by E. M. Hardy
Hobogetur nodded in understanding. “True, there is that possibility. Although be honest: no Horde or any other alliance has the forces to take on my Great Horde. Even if you disregard the tales being spun by those overblown fiddlers calling themselves loresingers, simply consider the mere fact that we have forty-five thousand riders ready to swarm you and yours should you refuse our proposal.
“And that’s not counting what I and my sworn brothers can bring to the fight.”
“Hah!” barked Samja, slapping her hands on her thighs. “You really expect us to believe that your so-called ‘Fate Riders’ have suddenly stolen the magic of the Imperials and the Islanders? That you talk to your horses and can see the future?”
“Why bother coming to us with such a proposal in the first place?” interrupted Nergui before Hobogetur could answer Samja’s challenge. The khan’s brow furrowed more in confusion than in frustration as she cocked her head to the side.
“You crushed the New Dawn Alliance in a lop-sided battle, your forces barely scratched. Then you managed to beat the other larger Alliances down into submission. Why are you wasting time talking to us and the other smaller hordes? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Hobogetur wanted so badly to challenge their snide arrogance, show them exactly what a Fate Rider could do to someone without chi or prana—much less the ability to walk down the branches of fate.
He bit his tongue instead, reining in his desire to flaunt his newly-acquired powers.
Chuluun warned him about taking things too far, about how the roots of their ‘republic’ would take longer to establish if it was borne from blood instead of words. It was one thing to scare the khans into submission, and quite another to carry out the threats they promised.
Besides, they did not have the luxury of wasting time and lives on another campaign—not with Martin dead and the Mud Creatures marching steadily onward.
“It makes sense if you realize that they want to end the fighting without more bloodshed,” Enkhtuya sighed in defeat, slumping her shoulders. “His story of Mud Creatures aside, he wants to see if he can secure a painless victory through words and promises instead of blades and bows.”
“Hmph. Or we could just take him now, hold him hostage to give this pompous bastard and his so-called ‘Great Horde’ something to think about.”
Hobogetur rolled his eyes when he saw the two other sisters seriously consider Samja’s suggestion. He closed himself off from the world and began walking the different branches of fate.
The branch of violence showed Samja and Nergui both reach for knives hidden in their boots, make a lunge for him from two sides. Enkhtuya would hesitate for only the briefest of moments before she committed to joining her sworn sisters, leaping back to grab her bow and arrows.
He would duck down, grab the rock at his feet, and use it to smash Samja’s face before kicking Nergui’s ankle and breaking her neck with a chi-enhanced strike with his elbow. He would then pick up their knives and throw them into Enkhtuya’s neck before she could face him, piercing her spine and instantly dropping her.
Thankfully for them, Enkhtuya closed off the branch of violence by standing up and shouting out loud.
“No! We will not desecrate a meeting of words with an act of violence,” the Khan of the Shadowed Lance growled as she saw her sisters inch their fingers toward their boots. Hobogetur scowled even as he nodded toward Enkhtuya in acknowledgment.
“Smart. At least one of you knows what would happen if you were stupid enough to, say, draw two hidden boot blades over a bonfire of truce?”
Hobogetur’s declaration gave both Samja and Nergui pause. He resisted the urge to groan when he saw their faces contort into startled surprise.
He heard that the three women were sworn in as khans to replace their predecessors who died in a previous battle, but he didn’t think they were so new to their roles that they didn’t even understand the traditions of a shared bonfire.
Good for them that at least Enkhtuya had the presence of mind to shout them down… though it did gall him somewhat to know that she would have gone along with her sisters if they had committed themselves to violence.
The woman in question resumed her place around the fire, crossing her legs as she glared at her sisters until they sat down. She inhaled deeply, recomposed herself, and looked Hobogetur square in the eye.
“You ask much of us, you who would call yourself Great Khan. Fifteen thousand men and women in exchange for freedom and protection. What will happen if, say, the New Dawn alliance decides to attack us while you take our riders away to fight this foreign war of yours?”
“I will take the Great Horde, bring its hooves to trample our enemies, while my brothers Chuluun and Todogen remain behind with their Fate Riders to keep the peace,” he responded quickly.
“That’s another reason why I need more men and women from the different Hordes riding south with me. Taking away riders will hobble all of the Hordes, prevent them from turning against one another and sparking off yet another war between our peoples.”
Enkhtuya tapped her chin once more in thought as she digested his words. “You said you wanted to bring our people to fight against the Mud Creatures in a land far, far away. But would it not be better to, say, conquer the Empire, put it in its place now that the Mud Men protecting them are gone?
“Their lands are rich and fertile, with so many potential slaves to toil away for us. Why would you bother fighting for the sake of strange foreigners when we can pluck such delicious fruit dangling right before our faces?”
Hobogetur would have been lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. The Empire was ripe for the picking with Martin out of the picture, especially after he saw and experienced utter chaos on the way back to the Grass Seas.
Chaos that started all the way in the Bashri Basin.
The allied armies boiled into a confused mess after seeing thousands of the Mud Men fall flat on their faces. One moment they were fighting steadily along, as usual; the next they just toppled lifelessly into the sands and rocks.
The Mud Lions simply walked all over their still forms, no longer bothering to fight them the moment that life left the Mud Men.
The army withdrew, regrouped, and reorganized themselves. Martin’s loss may have shaken them, but they knew they couldn’t let up against their relentless enemy. They fought on as Martin taught them, the main bulk grinding away at the Mud Lions while the staff-riders continued bombing the pyramids. They fought bravely and smartly, retreating just as the pyramids neared completion.
What really hurt the army, however, were logistics and fatigue.
The Wastes were a desolate place, devoid of any signs of water or greenery. The allies relied too heavily on Martin’s four-legged constructs to ferry their supplies across the vast deserts. They conserved what they could, but they simply didn’t have enough beasts of burden to keep them supplied.
They were forced to pull back after two weeks of fighting, and he retreated with them.
Next were the roads that Martin used to patrol with his Mud Men. Criminals of all sorts emerged almost at the same time as the walkers fell. With their respective armies off fighting the Mud Lions in the Wastes, there simply weren’t enough soldiers left to patrol the massive expanses of highways that Martin built to connect the various emirates.
They were far more organized than mere bandits, however, and Hobogetur suspected that disgruntled factions within the so-called League of Merchants supplied these brigands stalking the highways.
The Empire was just as bad. The Order of Rats was waging a full-on terror campaign now, conducting night attacks and using crystal bombs to wreak havoc upon the populace of an already-shaken Empire.
This forced the Empress to reassign troops away from the war with the Mud Lions, further weakening the campaign against them. His own convoy was ambushed by the Rats, and only their ability to walk the Branches of Fate prevented a complete route. The Rats
were so thorough in the execution of their attack that he and his guards couldn’t escape all their injuries even when they walked through Fate.
So many idiots couldn’t even hold off on their greed and rivalries long enough to beat away the mortal threat knocking on their doors.
True, he could perhaps take his Great Horde and ride up to the Red City itself if he wanted to. But what he saw in the Wastes, what he experienced on his trek back to the Grass Seas, inspired him to seek a more conciliatory instead of confrontational approach to reuniting the Grass Peoples.
This is why Hobogetur simply shook his head at Enkhtuya’s question. “No. We have bigger prey to hunt, and we cannot afford to deplete ourselves against an enemy we don’t even need to make.”
***
“—find yourself before The Daughter of Heaven, She of Ten Thousand Years! Raise your head now, and bask in her glory!”
Hobogetur snapped his neck up so quickly he felt a crick where it shouldn’t. He had seen the Red Palace from afar on his first journey toward the Bashri Basin. Only from afar though, from the top of a hill overlooking the Red City itself. The size of the city awed him enough, as did the grandeur of the palace, but it was a whole different level on the inside.
He heard tales from the previous khan of the Shining Horde—one he beat in trials of combat and cunning—of the grandeur of the Imperial Court. Seeing it for himself, however, was quite different from hearing all about it.
Gold-trimmed pillars across the court, jade statues depicting long-dead emperors and empresses, tapestries that would put his best weavers to shame… so much opulence! All the wealth on display reminded him so much why he wanted to conquer the Empire in the first place.
And then there sat the Empress Zi Li, sitting primly on her throne… along with her husband, Consort Suhaib of the House of Ma’an, seated to the right and a little bit behind his royal wife’s throne.
“You have our permission to stand, Khan Hobogetur of the Shining Horde, and state your case before us.”
It took half a second for Hobogetur to refocus his attention away from the ceremonial pomp and back to the matter at hand. He breathed deep, steadied himself, and attempted to portray calm confidence in the face of his nervousness.
“Your royal… Augustness,” he fumbled, cursing his traitorous tongue that failed the moment he needed it to work. How come he could bully men and women bearing down on him with a lance, prepared to pierce him in the gut, but he couldn’t project his own power in front of a little stripling of a girl?
“I come representing the People of the Grass Seas. We have assembled a Great Horde to combat the rogue constructs as Martin calls them. We request two things: permission to pass through your lands, and supplies for our riders as we wage our campaign against the mud creatures.”
The Empress kept her painted face neutral, the dangling bird-like ornaments motionless as she studied him. “Hmm. This is the part where we normally exchange goodwill, kind words and inquiries about one another’s state of affairs. We have heard, however, that you seem to favor blunt words. Then we shall entertain you in kind: no, we do not grant permission for any of your requests.”
Hobogetur snapped to attention at the blunt refusal… and so did the Empress’ husband. The man’s eyes darted toward his wife for the briefest of moments, quickly adjusting his vision forward, but Hobogetur immediately recognized the flash of irritation in his brief glance.
Both he and the consort shared the same exact question: why? The only difference was that the consort kept his mouth shut while Hobogetur voiced his question out loud in a tone that came out a lot less deferential than he meant it to be.
The big chunk of meat standing protectively to the Empress’ left side stepped up, scowling as he crossed his arms in disapproval. “Correct your tone, barbarian. You will address Her Augustness with respect.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, baldie,” Hobogetur shot back, “And I don’t take kindly to being called ‘barbarian,’ especially when I’m offering to help you soft city dwellers with your problems down south.”
The man growled at his response, resting his hand on the pommel of the sword strapped to his hip. Hobogetur immediately lapsed into a dream-state at the danger of the moment, and began exploring the branches of fate.
An eternity later, he chose to click his tongue and cross his arms. “My apologies,” he said bitterly, forcing the words out of his mouth. “I spoke out of turn.”
The bald man considered his apology for a fraction of a second before grunting and stepping back, releasing his hand from his weapon.
Oh, Hobogetur would no doubt kill the man if this confrontation escalated to violence. He would not, however, make it out of the court alive if he provoked an attack—not with the dozen or so Balancers exploding from their hiding places and converging on him from all sides.
He could see their attacks well in advance, but his body simply couldn’t react fast enough to evade them all.
He instead turned his attention back to the Empress, how she considered the entire exchange with practiced indifference.
“May I ask why you refuse the aid we are offering? You do realize… your Augustness… that those mud creatures will eventually make their way up here. After they are done ravaging the lands of your husband, of course.”
Hobogetur glanced at the Imperial Consort, who forced his face into a blank rictus. The young man no doubt nursed his own objections, but he wouldn’t be caught dead defying the Empress out in the open like this. Seeing no support there, Hobogetur looked back at the face of the Empress.
Strange how things worked now. The stories he heard about the Imperial family always told how they hid behind a translucent screen, never showing their faces to the public. Something-something about Imperial mystery and divinity and all that nonsense.
Now this imp of a girl sat there, her head held high and her face exposed for all to see.
Not that she was anything to look at. The decorations adorning her face and body—all the shining and shimmering bits—tried to enlarge a woman that was too small, too skinny, too frail of body for his tastes.
She considered his question for a few moments longer before deigning to give him a reply. “Such aid would be very much welcome, Khan of the Shining Horde. Your riders would prove to be a valuable asset in the fight against the rogue constructs, buy time until we find some way to end their threat once and for all.”
Her gaze sharpened then, gaze piercing Hobogetur’s eyes with their intensity.
“However, the simple fact of the matter is that we do not trust you. You, Hobogetur, who not only betrayed our former General of the Black Turtle Guo Zhenya, but also attempted a raid into our lands when we were at our most vulnerable.
“It is only through Martin’s ardent persuasions that we granted amnesty for your treachery, for how you aligned with our enemies instead of upholding your oaths. Now that Martin is gone, his walkers no longer able to keep your people in check, we no longer have the luxury of placing our trust in those who have broken their vows as Imperial vassals.”
Hobogetur swallowed a lump of spit down his throat as the Empress spoke. He had expected some pushback from the Empire for his past actions, but not outright refusal. He glanced at the Imperial Consort, but the man subtly bit his lip as he stared fiercely forward at nothing. Zi Li held the reigns of the Empire, and the man was content to leave things like that.
Hobogetur, however, simply shook his head with a frown. His trepidation gradually melted away into indignation as he digested the Empress’ words.
“I will not deny my sins, nor will I give excuses for the choices that my people made. We saw a chance to free ourselves from the bootheels of the Empire, and we took it. I saw a chance to expand the territory of my people, and I attempted to take it even though I ultimately failed.
“But do not lecture me about oaths, Empress Zi Li of the Ren. Your Empire gave the People of the Grass Seas nothing in return
for our blood and sweat. No food, no homes, no protection, yet you and your ancestors demand that we die in the thousands for your wars.
“Even so, we come to you now, ready to fight in a war that we know will end with our mutual extermination if we do not win it. And you tell me that you cannot trust us?”
He grunted, not giving the Empress time to retort. “Let’s say that I plan to betray you. Let’s say that I manage to cut up the Empire, steal huge swathes of land and collect slaves in the hundreds of thousands. Or probably millions, considering how fertile your farmlands are. Do you think I’ll be able to ‘enjoy’ my victory when the rogues arrive with their endless swarms?”
That comment killed whatever the Empress was about to say. Her beefy bodyguard stepped up to challenge him for speaking so crassly, but the Empress held a bejeweled finger up. The man scowled but nodded, stepping back as he crossed his arms.
“I have been to the Wastes, Empress Zi Li. I have seen for myself the swarms darkening the land all the way to the horizon. I was there when Martin died, his ever-stoic Mud Men falling like statues at what was supposed to be a moment of triumph. Trust me when I say that I know all too well what will happen if I… if we do not work together to stop those rogues before they spread too far.”
The Empress tapped a finger on the seat of her throne, considering Hobogetur’s words carefully. “Husband,” she stated softly, neutrally, but with just a hint of affection that managed to surprise Hobogetur. “What are your thoughts on the Khan’s words?”
Hobogetur snapped his attention toward the man in question. Wasn’t he just a mere stud to impregnate the royal mare of the Empire? To be seen, not heard?
“Any possible aid at this time would be useful,” the Imperial Consort replied just as softly as his spouse did. “Though perhaps it might be safer to find some way to allay your fears… come up with a workable plan that will negate or at the very least mitigate any possible threat to the Empire.”