Let the Sun Rise
- Thread starter Dohaeris
- Start date
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Very true, he'll have to consolidate his power quickly. Though Kurdistan might well be the richest of pretty much all Muslim sultanates and shahdoms, even it cannot stand firm against a coalition of its Sunni neighbours. So I guess we'll have to strike first, decisively and conclusively, and hopefully Shiism will begin to take a hold in the region.
'Court Mullah' is just the Muslim equivalent of a court chaplain in CK2. And yep, they were getting really annoying and blocking any laws I tried to pass in the Council, so I had them imprisoned and executed... A shame, but what else could be done? The young Khalifa is not be trifled with
Agreed... I would say something of a purge is necessary, at this point.
I'm glad you asked that, because I already have, I've gone ahead and added a bunch of cool decisions and events specifically for Shiism, mostly just deepening the interaction between the Shia nobility and Sunni peasantry. Unfortunately, what with the Black Death, the Third Crusade and the oncoming Mongol Hordes, I haven't been able to showcase them just yet. I'll definitely be including them eventually though, hopefully when things settle down a bit and the Kurdish Shahs begin to take an interest in converting the populace once more.
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Khamîrasgirên
Chapter 11
1208 - 1218
Looking to the Future
Even as a child, however, Khamed was no fool. As he slowly approached manhood, with a losing war raging in the west and petty political squabbles dominating the court, his Regency Council gradually grew in confidence and power. Any attempts by Khamed to try and convince his councillors into making his own voice heard ended in failure, perhaps with a petty laugh or an uncomfortable ruffling of his hair, but the young prince was not one to submit so meekly.
If Khamed was to rule his own shahdom, then he would have to seize it by force, showcasing exactly what sort of man and king he would become. And in its present state, Kurdistan would never survive the difficult years ahead, not when the Council jostled with one another for power rather than work in unison. Things had to change, and they had to change quickly.
The Council have the final say in almost all matters of state.
It just so happened that a certain Vizier Ibrahim, one of the more powerful men seated on the Council, would be travelling that very evening. He was given leave by the Regency Council to return to his estates at Basra, where his wife had just died, and he had spent much of the past week preparing for the long journey ahead. Unfortunately for him, however, the trek was over even before it had begun.
Dozens of guardsmen and retainers surrounded him as he made his slow procession through the wide streets of Baghdad, but they proved to be of little use when, sudden as the sun breaking through the clouds, a cloaked man leapt from the crowds and threw himself onto the minister, bright steel flashing as it shivered through the air. Within moments, the Hashashin was pinned onto the stone road by the guardsmen, but it was already far too late. The treasurer's eyes were glassy and unseeing, his blood spurting into the air and pooling around him in a manner eerily similar to the dancing waters of the Fountain of Shahs.
This, of course, was a recipe for disaster. Crowds had surrounded the lifeless body within minutes, screaming and shouting whilst the guards blinked stupidly, holding the assassin down but unsure as to what was to be done now. Unknown to the public, however, the assassination of Vizier Ibrahim was merely a distraction.
Not even an hour later, before the news of the minister's death could spread too far, messages were delivered to the remaining ministers who sat on the Regency Council. They were summoned to an emergency meeting at the Hall of Glass Angels, in the eastern quarters of Namuthij Al Rua'a, with each of the letters signed by the now-dead Master Treasurer. When they arrived at the mirrored halls, however, Ibrahim was nowhere to be seen... And in his place, a certain crown prince was awaiting them instead.
A depiction of Vizier Ibrahim's brutal murder.
Little is known as to what happened to the remaining councillors, but their fate cannot have been a pleasant one, seeing as they were never heard from again. Rumours and tales were abound, of course, whispering of their gruesome torture and brutal execution, or of their shocking apprehension and daring escape, but none of this court gossip can be held to any measure of truth.
All that we can consider are the facts, and simply put, we know that over a single night, almost every member of the previously all-powerful Regency Council had been toppled from their heights and vanished into thin air, perhaps thrown into dark cells and left to rot, or maybe beheaded and buried alongside Vizier Ibrahim. We don't know what happened to them, but the following days tell a vivid story, and we do know that only one man benefited from their disappearance.
The young, the meek, the submissive. Shah Khamed.
Of course, there is no concrete evidence, save for the fact that it was him alone who capitalised on the upheaval that followed. A short but bloody struggle for power between the viziers' successors took up much of the following weeks, from which Khamed emerged victorious, albeit surrounded by heads freed from their bodies. The dead and disappeared councillors were quickly replaced by loyal friends of the uncrowned Shah, young and ambitious, not unlike Khamed himself.
And over the months that followed, even before the Third Crusade had come to an end, the young king steadily morphed his shahdom back into its centralised model. He repealed many of the laws that the Regency Council had passed during his minority, returning the authority to declare wars and grant titles back to the monarch, whilst his overhauled, staunchly-loyal Councillors unanimously ratified Khamed's proposed legislation to widen his manpower pool and increase yearly tax revenues.
Vizier Isa, surprisingly enough, was allowed to keep his position. Khamed, it seems, still had some uses for the chancellor, tasks that could only be accomplished by way of elder, more cautious methods synonymous with old men. Isa, who was given a choice between life and death, chose to go down the more obvious route.
And he was grateful for it. Isa was in his sixties by then, and he had lived a long life, but he'd never been more afraid than when he had walked through the gardens to meet his newly-crowned Shah. He had failed miserably in repelling the Crusaders, resulting in the loss of both thousands of Kurds and the rich emirate of Jerusalem, something that any other king would have executed him for... The simple fact that he was still breathing and alive was a miracle, titles and lands were of little use to a man without a head.
Nevertheless, he could not hide his surprise at how much young Khamed had changed, since he'd left him some five years past. The boy had grown up cut-off from the outside world, as was required, what with the Black Death devastating his dominions and burying his subjects by the thousand. But somehow, it seemed he had only benefitted from the captivity that he'd endured, spending his years locked up with the scholars and academics of the House of Knowledge, reading every history he could get his hands on. Still, he had a thirst to taste the world for himself, only so much can be gained from dusty books and crumbling scrolls, after all.
Vizier Isa himself didn't spend even a week at Baghdad before Khamed began making use of him. The crowning of a new king was always accompanied by a few months of turmoil, and the collapse of the Regency Council only compounded upon that. News reached Namuthij of several uprisings in the north, where Sunni lords still stood in defiance of the Shia-majority south, and Khamed needed to crush them before their brothers in faith took up arms alongside them.
Three uprisings, stretching from Armenia to Azerbaijan, had inflamed the countryside. Looting and burning became commonplace, often led by the local sheikhs themselves, and it was the peasantry who suffered as the three rebel armies marched to meet up and join forces. Isa had to intercept and cut off at least one of the forces to try and even the odds, and by circling around the northern deserts and marching through the night, he managed to pin down the largest of the peasant armies, 6000 peasants under the command of Sheikh Danyan, a Sunni lord funded by the Rûmi Khamiras in the north.
Even when faced with an exhausted mercenary band, an army made up of peasants simply did not stand half a chance, not even if they outnumbered their opposition three to one. The 'battle' that followed their engagement was over after just an hour of fighting, with Isa's cavalry easily cleaving rebels lines and forcing their infantry off the field, before he began a two week-long chase that led to another short skirmish, this time deep in the Azeri Mountains.
It isn't much of a surprise that the remaining rebel armies weren't exactly eager to meet Isa, spilled blood tends to temper the spirit and falter a march, and when the so-called armies were made up of old men and boys without beards, it quickly led to mass hysteria and panicked retreats. Nevertheless, by order of Shah Khamed, Vizier Isa didn't disband his army or ease their forced march. So he embarked on a long campaign, chasing down countless peasant and professional armies alike, crushing any Sunni opposition and reinstating the overthrown Shia nobility.
It was only three months later, with the northern reaches of Kurdistan blooded to Khamed's liking, that Isa was finally given leave to return to Baghdad.
A contemporary painting of the army at rest, after one of the countless clashes between Sunni and Shia.
Shah Khamed, meanwhile, had been busying himself with domestic matters. In agreement with his advisers and ministers, he began expanding the royal retinue and constructing barracks for soldiery, well aware that his Sunni neighbours were as opposed to his regime as ever. Though Khamed himself might not have been the most religious of men, he knew that there was no chance of refuting Shiism now, not when most of the nobility had accepted it and the Sunni imams and ulema who'd resided within Kurdistan had been brutally purged.
So instead, he prepared to face the inevitable coalition of Sunni powers. Khamed had already read of the Triple Alliance that had been formed between the sultans of Arabia, Egypt and Rûm during the 1190s, a powerful league formed with the sole intention of toppling the unorthodox Shia state, but the rampaging Black Death had brought those plans to a sudden halt. Now, however, talks between the sultans were being brought up once again, and Kurdistan was presented with a unique opportunity to prepare for it, unlike the unfortunate situation Shah Aurang had thrust them into twenty years past.
The hospitals being built, however, differed significantly from those that had sprouted up countless times throughout history. Hospitals were traditionally just another place of worship, where peasants and lords alike could pray to God for respite from their worldly suffering, and all pursuit of medical sciences was usually confined to the House of Knowledge. The hospitals that Khamed began funding, however, were being built on cornerstones more similar to those constructed during the Abbasid Khilafa, some five hundred years past.
It was to be an extension of the House of Knowledge, of sorts, and the hospitals would be open to any who could afford its physicians. Tests and experiments were conducted within the hospitals, to aid in the study of the plague and methods of its prevention, and if possible, more solid procedures of treating and curing it. Khamed himself was said to have visited these hospitals several times a month, showing a genuine interest in its pursuit of knowledge, and he often gifted his own blood to academics and scientists whenever a sample of godgiven mettle (as survivors of the Black Death were called) was needed for experimentation.
No one could blame him really, his youth had been spent locked up within the gates of his estate, and what would any capable, young and rich man do but drown himself in women? And indeed, throughout his teenage years, scandalous rumours of Khamed's midnight visits and daring embraces became widespread throughout the court at Namuthij Al Rua'a. Tales even sprouted up long after Khamed's death, of his romantic but doomed wooing of a Persian princess, of his reckless and lustful pursuit of the flesh, of his violent and sinful encounters with the Succubi. All of which are fanciful stories, of course, but all stories are rooted in reality.The elders seated on his Regency Council didn't mind; in fact, surprisingly enough, they actually supported it. It isn't difficult to see why, of course, for as long as Khamed was without a son he was also without an heir, meaning that the lawful successor of the Kurdish Shahdom was none other than Shah Aysan, of Rûm. A Sunni lord, obviously, could not be allowed to inherit a Shia state, so the Council instead encouraged Khamed to enjoy the pleasures of his harem, hoping he would make a few heirs, even bastards would become useful should Khamed suffer some sort of accident.
Of course, once the time for marriage and family arrived, a Shah usually stopped visiting his harem, out of respect for the wife's family, if nothing else. Khamed, however, was another matter altogether.
He had arranged his own marriage to the daughter of his vassal, the Satrap of Syria, thus strengthening his ties with his most powerful subject and ensuring that any considerable rebellion would not have the support of Syria. Even after wedding sweet Anya, however, Khamed didn't tie himself down to a single woman, and he definitely did not stop chasing skirts and laying with maids. It became something of a worry, bastards didn't exactly ease the succession of a lawful son, but there wasn't a man who dared stand up against Shah Khamed, who'd already proven himself a ruler capable of dealing with treachery and unforgiving with those who turned on him.
Nevertheless, lust has its consequences, and the scorn of a woman spurned cannot be underestimated.
It was late in 1215, with Kurdistan once more beginning to prosper, that Shah Khamed decided to set his overarching plans into motion.
It wasn't its contents that were remarkable, most Shahs tended to boast of their capabilities and demand loyalty in their coronation speeches, rather it was its potential that was so exciting. Khamed had sworn, on his father and grandfather, that the setbacks of his youth would be rectified and that excellence would be retained. The Holy City of Jerusalem had been stolen from the Kurds, and accounts of the brutal sacking it had suffered were as widespread as the day it had happened, and Khamed promised to avenge their loss and retake the noble city of Prophet Isa.
Of course, promises of future glory were nothing particularly special either, who didn't have ambitions and dreams? Khamed, however, meant the words he spoke, and it was only now, with his domestic affairs settled, that he could make good on them.
Shah Khamed was of the opinion that the key to taking back Jerusalem didn't lay in strength of arms, not directly, instead it lay in planning and preparedness. They needed to strike with surprise, but they had be sure that their drive would not be forced to a halt before it had gathered momentum, every man had to be in his place, the right funds had to be accumulated and stored, the army had to be ready for another decade-long war. Everything needed to be perfect.
Thus, Khamed decided that he would begin by seizing Cyprus, a relatively barren island that held no riches other than its strategic importance. As the Pope had been in a pseudo-alliance with the Basileus throughout the Third Crusade, the harbours at Cyprus had been used as a base of operations from which the Crusaders could seize control of the Eastern Mediterranean, and thus land their soldiers without fear of sinking. In fact, the naval battle that had left Kurdistan crippled took place just off the coast of Cyprus, a vicious three day-long engagement that ended Kurdish dominance of the seas.
But Khamed also desired to secure the island for commercial purposes. He was an able commander, there is no doubt about that, but if he was faced with a choice between blood and glory, and the sheer appeal of gold and jewels, Khamed would find it very difficult to choose between them. Though it was true that Cyprus did not posses any valuable minerals itself, it was still a very rich island, owing mostly to its close positioning to Trader's Coast. Throughout the Third Crusade, when the Kurdish shores lining the Mediterranean had become the site of countless battles, merchants and traders began shifting their enterprises to the relatively close and safe harbours of Cyprus, and even after the Pope signed the treaties securing peace and Jerusalem, the gold went where the merchants went, and Cyprus retained its significance.
So Khamed, who felt that he'd been robbed of the riches of Trader's Coast, was eager to capitalise on the trade flowing in from the West. And so his eyes fell on Cyprus, small but valuable, and in more ways than one.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the war was not a long one, nor was it a particularly bloody struggle to actually take Cyprus. It had been many decades since the last Roman-Kurdish War, but it was common knowledge that, by the 1200s, the Roman Empire was in steep decline. Shah Aurang's Conquest of Anatolia had left the Empire in an administrative mess, preceding a series of violent civil wars over the matter of inheritance.
The Shahdom of Rûm, meanwhile, quickly managed to make its mark on the Near East. Forcibly converting and massacring its populace, the Shahdom underwent a period of rapid expansion at the expense of the Empire, claiming divine right as its soldiers cut down the Romans by their thousands. By the early winter of 1216, Shah Aysan had already seized large tracts of land in Georgia and the Caucasus, ruling the predominantly-Christian peasantry with a brutal hand.
Khamed knew that the Basileus' authority was waning, he was already being called 'the Unready', and he took full use of it. Rather than striking suddenly and without warning, he instead waited until Basileus Photios was at his weakest, an opportunity that finally arrived in August of 1216. The Romans were locked in yet another war with Shah Aysan of Rûm, who had declared his intention to seize the entirety of Anatolia, including its shores with the Aegean. The series of Anatolian-Roman Wars had left both powers weakened, bankrupt and with scarcely a fifth of their men to defend themselves with.
This is what Khamed had been waiting for, and this is when he leapt into action.
The first battles were fought on the island itself, with the Romans hiring almost fifteen thousand mercenaries to try and see the Kurds off. The Kurdish Army was led by Shah Khamed himself, however, and he proved himself to be a capable enough commander. Outmaneuvering the enemy, he managed to force the Romans to meet his disciplined, prepared forces immediately after disembarking from their ships, making them easy pickings as they struggled through thigh-high mud and an endless stream of arrows.
Tired and a disordered mess, the initial engagement didn't last too long. In a stroke of strategic genius, Khamed commanded his forces to keep themselves well-hidden behind the forests of thick palm trees that dominated the island, whilst his ships met their Roman counterparts not far from the shore. The naval engagement was unexpectedly tough, and at times it looked like the Kurds might not be able to survive it, but they eventually managed to board the enemy ships and force their captains and crew to throw themselves into the placid waters, swimming to the beaches as quickly as they could whilst arrows rained down from the sky.
And that was when Khamed himself led his forces from the trees, swarming across the beaches and slaughtering the Romans as they staggered onto the sands, breathing in the cold air for scarcely a moment before they began choking on their own blood. Within three hours, thousands upon thousands of bodies littered the beach, firmly handing the victors' laurels to Shah Khamed, despite losing a fair good men of his own in the naval battle.
The Basileus sent another army from the north, hoping to push straight through Azerbaijan and attempt to capture the richer provinces deeper within Kurdistan, but Khamed had already hired a mercenary band to join up with his own forces, who were standing vigil just beyond the Azeri Mountains, where Kurdistan shared its last remaining land border with the Roman Empire.
This where the war was to be won.
Almost thirty thousand Kurds descended upon half their number at Shematha, outnumbering and outclassing the Romans, and utterly crushed the opposition. The battle did last a couple days, but from its very outset, there was never any doubt as to who would come out on top. Shah Khamed had given supreme command of the forces to Vizier Isa, who initiated the combat in the relatively flat terrain of the north, where he could easily deploy his numerically superior troops.
The Romans, of course, tried to retreat to more defensive territory, but the Azeri Mountains were practically impassable to foreigners, meaning there was a narrow corridor through which they would have to force themselves, losing men to the cold winter rather than simply stand and face the Kurdish Army. Thus, the generals instead decided to face Isa's army and hope to repel them, or at least keep engaged for long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
Unfortunately for the Romans, however, some battle are won by numbers alone, and Isa was not so incapable that he could not see the battle through without humiliating himself.
First, however, the Mediterranean needed to be secured for their ships.
So over the following months, the castles at both Cyprus and Roman Georgia were assaulted and brought to heel, some burned to rubble whilst others were spared the fate, either for submitting without a fight or because of their rich plunder, but both had the same effect. Basileus Photios tried to push the Kurds back, launching raids on supply lines and ordering his generals to bog them down into a guerilla war, but his strategies came to no avail. The walls were scaled and breached, the citadels captured and burned, and the populace killed or fled.
As Cyprus and Georgia fell to the Kurds, and with no end in sight in his war against the Shahdom of Rûm, Basileus Photios was forced to concede defeat. The demanded governorate of Cyprus and all its attached dependencies were handed over to Khamed, who named himself Satrap of the Cypriots, along with the promise of yearly tribute. Khamed himself led his forces back to Baghdad, where a national holiday of three days was announced, to be celebrated by the entire city with food and drink aplenty.
This time, however, it would not be the Black Death that would come calling.
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The successful war for Cyprus is a good step towards showing the world that the Shia state is not beaten. Now we just still need to deal with Jerusalem and the Sunni Alliance.
The Mongols appearing however do warrant attention. If they boil out of control, they'll become unstoppable.
The Mongols appearing however do warrant attention. If they boil out of control, they'll become unstoppable.
There is a clear impression that Khamed is very much making the Shahdom *his*.
He's using the resources he has available well, but I wonder how well he will do against the Mongols. Khamed needs a plan to survive them, and survive them with enough troops to not be taken apart afterwards.
He's using the resources he has available well, but I wonder how well he will do against the Mongols. Khamed needs a plan to survive them, and survive them with enough troops to not be taken apart afterwards.
Here's hoping the mongols actually do something and threaten you rather than being an anti climactic lame duck like in some games I've seen.
Glad to see you back in action, Dohaeris
Khamed's ambition and drive have served him well so far, but I do have to wonder if his... extracurricular activities will end up being his Achilles' heel. I especially can't help but wonder if "the scorn of a woman spurned cannot be underestimated" is foreshadowing something especially sinister in his near future.
And, of course, with the Mongols on the horizon, I'm sure he'll have plenty to worry about even without internal troubles. Let's hope the horse lords of the East don't manage to stain the Tigris and Euphrates red with blood in this timeline.
Khamed's ambition and drive have served him well so far, but I do have to wonder if his... extracurricular activities will end up being his Achilles' heel. I especially can't help but wonder if "the scorn of a woman spurned cannot be underestimated" is foreshadowing something especially sinister in his near future.
And, of course, with the Mongols on the horizon, I'm sure he'll have plenty to worry about even without internal troubles. Let's hope the horse lords of the East don't manage to stain the Tigris and Euphrates red with blood in this timeline.
Mongols yes if they conquer the persia they will pose a threat they may even convert to Sunni Islam
Yeah, no allies and being surrounded by enemies surely can't end too well. If the Mongols do end up going on a rampage, it'll be difficult to weasel my way out of that one.
I reckon, if they do come with full force, truce timers will be my best friend. Fight them off for long enough to secure a white peace, then re-build my armies whilst they slowly lose their event-spawned troops attacking some random Russian lords.
Thanks! And yeah, it seems as though Kurdistan cannot escape a disaster without another one showing up on the horizon mere moments later
We'll get a bit of a peek at what they end up doing in the next chapter, but a quick glance tells me that Genghis has 130K troops...
I don't think they'll go out with a whimper this time around.Glad to see you back in action, Dohaeris
Khamed's ambition and drive have served him well so far, but I do have to wonder if his... extracurricular activities will end up being his Achilles' heel. I especially can't help but wonder if "the scorn of a woman spurned cannot be underestimated" is foreshadowing something especially sinister in his near future.
And, of course, with the Mongols on the horizon, I'm sure he'll have plenty to worry about even without internal troubles. Let's hope the horse lords of the East don't manage to stain the Tigris and Euphrates red with blood in this timeline.
Thanks
That's a good point. In real-life, the Mongols just trashed everything from Persia to the Levant, but especially memorable was their Sack of Baghdad, which absolutely devastated the city's population and completely destroyed its libraries and learning centres, dashing any lingering perception of its eminence in the wider world. Hopefully, a similar fate can be avoided, though nothing is certain.True, in most of my games, the Mongols prioritise either Russia or the Middle East. Genghis usually begins by subjugating the surrounding kingdoms and duchies, even seizing a few of counties further west, but I've found that his descendants tend to focus on the Middle East a lot more (as happened in reality, I guess). And, as you said, the fact that they might convert to Sunni Islam is another threat that warrants consideration...
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Did you just change a ton of laws more ore less at one time? How is that possible?
Asking out of ignorance, since I'm so far only familiar with playing Irish, and my current series of lunatic and/or cannibal queens are only allowed to initiate law changing every 5-10 years.
Asking out of ignorance, since I'm so far only familiar with playing Irish, and my current series of lunatic and/or cannibal queens are only allowed to initiate law changing every 5-10 years.
It might be that the laws were changed at later points in the reign, but Dohaeris chose to portray it as happening at once. I know I do that from time to time with my AARs
It might be that the laws were changed at later points in the reign, but Dohaeris chose to portray it as happening at once. I know I do that from time to time with my AARs
Yeah, that's what I did. You can only change council laws once every five years, but I just put them all together for ease of reading, doesn't really make sense to have them scattered throughout the chapter.
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Hey guys, this chapter is solely narrative, simply because I'm short on time and it's quicker for me to write these than the normal, history-book chapters. But it should get back to normal with the next update.
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Chapter 12
About thirty miles from Kiev, late in August of 1228
Isa heaved himself off his horse, almost collapsing under his shaky legs before staggering to a standstill, and handed the reigns of his gelding to one of the nearby attendees. His men did the same just behind him, though somewhat more gracefully, whispering amongst one another as they did so.
Breathing in and exhaling deeply, Isa took in his immediate surroundings, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. As had been the case for the past month, all he could see was grass, seas of grass stretching as far as the eye could see. It had been beautiful at first, then boring, then a goddamn nightmare. It is difficult to describe, how one feels when waking to the same sight every single morning for almost a year, riding in the same direction for almost a year... an endless trudge through sand and grass, an unforgiving trek through swamp and marsh, the visage never breaking and the nightmare never ending.
It was different now, though. They had survived the journey and finally reached the camps, by some miracle from above. From every direction, eyes were drawn to Isa and his small, greatly shrunken party of three. It was obvious that these Mongols didn't encounter strangers too often, many of them rushed under their flaps and into their tents, shushing their daughters in with them.
Now, now the hard part begins...
Before Isa had walked even a single step, however, three horses clattered in front of him and began circling his party. They liked to do that, these Mongol horselords, circle any strangers like they were prey, but by that point, Isa had been through it too many times for it to do anything more than annoy him. Still, it was difficult to not admire their posture, how they stood in their stirrups and guided their mounts with their thighs alone, brandishing their gigantic bows... The Mongol society revolved around those two things, the horse and the bow, and with both in hand, Isa knew full well that they were nigh on undefeatable.
Unless, of course, someone figures out their secrets.
They eventually came to a halt, surrounding Isa and his small huddle, and one of the easterners vaulted off his mount and onto the grass, spry as a spring chicken and keen as the arrowhead he wielded.
Isa swallowed the lump in his throat, eyeing the razor-sharp arrow that the Mongol had not yet eased or loosed. Their skill with the bow was not just legendary, it was almost impossible, Isa had seen a mere boy shoot down an eagle in flight with one of those things... he'd never witnessed anyone so accurate with a bow, and if a boy could do that, what could his trained and tried fathers do with the same weaponry?
The man edged up to him, a giant towering over Isa, like all Mongols were. Without speaking, he pointed at the Kurdish Vizier, then cocked his head in the opposite direction, before he himself turned around and began walking.
Swallowing again, Isa finally spoke up, "We are tired. My brothers and I require rest, and food, if it pleases your master."
The Mongol came to a halt, slowly turning without lifting his feet from the grass, his eyes narrowed and brow creased. "You will come. Now." he whispered in a harsh, heavy tone, almost accented, except that he was speaking his own native language, of course. With an exasperated sigh and a curt nod, Isa followed.
The hallway wasn't very large, and badly lit, but as Isa ducked below the low-hanging beams and through the doorway, his brisk pace slowed to a walk, then a standstill. He turned to mutter something to his aidemen, unsure as to whether he was being led to his death or not, only to find them standing outside, their entry barred by a pair of guardsmen.
"The khan will see you alone, your brothers will wait." The horseman muttered, eyes glimmering cruelly, before striding down through another doorway and into the hall, leaving Isa to either flee or follow. Isa, obviously, hastened to followed.
Once in the hall, Isa stared beyond the horseman's back as he strode past the flickering brackets of flame, his breathing intensifying as he tried to make out the shadowed shapes at the end of the hall. He had not expected to meet with the warlord so soon, he had hoped for at least a day's respite after his harsh journey... But as he glanced at the men standing to attention on either side of him, he was once again reminded of their alien customs and barbaric traditions. And for the thousandth time on his long journey, Isa cursed Khamed for setting him on its course, muttering foul words of the like he'd thought he'd long forgotten.
But there was nothing that could be done. He may as well get the damned matter over with, and if the outcome led to his death, as it most likely would, then so be it. Khamed had saved him from the chopping block only to thrust him into the fire, it seemed. He began walking down the hall, the wordless men at its end watching him with eagle-eyes as he neared.
Only one of the men was seated, the rest forming a semi-circle of towering giants around him, that alone made it clear just how important this man was. He was huge, almost round, but evidently not with soft flesh. As Isa neared, the Mongol lord began rolling the frayed ends of his mustachio between two fingers, his huge arms taut and strong underneath their cloth. But it was his eyes that held all his grandeur, all his strength... slits, like those of a cat, with gold and brown staring at Isa as he walked.
At about ten paces away, Isa dropped to a bow, edging forwards even slower as he drilled his eyes into the packed mud that made up the floor, knowing full well that the warlord's eyes were still trained on him.
"Lord of lords, Khan of khans, Master over all those who reside in felt tents..." Isa forced himself to begin, slowly straightening his back and coming to a halt. "My master, the Shah of Kurds and King of the Two Rivers, sends his... his warmest regards."
Genghis Khan, the notorious conqueror himself, leaned back in his oaken chair. His demeanour seemed casual, but as his golden-brown eyes bore into Isa's green ones, the vizier could almost see the gears turning in them, considering the man who stood before him. Isa had to force himself to meet the khan's eyes, rather than flinch away, but with every passing second, his will weakened and fractured, until he finally broke contact with the warlord, glancing back down at the floor.
The stories about this one were... they were not just frightening, they were terrorising, like one of the stories of old. His deeds had already etched themselves into the very fabric of the lands he now ruled, spanning uncountable numbers of peoples, his crown and throne inked in the blood of his enemies. Isa could recall the first days when they received word of him, tales of his bloody unification of the steppes, his brutal campaigns against the Great Jin and the Song, the genocidal hand with which he loosed arrow and swung sword...
This was the Devil in the flesh, Shaitan incarnate, he had to be defeated at any and all costs... but Khamed, fool that he was, saw only the possibilities.
And now, here he was, seated before Isa. The demon himself, idolised by his people and feared by everyone else, the thief of tens of millions of lives... Isa had willingly and purposefully walked into his camps, but his survival beyond nightfall was becoming more doubtful with every passing second...
Suddenly, whilst Isa was still lost in thought, the khan spoke up, "You speak our language..."
Isa, jolted from his reverie, nodded hastily. "Y-yes, Great Khan, I... I studied at the House of Knowledge, and travelled over much of Asia... learnt the... the Turkic languages..."
The Khan's mustachio quivered. "I have heard of the... House of Knowledge. A place for learning, yes?"
Again, Isa nodded, though he did not reply. He saw the khan's eyes run over him again, reconsidering his worth, perhaps.
"Why are you here?"
I am not made for this...
Unconsciously fiddling with his sleeves, Isa took a step forward. "I come on behalf of my king, Great Khan... Khamed, Shah of Kurdistan and Khalifa of all Muslims..."
Genghis' eyes suddenly narrowed, the gold in them alike those of a crouching tiger. "Khalifa, you say..." The giant muttered, turning to glance at one of the men standing behind him, who whispered something incomprehensible into his khan's ear.
Shifting forwards again, Genghis raised a hand, bidding Isa to come closer. The vizier, of course, complied.
"Do you know of my sons...ah...?"
"Isa, Great Khan, my name is Isa..." the Vizier quickly said, eyes running over to try and figure the men standing behind the khan, but the badly-lit room cast shadows over their faces and identities. "And yes, the legendary feats of your sons stretch from ocean to ocean... though of course, they hold nothing of your own renown."
One of the men in the shadows visibly bristled, though Genghis Khan only nodded. He raised a hand again, and three of the men who'd been standing behind him finally strode into the light, massive tower-like men that cast titanic shadows of their own. All three of them was physically powerful, their arms bigger than the width of Isa's head. The vizier stumbled a few steps back as they approached, eyes darting between them and Genghis.
The Khan continued, his eyes still following Isa, "Does you master... Shah Khamed, have any sons?"
Gulping Isa replied, "Many, Khan of khans, he has... a great many wives..."
Suddenly and unexpectedly, the tension popping quicker than a bubble breaking the surface of a pond, Genghis laughed. "In that, we are alike. Mongols have a great love for the comforts of women, and I am no different."
Isa had heard tales about the comforts that Mongols like to extract from women, though he wasn't fool enough to bring them up just then. Instead, he only nodded, attempting something at a feeble smile. "Ah...yes, Great Khan."
The khan gestured towards the men who stepped forwards. "These three are my sons. When they were children, they used to roll and bite at each other, always fighting to gain the attention of their father. Now that they are men grown, they are no different... One of them will succeed me, upon my death, and become Great Khan of all the territories I have conquered..."
Isa blinked, wiping sweat from his brow, he saw the three Mongol brothers tense from the corner of his eye. What was the savage king of grass trying to say?
The khan, continued, his attention now focused on his sons. "Each of them seems to have become... partial, shall we say, to foreign beliefs... and each of them tries to swindle me into doing the same..."
Foreign beliefs? What's he talking about?
The Khan didn't speak for a few moments, only staring at their backs, his face a mask of something very close to... hatred? Hatred, or fear? What did the Great Khan, ruler over the vastness of the steppes, have to fear from his own children? Genghis Khan jolted, glancing about the room as though he'd forgotten where he was and whom he was talking to. Licking is lips, he leaned forwards again, shifting the furs over his shoulder and tightening them around himself.
"Why are you here, Kurd? I am told you travelled a great distance to meet me, what do you want?"
Tearing his eyes away from his three sons, Isa faced Genghis again, trying to recall the words he had spent hours mulling over, memorising and polishing in an attempt to perfect them. "Eh... Great Khan... I, ah, I... I come on behalf of Kha-"
"Yes, yes, Khamed Shah, you have said that a time too many," the Khan cut him off, his tone edged in steely annoyance. "What does the Master of Baghdad have to say to me, then?"
Just let it out, fool.
"My king wishes to propose an... an alliance, Great Khan."
Genghis' hazy eyes suddenly focused, and his wandering attention was once again drawn back to Isa, who heard more than one sharp intake of breath from the shadowy figures behind the khan. Without missing a beat, the khan replied, "Mongols have no need of alliance or friendship. We rely only on each other, and take what we desire."
Isa nodded slowly. "Yes, Great Khan, but..."
The Mongol's eyes had turned that dark hue of gold again, the ever-watching eyes of an eagle, king of the skies.
"My master doesn't wish to insult you, or intrude on your customs. He does, however, respect and admire you and your exploits... and he feels the need to assist you, especially in matters that you may... that you may not be aware of." Isa swallowed saliva, trying to force his old bones to halt their shivering, hoping he would have the courage to die with some dignity, should worst come to worst.
Genghis Khan, however, only said, "What are these matters of which am I not yet aware of, Kurd?"
Isa just let it out. "There is a powerful coalition forming in opposition to your rule, Great Khan. Shahs and sultans stretching from the Black Sea to India, emirs and sheikhs from half a dozen realms, hundreds of thousands of men preparing to face you on the field of battle..."
And now, now Isa would see the Great Khan in all his legend, with the layers peeled off and nothing but his core to showcase. Genghis pushed himself off his chair, slowly walking towards the vizier as his sons parted for him, and the Great Khan neared until he was scarcely an inch away from Isa's face, their noses almost touching, with Isa trying his damnest to avoid flinching or coughing as the khan's foul breath washed over him.
And then he laughed. Loudly, almost knocking Isa over as a great hand landed on his shoulder. The vizier lurched and stumbled backwards, eyes wide.
"Is that right?" He said between bouts of chuckling, glancing at his sons. "Let them come then, see how powerful their God is when facing me on mine." He turned away from the Vizier, to his councillors, who began speaking and chuckling alongside their khan, though Isa suspected their laughs somewhat more forced.
Isa coughed nervously, before speaking up. "Khan of khans, it is... it is more dangerous than you realise. Even as we speak, they are preparing to march on you, only a few weeks away from washing over your unprepared armies whilst you're busy fighting the Russians..."
The khan's laugh suddenly died, all the mirth drained from his eyes in half a heartbeat.
"And, and... and I have proof..."
His eyes narrowed to slits again, like the demon-eyes of a possessed cat. After a few hammering heartbeats, however, the khan took a step away from Isa. He turned to his sons, glowering at one of them in particular, though Isa couldn't tell which with so little light.
"A coalition of Sunni sultans..." One of the sons finally spoke out from behind Genghis, who's gaze had shifted back Isa. "Impossible, Father, I swear to you. It is impossible, impossible, they... they would not dare..."
"Silence!" The Khan didn't shout, but that one word carried the weight of God in it, and any whispering died within an instant.
And so the stories are true, Isa thought, watching the humiliated Ogodei flush in humiliation. Isa could scarcely believe his ears, but he kept quiet, perhaps he wouldn't be dying tonight after all...
After eying his son for a few minutes more, the Great Khan turned back to Isa, as though he'd suddenly remembered that he was here, and strode towards him with all the purpose of a tornado. Isa fell back and landed squarely on his ass, and as fear finally overcame him, he began dragging himself backwards whilst still on the floor.
Shit, shit shit shit shit shiiit!
Genghis Khan, however, picked him him up with all the ease of a mother lion grappling with her cubs, almost squeezing the vizier between his two massive hands as he forced him to stand on his feet, the stench of urine and sweat overpowering.
"Please, Great Khan, we offer you our gold and our armies... simply to seal a pact of friendship and... and have our own cut of the rewards.." Isa's sentence died into something of a whimper, and he closed his eyes, sure that he was about to meet his end. What a way to die, by the hand of the Great Khan himself...
§
Chapter 12
About thirty miles from Kiev, late in August of 1228
Isa heaved himself off his horse, almost collapsing under his shaky legs before staggering to a standstill, and handed the reigns of his gelding to one of the nearby attendees. His men did the same just behind him, though somewhat more gracefully, whispering amongst one another as they did so.
Breathing in and exhaling deeply, Isa took in his immediate surroundings, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. As had been the case for the past month, all he could see was grass, seas of grass stretching as far as the eye could see. It had been beautiful at first, then boring, then a goddamn nightmare. It is difficult to describe, how one feels when waking to the same sight every single morning for almost a year, riding in the same direction for almost a year... an endless trudge through sand and grass, an unforgiving trek through swamp and marsh, the visage never breaking and the nightmare never ending.
It was different now, though. They had survived the journey and finally reached the camps, by some miracle from above. From every direction, eyes were drawn to Isa and his small, greatly shrunken party of three. It was obvious that these Mongols didn't encounter strangers too often, many of them rushed under their flaps and into their tents, shushing their daughters in with them.
Now, now the hard part begins...
Before Isa had walked even a single step, however, three horses clattered in front of him and began circling his party. They liked to do that, these Mongol horselords, circle any strangers like they were prey, but by that point, Isa had been through it too many times for it to do anything more than annoy him. Still, it was difficult to not admire their posture, how they stood in their stirrups and guided their mounts with their thighs alone, brandishing their gigantic bows... The Mongol society revolved around those two things, the horse and the bow, and with both in hand, Isa knew full well that they were nigh on undefeatable.
Unless, of course, someone figures out their secrets.
They eventually came to a halt, surrounding Isa and his small huddle, and one of the easterners vaulted off his mount and onto the grass, spry as a spring chicken and keen as the arrowhead he wielded.
Isa swallowed the lump in his throat, eyeing the razor-sharp arrow that the Mongol had not yet eased or loosed. Their skill with the bow was not just legendary, it was almost impossible, Isa had seen a mere boy shoot down an eagle in flight with one of those things... he'd never witnessed anyone so accurate with a bow, and if a boy could do that, what could his trained and tried fathers do with the same weaponry?
The man edged up to him, a giant towering over Isa, like all Mongols were. Without speaking, he pointed at the Kurdish Vizier, then cocked his head in the opposite direction, before he himself turned around and began walking.
Swallowing again, Isa finally spoke up, "We are tired. My brothers and I require rest, and food, if it pleases your master."
The Mongol came to a halt, slowly turning without lifting his feet from the grass, his eyes narrowed and brow creased. "You will come. Now." he whispered in a harsh, heavy tone, almost accented, except that he was speaking his own native language, of course. With an exasperated sigh and a curt nod, Isa followed.
The hallway wasn't very large, and badly lit, but as Isa ducked below the low-hanging beams and through the doorway, his brisk pace slowed to a walk, then a standstill. He turned to mutter something to his aidemen, unsure as to whether he was being led to his death or not, only to find them standing outside, their entry barred by a pair of guardsmen.
"The khan will see you alone, your brothers will wait." The horseman muttered, eyes glimmering cruelly, before striding down through another doorway and into the hall, leaving Isa to either flee or follow. Isa, obviously, hastened to followed.
Once in the hall, Isa stared beyond the horseman's back as he strode past the flickering brackets of flame, his breathing intensifying as he tried to make out the shadowed shapes at the end of the hall. He had not expected to meet with the warlord so soon, he had hoped for at least a day's respite after his harsh journey... But as he glanced at the men standing to attention on either side of him, he was once again reminded of their alien customs and barbaric traditions. And for the thousandth time on his long journey, Isa cursed Khamed for setting him on its course, muttering foul words of the like he'd thought he'd long forgotten.
But there was nothing that could be done. He may as well get the damned matter over with, and if the outcome led to his death, as it most likely would, then so be it. Khamed had saved him from the chopping block only to thrust him into the fire, it seemed. He began walking down the hall, the wordless men at its end watching him with eagle-eyes as he neared.
Only one of the men was seated, the rest forming a semi-circle of towering giants around him, that alone made it clear just how important this man was. He was huge, almost round, but evidently not with soft flesh. As Isa neared, the Mongol lord began rolling the frayed ends of his mustachio between two fingers, his huge arms taut and strong underneath their cloth. But it was his eyes that held all his grandeur, all his strength... slits, like those of a cat, with gold and brown staring at Isa as he walked.
At about ten paces away, Isa dropped to a bow, edging forwards even slower as he drilled his eyes into the packed mud that made up the floor, knowing full well that the warlord's eyes were still trained on him.
"Lord of lords, Khan of khans, Master over all those who reside in felt tents..." Isa forced himself to begin, slowly straightening his back and coming to a halt. "My master, the Shah of Kurds and King of the Two Rivers, sends his... his warmest regards."
Genghis Khan, the notorious conqueror himself, leaned back in his oaken chair. His demeanour seemed casual, but as his golden-brown eyes bore into Isa's green ones, the vizier could almost see the gears turning in them, considering the man who stood before him. Isa had to force himself to meet the khan's eyes, rather than flinch away, but with every passing second, his will weakened and fractured, until he finally broke contact with the warlord, glancing back down at the floor.
The stories about this one were... they were not just frightening, they were terrorising, like one of the stories of old. His deeds had already etched themselves into the very fabric of the lands he now ruled, spanning uncountable numbers of peoples, his crown and throne inked in the blood of his enemies. Isa could recall the first days when they received word of him, tales of his bloody unification of the steppes, his brutal campaigns against the Great Jin and the Song, the genocidal hand with which he loosed arrow and swung sword...
This was the Devil in the flesh, Shaitan incarnate, he had to be defeated at any and all costs... but Khamed, fool that he was, saw only the possibilities.
The expansion of the Mongol Empire between 1218 and 1228, under the command of Genghis Khan:
Suddenly, whilst Isa was still lost in thought, the khan spoke up, "You speak our language..."
Isa, jolted from his reverie, nodded hastily. "Y-yes, Great Khan, I... I studied at the House of Knowledge, and travelled over much of Asia... learnt the... the Turkic languages..."
The Khan's mustachio quivered. "I have heard of the... House of Knowledge. A place for learning, yes?"
Again, Isa nodded, though he did not reply. He saw the khan's eyes run over him again, reconsidering his worth, perhaps.
"Why are you here?"
I am not made for this...
Unconsciously fiddling with his sleeves, Isa took a step forward. "I come on behalf of my king, Great Khan... Khamed, Shah of Kurdistan and Khalifa of all Muslims..."
Genghis' eyes suddenly narrowed, the gold in them alike those of a crouching tiger. "Khalifa, you say..." The giant muttered, turning to glance at one of the men standing behind him, who whispered something incomprehensible into his khan's ear.
Shifting forwards again, Genghis raised a hand, bidding Isa to come closer. The vizier, of course, complied.
"Do you know of my sons...ah...?"
"Isa, Great Khan, my name is Isa..." the Vizier quickly said, eyes running over to try and figure the men standing behind the khan, but the badly-lit room cast shadows over their faces and identities. "And yes, the legendary feats of your sons stretch from ocean to ocean... though of course, they hold nothing of your own renown."
One of the men in the shadows visibly bristled, though Genghis Khan only nodded. He raised a hand again, and three of the men who'd been standing behind him finally strode into the light, massive tower-like men that cast titanic shadows of their own. All three of them was physically powerful, their arms bigger than the width of Isa's head. The vizier stumbled a few steps back as they approached, eyes darting between them and Genghis.
The Khan continued, his eyes still following Isa, "Does you master... Shah Khamed, have any sons?"
Gulping Isa replied, "Many, Khan of khans, he has... a great many wives..."
Suddenly and unexpectedly, the tension popping quicker than a bubble breaking the surface of a pond, Genghis laughed. "In that, we are alike. Mongols have a great love for the comforts of women, and I am no different."
Isa had heard tales about the comforts that Mongols like to extract from women, though he wasn't fool enough to bring them up just then. Instead, he only nodded, attempting something at a feeble smile. "Ah...yes, Great Khan."
The khan gestured towards the men who stepped forwards. "These three are my sons. When they were children, they used to roll and bite at each other, always fighting to gain the attention of their father. Now that they are men grown, they are no different... One of them will succeed me, upon my death, and become Great Khan of all the territories I have conquered..."
Isa blinked, wiping sweat from his brow, he saw the three Mongol brothers tense from the corner of his eye. What was the savage king of grass trying to say?
The khan, continued, his attention now focused on his sons. "Each of them seems to have become... partial, shall we say, to foreign beliefs... and each of them tries to swindle me into doing the same..."
Foreign beliefs? What's he talking about?
The Khan didn't speak for a few moments, only staring at their backs, his face a mask of something very close to... hatred? Hatred, or fear? What did the Great Khan, ruler over the vastness of the steppes, have to fear from his own children? Genghis Khan jolted, glancing about the room as though he'd forgotten where he was and whom he was talking to. Licking is lips, he leaned forwards again, shifting the furs over his shoulder and tightening them around himself.
"Why are you here, Kurd? I am told you travelled a great distance to meet me, what do you want?"
Tearing his eyes away from his three sons, Isa faced Genghis again, trying to recall the words he had spent hours mulling over, memorising and polishing in an attempt to perfect them. "Eh... Great Khan... I, ah, I... I come on behalf of Kha-"
"Yes, yes, Khamed Shah, you have said that a time too many," the Khan cut him off, his tone edged in steely annoyance. "What does the Master of Baghdad have to say to me, then?"
Just let it out, fool.
"My king wishes to propose an... an alliance, Great Khan."
Genghis' hazy eyes suddenly focused, and his wandering attention was once again drawn back to Isa, who heard more than one sharp intake of breath from the shadowy figures behind the khan. Without missing a beat, the khan replied, "Mongols have no need of alliance or friendship. We rely only on each other, and take what we desire."
Isa nodded slowly. "Yes, Great Khan, but..."
The Mongol's eyes had turned that dark hue of gold again, the ever-watching eyes of an eagle, king of the skies.
"My master doesn't wish to insult you, or intrude on your customs. He does, however, respect and admire you and your exploits... and he feels the need to assist you, especially in matters that you may... that you may not be aware of." Isa swallowed saliva, trying to force his old bones to halt their shivering, hoping he would have the courage to die with some dignity, should worst come to worst.
Genghis Khan, however, only said, "What are these matters of which am I not yet aware of, Kurd?"
Isa just let it out. "There is a powerful coalition forming in opposition to your rule, Great Khan. Shahs and sultans stretching from the Black Sea to India, emirs and sheikhs from half a dozen realms, hundreds of thousands of men preparing to face you on the field of battle..."
And now, now Isa would see the Great Khan in all his legend, with the layers peeled off and nothing but his core to showcase. Genghis pushed himself off his chair, slowly walking towards the vizier as his sons parted for him, and the Great Khan neared until he was scarcely an inch away from Isa's face, their noses almost touching, with Isa trying his damnest to avoid flinching or coughing as the khan's foul breath washed over him.
And then he laughed. Loudly, almost knocking Isa over as a great hand landed on his shoulder. The vizier lurched and stumbled backwards, eyes wide.
"Is that right?" He said between bouts of chuckling, glancing at his sons. "Let them come then, see how powerful their God is when facing me on mine." He turned away from the Vizier, to his councillors, who began speaking and chuckling alongside their khan, though Isa suspected their laughs somewhat more forced.
Isa coughed nervously, before speaking up. "Khan of khans, it is... it is more dangerous than you realise. Even as we speak, they are preparing to march on you, only a few weeks away from washing over your unprepared armies whilst you're busy fighting the Russians..."
The khan's laugh suddenly died, all the mirth drained from his eyes in half a heartbeat.
"And, and... and I have proof..."
His eyes narrowed to slits again, like the demon-eyes of a possessed cat. After a few hammering heartbeats, however, the khan took a step away from Isa. He turned to his sons, glowering at one of them in particular, though Isa couldn't tell which with so little light.
"A coalition of Sunni sultans..." One of the sons finally spoke out from behind Genghis, who's gaze had shifted back Isa. "Impossible, Father, I swear to you. It is impossible, impossible, they... they would not dare..."
"Silence!" The Khan didn't shout, but that one word carried the weight of God in it, and any whispering died within an instant.
And so the stories are true, Isa thought, watching the humiliated Ogodei flush in humiliation. Isa could scarcely believe his ears, but he kept quiet, perhaps he wouldn't be dying tonight after all...
After eying his son for a few minutes more, the Great Khan turned back to Isa, as though he'd suddenly remembered that he was here, and strode towards him with all the purpose of a tornado. Isa fell back and landed squarely on his ass, and as fear finally overcame him, he began dragging himself backwards whilst still on the floor.
Shit, shit shit shit shit shiiit!
Genghis Khan, however, picked him him up with all the ease of a mother lion grappling with her cubs, almost squeezing the vizier between his two massive hands as he forced him to stand on his feet, the stench of urine and sweat overpowering.
"Please, Great Khan, we offer you our gold and our armies... simply to seal a pact of friendship and... and have our own cut of the rewards.." Isa's sentence died into something of a whimper, and he closed his eyes, sure that he was about to meet his end. What a way to die, by the hand of the Great Khan himself...
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Wow, either Khamed has a lot of faith in Isa to seal this pact, or he found a convenient way to dispose of him.
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Khamed appears to be playing a dangerous game here, trying to harness the Mongol invasion to his own ends. It seems as though the Great Khan might just be shrewd enough to see through him, though, and I'd imagine he has designs of his own for Khamed and the Kurds. The opening exchange probably serves as as good a metaphor as any for the broader picture -- they're locked in a staring contest, and the one who blinks first will find himself dominated.
Incidentally, I like the way you've written Genghis here. He has a real presence in and of himself, a quiet confidence and keen penetration that both project authority in a way that no amount of blustering and posturing ever could.
Incidentally, I like the way you've written Genghis here. He has a real presence in and of himself, a quiet confidence and keen penetration that both project authority in a way that no amount of blustering and posturing ever could.
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Goodness me. Very well written (though I couldn't see any of your images for some reason). Talk about being thrust into the lion's den
Will be very interested to see how this pans out
Will be very interested to see how this pans out
I dare say one of your best chapters yet. Eager to see what comes of this new alliance (and hoping Jochi gets thrust to the fore for succession )
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I have no issue with these narrative chapters, this was fantastic. I loved your portrayal of Genghis Khan, and it's nice seeing the Mongol Empire doing so well without destroyig you. It would be very interesting to see you make an alliance with the Mongols, I don't see that very often. Let them take the north while you unite your region.
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Either way, seems like he'll get something out of it, either a powerful pact or the death of his most powerful councillor. But no, Genghis Khan actually accepted the offer of a betrothal, sealing a non-aggression pact with the Kurdish Shahdom, though one that hinges on the promise of war.
I agree, it's easy to forget just how different the Mongols are from settled Muslims, they share pretty much no customs or traditions with one another and have a very sparse, often violent, history on the steppes. All it'll take is one of their respective leaders to blink, and the other will probably pounce on him, non-aggression pacts thrown to the wind. Khamed and Genghis Khan are not so different from one another though, I reckon that's what makes conflict inevitable, both are interested only in the expansion of their own personal power, at the expense of anyone.
Hmm... are the images still not working for you? It seems to be working for others, so maybe it's a problem on your end?
I dare say one of your best chapters yet. Eager to see what comes of this new alliance (and hoping Jochi gets thrust to the fore for succession
Thanks! That would be a very interesting alternate history scenario, a Christianized Mongol Empire, though I'm personally rooting for Chagatai to succeed Genghis as Khan. It's almost too much to hope for, but it would be so cool to see Zoroastrianism make a sudden comeback, out of nowhere. I don't even know how he converted to it, there are no independent Zoroastrian faithful on the map atm...
Thanks! I'm hoping for the same, let the Mongols mess around in Russia whilst the Khamiras busy themselves in the Near East, but I do worry about the consequences of a Catholic (or Sunni, for that matter) Mongol Empire. It would be a pretty drastic shake-up, that's for sure, and thrusts the continued existence of the Kingdom of Jerusalem into doubt.
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