There will be answers to that soon, possibly along with more questions of similar nature.
Jerusalem Calling - A Khazarian AAR
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There will be answers to that soon, possibly along with more questions of similar nature.
Chapter 69 – What's in a name?
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.
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.
I guess the Poles thought Moldavia a poor cause to die for. The Khazars truly seem unstoppable now. I wonder what Tarkhan's next plans are...
It's good to see a new Zachariah on the stage but Tarkhan's parenting skills make me worry for the child.
Between ominous dreams and worrying behavior, it looks like the Despoiler might soon take over some of his father's traits.
It's good to see a new Zachariah on the stage but Tarkhan's parenting skills make me worry for the child.
Between ominous dreams and worrying behavior, it looks like the Despoiler might soon take over some of his father's traits.
A new Zachariah - oh and how the foes of the Ashina may yet quake and tremble at the news
Or not as the case may be. Only a concubine's get, and a savage get at that.
Tarkhan is matching his epithet very well.
Or not as the case may be. Only a concubine's get, and a savage get at that.
Tarkhan is matching his epithet very well.
Good news for Tarkhan to finally birth a son, but I do wonder if Zacharia Jr will ever reach adulthood, if Yartilek ever births her own son she might not stand idly by if the child of a concubine is in line to inherit over her own son.
True, it is most likely that the Poles didn't want to spill blood in a war they had little to win in. Like this, they even gained a vassal county for free.
Khazaria is a true juggernaut when united. Of their immediate neighbours, no one could withstand a full-on war. On his own, Tarkhan is obviously still a force to be reckoned, but maybe not quite as invincible as he thinks. Possibly luck for his newborn son that he won't be at home more than necessary for the foreseeable future.
A new Zachariah - oh and how the foes of the Ashina may yet quake and tremble at the news
Or not as the case may be. Only a concubine's get, and a savage get at that.
Tarkhan is matching his epithet very well.
The most immediate displeasure will be among his brothers, who have all still failed to produce offspring they could name after the Scourge of God
Maybe 'savage' isn't all too bad if you grow up in the steppes, but it's all out in the open for the child. He has no inherent advantage over his uncles and cousins after all when it comes to succeeding Tarkhan some day.
If Tarkhan learned from his father's experiences with that kind of constellation, he would be prepared.
But does history repeat itself? It remains to be seen.
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Chapter 70 – More Than Asked For
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.
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.
It seems that Tarkhan is finding the limits of his power. He might have to swallow his pride and accept losing a war to preserve win the other. Although I suspect that this could take a willpower that he's not willing to put in
I said it a few chapters ago but the Ashina Clan is wearing itself thin and now it seems to be showing, hopefully Tarkhan can rally the momentum back to the Khaganate, but sooner or later they will meet their match I would think and it will be interesting to see how the Khagan responds.
He's indeed still in control so far, over himself as much as the Khaganate. On the other hand, it was just his council doing what it was supposed to. If Tarkhan wasn't as confident in himself, he maybe would just have listened why they actually opposed this war.
The "greatness in accepting a defeat" thing is possibly intriguing to Christian rulers, but it's absolutely not Tarkhan's mindset.
He would never forfeit a war if there was the slightest chance to carry on. Minor Spoiler: This dynamic is going to intensify and become the main driver of the coming chapters. Tarkhan is still entirely sure of himself, and the Bolghar under their new ruler are quite the opposite of an easy victim.
Chapter 71 - Reunion
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."
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."
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Simsam seems quite formidable, lets hope the next spymaster is a little more adept than Bori, this plot is becoming quite dangerous, also a lucky break with the Moldovians, I was thinking they were gonna win for a while.
Yep. Simsam is a hard one to catch though, and the imminent restaffing does not help the spying department's capacity either.
I'm sorry there are no better news.
He's taken his harsh fate remarkably well though. No stress, no depression and absolutely no inclination to stay out of mischief.That was indeed a bit of luck for Tarkhan, although the horde would have probably beaten those rebels anyway if it only were united earlier.
The 'cold war' at home keeps going back and forth, with Tarkhan and his supporters constantly taking out plotters and new ones popping up. This was the first time the other side actively struck back, but it won't be the last.
Oh damn! It looks like there are plots within plots in Khazaria. Tarkhan better watch his back!
Poor Baghatur was given the most Byzantine treatment possible. How the mighty have fallen...
Good to see that the rebellion was dealt with, now I think the Bolghars should get to some defensive positions.
Poor Baghatur was given the most Byzantine treatment possible. How the mighty have fallen...
Good to see that the rebellion was dealt with, now I think the Bolghars should get to some defensive positions.
The court has certainly become a more dangerous place recently. The plot on Tarkhan himself seems well supervised until now, but there's more ways to make his life less comfortable.
The Bolghar are prepared, that much can be said.
Chapter 72 - Losses
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.
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.
It sounds like the death of his horse may be the point at which Tarkhan starts to become a bit more unbalanced.