by E. M. Hardy
The failed raid changed all that.
His authority as Khan was seriously undermined by his fruitless adventure into Imperial lands. It was all but shattered when he agreed to a retreat without even committing to a single battle against the Empire’s forces.
The prominent families within his Horde were already buzzing with discontent, ready to denounce him as Khan and put another in his place. The only reason his people still followed him was because of his two sworn brothers, Chuluun and Todogen. They refused to recognize any other Khan in the Shining Horde, and the families realized that they would not survive without their aid.
That, and Hobogetur’s vicious defense of his people when the other Hordes began their attack.
He may have failed to secure a win in the Empire, but his combat leadership and prowess as a warrior bought enough time for the families to escape their enemies. And now he had chosen another course of action that would bring further shame to his name and legacy… just like so many other decisions in his life.
“Very well,” he barked, revitalized by the determination one gets when meeting their doom head-on. “Farmers, herders, weavers and their families travel first. The fighting riders follow, guard the rear.” He stood up with a grunt, crossing his hands as he deepened his scowl. “I just hope that the speaker for the Mud Men, this Martin, speaks the truth.”
He inhaled a deep, shaking breath through his flared nostrils before letting it out in a tremendous sigh. “I find it hard to believe that the Empire will simply overlook our transgressions if we lay down our arms, but Chuluun is right. I see no way we can win against four Hordes… not without the other Hordes pressing a lance to their back the moment they show it.”
Chuluun and Todogen should have been elated by his decision to give in to their arguments, to do what they had been persuading him to do for a week now. And yet they seemed even more depressed than Hobogetur himself, whose mind started planning out all that needed to be done now that he had come to a decision.
Then again, Hobogetur wasn’t the wise or cunning type anyway. He had his regrets, but he pushed them aside to focus on organizing his people for the long and arduous journey ahead of them. He really should leave the thinking and planning to his two other sworn brothers while he did what he does best.
Namely bashing heads and sticking his lance into the guts of his enemies.
***
“HYA! HYA!” Hobogetur roared, kicking the flanks of his war horse, Ukum as he urged him to greater speed. He raised his lance, the red tuft below the point fluttering in the wind, and thrust it at his intended target—skewering the rider and knocking him off his mount. He ducked low, avoiding an arrow flying his way, while Ukum copied him by evading another arrow meant for his neck.
The other riders from the Shining Horde weren’t as lucky.
He heard screams from man and horse alike, but he didn’t have time to turn around and assess the damage. He could only trust in the surviving riders to rally around him, to gather their courage and follow their Khan into the enemy.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
Hobogetur’s war-cry pierced through the air as he crashed into another horse-archer, catching him off-guard. His other riders cried out with him as they followed him into the mass of flesh before them, smashing into the flanks of the lightly-armed horse archers.
“GRAHAHAHA!”
His war-cry turned into a violent, bloody laugh of triumph when he realized Chuluun’s ruse worked. He thought it was stupid, armoring his riders with as much iron and bronze as he could only to drop everything before a charge. Doing so would leave his lancers and skirmishers vulnerable, easy to pick off.
And yet the enemy horde reacted exactly as Chuluun predicted.
They sent their horse archers ahead to harass what they thought was heavy cavalry, use their superior mobility to keep his heavy horse tied up while exhausting them. If Hobogetur attempted to chase them with his heavy horse, the light archers would run circles around them—making them easy prey for a charge by the light skirmishers if the armored lancers pushed in too deep.
The archers then received the surprise of their life: a thousand heavy riders suddenly shedding their thick armor mid-gallop, riding at full speed and catching them completely off-guard.
The armor of both rider and horse alike was tied loosely, the plates falling away with a few tugs of a string. By the time the horse archers realized what was happening, the only thing they could do was turn around and gallop away at full speed. Light horse archers were at their most effective when firing at an angle from their mounts. This was devastating against footmen and heavy horse, as their superior mobility allowed them to get away before their enemies caught up to them.
That tactic wouldn’t work as well against light horse.
Horse archers could perhaps run away, true, but only if they were already galloping at full speed while a screening force halted the pursuing enemy. In their current formations, the horse archers were galloping in a semi-circle, ready to pepper Hobogetur’s heavy horse with arrows. They were not formed up to deal with light lancers coming straight at them.
And so Hobogetur’s hastily-converted light lancers tore into the horse archers, catching many of them off-guard before they could fully get away. Todogen and Chuluun came through as well, screening the enemy skirmishers of the raiding Horde with their own charge of lancers and skirmishers. This prevented the escorting light cavalry from coming to the aid of their horse archers while Hobogetur’s light lance skewered them.
His own riders absorbed casualties as the arrows found supple leather and soft flesh instead of stiff iron and malleable bronze, but they were at least able to close in and catch the archers by surprise.
And yet there would be little time for celebrating, for all three sworn brothers knew that the other Hordes were coming. They forced this particular Horde to retreat only because it was just one among many spreading a net to catch Hobogetur’s people. They did so hoping to tie up Hobogetur’s riders long enough for their allies to surround them, cut off their escape.
They almost succeeded.
Hobogetur and his brothers may have won this skirmish, bought time for their retreating families to reach the plains controlled by the Mud Men, but they could not afford to be bogged down long enough for the other Hordes to lock them down here.
The enemy Horde was already pulling back, reorganizing itself and sending messengers this way and that. Those messengers were doubtless carrying missives telling the Hordes that Hobogetur and his people were heading right toward Imperial territory.
If another Horde managed to link up with the current Horde, they would have enough riders to pin Hobogetur and his sworn brothers down. They would be good as dead if that ever happened, for the other Hordes would trample them down, drown them in sheer numbers as they caught up and cut off their escape.
Hobogetur pulled back from the fighting, his mount Ukum sweating and panting heavily from the fighting. The huge charger was not as sturdy as the smaller, stockier breeds used by the archers and skirmishers. Their lineage allowed them to gallop steadily along all day, chasing and harassing as long as needed.
Ukum’s lineage, however, was strong and fast—an excellent combination for the heavy horse tasked with shattering enemy lines. He patted the charger’s thick, ropy muscles to reward him for a job well done before seeking out the nearest bugler.
“Signal the retreat,” he said gravely, panting as heavily as his horse. The young man nodded, planted his flag on the ground, pulled out his horn, and began blowing out successive blasts. The riders from the Shining, Golden, and Gleaming Hordes disengaged from their battles, allowing the rest of their battered enemies to retreat and regroup while gifting them with arrows to the back.
He so wanted to finish this, to give chase and bleed his hated enemies dry. Instead, he could only watch with bitter impotence as they rode off to regroup with their allies while he and his own ran with their tails
tucked between their legs.
The retreat itself wasn’t as shameful; those who ride the Grass Seas know the importance of pulling back when need be. No, it was what would happen afterward that really grated on his nerves. He would not run back to his home, to the safety in numbers of his own. He would instead be running to an old enemy to grovel at their feet for mercy while he sought protection for his people.
When the Rats came to him with a plan to cut up the Empire, he eagerly jumped at the opportunity for independence. He and his sworn brothers were dazzled by the idea of freeing their people from an Empire that took the best and brightest of the Grass Peoples, forcing them to fight in their wars, without giving them anything in return. They would finally be free, like their ancestors before them.
And then Inagaki’s rebellion fell to the Empire and their accursed Mud Men.
His guts roiled at the idea of running to that very same Empire like a coward. His burning desire for freedom, his hope that the Hordes would stand united against their former oppressors—all of it melted away as the people of the Grass Seas turned on themselves.
If he had only decided against that raid, if only he guarded his home better, maybe his rivals would not have had the guts to raid his territory in his absence. Or maybe if his raid succeeded, then maybe the other Hordes would have set aside their petty differences, banded together to gut a vulnerable Empire and secure their independence for good. If only—
“Hobogetur,” a voice called out sharply, jolting him back to attention. “My riders are ready!” It was Todogen, riding up beside him with the iron plates of his armor speckled in blood. “Mine too,” added Chuluun, grimacing as he nursed his bleeding arm.
“Can you ride with that?”
Chuluun frowned, flexing the fingers of his injured arm and rotating his shoulder. “Just a flesh wound. Nerves are all right, no broken bones. Just need to clean and wrap it up.”
“Good,” Hobogetur responded with finality, dispelling the last of his regrets. “Then let’s go!
A few hours of hard riding later, the three sworn brothers and their riders arrived at the tail-end of the convoy. The old, the sick, and the injured rode on sleds that moved much too slowly on the open grass. Hobogetur grimaced at the idea of leaving them to their fates.
That’s when one of the accursed flying orbs floated low, approaching Hobogetur, Chuluun, and Todogen as soon as it spotted them.
“I get it you’ve decided to take me up on my offer?” the orb asked flatly, without preamble.
Hobogetur shook the sweat off his face, gritted his teeth, inhaled deeply, and forced himself to respond with as much politeness as he could muster. “Yes.”
That one word drained the Khan of the Shining Horde more than he expected, and he suddenly felt the fatigue weigh down on his soul. It was a different kind of weariness though. He was no stranger to hard riding, having grown up hunting and fighting on the Grass Seas.
No, it was the weight of complete and utter defeat—an admission that you have no other choice but to submit to your hated enemies.
A quick glance told him that his sworn brothers felt the same way. Chuluun wore a lazy grin that Hobogetur knew was forced, burying the pain and anguish he felt. Todogen’s downcast eyes and slumped shoulders told the same tale, just more openly and honestly than his two sworn brothers.
Hobogetur expected this Spirit of the Mud Men to gloat, to berate him, to shame him for this surrender. He knew he would surely do so if the roles were reversed.
Instead, the voice within the sphere just hummed neutrally. “I take it that the twenty thousand-odd riders closing in on your people aren’t friendly?”
Hobogetur turned Ukum around to face where he came from. “Yes. They’re from the Blooded, Verdant, Resolute, and Plainsrider Hordes. My messengers should have explained the rest.”
The Khan could already see dust clouds forming on the horizon, a sign that his enemies were closing in on him as they spoke. It would be a few hours until the enemy arrived as they measured their pace and conserved their energy. They knew that Hobogetur and his brothers could only move as fast as their slowest people, so they were taking their sweet time forming ranks and massing up.
After all, they only wanted the women, the livestock, and the mounts; everyone and everything else would be put to the sword.
The floating orb shook up and down in a strange sort of nod. “Right. Am I correct in assuming that you have twelve thousand riders ready to fight?”
“Eleven thousand,” corrected Todogen. “The others are too injured to fight.”
“Huh,” the orb said simply, going silent for a few moments as it appeared to be lost in thought. “Twenty thousand hostiles, thirty miles, about ten hours before they catch up… yeah, I think I can bring up enough walkers to make this work,” the orb said as it bobbed in the air. “So here’s the plan…”
***
“Remind me again on how this is a good idea?” complained Chuluun, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Shut up,” Hobogetur barked back, biting down his own worries. “I am sick and tired of your whining. We either succeed and buy time for our people to reach the obelisk, or we fail and our enemies gut your son before having their way with your wife and daughters.”
Todogen brought up his mount between his two sworn brothers, inserting himself into the argument before it went any further. “Peace, brothers. We have seen firsthand how deadly the Mud Men are. If Martin says he can blunt their advance, then I believe he can do so.”
Chuluun chuckled grimly at Todogen’s optimism. “Yes, two thousand Mud Men with no mounts of their own will definitely be able to stall twenty thousand riders... assuming the riders even go through the trouble of trampling them down. What’s stopping them from riding around the Mud Men?”
“Us,” Hobogetur growled, tightening his grip on his lance as the tightly-linked iron plates clinked softly with the motion. His riders wore their heavy armor with no intentions of dropping them this time around.
“We have no choice anyway. The enemy has closed in on us, and we will either have to ride away on our own or abandon our people, our families, to their fate.” Hobogetur steeled himself, donned his helmet, and flipped the horsehair tuft behind his head.
Chuluun nodded sadly at that, putting on his leather helmet before testing the draw on his bow.
“Eh. You do have a point. We would have to do this anyway. Even if all the Mud Men do is stand there, they could at least blunt the tip of our enemy’s lances. I guess that’s better than our own riders taking the charge and eating those lances themselves.”
Todogen said nothing as he hefted his broad cavalry sword, the heavy edge cleaned of blood and shining in the rays of the setting sun. He had nothing more to say now, and Hobogetur and Chuluun calmed down. Hobogetur was once again thankful for the quiet consideration of his most patient brother.
“Alright,” the floating orb said as the two Hordes enemies bore down on them. “Here… we… go!”
Hobogetur’s eyes widened in disbelief as the Mud Men shone brightly, the strange carvings on their bodies turning into beacons drawing attention to themselves. Hobogetur felt a shift in the air as the Mud Men shoved forward with their hands—unleashing a massive wave of force against the oncoming riders. Man and horse alike staggered against the blow, with some riders blown clean off their mounts.
He knew the Mud Men were capable of manipulating chi after witnessing this first-hand during his attempted raid a year back, but this was the first time he saw them blasting out this much force on the battlefield.
Hobogetur heard stories of the first subjugation of the Grass Peoples, where thousands of martial artists assembled under the Imperial banner. The sight before him wasn’t quite as impressive as the old tales, which mentioned entire Hordes being crushed and burned by divisions of Imperial Martial Artists.
His enemies thought so as well.
The riders under assault began scatterin
g, an almost instinctive tactic when coming under attack from chi attacks to minimize the damage. They urged their mounts to turn around, ride away from the force-slinging Mud Men to regroup while the rest of the attacking riders enveloped them in a circle.
Hobogetur found it strange that the Mud Men didn’t close ranks, present long pikes against the charging lancers. They instead staggered their formations, with plenty of space separating them.
This was in stark contrast to Imperial footmen, who would pack themselves tightly together to create a solid wall of pikes while archers loosed away from behind the safety of this prickly wall. This would only work, however, if you had enough pikemen to protect the flanks and enough foot archers to punish horse archers that ventured too close to the spears.
And even that kind of formation would not guarantee success. If you pack too many spearmen in one side to counter a cavalry charge, they become vulnerable to horse archers riding around them in circles. If you position too many archers to strike back at the horse archers, they become vulnerable to a charge from the heavy horse.
Few commanders of foot-heavy armies had the foresight and flexibility to adjust their ranks depending on the kind of horse bearing down upon their troops. This was why the Imperial army under Guo Zhenya fell so quickly when its commander died; their junior officers simply didn’t know how to shift the lines of their foot to counter the tactics of the Grass Peoples.
And then there’s the obvious answer: the horsemen completely avoiding the army instead of attacking its supply lines to starve it out. Why fight when you can raid?
And yet what Hobogetur saw before him was absolute heresy.
This loose, ragged formation of outnumbered Mud Men was just begging for a charge to come and shatter it to pieces. They didn’t even have spears or bows, for crying out loud. Each Mud Man carried just two strange machetes of some kind, with heavy heads that tapered off the closer they got to the handles.