving the stage in a rush. The baby continued to cry and the confusion among courtiers and peasants alike was great.

Yartilek recognized that Zachariah, while the power of his voice was remarkable for sure, was merely hungry and would be fine and quiet once a nurse was available. Her husband's behaviour worried her more. It was not the first time he recently showed himself frustrated in an instant by seemingly minor incidents. If she knew him right, war was looming again.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 70 – More Than Asked For



October 31, 913 AD

Tana

"... The horde has seen almost no casualties in Alania and mostly recovered from the losses of the campaign to Moldavia. Still the rebellious faction among the populace there is growing, and the recruitment efforts continue to put strain on our native peasants", Marshal Samsam concluded his report to the council of Khazaria on the state of the armed forces.

He delegated the lot of his duties since he was in Russia with his own horde, but at the moment his own war on the Rus was steadily advancing, with King Ingvar unable to field a host equal to the Jabdertim's after his painful defeat to the combined Jabertim and Bulçir forces. That gave Samsam the opportunity to thoroughly check on the state of affairs in Moldavia, and his information about the resistance did indeed point toward an uprising sooner or later.

"I have heard this for quite a while", Tarkhan grumbled, apparently entirely unconvinced. "All the talk about the problems to fill the horde's ranks with capable men. And still it has been enough each and every time to scare off the cowards and beat the more courageous opponents in the field. Those perpetual overtones start to get on my nerves, if I am to be honest."

"The tax income from the peasantry is stable at least, I can assure you", Zakkai of Bartenstein acceded him. "While I have heard that there is discontent with the stricter conscription among the populace, the new pastures provide enough room for additional growth which keeps the horde's need for manpower sustainable."

"This might be true", Khan Menümarót of Kabar replied. The old man that stood at the head of his clan for over thirty years by now rose from his chair with some difficulty. "Nonetheless there is reason to assume these great sacrifices of the people are about to be used for a purpose less honorable than they would wish for. And there is still the threat from the rebellious Moldavians who object to their mass displacement and the razing of their homes.

You know very well, my Khagan, that it is mandatory to consult the council before going to war again, and if I am not entirely mistaken a war is about to break out."

He was not wrong, and it was hardly a secret. For the past weeks, the larger part of the horde which wasn't deployed to Alania had marched northwards, in the direction of the border to Bolghar. The neighbouring Khaganate had been a Khazarian tributary under Zachariah, but since his demise they were free again and had expanded into the the tribal lands along the Volga noticeably since Tiradin of Ezgil's victory over the Kievan Rus. Right now, they were battling Novgorod for the Chiefdom of Tikhvine high up in the north.

Tarkhan scowled. "That is precisely why we are here, Khan of Kabar. Do not assume I do not know myself around the protocol, just because I do not spend all of my time behind scrolls of paper. Yes, I will lead the horde into Bolghar next, and it is beyond me why there would be objection from you. What business of yours is it? You better try and expand your own Khaganate instead of expecting the Ashina horde to do the work for you."

"That tone is unnecessary, my Khagan", Menümarót replied steadfast. "This is not about the Khanates' ways. As your vassals, we have an indisposable right to be heard and for our word to be considered."

Rabbi Nisi nodded. "It is not the Bolghar who continue to pick on our Jewish brothers and executing all imaginable atrocities against them. The Christian and Muslim realms to the south are the true enemies to our people, and far richer than Bolghar as well. Instead of fighting the infidels, we would be falling into the back of another Khaganate while they are busy with the Russians."

Tarkhan was visibly displeased with this display of disobedience. Zakkai had already told him of his worries about the councillors not supporting a conflict with Bolghar at the time, but he could not imagine they would openly turn against him.

Even his chancellor Vakrim, who would possibly gain the lands the Khagan was aiming to strip from Bolghar, showed himself reserved. "There might be something to their words, my Khagan. Apart from the implications of going after an opponent that fights another war already, the Bolghar Khaganate is not as strong as it may seem from the outside. In fact, it is Khan Tiradin of Ezgil who calls the shots and supplies his Khagan with the needed manpower for their conquests in the north. An attack from us could destabilize the Khaganate and ultimately cause more trouble than it is worth."

The Khagan stood up as well and faced his advisors with barely suppressed anger. "All this time you are pestering me with your concerns about cutting the losses of the horde, and now you are telling me that a weakened opponent is beyond us?"

And without a precursor, Tarkhan smacked his wine goblet into the corner behind him, sending splatters over the befuddled Khan Yilig of Bulçir, who had not said anything until now.

"In the name of the Lord, you cannot possibly be serious about that! You" – he looked at Menümarót, his voice trembling with rage – "who owes every single thing he has, every last goat that roams your lands, to the Ashina clan, who has also never seen a battle in his life...who do you think you are to tell ME about honorable ways? And then the supposed Moldavian rebels! A bunch of angry peasants are meant to scare us off? Has the Ashina horde not succeeded each time it was sent to prove its strength?"

Menümarót tried to defend himself, but Tarkhan was not to be calmed down in his outrage. The others did not dare to interrupt him. In the past months, he had been tense and cranky seemingly without reason, and these outbursts happened ever more often. One or the other way, they had all made their experiences with the Khagan's short temper and knew that it would only fuel his anger further – and possibly draw it toward themselves.

"...I am tired of you sorry old man acting like you own this place and the empire along with it! You are even so roguish as to spread your defeatism, masked under talk about 'honor', among the council! I do not want to see your saggy face in these demises ever again, Khan. Get lost, go back to your land and wait for your death."

Tarkhan slammed his fist on the table before Menümarót, then turned to the bout, his face deep red and his voice almost overtilting.

"Or is he not the one behind all the talk of Bolghar not being a worthy opponent after all? The whole palaver about glory and lustre behind a war that is meant to straighten out our border and keep a possible opponent in check? What is wrong with you bunch? Were the wars to extort tribute from small backwater Khanates very glorious, and did your forefathers not still endorse them because they were for the best...the best of Khazaria?"

Author's note: The councillors were indeed paying back favors to Khan Menümarót, but even with him sacked there was no majority for the war.

The Khagan walked toward the exit. "No, I will not bow to a band of traitors. The council is to be counseled before a war, but nowhere does it say that the Khagan has to adhere to its advice. And did Muhan the Great listen to a council before he forged the Khazar empire in the fire of the burning homes of his enemies? You will all see. I will take the Mordvin lands for Khazaria, and you will not stop me."

Tarkhan grabbed his coat and apparently was about to head out, but Marshal Samsam stepped beside him and held him back at his wrist determinedly.

"My Khagan, independent of my opinion on the war and the disregard to the council... I will be loyal when it comes to my duties to the horde. As such, I have to ask what it is you plan now. The officer corps in Tana needs to be prepared."

"You better care about your own business in Kiev, Samsam", Tarkhan replied surly. "The horde will manage just fine under my watch. I will head out north before the night breaks, along with Khan Ötemis of Kozar and Egill Rögnvaldrsson. As soon as we arrive at the border, war will be declared and we march into Bolghar. Simple as that. The meeting is over. You all go where you please now. I do not think I will need counsel anytime soon."

Tarkhan shook Samsam's grip off and looked him in the eyes sharply before turning around and leaving the yurt.

"Besides reports from Zakkai and my generals!", it sounded loud and angry from outside.



June 11, 914 AD

Orhei, Moldavia

Mayor Vasiliy of Hârlau watched the siege ring around the city of Orhei and once again found himself surprised at how he had got here, all of a sudden commanding Khazar horsemen against defenders that he had so much more in common with.

Vasiliy had been showing himself loyal to his new lord on every occasion since the annexion of Moldavia, and he could boast long experience as a commander for the Moldavian army. This, and his knowledge of the lands that were currently ravaged by angry Slavic believers driven from their former homes, caught Marshal Samsam's attention when Khan Ötemis of Kozar died a week ago, after a short reign that apparently went over his capacities.

A day later, Vasiliy was appointed a general to Khazaria by Khagan Tarkhan Ashina in person, with urgent orders to fight a band of native rebels in Moldavia, despite – or because? - himself being a Slav.

He knew well why he didn't want to cross the Khagan. There were unruly nobles in Moldavia, who voiced their opposition to Khazar dominance over their lands. Their lives had become dangerous though, and Vasiliy figured that he, a lowborn who had risen to be the mayor of his hometown through many years of hard and honorable work, had little ambition to follow their example. Only recently, rumours ran abound that his fellow Vseslav from the neighbouring town of Orhei, ravaged in the war, had sought and found contact to the cabal opposing Khagan Tarkhan – up until his carriage was found in a gorge after a routine visit to some nearby farmsteads.

No, Vasiliy was not so vain. He valued his life, and he did not care much which lord he would eventually pay his taxes to. Still he would not have expected Tarkhan to bestow him such a responsibility so quickly. Yet, here he was, along with the Khagan in person.

His own domain had already fallen to them weeks ago, before his elevation to the Khazarian general staff, and he had himself negotiated with their leader Roman and spared the city unnecessary violence. Most of the populace was Slavic themselves after all, and the Russian warrior was a man of reason - at least as much as you could say so of a man trying to stand up to the Khazars. Sure, he was a little too convinced of his principles maybe, but he did not wish for the blood of his own kind at least.

Hopefully these soldiers show themselves as sensible when they eventually regain the town, Vasiliy thought. All he wished for was to return to his home and have a good meal as soon as possible – and without the fortresses guarding the lands, they would change hands again quickly. Only a small garrison was left by the Slavic rebels from the ravaged lands around the ruins of the former castle Peresechen on their path westwards, to Suceava, where they now aimed to reconquer the former capital of Moldavia from its Hungarian baron under Khazar sovereignty.

Sadly, what he knew about the greater picture was not exactly encouraging the notion the whole thing would be a quick affair. Tarkhan's campaign to Bolghar had progressed smooth and swift throughout the winter of 913. The Bolghar troops were still in Russia, just as Tarkhan predicted, and the Khazar horde along with their accomplished allies from Hekel (although Vakrim did not support the war in council, he did know his duties as a vassal and heeded to the call for arms) plowed through the southern parts of the Bolghar Khaganate without much resistance.

Things changed decisively in March. In Moldavia, the oppressed and displaced people who were left without a home by the ruthless razing of the land to make way for nomadic people from the Ashina heartlands raised up in arms, encouraged by the Khazarian horde being so far away. The initial reports from Moldavia spoke of about three thousand men, and Tarkhan decided to personally take to the problem, along with one half of the horde.

Soon after, Tarkhan and a host that was supposed to outnumber the rebels were on their way west. Then his calculation turned out to be a grave misestimate. Once the spark of rebellion had caught on, large numbers of refugees in Iasi and Suceava quickly joined Roman's cause. When the Khazar soldiers under Tarkhan arrived in Moldavia again, they found themselves against an armed mob of about double the expected size.

One that had taken over the eastern parts of the Duchy in a matter of weeks and and now was entrenched deeply in the rugged mountain ranges of the Carpathians while laying siege to the hinterland of Suceava. At least Sarantay Ashina, Tarkhan's sister whose husband was in charge of the local barony, and her family were able to escape unharmed before the Slavic zealots stormed the fortress.

The three and a half thousand men Tarkhan had brought along would not suffice to beat the rebellion under these circumstances. As long as no additional men were deployed from the host still in Bolghar, all they could do was to regain their holdings as far as possible and wait for the rebels to make a mistake. Out in the open, even their superior numbers would not stand much of a chance against the well-trained, mounted Khazar warriors – at least according to the Khagan. They were still keeping ready to move out, just in case.

Vasiliy had little fear of the rebels coming to attack them. At least they would know of it soon enough, and be able to seek a proper position or retreat timely. More worrisome to the general than the uprising in Moldavia itself were the alleged developments in Bolghar. The reigning Dulo clan had always been the weaker link compared to the Ezgil Khanate, and in May, Khagan Batir "the Spider" returned from the ultimately successful campaign to Novgorod heavily wounded and perished only a few days later.

In the nomad societies of the steppes, Khaganates were regularly inherited by the most accomplished clan member of the late Khagan. This would have been his son Sevar. Anyhow, there was the right for powerful Khanates to challenge the nominal successor. The Ezgil clan commanded over a host that more than doubled the Dulo troops and Khan Tiradin was known throughout the steppes as the man that broke the Kievan Rus' back for the first time. Therefore, Batir's son Sevar chose to not subject Bolghar, currently defending itself against a fearsome outer enemy, to a civil war he was unlikely to win and accepted Tiradin's primacy.

With the Ezgil clan now in the lead and the Khazar offensive halted for the moment, the Bolghar forces had been able to consolidate themselves and according to reports from the East, they would try to turn the tides as long as Khazaria had to deal with the Moldavians. An opponent that Tarkhan had thought to be weak and divided turned out to be able to fight back. The situation in the west was similar in a way – the rebels had gained unexpected support in the general population, and now the Khazars were sitting here, unable to flush them out with the numbers they had.

Two fronts we cannot make progress on, thought Vasiliy. I wonder when the Khagan will add the numbers.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 71 - Reunion



November 8, 914 AD

Tana

The last sunbeams had faded over Tana minutes ago, and the sky glew in all tones of red and purple from the magnificent sunset. Khan Böri of Khwaliz pulled his coat deeper into his face. A stiff wind blew through the camp, and although few people were outside at this time of the day, he was not keen to be recognized while on duty. One of the spymaster's sources had pointed him toward a certain informant from the sphere of the conspiracy against Tarkhan's life, and Böri could use any clue in his quest to defend the Khagan from their sinister plans.

While Irge and Azariah being out of the picture did naturally help with that, it neither disrupted the group as much as hoped for nor were the unexplained deaths of two rather old people a suitable deterrent for other accomplices. It was no secret that many people in court opposed Tarkhan, and apparently Muhan's accomplices in the court were targeting them with some success. Moreover, the notorious Çilen seemed to be involved once again, despite her promises to alter her ways in front of the Khatun.

At least Tarkhan's vassals, one of which was Böri himself, made no impression to move against him – despite him disregarding the council with the attack on Bolghar. This was, in most cases, due to some kind of concession and in no way set in stone though. Böri still had the piece about how the Kozar clan got to its piece of land in the East in mind and sensed that the Khanates' loyalty hinged much on the land and titles that Tarkhan's conquests yielded for them. It got him thinking about the way these things went on the greater stage, where empires fell and others rose in their place.

As different as the Empires to the northern and the southern shore of the Black Sea were, some principles applied the same everywhere in the world. By keeping on expanding, the Khagan was able to keep the mighty lords under him in line for the moment. Handing out lands to placate his vassals showed out of reach for the Byzantine Emperor Bardas, who was under fire from the Strategoi ever since his ascension. While he had eventually been able to outlast the rebellions that cost him Cherson and a sizeable chunk of Armenia in the process, Bardas had little opportunity in the following time to secure his position further, with his armies desperately needing to recover and little of a power base at home.

At the same time, the forces opposing him continued to work and united the ambitious lords, some of which Bardas had appointed himself, against the Basileus. Not in the field this time, though. Everyone was tired of civil war, and so the solution took its course behind the scenes. Six weeks ago, just before Bardas could put his plans into motion to retake Constantinople and restore the Empire's seat under his rule, he was found in his bed lifeless.

Dropped dead and no one knows why, just when the empire was looking kind of stable again. A very Byzantine end for him after all, Böri thought. He shuddered, and for a moment he was proud that he had been able to prevent a similar fate for Tarkhan until now. Yet he was worried that there would be no shortage of work for him in the future. The news that were reaching Tana lately would not help to convince people otherwise in any case – not to speak of what it might mean for his own clan shortly. Tarkhan had always insisted that attrition and ultimately a fateful mistake would have to suffice to beat the Moldavian rebels. With Roman raising ever more men for his cause in the past weeks, it sure did not look anything like that for the moment.

Faced with the new situation, Tarkhan and Vasiliy had no choice but to pack up with their 3500 men and leave Moldavia to the mass of Slavic renegades. Without a great gambit or help arriving quick, the region could break off of the Khaganate again all too soon. And the rebellion was heading straight for Odessa, the temporary home to Böri's own clan.

And the worst thing was that the decision to leave a host in Mordva and remain in control of the land had not paid off in the slightest, as one concentrated attack of the new Bolghar Khagan Tiradin "Bane of the Rus" Ezgil and his own horde eventually showed. Tiradin only waited for an opportunity like this one.

Although the remaining Khazars were still almost equal in numbers to the force the enemy could field by now, they relied on levied infantrists from Georgia to keep the center tightly packed – a novel order of battle for a steppe horde, and apparently unusual for good reasons. On the other side stood a far larger number of mounted archers for the Bolghar, which ultimately had a decisive edge on the wide plains in terms of mobility and versatility. General Egill, who for the first time lead a Khazar host into battle from the center, and his men withstood bravely and took many enemies down during the battle, but ultimately they had to retreat under continued fire from the Bolghar.

When the survivors were out of immediate peril and the losses were counted, a rumour of some demon with a twisted kind of humor being involved spread like wildfire among the men. Now they were retreating westwards. The Khagan, who was allegedly very annoyed about the defeat and blamed his generals on site, had promised to join the troops back together and crush the rebellion once and for all before turning back to Bolghar.



He learned it the hard way, but at least he has understood now what is necessary, Böri thought. Hopefully he is not overestimating himself again when it comes down to action.

Böri's destination where his contact would wait for him came closer. Just as he was used to, the spymaster took another loop around a few yurts before heading toward the rendezvous point. It was more of a habit to calm himself than an actual distraction to possible snoops and Böri knew it well, but you could never be safe enough.

He walked toward the corner where he expected the contact person to wait for him, but he saw no one and hesitated for a moment. In his business, timeliness was essential. But maybe the man was around the corner? He had taken a detour after all... Böri decided to have a look from a distance first. He walked off the main path and between the yurts again, and actually there was a man standing there, out of his sight from earlier. Contented, he made his way back and toward the corner again.

"Good evening", Böri's muffled voice reached the man who whirled around in shock and almost fell to the floor. "The Jarl is a traitor."

"My goodness, was that necessary?!...I mean, greetings, Sir...And so is the Gydja." Those obscure Norse terms were the code phrases agreed upon. The scrawny man in front of Böri was obviously nervous, with his eyes frantically searching around and his feet tapping.

"I see. I have no time to waste. What is it you have for me?"

"Not here, Sir. I am not sure this place is safe...but I know of a better one."

Böri looked at him suspicious. "This wasn't part of the agreement."

The man got even more tense. "I have to insist..." Sweat formed on his forehead, and he tried to make a gesture behind his back.

Böri, sensing something was off, took two steps back and looked around the place without leaving the other man out of sight, who only stood there as if in shock. Suddenly he heard noises behind him. Thoughts raced through his head. None of his spies had given any indication of danger prior to this meeting. And yet, here he was with this strangely behaving guy.

He turned around and saw three armed men building up behind him. It was a trap. Böri silently cursed, lunged forward and shoved the fake contact out the way to get cover behind the next corner. He heard how the other men started to fall into movement and knew he had to get away quickly.

Böri kept running. On the next occasion, he entered the maze between the yurts and small yards again – and almost immediately ran into a black-bearded, muscular man. "Simsam?", he exclaimed when he caught himself. "I need to-"

Thwack. With an ugly sound, an arrow hit Böri's neck from the side. The spymaster instantly slumped together without a further sound.

"God damnit", Simsam Ashina cursed in a whisper when the persecutors arrived. "One second earlier, and the plan would have been perfect. Hopefully no one has heard or seen anything...remove the arrow and leave his body, we have no time!"

The men nodded and disappeared into the dark.

November 30, 915 AD

Tana

Baroness Sarantay Ashina and her three adolescent sons walked towards the clan gathering hall, flagged with banners of sorrow. None of them would have suspected to see the camp so soon again. It had only been four weeks since they were able to finally return to Suceava from their refuge, but then the message spread that Queen Yeldem Ashina had peacefully passed away at the respectable age of 69 years.

A crucial maneuvering mistake by the Moldavian rebels on their way to besiege Cherson got their forces split up and routed by the reunited Ashina horde, their leader Roman getting caught in the process. A quick and unexpected end to the rebellion that was looking so successful up until that moment was the consequence. The leader was executed in a rather disturbing procedure that should signify how Roman had dug his own grave by going against the Khagan on the field, and the Moldavian lords could return to their domains.

The actual funeral for Yeldem was held in the castle of Tyrnovo after Orthodox Christian ritual, unsurprising for a Queen but to the vexation of the more traditional elements in the Khazar Jewish community. Still the Khazar morals demanded that in the case of an elder passing away, the family gathered to pay their respects and reminisce the life of the deceased within a week of her passing. The six hundred miles between Suceava and Tana would have been a problem in earlier days, but luckily for Sarantay, she enjoyed the privileges of being married to a councillor by now. With her husband Vencel named Khazaria's new spymaster after Böri's gruesome death the year before, Sarantay and her three lads could make use of an Ançaryon carriage for the voyage which could make the trip in astounding speed.

They entered the hall. Around the large table, the Ashina living in Tana were gathered. Menümarót was there, all sleek and smart as usual. Çilen, who could make it despite giving birth to her third daughter Çiçäk only three days earlier, and her two girls. Zachariah's youngest son Simsam, a strong and boisterous youngster full of ambition – and another familiar face at least to the older family members, although it still felt a tiny bit odd to have it around again. Baghatur Ashina had returned to Khazaria after more than ten years in June, to the great surprise of about everyone. He was a far cry though from the man he used to be, marked by the hardships of his long absence. His insistance that people in Edessa would still call him 'the Conqueror' was not convincing to everyone, but most people just did him the honor.

His involuntary home, the Duchy of Edessa, had fallen recently. The Abbasid Empire in Baghdad had consolidated itself after the painful losses to the Nabilids reigning in Cairo and was now expanding once again. At its northern borders lay several independent Emirates and Duchies, and Edessa was their first target. The other neighbours soon recognized that Baghatur's old enemy Duke Hethum had no means to defend himself against the far larger numbers of the Abbasid army, and so the western lands were occupied and later carved up between Cyprus and the former Byzantine province, now independent Emirate Galilee to the south.

After Hethum had to flee and his realm was dissolved, no one was holding Baghatur back anymore, and he longed for his home after so many years. When he arrived in Tana by ship, he counted on his birthright for shelter and a place in court. Yet Tarkhan did not hedge any intentions to reject his brother, stating he would condone Baghatur for everything in the past and accept that he paid enough of a price for it. In secret, he also figured that Baghatur's state was bad enough for him to be little of a threat. Word had it that he insisted on finally founding a family now, although years ago another instance of war imprisonment had cost him another bodily function besides his eyesight (and as it appeared, a part of his mind too). The Levant could be a brutal place.

The Khagan himself could not make it on time. He and the horde were already far on their way to the northern border again, and time was of the essence now. During the Khazars' ultimately successful standoff with the rebels, Tiradin of Bolghar and his troops had been able to accumulate almost seven thousand soldiers and in the process regain most of the territory the Khazars took in the earlier phase of the war. After two years, little progress remained and Mordva was further out of reach than before.

Maybe it's for the better he is not here, Sarantay thought unwillingly when she saw her siblings, all gathered in peaceful conversation. Certainly less conflict potential this way. She disliked Tarkhan's ways, his belligerence and his lack of mercy for the weak, as much as the others at least – on the other hand her sons would be comfortably provided for through his work, something Sarantay did not want to take for granted. Moreover, she still hoped for Tarkhan to grow into a more prudent man come time.

Everyone greeted Sarantay and her boys warmly, and the proper gathering could begin. Each family member held a short requiem for Yeldem, including a very emotional speech from Çilen who seemed nothing like she needed recovery from the recent birth and impressed everyone with the fervor and the degree of preparation her address for the beloved aunt displayed. Afterwards, a celebratory dinner was held to signify the end of the Shiwa mourning period – a typical example of the traditions of the steppes and Jewish rites intertwining in Khazaria.



Later in the evening Sarantay and her brother Menümarót, who had always gotten along fine and shared a lot of views, got into conversation. They were amongst themselves, and they quickly came to mention Muhan. The oldest brother was on duty in Persia lately, but little more was known, except that he was behind the efforts against his brother Tarkhan, which involved various of his other siblings too.

"I am still not convinced why you would not consider our...positions. You live in Moldavia, for all that matters. You have to see firsthand how much suffering these wars and the treatment of the occupied lands cause. Even around here, everyone hast lost someone to a war in the recent years. It cannot go on like this indefinitely. And you know I despise violence...so tell me, what way is there for any of us to stop it by now? Tarkhan is uncontrollable. He does what he wants, and nobody reaches him once he has something set in his mind – usually a new campaign against a weaker neighbour to tyrannize the population there."

"It isn't like you acted very sensible when the chance would have been there..."

"That was more than seven years ago! I was naive back then, granted. But since then, a lot has been happening that everyone hoped wouldn't."

"I would rather not take part in another such thing. I for myself do sure not hope for my own kin to..." Sarantay broke off her sentence and sorrowfully looked into her glass.

"Neither do I", Menümarót replied and suddenly sounded equally sad. "And I do not hope for ever more soldiers and civilans to perish in these power games. I wish there was a right thing to do."

"What makes you think it would be different under Muhan? He is at least as much a man of arms as Tarkhan."

"He's believable when he says he had his share of wars and so has Khazaria. At least one can...well...hope for something."

Knowing him, Sarantay recognized that Menümarót did not sound all too convinced of his own words. She shook her head, unknowing what to think of all this. A vague hope should be sufficient under God's eyes for the outermost? No, this could not be right in any case.

"What I sure hope for is that my children will never have to deal with this particular aspect of their noble blood."

"If Adonai wills it, the next generation will be blessed with unity. I wish so with all my heart." Now Menümarót was all gentlemanly and erudite again.

Sarantay remained silent. To the other side of the room, Baghatur told stories of his adventures in the Levant to the kids. An amused Simsam, who had been only six when the older brother left and listened with great enjoyment until now, made his way over to the two.

"If only half of his stories are true, the guy still has seen enough for two men's lives in his time", he exclaimed with a wide grin.

Menümarót smiled back at him. "Good to see all of you getting along so well."

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 72 - Losses



December 24, 916 AD

Oka mouth, Nizhny Novgorod

It was still pitch-dark over the tribal village of Nizhniy Novgorod, and the winter nights could get rather cold at the edge of the Northern European plain and the vast steppe to the south. Nonetheless, the place was already bustling with Khazar soldiers. It was the host under Tarkhan, who had taken the village by storm days earlier when scouts reported from the East that the Bolghar horde was on its way toward them.

Over the past year, Tarkhan and the Ashina horde had regained the momentum that had been stopped by the Moldavian rebels. The lands along the border where the vassal Khanates under Tiradin resided quickly fell into Khazar hands again upon the horde returning. The Bolghar attempt in April to drive them out again lead to an intensely fought clash between the two hordes and eventually a narrow victory for Tarkhan and his men.

The victorious Khazars had to bury more men on this day than after the previous lost battle. Nonetheless, the Khagan decided to go for quick further territorial gains as long as Tiradin's horde needed to recover, and two hosts of about three thousand men went to besiege the tribal lands in the Russian region. Moreover, five hundred men were sent to Mordva to secure the area – the war would never be won without projecting power to the region it was fought over.

Guyug Khöndlöngiin was giving orders to a group of lower ranks when he noticed the Khagan arriving. Tarkhan had been making the round all morning and checked on the progress of the preparations.

"My Khagan." Guyug saluted, but his voice was full of coldness. He was a declared opponent to this unrightful war that kept ramping up the casualties, and only his sense of duty kept him from stepping down and maybe leaving the Khaganate for good. Yet. "What are the news from the quartermaster?"

"The village is secured and our supplies refilled. Are there fresh reports from the scouts?"

"Indeed, my Khagan. The Bolghar horde is expected to be here in about three hours with over 4500 men. They move faster than we thought, it will take a few more hours until our own reinforcements from Vladimir are here."

"That is not good, but there is nothing to be done about it. Once Egill and his men are here, the Bolghar will not stand a chance. We need to keep them busy until then, that is all."

"It still means we are standing against a sizeably larger number of enemy troops for quite a while. And this village has barely any fortifications we could use to our advantage."

"You are right, it will be of little tactical use and would also confine us to a corner between two major rivers. Our objective must be to avoid getting driven into such a dead end before Egill's host arrives."

"At the same time, we have to stay positioned in a way that enables Egill to actually join our troops once they arrive. They have to cross the Oka, and if the Bolghar are able to cut them off..."

"...they will see themselves against two fronts. I'm not afraid of them, Guyug. They will face the full force of the Ashina horde sooner or later. No one, not the Byzantines nor the Cumans nor anyone else, have been able to defeat a united Khazaria for decades. There is no reason to doubt our strength."

"Of course, my Khagan," Guyug nodded reluctantly. He did not doubt the horde's strength, he had seen it many times. But he also had seen the repercussions of hubris more than once. "We would still be well advised to actually join forces as quick as we can."

"That is self-explanatory. We have learned from the previous encounters with the Bolghar, we kno their movement patterns by now - and they do not possess the capacity to refill their ranks as we do. Eventually we will outnumber them. Trust me, and victory will be ours.", Tarkhan said while gazing into the far. "Now prepare your brigade. We will meet the Bolghar in the plains to the south, so we have room to fall back in case we cannot hold our positions long enough."

"That is bold, to say the least...If they catch on the plan and play out their numbers, we could get encircled. I figure they will know very well about our reinforcements and attempt to act quickly."

"And this is why we will be prepared for this scenario and know how to avoid it. There is no time to go through the basics again, General. Make it happen. Dismissed!"

Without a word, Guyug saluted again and walked to his horse with a minute sigh.



***

The ground trembled under the Khazar riders behind Tarkhan Ashina, and through the dust cloud emerging from the East they could already see the enemy nearing.

"SWARM!", the Khagan shouted with booming voice. In the short timespan that armies were in striking range of each other, but did not encounter each other in full effect, warfare in the steppes was a matter of whose men were able to land the more precise strikes on their counterparts. Essentially, the prowess and the organization of the troops could make more of a difference than their mere numbers in this phase, and Tarkhan had prepared his men for this moment in all detail.

Movement came into the Khazars. The horse archers grouped up with a band of light troops each to keep themselves protected of the harassing troops of the opponent, and the groups spread out. Then the first arrows were to be seen in the air. The battle of Nizhniy Novgorod had begun.

Tarkhan commanded one of the small raiding groups himself, ahead of seven of the most accomplished veterans of the horde. One Bolghar warrior after the other was singled out and sniped by the two archers in their mid. Only upon turning back, Tarkhan recognized that things were looking worrisome already. The Bolghar vanguard was even less concentrated than their own, with most of their riders on their own or spontaneously congregating and dispersing again. It seemed like they were relying on unpredictability, which resulted in little actual casualties, but caused a lot of disarray for the Khazar troops.

"I wonder how long we can keep their main force at bay like this", one of Tarkhan's escorts said to the Khagan while they were regrouping for a new advance. "Their center is far heavier on manpower than ours, and as soon as they recognize we have a full charge ahead of us."

"Until then, we ought to thin out their numbers as much as possible. Egill's men must be here by the minute."

The same moment, another rider reached the group, bearing the mark of the scout corps and out of his breath even though he was on horseback.

"My Khagan! There's news...there are additional Bolghar troops from the East arriving. Our sources must have been compromised...they always referred to those troops as insignificant....it turns out they are over two thousand men...enough to match our numbers in total, and maybe more..."

Tarkhan uttered a sanguinary curse and looked at his men. "One more reason to weaken them before they can overrun us." Pointed toward the scout, he ordered, "The troops in the back shall retreat slowly, cover the backs of the remaining raiders and hold out until the reinforcements arrive. We cannot allow them to break through under any circumstances. Spread the word." The scout nodded and the Khagan and his band headed off toward the enemy again.



***

Tarkhan did not know how exactly they had pulled it off, but suddenly those men had his group flanked, unusually organized for these Bolghar folks, and when they tried to break out of their encroachment one man threw a spear at him. The Khagan was a seasoned fighter and could deflect the spear with his shield, but the force of the impact knocked him off his horse.

The shock quickly subsided and Tarkhan realized he did not hurt himself save for some bruises maybe.

"Look, it's the Khagan himself! As I thought!", it sounded with a heavy East Asian accent.

Anger flooded his mind and his heart with overwhelming force. Such a thing had never happened to him before, not once in all his years of leading troops to war. Thrown into the dust, by some obscure mobster from God knew where. His men were being chased off by a larger group of the unknown war band, and when Tarkhan got back on his feet he found himself amid a dozen soldiers with unusual insignia.

"Good for you that you already know who you're facing", Tarkhan replied with grim determination. "Now do me the same honor, stranger."

"With pleasure, Tarkhan 'the Despoiler'. Or is that not what they call you?" The stranger gave Tarkhan a scoffing grin, to the Khagan's visible displeasure but to no open reaction. "Oh, is it of no matter...my name is Shenmi. I am commander in the employ of Prince Qarabaris of Kirghiz, mercenary captain who in turn is in the employ of Khan Islivan of Erdevelu, a vassal of Khagan Tiradin of Bolghar. Just a warrior from Tibet, so to say... You are the mind behind the up and coming force of the hour, and the supreme commander to the horde everyone all over the world fears. And so we meet, eye to eye. Is life not strange?"

In the short time, a bunch Khazar soldiers had found themselves who backed up their Khagan in this short standoff, so the mercenaries would not try anything funny. Around them, the skirmishes slowly decreased as both armies were coming closer and closer to each other.

Tarkhan did not think of all of this. It was as if a cloud of red mist blurred his vision, and all he saw was the man in front of him. He drew his battle axe and slowly walked toward Shenmi. "For a warrior, you talk an awful lot."

Shenmi suddenly did not look as confident anymore. He took a short look back at his men, but apparently everyone silently agreed this was between them. Only a moment later, Tarkhan already bolted towards him and Shenmi could barely dodge an axe swing meant for his neck.

The Khagan took a quick step back to gain distance and gazed at his opponent, ready to strike. He saw the fear in the Tibetan's eyes, the indecision in his moves. This would be a quick affair.

Tarkhan feinted a move, Shenmi jolted and stepped backwards. Tarkhan immediately began to move toward him again, slowly but surely. Shenmi attempted to counter his movement and strike with his spear, but Tarkhan anticipated the attack and effortessly passed to the side of the spear, into immediate striking distance. A heavy blow aimed for Shenmi's flank came down, and he could barely put his own small wooden buckler into its way. It would not be able to take many more of these hits.

Tarkhan raised his hield and pushed Shenmi slightly, who tried to get his spear back into position, but Tarkhan kicked at his torso with force, sending him stumbling backwards. Before he had caught his balance, the Khagan was already besides him again in a swift move forward and swept him off his feet.

Shenmi got up with some difficulty and looked at his opponent, who now was the one grinning spitefully. "Tell me, Shenmi, what God do you believe in?"

Shenmi did not answer. The Khagan kept his distance and had axe and shield lowered. He was getting arrogant...Maybe this was his chance. The range of his spear and his enemy's overconfidence could become a deadly weapon, even though he was clearly inferior in this duel.

"That is...none of your business!" And with that, Shenmi lunged at Tarkhan. This strike had to be the one.

The Khagan whirled around, dodged the spear's point and crashed his shield straight into Shenmi's face. The impact sent him to the floor again, and he felt blood in his mouth. A moment later, Tarkhan towered over Shenmi, with the blade at his throat.

"I will tell you of my Gods...I'm a Buddhist, a Vajrayana. We're taught to have mercy with the defeated...", Shenmi stammered.

"I was not raised this way.", Tarkhan responded to the trembling Tibetan. "It is still nice you decided to tell me after all, so I can wish you better luck in the next life. And now I think we are both out of time."

***

Mere minutes after the unexpected duel, the fighting intensified again and little later the hosts fully hit each other for the first time. Such battles in the steppes were typically a series of assaults and quick turnarounds, with the sides passing each other at high speeds multiple times. The clue was to make the right moves so you always kept your own flanks secure while catching the enemy on his weaker side. The whole thing was very fluid and in perpetual movement, and even for the command it took quite some experience and training to keep your overview in the hectic course of things.

To the Khazars' great fortune, just when the action got serious, the reinforcements under General Egill came in sight. Their strength would be more than sufficient to turn the tides against Khagan Tiradin's now outnumbered men. Even the arrival of the Dulo troops from the East to back up the enemy would only prolong their struggles, now that the horde was united.

At least that was what Tarkhan thought. Then, in the middle of a regroup after a violent clash that had cost dozens of men on both sides their lives, Egill turned up beside him, blood on his arm and with fright in his eyes.

"My Khagan, there is trouble at the Eastern flank. The troops we are bringing in are struggling to cross the Oka...they are under heavy fire from the Dulo host."

"Well, what are you doing here?! You were supposed to take over this flank upon arrival!"

"I took a different spot to cross the river. In fact, I am on my way over there. I can only hope it is not too late by then."

"Then GO!", Tarkhan shouted angrily. Egill saluted and rode off. I am surrounded by imbeciles, the Khagan thought and readied his horse for the next imminent charge. "Keep moving! We head south-west! Follow me!"

The battle raged further, and although Tarkhan and his men were able to keep the force in front of them busy, the losses were racking up. In the meantime news had reached the Khagan that the western flank of the Bolghar horde, which had almost been broken up already, had stabilized again and thus hampered the Khazars' reinforcement efforts on this front too.

And then, just when Tarkhan's brigade slowed down after another clash and got ready for the turnaround, another volley of arrows hit them. It was obvious immediately that it couldn't possibly be from their counterparts.

Another malediction escaped Tarkhan. How can this be? Where is the eastern brigade? Have they actually been....

There was no time. If he was right, the next swath of enemies would be on its way to fall into their backs.

"MOVE!", Tarkhan shouted and his men immediately took up speed again, away from the direction of the surprise attack. Now they all needed to get out of there.

When they reached the sight of Guyug's men, Tarkhan recognized they were similarly close to breaking under the attacks of their own adversaries.

"PULL BACK!", Tarkhan screamed at the top of his lungs. The resistance of the Khazars had broken. Against all their earlier expectations, the Ashina horde was in full flight.

The retreat had to point south, toward friendly lands and away from another river crossing. The troops to the East had broken first in lack of a commander, and Egill would only reach them in full disarray – but at least he managed to get the majority of the men out safely. The brigades under Tarkhan and Guyug were not let off the hook that easily. The Bolghar forces quickly caught on their escape plan and pursued the fleeing Khazars relentlessly.

At the end of this bloody day, over two thousand men of the Ashina forces lay dead, among them about two thirds of the Georgian levy that once again had shown itself ill-equipped for warfare in the steppes. The Divine Guards, although not on horseback, fought more proficient, but were ultimately unable to make a difference.

July 4, 917 AD

Northern Sarkel

The summers were temperate at the northern edge of the large bow the Don described before flowing into the Black Sea near Tana, the home of the Ashina clan. Flowers bloomed all over the wide plains of Sarkel, and on the horizon before Khagan Tarkhan flew the river, slowly meandering through the landscape and reflecting the morning sun.

Behind him spanned a huge army camp. Seven thousand riders under Ashina and Hekel banners were about to cross the river and subsequently retake the Mordvin lands under Bolghar rule. The Khazarian horde was marching forward again.

They will all see, Tarkhan thought to himself, silently gazing at the waters in full ornate. All those defeatists around me calling for an immediate end to the war...even the Generals. Do they not believe in their own men? And why does none of them comprehend that Tiradin's offer of a white peace came out of mere weakness? They have retreated to their own domain, too afraid to move into our territory. They cannot gather as many forces as quickly as we do. I knew it all along.

No, not again will we turn back like this, with empty hands and broken spirit. This time I will keep the horde together. No more impatience to take some lousy tribe's land, no more confusion about the order of command. Victory or death.

Tarkhan turned around, content with himself. It was time to get his reliable war horse prepared and head out.

When he entered the stable, he frowned. Sure, Dragon was not as enduring as he used to in earlier days, but at this time of the day he never used to sleep. Horses didn't sleep as much as humans anyway, much less during daytime. And yet there he lay on his chest, almost peacefully.

Tarkhan went to him, figuring his faithful companion would need a little extra motivation waking up. But when he wanted to stroke Dragon's crest just as usual, he didn't feel the usual warmth. Then Tarkhan realized there were no chest movements. Dragon was not sleeping.

Tarkhan felt his throat constrict. His mind refused to believe what it witnessed. This particular, horrible feeling that haunted him through his dreams and his waking hours...

One moment...the dreams?



Tarkhan burst out the stable with wide eyes and looked around himself. He frantically ran to the next soldier in sight. "You there! Wake me up!"

"What? Um....I mean, what are you talking about, Sir?", the man replied in utter confusion.

"Do not fool me, I know what is going on. Although it is more lucid than ever...now do what you must, shake me, punch me, kick me, so I may get out of this again."

"I...would rather not..." The soldier sounded helpless. Tarkhan grabbed him and took a deep breath as if another one of his infamous outbursts was following, but then he let go again and only gazed at his hand in disbelief.

"This is not as usual...could it be..." Tarkhan looked up, visibly deranged, and hurried into the stable again. A loud yell of desperation echoed through the surroundings.



When Tarkhan came to his officers ten minutes later to order a new war horse prepared, he was apathetic and unusually distraught. While they understood that a loss such as this one could be hard to handle so shortly after, no one could quite figure out the incoherent bits he was repeating, something about the truth becoming a dream.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 73 - Inglorious



August 12, 917 AD

Tana

Khatun Yartilek sat in the council hall and studied letters from royal houses all over the world, as ever so often, when her co-brother-in-law Vencel peaked into the yurt.

"Looking after marriage offers again?", Vencel asked with a smile when he recognized the colourful mix of insignia on the papers before the Khatun, who was known to be the mind behind the Ashina's diplomatic marriage web. His own foster daughter Mala was one of the more prominent examples for Yartilek's duties and had ascended to nothing less than the Queen of Italy two years ago.

Yartilek looked up and gave a minute smirk back. "You got it. Çilen's twins turn twelve in November, and it is about time to look for suitable betrothals. No easy task with their mother constantly upon your back and discontent with everything... But someone's got to do the job, isn't it so?"

"Your word in God's ear. I sure know what you are speaking of. I bring news from Tarkhan."

"I suspected it."

A few weeks earlier, Yartilek and Vencel made their own attempt to persuade Tarkhan to end the war by means of a long letter, describing the various security risks to the realm and his trusted circle from the continued heavy recruitment and the absence of the horde from its homeland. The Khagan was not one to take these issues lightly, and the Khatun had hoped for a quick reaction.

"It may not be exactly what you expect, though..." Vencel looked to the floor in apparent unease.

Yartilek sighed. "Out with it already. I don't have all day."

"I have orders to...well...send you and little Zachariah into hiding until further notice."

Yartilek frowned. "Now that is...unexpected indeed. This one of all conclusions? We did not even mention me or Zachariah."

"I do not know his exact reasoning either. Apparently we should have been even more clear about what we meant", Vencel replied. "He must have misread something concerning rebellious elements throughout the court..."

The Khatun shook her head. "I doubt it would have helped. He has probably read only what he wanted to. And a white peace is not what he wants, we all knew that already... Maybe there is even something to his idea. The other clan members obviously have upped their game since Baghatur's return and Simsam entering the picture. Ever since Khan Böri was murdered, Tarkhan was deeply worried about them, even though he has been barely around for years. We still do not know what exactly they are up to."

"Well, we do to some degree...although no one quite knows what to make of it. Baghatur has bandwagoned with Tarkhan's siblings, that much we know. But he is also a part of Simsam's apparent plan to target his own wife, Princess Namena of Serbia. Whatever Simsam pursues with that, he has a lot of people on his side. Namena was never very popular around the court, and the Ashina have quite the network."

"Tell me about it", Yartilek replied. "They have their eyes and ears well placed. Plotting on them is bound to cause nothing but trouble. Yes, maybe it is for the better if Zachariah and I leave the picture for a while. As long as it is a temporary measure. One or the other way, this war has to end eventually."

"That is to be hoped. I have already thought of a remote location in the Carpathians, in reach of my own domain. Everything would be arranged for by my personal guard, keeping the circle of involved people to a minimum. Other than me, Tarkhan and you nobody would have to know of your whereabouts."

Yartilek nodded in approval. "A change of air might even be pleasant for the little guy." She thought about how Zachariah, as vital and alert a toddler he was, sometimes behaved odd when he was around the camp, crawling on all four despite having learned to walk at a perfectly normal age and sniffing around. He greeted other children and animals alike with a characteristic growl and sometimes, when he was defiant, he bit.

Only when taken out into the open steppes or the woods that seamed parts of the Don banks, he seemed resolved. Then he was running around and catching butterflies like any other child of his age would.

"I still want you to also inform my brother in all due secrecy. He is as loyal to the Khaganate as I, and I need a contact to my own clan for all cases."

"It will be done. Thank you for being so understanding, milady."

Vencel breathed through. He knew the Khatun was a sensible woman and wouldn't object to an order from Tarkhan, but this could have gone far more unpleasant as far as he was concerned. Then again, it likely solved none of the problems he and the Khatun had initially pointed out to Tarkhan. Getting him to finally take advice would continue to be the greater challenge.



March 16, 918 AD

Ashina Horde Camp, Samara

In full gallop, Marshal Samsam Jabdertim rode through the vast encampment of the Ashina horde that stretched around the yurts that usually made up the Dulo clan's homestead and were recently abandoned upon the Khazars making advances once again. The settlement was almost empty when they arrived in Samara, and now Khagan Tarkhan and his entourage resided in the rather comfortable lodgings usually meant for the ruling class of the Dulo Khanate. Once again, the war had taken a turn during winter.

In October, Khagan Tiradin sent another offer of white peace to Khazaria, this time under the threat of calling the Cumans into the war should Tarkhan not back down. Tarkhan laughed at the befuddled messenger for two minutes, then chased him out with a sabre and a torch, screaming there was only victory or death for a true son of the steppes. The Cumans had then declared war and the Bolghar horde stormed towards Tarkhan's host in Khopyor from the north, apparently confident they could repeat their earlier victory and seal the war once and for all.

It quickly turned out that now they were the ones to overestimate their own strength. This time around, the Ashina troops were concentrated and well prepared. Tarkhan and his general staff had learned from their own mistakes committed throughout this far too long ordeal – and they could draw upon a population of roughly double the size of Bolghar's to reinforce their numbers, with new men coming of age every day despite the continuous losses. Since the defeat of Nizhniy Novgorod, another legion of young men from the now rather quiet eastern parts of the Ashina lands had been raised as soldiers and reinforced the Ashina horde. The Khazars had the numerical advantage once again, and they made use of it.

The united Ezgil and Dulo hordes, along with the smaller hosts of the Khanates on the fringe of the realm, were beaten back severely and the Mordvin lands secured. The bulk of the horde then moved into Samara, from where it would be able to counter any movement toward there once the Bolghar regrouped. There also was no sign of Cuman activity in the East yet.

Marshal Samsam arrived at his destination. The Khagan was brooding over a map and looked up with tired eyes and slight indignation. Nobody had said anything about a visitor coming up. When he recognized Samsam, most of his annoyance turned into genuine surprise though.

"Khan Samsam? I thought you were still busy in the Rus?"

The Marshal wondered where the Khagan got his information from in these days and raised an eyebrow. "I've not been to Russia in months. The men there do not need my oversight anymore. King Ingvar is beaten, his heartland occupied and all that remains is to take down the individual tribes to the north and east of his lands."

"I've been in a lot of places recently...I actually heed from Tana", Samsam continued.

Tarkhan remained unmoved. "Is that so? I guess this thing here has been taking all my attention lately... So what is it that brings you here on such short notice?"

"Worrying news, to say the least, my Khagan...news from the council. Vencel was assassinated less than a week ago."

"What?" Tarkhan was a lot more attentive all of a sudden. "By the Nine Hells, those godforsaken snakes! Now that my family is out of reach, they go for my sources...you are right, this is more than worrisome, it is a crisis, at least as long as the perpetrator is running free. What about Sarantay and her boys?"

"I have immediately headed here when the news came in and not heard anything yet. They should be safe in Suceava though. Your nephew rules the Barony now."

Vencel's and Sarantay's eldest son was named Samsam as well, a talented and receptive young lad, yet he was always somewhat scruffy. His fiery red hair and beard made him stand out and a frequent target of scorn among his mostly Khazar pals in younger years, and with time he figured since his appearance would never fit in anyway, there was little reason to take care of it beyond the necessary.

"At least", said Tarkhan who had stood up from his chair and was now pacing back and forth. "And Yartilek and Zachariah?"

"They ought to be fine, too. Now no one knows where they are except me and you. I should notify the other Samsam timely, now that you mention it."

"I am not sure about that. Samsam has other interests than his father. He's going to inherit a claim to the Khaganate some time, and there is too much we do not know...no, let him out of that until further notice. We have to find a solution by ourselves."

"Very well. I will look for them as soon as possible. There's also the urgent need for a new spymaster now. An unenviable task..."

Tarkhan turned around and looked at Samsam scrutinizingly. "Absolutely. The current situation calls for someone with more leverage than Vencel, who knows his way around the shady side of things so he does not get stabbed in the back as well – and someone I can trust...which leaves little options. You have to do it, Samsam. It's the only choice that comes to my mind."

Samsam raised his eyebrows in surprise and did not look enthusiastic overall. "Me? But..."

"Who else should do it?", Tarkhan interrupted him harshly.

Samsam kept silent. He could not think of anyone because there was actually no one that fit the Khagan's description. And he was right. Appointing someone powerless or incompetent would not solve anything besides getting another person killed. And of the powerful Khans, he was the only one with a direct line to his brother-in-law Tarkhan.

"But who is going to be Marshal then?", he finally ejected.

"Oh, that doesn't matter nearly as much as the spymaster. The Marshal is mainly there to pass on my orders and bellow at recruits. A skilled commander with just the right disposition should be possible to find."

Samsam was visibly skeptical and more than a little upset how Tarkhan thought about his work. He wanted to return something, but Tarkhan already called a guard in and ordered him to get General Vasiliy to him as fast as possible without even giving note to Samsam.

"I am relying on you, Samsam", the Khagan returned to his new spymaster. "There is more to this than Muhan plotting from wherever he is right now. Get back to Tana, find out who is behind this and bring me his arse. You know that I reward skill and loyalty richly."



July 7, 918 AD

Tana

Khan Vakrim was on his way toward the Khagan's yurt. More than once his councillors had tried to get something out of him in the past days, but were sent off by a grumpy Tarkhan who wasn't at all in the mood for politics. Maybe he would be more receptive today for some reason. The chancellor wasn't all too confident of it, but he tried his best to not let it show.

A week ago Tarkhan had returned from the campaign on Bolghar - victorious once again, after four years of war and against heavy odds at times. The Ashina horde had cut the enemy off in Chuvash, and Khagan Tiradin had thrown all of his his forces against them in one last desperate attempt – and lost once again. The reinforcements from the Dulo came in too late and caused even more chaos among the already routed Bolghar forces, resulting in a defeat so desastrous that it left no choice but to finally surrender the Duchy of Mordva to Khazaria.

Still Tarkhan's reception at home had been rather cold, with most of the remaining populace consisting of women and elderly people. Everyone was busy feeding their children and tired of the Khagan's perpetual wars. The ceremony to bestow him the Counties conquered from Bolghar ended in a scandal when Tarkhan insulted the few bystanders and the Court Rabbi because he did not feel treated appropriately. Ever since, he had been disgruntled, and the rejection of the people was tangible after such a dishonorable appearance.


Vakrim greeted the guards and asked for the Khagan.

"He's right inside. But don't expect much." was the answer, and so Vakrim peeked into the tent reluctantly. Tarkhan leaned in his large chair, with a stern face and closed eyes.

The chancellor was unsure what to do. Just when he wanted to sneak out the yurt again, he heard a hoarse "What is it?" from behind.

Vakrim turned around again. "Uhm...I did not want to disturb you..."

"And yet you did", Tarkhan replied soundingy terribly tired. "Now at least tell me why. I've been planning to quarter someone all day."

The confused Vakrim replied "It's nothing important...just that the council is not sure yet what is planned with the lands from Bolghar and..."

Tarkhan made a dismissive gesture. "Have them. Take those lands. I don't mind. They're next to yours, and those bastards out there do not care about conquests anyway."

"What? I mean, are you "

"You know exactly what I am talking about...the slander in the alleys, the shady figures behind my back...wresting down your equal in battle, hard-fought victories, the blood spilled on enemy lands...this all means nothing to them. All they see is their own good."

Vakrim nodded, but in truth he had little idea who Tarkhan could mean.

"Go before I change my mind. Congratulations to your new land. Consider this my proposal to the council, have your writers set up a document or whatever it takes. I just want to be left alone", the Khagan continued and waved the chancellor away.

Vakrim went, overwhelmed that he should get the actually quite valuable Mordvin lands just like that. This would put him potentially on par with the Jabdertim and Bulçir in terms of manpower, given some time to grow into the new space. Of course it was great news for his clan, but what would the other Khans say to this, especially Samsam whose Jabdertim clan feuded against the Hekel since decades? Would anyone even believe it?

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 74 – Perilous Youth



September 13, 918 AD

Tana

Khan Samsam entered the cellar below a trading contor, expanded into a dungeon. The cool air from below was pleasant in this sunny late summer, and Samsam grinned at the thought that there might be a certain recreational value to the general idea, more so where the summers got hotter and drier than here, close to the shores of the Black Sea.

The facility had been 'erected' - or more precisely, dug into the ground - by some industrious entrepeneurs from East Francia who figured that offering prison infrastructure to the Khazars for a modest price would be a nice side business, at least as long as the Bulçir and the Jabdertim kept hoarding war prisoners from Russia in numbers that would have been a serious liability to a Nomad encampment. That was not Samsam's business today, however. When he was appointed Tarkhan's spymaster, he had been reluctant at first, but he was an experienced and adaptable man and grew into his new responsibility quickly. He was here to speak to a shortly arrived inmate of noble descent.

Duke Zaur of Alania, a young man of nineteen years who had inherited the Duchy shortly after its subjugation under Khazaria, hedged fruitless plans to claim Ashina lands for quite some time. It would have posed reason to bring him to justice by itself, but seemed of little concern for the longest time. Then Samsam found another piece of evidence for Zaur's activity and figured it was an excellent opportunity to strike. Through a keen plan, Samsam and a dozen Ashina honor guards could get hold of Duke Zaur in his own fort, extract him before his own garrison even got an idea what was going on and bring him to Tana, where he had been sitting in this cellar since then.

Samsam stepped in front of the barred door that held Zaur's cell firmly closed. The yound Duke lay on his cot and stared at the ceiling when he heard the noise from the door and got up. Upon seeing his captor Samsam, his expression darkened.

"What is it you want, beadle?"

Samsam had to grin. "You have some courage, I have to admit. In your shoes I would not dare to be as snarky."

"Christ guides my steps, as all of his followers'. I do not fear anything, knowing He is by my side."

Oh boy. This is going to be even easier than expected, Samsam thought to himself. His pursuit of the men behind the demise of Vencel was stalled, but he was going to prove his worth anyhow. The Khagan saw peril at every corner, and presenting him a culprit would ensure his continued goodwill.

"And yet he lead you to this place instead of, you know, actually keeping you from harm. What's the meaning behind it? Do you have an idea?", the spymaster said condescendingly.

"Your prison bars mean nothing to me. Christ himself died for all our sins, betrayed and sold by the Jews."

"That's all you have? Quite the simple way for your Redeemer to stay out of responsibility when someone would actually need his help, isn't it?", Samsam said with a malicious grin.

"Save your slander. You know as well as I that we are not to question the fate He alone bestows on us. Your books tell of the same God as ours."

"They do. And do those same books that you invoke not also say 'Thou shalt not kill'? How is aiding a man to kill his brother, an unforgivable sin to all men alike, consistent with that? "

"It does not mean free hand to the wicked, if you wanted to suggest that", Zaur replied angrily. "The Khagan does not bat an eye where our brothers in Moldavia are slaughtered and displaced by the thousands. You have no right to question my piety for doing what is necessary to remove a tyrant."

"And replace him with his twin brother, a lifelong mercenary captain who you do not know a bit. What do you think is going to happen? A wonder turning him into a peaceful and pious Christian?", Samsam scoffed.

"That is not up to me, nor any of us. God's will alone determines the future, and you would do well to recognize it. Your efforts are meaningless, beadle. I am getting tired already."

"So I take it you are not going to renounce your support for Muhan?"

"Never. Torture me if you want to, but the Lord knows I am doing the right thing...before even worse things happen."

"Fabulous", a gleeful Khan Samsam replied. "This is exactly what I needed to hear. The offense of going after some patch of land near yours would have been minor, maybe we would have actually tortured you for a bit and then let you go back home - until your next foolishly zealous move. Confessing that you want to see the Khagan dead is an entirely different story though."

He turned away from the door. "You will soon understand the mistake you have committed." Or never, he thought. His trap for Zaur had sprung. If the young Duke renounced his backing for Muhan, a minor punishment would have to suffice. Like this, Tarkhan would have free hand – and he, Samsam, would assure him that Zaur was the mind behind his predecessors biting the dust. Gaining the Khagan's favor could only be helpful, no matter what was coming.

Only three days later, Zaur Alauni's Duchy and County titles were revoked on account of treason and the order given to root out the tribe to the last man. To make an example, the Khagan then demonstrated that even the most willful followers of Christ could be broken in very literal manner.

July 20, 919 AD

Kabar Camp, Aqtobe

"Hail, my Khan!" Bihor Kabar, only seventeen but commander to the Khanate since a few months, stepped into the Khan's yurt and saluted his great-uncle hastily. "There are new reports about Cumans on the horizon. About three and a half thousand, if our sources are correct. Our own horde has fled as per your orders...but we will not be able to withhold them for long. They are already plundering the communities in the vicinity, the toll among the peasants is significant...awaiting your orders, majesty."

Khan Khatir rose from his seat with worried face. He was in power since his far older brother Menümarót's demise over four years ago, shortly after his sacking from the council, yet plausibly due to high age. He was also the last of Kabar founding father Zebulun's direct descendants, born almost fifty years after his oldest brother Buzer, the first Kabar Khan and Bihor's grandfather.

"We do not have the numbers to repel them, with or without the horde...all we can do is wait. The Cumans will get what they deserve."

Bihor was unsure what to make of that. "So we...wait? But for what?"

A fierce expression flew over the Khan's face. "The Khagan is on his way."

"What...? Sure, his troops could beat the Cumans easily...but won't that take months?"

"No. They have been making their way here for quite some time already. The Khagan kept it as secret as possible to not give the Cumans any hint. War is coming to them."

The young commander stood agape. "War? But...has it not been little over a year since the near defeat against Bolghar?"

Khatir, himself a general to the Ashina horde since Vasiliy's promotion, shook his head. "Not exactly. It has been little over a year since the victory. The near defeat is longer ago, and a lot has changed since then. The new Marshal reduced the numbers of the horde slightly, but added to their equipment. Draining the Khaganate's coffers instead of its populace will help repairing Tarkhan's reputation - and the numbers of the horde have always been quickly refilled."

"I've heard about that...People say those armor-clad horses are the most impressive and fearsome sight that ever roamed these lands. Now I see why you would say the Cumans have it coming. Yet I still don't know why another war on Cumania?"

"That is an easy one and not really a secret: the death of Khagan Sokal Andjogli II in a duel in March suspended the truce between the two powers, and his successor Kobyak had to succumb to the claims of the new Khagan Uzur Toksoba. Uzur rules from the North now, and will have little regard for the Andjogli lands in the far south that Tarkhan aims to conquer."

Bihor had a lot to process at once and it did show. Unwillingly Khatir chuckled. "You have a lot to learn, young man. Now go, and tell the tale to the men. No point in keeping quiet if the Cumans already do the stupidest possible thing all by themselves."



The word spread quickly, to the Cumans too who first took it for scaremongering, then started to get insecure – and when they recognized it was all true about two weeks later, it was already too late to move out of Aqtöbe timely. Over a third of the Toksoba horde went down in the very first days of Khagan Tarkhan Ashina's second campaign against Cumania.

October 30, 919 AD

Ugra

Deep in the woods of the North, where the daylight almost entirely faded at this season and where no steppe rider would set his foot – or his horses' hoof - anytime soon, lay the Lodge of the Followers of Otso. Life was rough and simple up here, and it wasn't too often that the place saw visitors from afar.

Each time Sochava Arvoyid visited Ugra, she felt at home a little. Eight years ago, shortly after the horde had left for Moldavia for the first time, she realized that her position granted some unexpected freedoms. She could basically leave the camp whenever she liked and even rely on Khazar supply chains as long as there was no order from Tarkhan against it. So she figured that to join the Followers would be the closest thing to home available and soon after made the voyage to Ugra for the first time.

Although she had never received professional training of any kind, Sochava turned out an adept fighter on the day of her initiation – and a feared opponent through the years for her reckless and unpredictable ways in the ring. More than once, things hadn't gone quite as planned and the pristine face of younger days took its marks, but from each fight Sochava had walked away with her head high. Before her pregnancy, she'd been named a proper Warrior of Otso after five years as a fledgling.

The voyage to Ugra and back took several weeks each time – but that meant little when the Khagan was only there once or twice a year and paid no further attention to his concubines beyond his reproductive duties to the Khaganate. One of these visits had resulted in Sochava giving birth to a daughter two years ago, a healthy and adorable blonde girl.

To her own sorrow, Sochava wasn't allowed to bond further with Lärkka as the girl should be educated as a proper Khazar. The Khaganate was strict in that respect. On the upside, there was still little holding her back from spending time with her kinsmen at the Followers of Otso, rather than in a court where no one cared in the least about her.

It happened in the mid of a boozy evening with the newly acquainted Hertta 'the Heavenly', a young Finnish shieldmaiden who was married to a noble warrior from Mezen and her brother-in-law Nenyts, chancellor to the Chiefdom and a seasoned warrior as well as a shrewd diplomat. Sochava got up from the table and made her way to to refresh herself past the bar when she felt the hand on her bottom. A firm grasp, definitely no coincidence.

She was used to the public at the Lodge mostly consisting of men, and she cared little about the occasional greedy gaze or lewd comment. This was a whole other story though. Who dares it? thought Sochava, whirled around and looked into the half-drunk grin of Tylmache Dobrinyid, brother to the Chief of Mochkava and a member of the Followers for eight years, yet still a fledgling.

The next moment, a resounding slap hit Tylmache's face. A few people in the vicinity turned their heads from the sound. "Leave your dirty hands where they belong, you shoddy excuse for a man!"

The Meshcheran warrior shook himself in surprise, then looked at Sochava with a smile that barely hid his raw anger and stood up. His two drinking mates turned around and observed the scenery with excitement. Slightly slurring his voice, he replied, "And what might you be thinking, attacking me here? You must be crazy...what else...I always knew it."

"Don't play stupid, arsehole. And do not try this ever again, or you will come to regret it."

"Oh, I do not think you have got me right..." and Tylmache grabbed Sochava, who was caught unprepared, at the neck with surprising quickness. "You little whore are going to regret this!"

The onlookers jumped from their seats. Whatever this was about, apparently it escalated quickly. Sochava struggled to escape Tylmache's grip, but he was stronger and dragged her closer, grinning into her face again. "You're not going to hit me in front of everyone and make me look like a fool...know this."

"You're making yourself look...like the bastard you are...Tylmache", Sochava ejected in the Meshcheran's clench, but with unbroken will.

Tylmache only scoffed and yanked her head back to deliver a well placed headbutt to her face. Life came into the crowd. Sochava stumbled back and was almost immediately hit by another punch, this time directly to the face. The general excitement, the cheers and the people grouping around Tylmache, went past her. All she could remember was losing her balance and another dull impact before everything went black.

When falling, Sochava's head hit a table and she rolled underneath it. Everyone was busy cheering at Tylmache or holding him back, and it took a few minutes before someone recognized Sochava did not move.

The quickly summoned Shaman could do little but ready her soul for the Eternal Forest. Tarkhan's concubine Sochava Arvoyid, war spoil from Cumania and Warrior of the Followers of Otso in her other life, would not wake up again.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 75 – Multi-ethnic Empire



December 21, 920 AD

Tana

The Ashina gathering hall was filled to the brink. Nobles had flocked to the capital from all parts of the country, with many new faces among the crowd after an eventful year that saw many successes.

The reason for today's gathering was one of them, in a way at least. In the wake of Sochava's unexpected death, Tarkhan had seen to devote more attention to his remaining concubines, and soon both announced their pregnancies. One month ago his Levantine 'acquisition' Noushin, in his service for almost all Tarkhan's reign, had given birth to his second son Kisa.

Only yesterday, the birth of yet another twin pair to the dynasty had been announced with all due pomp. To most people it was an odd manifestation of the divine streak of the Ashina – Tarkhan himself obviously had a twin brother, but now he and both his sisters had sired or conceived twins as well.

Apart from the family growing further, the Khaganate itself grew too at the cost of the unlucky Cumans under Khagan Uzur Toksoba. Their horde never quite recovered from the blow it took when unsuspectingly going after the sparse countryside of Aqtöbe. Khagan Uzur did not show much effort afterwards to save what were mostly the lands of his most dangerous adversary, the Andjogli Khan Kobyak, and surrendered the southern exclave on the Aral Sea to Khazaria in August. The Khazars did not even have to enter the Cuman heartlands this time.

The newly acquired lands were split up between the Kabar clan and the newly established Balanjar, distant relatives of the Ashina with ties to the region whose prime warrior Ilik was declared Khan soon after. Ilik and his kin were among the first-time guests to Tana this evening.

The larger bulk of the newcomers though were Russian High Chiefs with their entourages on their first official visit – the rulers from the former Kievan Rus, which had been renamed Khanate of Ruthenia (the local vernacular quickly adopted 'Khazar Rus' though) after Ingvar of Caltagirone's overdue surrender to Samsam Jabdertim in late summer. The return of the Jabdertim horde to the camp in Hradyzk turned into an unprecendented triumph. Where his father and brother had failed so many times, Khan Samsam finally succeeded and broke the Kievan Curse, if there ever was one.

Khan Samsam did not hold any lands for himself in Ruthenia, but he was now the liege of the four High Chiefdoms that constituted the Rus before: Kiev, Polotsk, Novosil and the High Chiefdom of Novgorod which through the turmoil that succession sometimes caused had ended up part of the Rus instead of the identically called Kingdom to the North. The taxes and levies from the Russian lords were already proving useful for his clan, but more importantly the Russian lands posed a vast buffer to the west and a comfortable retreat space against other steppe hordes. Their strategic value to Jabdertim and the Khaganate would be inestimable.

With this grand success at the back, Samsam could even convince the Khagan that there was no evidence for immediate danger to his family anymore. It helped that the Khagan recognized the necessity of his wife's contribution with the new children on their way. Organizing a royal household was nothing to be left to just anyone. Therefore Yartilek and Zachariah, who had developed formidably in the seclusion of their hideout deep in the woods, returned to Tana and completed the royal family again shortly before the births of Kisa, Ipek and Yençepi.



The feast had subsided into a large open carousal, with servants distributing wine and airag from large barrels. Khan Samsam of Jabdertim and his returned sister Yartilek watched the ado from the sideline.

"And so the big peace has broken out", Yartilek remarked with a smile. "I cannot remember the last time when both you and Tarkhan were not at war somewhere. Not to talk of all the Khanates at once staying quiet."

"How odd", Samsam replied equally amused. "Never mind that you're talking about the hordes that keep taking over more and more of the world. But at least I can assure you I have had my share of conquest now. It will be enough work to keep control over our new western territories when the lands have fully recovered", he added contently.

"The Russians are a stubborn bunch indeed. Hard to believe they will just give in...but they are no longer united. Our Clan will prevail", Yartilek replied confidently.

"I have no doubt of that. More so as the Ezgil suddenly struggle for their lands instead of keeping on pressuring the Northern tribes. Takes out one possible threat, and for quite some time probably."

The year prior, shortly before Kiev surendered for good, Khagan Tiradin of Bolghar succumbed to a wound he sustained in one of the smaller follow-up wars to the clash with Khazaria, which were a negligible threat until then. His brother Goleda was an accomplished man in the Northern Steppes, a veteran to many battles, and considered well prepared for the task by most people in the Ezgil lands.

Unfortunately for him, his supposed vassals High Chief Nydog of Perm and Khan Sevar Dulo, son of the deceased Khagan Batir who was forced to forfeit the crown of Bolghar to Tiradin years earlier, colluded against him and both declared their independence on the ground of Nomadic laws.

After the lost war for an important bit of land and the necessary reconstructions after Tiradin's ascension, the Ezgil were unable to field enough troops and bring the lost territory back under control. The dissolution of their Khaganate would trouble the region for quite some time, this much was assured.

"Come time, the Hekel and Bulçir will try to profit from his hardship", Samsam added. "There's only one reason why they have not yet marched in there."

Yartilek nodded. "Tarkhan talks of little else but the next campaign. And all Zachariah ever wants to know is if there are wolves in Trebizond."

It was an open secret that Tarkhan planned to attack Byzantium once again, with the horde being on the move towards and through Georgia for weeks and the ever more frequent reports about renegades roaming through the border regions freely. It was expected that the Khanates would be called into the war soon after its declaration and no one wanted to miss the opportunity for riches and glory. The southern Black Sea coast was prosperous, and there would be enough booty for everyone.

"To be honest, he's mainly jealous of all the praise you got for beating the Rus", Yartilek snickered. "He goes on and on about how no one cares about swaths of steppe or backwater tribes and it is time to make true history."

Samsam had to laugh. "I'd rather not say that to his face." More serious, he added, "It's also not as if the chances stood bad to polish his image right now. The hordes have recovered by and large, and Basileus Theocharistos is the third man on the throne in a few years. And none of them has been able to stop the decay of the Empire.

Sure, he still fields a large army, but it is worn down by the perpetual rebellions in all parts of the realm. No match for a united Khazar horde."

"I'll take your word for it."



In that moment, roaring laughter sounded from the table a few metres further. Samsam and Yartilek turned around. Khan Yilig of Bulçir was entertaining his entourage, obviously having enjoyed a lot of wine already. The old man was said to be a little too fond of the drink lately, and he sure had a few stories to tell from his almost thirty years at the top of the Khanate, particularly from his service under Zachariah.

What he was going on about after the exhilaration had subsided caught Samsam's ear, though. From the unreliability of wagons, a common trope of Khazarian knee-slappers, he turned to suspiciously familiar theories about some of the more notable 'wagon failures' of the past...and then towards predictions about whose wagon could possibly 'fail' soon.

Samsam walked over with a feigned laugh and stepped beside Yilig. With perfectly gallant expression, he murmured "Are you out of your mind? What on Earth are you thinking to blabber around here?"

The drunk Yilig did not catch on. "Samsam, my old chap! What makes you think I...."

"Ssssshhhh", Samsam interjected. Everyone at the table was looking at them. Samsam sternly looked back, and the Bulçir courtiers turned away. With his face turning back to smiling, he quietly addressed Yilig again. "You fool might not recognize it, but you are just disclosing the Khagan's business to everyone and their sister. Stop talking at once. Find another stupid topic to amuse your lackeys. If I were you, I wouldn't wait for the Khagan himself to order you to."

Khan Yilig only stared at him in visible incomprehension. "Have I...it is...."

Samsam did not want to draw even further attention and left him like this, but the damage had been done. Not only Yilig's own people were among his listeners, and soon the rumour spread that the Khagan himself was behind the series of accidents happening to the remaining Moldavian leaders.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 76 - Invasion



January 28, 922 AD

Sinope, Theme of Armeniacon, Byzantine Empire



Going back to Trebizond was a great idea for once. Feels a bit like home. Could be a few degrees colder though. A light-hearted Egill Rögnvaldrsson rode ahead a treck of a few dozen Khazar recruits. They were the first reinforcements that could be brought in by ship straight to the occupied Amisos, instead of having to take the land route from Georgia.

Egill had been in charge of the host that sieged down Amisos and created this important foothold for the Khazar horde, a joint force from four clans numbering seven and a half thousand men. With the first ship from Tana a confidential missive from Khatun Yartilek, who ran most of the business at home with the Khans over in Trebizond, arrived. The instructions said clearly that it was to be passed to Tarkhan immediately and by no one else than Egill in person, so the dutiful Norseman saw to head to Sinope along the bunch of fresh troops.

The said horde was now on its way west as well, but they kept away from the coastline. In most places the hills which the Anatolian highland subsided into stretched until the sea, making the coast steep and rugged, full of narrow paths and chokepoints. Progressing through this environment was rough enough for the Khazars in small numbers just because it was unusual for most of the men, but in large numbers it became a major issue to keep the horde together - and the animals fed. The rough terrain offered way too little room and nourishment for such large numbers of horses to sustain themselves, even if the people could live off the land by and large. It was said that the haymakers at home were working day and night and soon the scarce supplies for the animals would also be provided by sea.



The men took the last turn on the road from the hillside and looked upon the flat peninsula, washed into the coastline by the Iris river, that harbored the City of Sinope on its edge to the usual cliffs. A vast sea of yurts and makeshift stables surrounded its walls, bustling with soldiers, squires and the entourage that provided for the riders.

Six weeks ago, the joint hordes of Ashina, with Khagan Tarkhan at their forefront, and Jabdertim, lead by his brother in law Khan Samsam, stormed the coastal fortress of Talaura after a prolonged standoff and were able to quickly advance along the coast and toward Sinope. The city was defended sparsely and would soon yield to the enormous numbers of the Khazarian hordes - and the rampant consumption.

The sickness was not sparing the invaders, but their numbers were no less overwhelming. Never had Khazaria – or any other Khaganate - seen such a massive number of men pulled together. Almost twenty thousand riders had poured into the Byzantine lands on the southern Black Sea coast since Tarkhan's march order and the general mobilisation of the Khanates.

It was not surprising anyone that the Romans were not showing the least inclination to go after this mass of enemies. Mere days after the Khazar war declaration, the Strategos of Trebizond decided to become part of yet another rebellion on the unenviable Basileus Theocharistos, which kept his own domain out of the war on Khazaria for the time being.

While this was inconvenient to the Khazars, who found themselves unable to take over the region bordering the Khaganate and had to head further west, it further amplified the problems of Basileus Theocharistos who had little opposition to offer the Khazars. The rumour went that his legions were down to barely six thousand men. If that was true, things were looking grim for the Roman emperor – this time much more was on the table than a single-county exclave.

Khagan Tarkhan Ashina had proclaimed a full-on invasion of the Byzantine realm, against the advice of about every one of his more trusted advisors but still somehow managing to win the council vote (not that this would have stopped him anyway). This meant that if they were successful, the Khazars would take over the entirety of the region around Trebizond, along with every other province that fell to Khazaria throughout the war. The proud Empire was in existential peril, save for a wonder.

While the soldiers made their way toward the commander on duty, Egill went straight to see Tarkhan. Apart from the missive in his saddle bag, he was one of the few people who were actually pleased to meet the Khagan. Most people were either afraid of Tarkhan's mood swings or secretly appalled by his brutality and his rudeness.

Through all the years and countless battles, Egill and Tarkhan had fought at each other's side. In all this time, the two men got used to each other's company and Egill found that despite his harsh demeanor in public, the Khagan was as human as anybody else. Ever more often, they had exchanged their thoughts about the world, life and what was beyond. Their different backgrounds, Tarkhan's curiosity about the ways of the Norse and Egill's experience with both cultures showed excellent prerequisites for a recurring discourse that both were enjoying a lot.

The Khagan's yurt was close to the center of the war camp, clearly distinguishable from the others by its size and the banners decorating it. Egill descended from his horse and saluted to the guards in front of the entrance, who saw to announce his arrival.

Tarkhan came out from behind his table where the usual maps and figurines were drawn out and the two friends shared a hearty clasp of hands.

"Good to see you and the men well accomodated, your majesty", Egill said with a wide grin. "As scenic as the landscape may be, it's not exactly suited to sustain masses of horses. This place is like an oasis."

Tarkhan nodded contently. "We are lucky there are places like these along the coast. They almost make one forget we're in a war. It's a shame we will have to leave again as soon as the city falls."

"Of course we do. Victory will only come to us...."

"...if we keep going forward. You've got it", an amused Tarkhan fell in. "You're never gonna leave those old hat pep phrases be, huh?"

The Khagan and the general took seat and a servant brought wine and bread.

"So what is it that brings you here, old fellow? Must be important if you're ready to leave the troops to Khan Yilig, that boozy old man."

"It's so secret I don't even know myself." Egill chuckled and handed the sealed missive to Tarkhan while keeping on talking. "As for Yilig, luckily he leaves the business to his son and keeps to snarling orders around that nobody takes serious. I'm pretty sure he just enjoys the vacation. Not the worst idea, considering that there is still not the least to be seen of the Romans and how intriguingly different these lands are from the steppes."

"As long as the Byzantine cities and castles keep falling, Yilig can doodle around all he wants. With the new revolt in Anatolia, the Basileus runs out of troops under his command ever more quickly. The Romans have nothing on us, and if Theocharistos is smart, the men he does have keep away from us", Tarkhan responded while circuitously opening the seal.

"Will it help him?", Egill returned humorously.

"No." was the prompt answer.

Tarkhan turned to the missive and put it aside after a short read. Only a keen observer would have noticed the slight twitch around the corner of his eye.

"Tell me, Egill...what're you doing this all for? What is it that you hope for? One day the fight must end...where do you want to be when it does?"

"Uhm...these are tough questions", Egill could only eject, irritated by the sudden change of subject. What could have been the content of that message? "Will we even be done fighting one day? To be honest, I can hardly imagine a settled life."

Tarkhan smiled with a hint of melancholy. "That is not necessarily what I meant...but do you want to settle eventually? You have wife and children, and you grew up sedentary."

Egill scratched his head. "I've not given it serious thought for a long time. When I was young, I dreamed of being a mighty man as any lad would, but over the years Khazaria and the horde have become like a new home to me...one that always offered more than I could ever hope for in Nidaros."

"For the mere price of signing over your soul to Çilen", Tarkhan gave back with amusement.

"I was young and stupid", Egill laughed. "It could have gone a lot worse as far as I'm concerned."

The Norse didn't tend to take such remarks personal. As things tended to go, the young love of their earlier years wouldn't last forever, and by now Egill and his higborn wife were rather distant from each other. Çilen wasn't happy with Egill being away so much, and Egill secretly was quarreling with her still not having birthed a son to him, yet constantly talking about the future of their bloodline. He also knew about the hearty aversion between Tarkhan and her, which had caused him more than enough trouble in the past – but it was also her that encouraged her older brother to take him into the horde's services in the first place, in a time before the feud inside the Ashina clan.

"But to be serious", Egill continued, "there was never much to dream about for an orphan boy who happened to be sired out of marriage by a Chief shortly before his demise. In fact, I lived a commoner's life for all that matters until I got here. Did I ever tell you how I ended up meeting Çilen, thousands of miles from home?"

"Now we are talking. I only know that you were in the service of some Italian mercenary band at the time." Tarkhan leaned back and took a sip out of his cup.

"My mother died when I was a toddler and I was taken in by a pair of good-hearted peasants, but I only heard that much later. I was trained as a soldier, but I never knew of my heritage. Shortly after my sixteenth birthday, somehow the court caught on to me - and the way I eventually learned who my real father was were the guards my older brother, the Chief, sent after me. Luckily, my superior was in on it and told me about everything. I was still barely able to escape and get on a ship. Eventually I ended up in the Mediterranean protecting trade convoys against the inevitable Berber raids. It turned out those scoundrels are not as tough and merciless as the traders tend to say...at least if you know how to put up a fight."

"Is that so? The legends that go about are full of their prowess and brutality. I've always suspected something must be at odds there", Tarkhan interjected and leaned back contently. "Those chronists are worth jack, if you ask me. Just let the people write the stories who were there in the fray."

"If only they knew how to write", Egill shrugged. "Anyway, when we visited Tana for the first time, your sister crossed my ways, and you know the rest. I do not tend to look back...and somehow, the thought of looking forward does not occur to you when you're marching from one battle to the next."

"Tell me about it", Tarkhan replied. "You're a warrior just as I am, Egill. And still...we all sometimes feel that there has to be more. All those battles for more land, all those years I have spent crushing other Khaganates, all the destruction, the violence...it sometimes feels as if it was all worth nothing. I thought one day it would end, I would not have to run anymore."

"It sure looks more like the others are running from you, as far as I – and many others – are concerned. Look at where we are. This used to be the greatest empire the world ever saw. Now they're hiding beyond the Bosporus, with their so-called Emperor hoping we will leave before he actually has to fight us."

"I'm not talking about the realms around us. They're weak, we are powerful, this has been proven time and again.

The true enemy is at home, the ones who want this power for themselves. I had to learn that from a very young age, and my father taught me more than one hard, but valuable lesson. The most important one was that in the steppes, you either assert that you are not to be messed with, or your own blood will prove the opposite by putting you in chains and an early grave. "

Egill wasn't sure where they came from, but he thought deeply about the words of his friend. He'd never properly realized that this man who seemed so untouchable from the outside was yet so troubled, so haunted by his yesterdays.

Tarkhan continued after a large gulp from his wine. "But if true peace is out of reach, what remains but another war, and then another and another and another?"

"Maybe the answer lies beyond our own scope", Egill replied after a short silence. "Maybe we're not meant to see through the chaos and all we can do in our time is to protect our necks and our loved ones'."

The following silence was longer.

Tarkhan's reply sounded almost desperate. "That is what I've always been looking for. And now I sit here and cannot even bury my mother."

Egill was in shock. That was in this missive. The Jews buried their dead soon after their demise and there was no way the message could have reached Tarkhan in time, he knew that all too well.

"My Khagan...Tarkhan...I cannot say anything but how sorry I am for your loss."

"You do not have to be, Egill", Tarkhan replied, more steadfast than before. "I rarely thought about how lucky I have been to have her on my side for so many years. The more I appreciate your sentiment."

The men shared a grave and heartfelt clasp of hands.

"What was your born mother's name, Egill?"

"Freyja Tornsfall."

"And your father and brothers do not accept you, is that right? At home, you're but a simple man considered a threat to a mighty one?"

Egill only nodded.

"Does anyone there even know what's become of you?"

"I doubt it. Nidaros is remote and far away, the people there have little reason to care about the steppes."

Tarkhan looked at him with grim determination. "They will see."



September 20, 922 AD

Karvuna, Bulgaria

"Milady, the dust cloud to the south emerges from a large army not far of us...", the breathless scout reported upon approaching Çilen Ashina, who was moving along the Bulgarian part of the Black Sea coast with a small guard force.

The group was on its way back to Khazaria from Ras, north of the Serbian capital fortress, where Çilen's and Egill's oldest daughter Yeldem was wed to King Dobroslav of Serbia a week ago. Both had only come of age recently, and the young King was already embroiled in a difficult and ill-looking war against Bulgaria. Çilen's own cousin King Boris of Bulgaria forced it upon Countess Anthousa, the regent of Serbia, shortly after his ascension following Simeon's death of old age three years earlier.

Serbia was under the rule of regents for most of the past thirty years, but still relatively successful in that time. Dobroslav's father Sinisa inherited the Kingdom in 891 at two years of age, only to mysteriously perish at twenty-one and leave the throne to another toddler. Despite those prolonged phases of a King too young to rule, the realm managed to profit from the instability to the North, where the Hungarian and Moravian realms had slowly dissolved and the fringe regions of East Francia were in constant turmoil. The newly expanded borders proved difficult to defend though, and now the King had to hold his own wedding in Ras because his homestead was under occupation of the Bulgarian invaders.

Although Çilen could not have known of a future war against Bulgaria when the betrothal was arranged, in secret she was worried that Dobroslav's throne wasn't as secure as she had thought it to be. Boris was aiming for Dobroslav's very own demesne, and losing those lands would weaken his position decisively against the numerous and powerful lords under him. He would not have it easy anytime soon. At least their trip back had been uneventful. Until now.

Çilen glared at the scout. "What? There is supposedly no fighting in these lands...the Serbs are busy defending their own turf, we know that all too well. The Oltenian revolt is much farther to the west..."

"No, it's not that...they are on horseback, and they are...carrying the Ashina royal banners, milady."

Çilen looked even more puzzled than before. "Are you sure? What would Tarkhan be doing here...I thought the horde was in Byzantium?"

"We will know soon. They are moving toward us quickly."

"I can barely wait", Çilen replied with sullen expression.



The ranger turned out to be correct. Less than half an hour later, the riders he spoke of caught up to their small envoy. They were in light travel formation and moved with astounding speed for such a large force – Tarkhan's expertise on the field was widely known, and the Khagan himself was at the top of the troops.

Apparently Tarkhan had been informed of the unexpected travelers along the way of the horde. He and his honor guard rode towards Çilen unerringly.

"Now ain't it a pleasure to meet family in such an unlikely place", the Khagan uttered with unmistakable sarcasm when the horses stopped in front of his sister's group. "If I only knew to what I owe the honor."

"Yes, if only you knew. I'll gladly remind you that your niece is now married to the King of Serbia, before you plan to invade him too. You agreed to the betrothal yourself." Tarkhan gave his sister an annoyed look, but she continued: "Once we're at asking questions: what are you doing here...with thousands of men? Are you roleplaying your legendary raid on Bulgaria when you were twenty-four?"

Tarkhan ground his teeth, but managed to keep his composure. "It seems I'm not the only one who lacks information... The Christian peasants in Moldavia have taken up arms once again, presumably because of untenable rumours about the treatment of the people in Trebizond. We are moving to smoke them out. Egill opted to stay with the army instead of the mission close to home, for reasons I cannot explain to myself for the life of me."

"Don't try to fool me, Tarkhan. I know that he goes wherever you order him to, as any loyal soldier would – and he's the most loyal of them all, for reasons I cannot explain to myself."

"For once, you speak the truth. Now queue up with the horde if you don't wish to be ambushed by some bunch of raiders or Christian zealots who would certainly not hesitate to burn you on a stake."

Çilen had to laugh. "That would suit you." Nonetheless she gave her guards an appreciative nod. Tarkhan remained unmoved and turned his horse without further words.

 

[terr0rizm]

Chapter 77 – Turning Point



May 23, 923 AD

Trapezous, Black Sea Coast

Egill Rögnvaldrsson returned to his yurt from his usual round through the siege camp. He and the men were used to the procedure by now – they did not have the means to get through the sturdy walls of the fortresses that protected the Byzantine holdings, so they cut them off from the outer world, prodded at their defenses to discourage costly counterattacks from behind the walls and otherwise mostly waited until the defenders gave up by themselves, be it because of starvation or mere reluctance to suffer for an Emperor who couldn't protect his lands

In the early days of the war, these standoffs did pose some kind of a risk for the Khazars as their own supplies and the capacities of the land to sustain especially the horses were limited. Egill himself was there to conquer the first Byzantine port which made things far easier, and by now the Black Sea coast was firmly enough in their hands to ship supplies in and loot out on a regular basis. The Khazars had learned a lot about the logistics of seabound provision for their troops in the past year, although they were still by and large skeptical to use them for transporting those same troops apart from small numbers to reinforce their standing hosts.

The horde he was leading was a colourful mixture of soldiers from almost all parts of the empire, the bulk of them provided by the rivaling Khanates of Hekel and Bulçir. Fortunately for the Khazars, the well-running war and the still significant riches of the crumbling Eastern Roman empire were enough to keep them focused on the task and away from squabbles among themselves. Even when the host was commanded back into territory ridden with camp fever after Strategos Leon of Trebizond's supposedly natural death, the order would not be questioned.

Egill had thought of the Nomads as a barely controllable lot when he first arrived in Khazaria, wondering how their commanders ever got them to follow orders - but over the years he recognized that their devotion and discipline merely took a different manifestation than he knew at the time, one that was obviously shaped by the nature of life and warfare in the Steppes.

Egill had been a soldier as a young man at home, where horses were a commodity reserved for the highest nobles because breeding them was so costly in the rough climate, and battles were mostly decided by a skjallborg holding its ground. This meant that there was no margin to back down or break out once the forces were locked into the clinch, and each man needed to absolutely rely on the ones next to him. Courage and relentlessness were indispensable assets in a skjallborg, and this was what the Norse warriors were trained for.

In the vast open steppes where Egill had spent most of his adulthood, success was all about perpetual movement and outmaneuvering the enemy, with well trained hordes acting not unlike a swarm. Exact orders could hardly be conveyed over the much larger fields those clashes usually took place in, and so each man was responsible to take his own decisions at every moment, keep his horse under control in extreme situations and still adhere to the larger plan.

This difference in training influenced the respective soldiers' way of thinking and their relation to their superiors and their comrades as much as their actual fighting styles, and Egill sometimes came to think that maybe the circumstances in the steppes were superior to the more densely populated European realms when it came to providing a powerful military. The campaign to Byzantium turned out another example to affirm such asserations. Half a year ago already, Basileus Theocharistos had to admit he possessed no means to fight back against the Khazar horde ravaging his northern coast and offered his surrender to Tarkhan, before his army was even showing itself to the Khazars.

The hitch was that Theocharistos did not yet control the easternmost part of the said coast, the proper Theme of Trebizond, at the time, so the original war goal was out of his own reach and the remaining prize would be cut off from the rest of the Khaganate. The Khagan was full of contempt for the Basileus' weakness and furious about the perceived attempt to double-cross him even in the middle of an obvious complete and utter defeat. All that the offer achieved was renewed furor to the Khazar efforts, and soon after Constantinople itself was besieged by a legion of horsemen under the Khagan himself. The fabled Theodosian Walls and the city's favorable position right on the Bosporus straits were proving effective until now, but if no peace deal was worked out in time, an eventual surrender of the former heart of the Empire was inevitable.

The Roman legion was almost entirely shattered by now, worn down by constant quarrels with rebellious forces and then finally getting caught by Egill and his host on their way east. Sure, the small group of reinforcements from the Jabdertim were dispersed, but this came at the price of losing almost two thirds off their already sparse numbers.

Hard to imagine Constantinople under a Khagan, Egill thought upon removing his helmet. Then he noticed the missive on his small desk. It had to be from the Khagan himself, according to the seal on it.

Egill's eyes grew wide when he read the short note. Fortunately, Tarkhan was about as prolific at writing as he was at reading, and so what he saw was only two short sentences: Be easy with the fortress. It will be yours soon.

In the back of his mind, Egill had suspected that he would be rewarded soon, but he never dared to ask. After a moment of awe, he silently saluted. Thank you, my friend.



July 16, 924 AD

Constantinople

The large gate to the Theodosian Walls lay peacefully in the morning sun, and another cloudless summer day was about to begin in the city of Constantinople. Everything could have seemed just as usual from afar, where two Irish men appeared on the horizon along a small band of Imperial Guards.

Liam Cremthainn was the youngest son (and the only one alive) to the late Catholic Basileus Bardas 'the Hideous', and currently the steward of the Empire. Today he should accompany his older fellow Doux Ferdomnach Ua Braenein, a childhood friend of his father who was namedly the holder of the Aegean Islands and the Chancellor to Basileus Theocharistos. Ironically, those islands were part of Liam's own Duchy in practice while Ferdomnach ruled a strip of the mainland west of Thrace - the result of several political tit-for-tats in the past. He didn't understand much about how those things were playing out, nor did he about managing a treasury that moved about 21 ducat's worth a month in total.

In general, Liam never stood out as very talented at about anything throughout his childhood and youth. It just so happened that growing up in the purple always opened every door for him in the Palace through all his life, ultimately getting him a Duchy and a post in the council without having to do much for either. Despite his questionable reputation, Bardas 'the Hideous' had established an extensive cult of personality around him throughout his reign and radically dealt with the slightest disagreement, with the according effect on the court and the administration. Crucial positions were handed out by loyalty and kindredship rather than competence for many years, and the resulting networks turned out to persist after Bardas' eventual demise.

In short, the reign of 'the Hideous' was still leaving its mark on the Empire, and there were now lots of people in the cities talking about how this episode would eventually run it into the ground. None of Bardas' successors was able to overcome the divisions in the Empire that had been there for long, but were ruthlessly exposed during those years and the inner and outer conflicts were abundant. Recently the revolt from the eastern Dukes had gained ground far into Thrace and the Empire's tributary on the Adriatic coast, the Duke of Epiros, lost almost all his territory to a heretic from Northern Italy with his rag-tag warband. Even Egypt managed to secure a foothold for itself in Tarsos. But all this would be minor setbacks for the Romans, compared to how Liam's and Ferdomnach's mission today would impact the Empire and the world.



On their way toward the walls, Ferdomnach – who was a tad bit more capable than Liam – recognized that the small farming communities around the city were looking different than usual. More fields lay fallow, with goats and sheep roaming around the weeds that grew rapidly in the lush flat that stretched south until the Sea of Marmara. And for an uneasy moment, Ferdomnach Ua Braenain wondered if what he knew was the past, but what he saw was the future.

The group arrived at the gates of the insurmountable wall, heavily manned with Khazar Divine Guards. One of them barked at the Irish in a strange language, obviously asking for their business here or something like that. Ferdomnach swallowed heavily and pulled out the scroll, set up in Khazar by some crafty folks in the Empire's duty, that would grant them diplomatic protecton – if everything went as expected, of course.

The guard captain looked at the parchment, and a wide grin came to his face. He called two other men to him and pointed on the scroll, followed by collective laughter. Then he shouted something to a man who quickly disappeared into the city and gestured them to wait. Ferdomnach and Liam looked at each other uncomfortably. Those savages seemed to not care in the least about their position. They'd never been treated like that in their lives, in the Empire everyone used to bow before them and be all reverent.

After a short wait, another Khazar man, apparently an official and not a soldier, appeared at the gates and walked towards them.

"Good to see you have arrived safely", he uttered with slightly sardonic friendliness and in surprisingly clean Greek. "We have been expecting you. Natronai of Bartenstein, Steward of Khazaria. Honored to make your acquaintance."

Ferdomnach bowed, but kept a stern expression. "I am Chancellor Ferdomnach Ua Brenain, and this is my colleague Liam Cremthainn."

"You have quite an unusual name for a Khazar. Why is that?", Liam interjected to Ferdomnach's obvious displeasure. This was not the moment to ask questions.

Natronai chuckled. "I could say the same of you, Doux Cremthainn. My father, may the Lord protect his soul, was from East Francia. Of course he wasn't as important as yours, so I take no offense. Where I grew up, names matter less than deeds."

The old Zakkai of Bartenstein's heart had given up shortly after the war declaration against Byzantium, and although people were always secretly wondering why Natronai did not resemble his father on the outside at all, it was well known that his financial talents did not fall short of his father's. Zakkai, all professional even during his rapid bodily decline, had pulled the strings in advance and arranged for the money to flow to the right places, and so Tarkhan had no objections when the other councillors proposed to name Natronai the new steward to the Khaganate. Growing up in a former Roman exclave and standing to rule it some time, Natronai had had all the reason to learn Greek, which was now paying off.

"I reckon you are here on duty though, so let me accompany you to the palace. Khagan Tarkhan Ashina awaits you", Natronai expressed with unchanged affability.



As they rode through the city, Ferdomnach noticed that although there was little destruction and Constantinople was as bustling as he remembered it, few people would still get the idea to call it the 'Queen of Cities' anymore. What they saw resembled a sprawling slum rather than the centre of wealth and prosperity most people still thought of. Beggars seamed the main roads and ragged children were chasing each other around buildings that clearly had seen better days.

Noticing the Imperial envoy's disenchantment, Natronai asked "Is anything wrong, milords?"

"It's a shameful sight to see the city like that. How did all those people get so impoverished?", was the prompt reaction from Liam.

Ferdomnach took deep breath to stop himself from facepalming. Natronai raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Sure, the city has been under siege for fourteen months – but that has been over half a year ago, and otherwise we found it mostly like this. I imagined it differently too, be sure of that."

He turned to Ferdomnach. "If I am not wrongly informed, the Imperial administration never returned after the break-off from the Empire twenty years ago."

"That is indeed so. During the shameful reign of Ioseph the pig-farmer, it was decided that the Emperor was better off ruling from his home. Therefore Basileus Theocharistos sits in Thessalonice."

"It is well known that losing such an important institution as the Empire itself hits places' economies. The people get used to the wealth flowing in, and when it suddenly stops they do not have the means to create this kind of prosperity by themselves. Maybe you should have a closer look into this, my high-born colleague, before the Empire relocates again", Natronai quipped in audible delight.

In that same moment, the former Imperial palace, adorned with banners in the blue and white of the Ashina clan, came into sight. The Irish ambassadors to the Eastern Roman Empire remained silent.



"I haven't seen this place since I was a little boy", Liam whispered to his fellow when they walked through the naked, gloomy halls of the palace. "Maybe this is why I remember everything as so much larger and more...majestic, you know?"

"I figure it was nicer when it was still home to a Basileus", Ferdomnach replied quietly.

When Tarkhan and his men marched into the town and took over the palace, they had found the impressive building barred and abandoned. Basileus Theocharistos' sparse staff apparently left some time ago, considering that the Emperor wouldn't be able to make use of this holding of his anytime soon. The Khazars gladly took over and the palace was quickly made hospitable again, mainly to act as the command center of the Khazar military as long as the Horde was operating in the region.

The palace did now also accomodate the Khaganate's important figures when their presence was due, such as today. Tarkhan, restless as ever, marched to the East soon after to support Egill and his troops who were securing the area around Trebizond (with unsurprising success, with the Byzantine army almost entirely out of action). Now he had returned to put an end to the war.

On Natronai of Bartenstein's command, the heavy gate to the throne room, where Tarkhan 'the Despoiler' would await the ambassadors was opened. The three men, flanked by half a dozen of guards, approached the throne where the Khagan sat, a grey-bearded, but youthful man in ceremonial armor topped off with the pompous jewelry once commissioned by his father Zachariah. The view was extravagant for sure.

"Greetings, gentlemen", Tarkhan started in slightly crooked Greek. "I hope you got here well."

"Thank you, your majesty", both Ferdomnach and Liam replied quickly.

"Ask them", he went on in Khazar turned toward his steward Natronai who would translate, "if they have any idea why the initial offers of their Basileus were so meager. If he had chosen to not insult me, he could have saved himself and his people quite the lot of trouble."

Liam's face went red with anger. "We don't owe you a...."

"NO, no, no", Ferdomnach immediately fell in with unmistakable determination and took a step toward his fellow. Liam went silent. "We can assure you Basileus Theocharistos meant no insult. It is possible he misestimated the...general state of interests...at first. The offer we are to present you today is of a whole different scope, I have been informed."

"That is pleasant to hear. I have made sure to present my demands clearly to the Basileus in advance this time. It is a shame he could not make the time himself..."

"The circumstances forbid it, I suppose. I am sure though the Emperor would have appeared personally, were it not for the other fronts he is at war at right now."

"Ah, I see. Well, one cannot have everything, right? Would you then be so kind and hand over that offer?"

"Of course, your majesty", Ferdomnach replied and gave Natronai the sealed scroll they had been bringing along with them.



The peace treaty that Theocharistos offered was rather long and written in exhaustingly complicated official language, but in the end it amounted to an unconditional surrender. All of the Khaganate's territorial gains throughout the war, from Trebizond to Constantinople, would be made permanent. The local rulers were to be deplaced and the holdings not yet under Khazar control vacated immediately, which essentially meant invalidating every right to rule based on Imperial law and handing all control over the territory to the Khaganate.

Later that night, Khagan Tarkhan 'the Despoiler' crowned himself the King of Trebizond and the lord over all the coastal lands around the Black Sea. Over night, a sizeable amount of population, wealth and land was seized from the already suffering Byzantine Empire – including Constantinople itself, the Empire's most important stronghold, the City of the world's desire. Khazaria, on the other hand, was looking on a victory that few had dared to dream of and a vast pile of riches to be exploited.



In the following weeks, news spread like wildfire throughout Europe that the Queen of Cities had fallen to the ever-growing empire in the East. Khazaria, barely attended even by Western rulers up until now, quickly grew into a household name – and into the stuff of many scary tales at the same time.