Sins of Our Fathers

  Trails of smoke rose up into the sky like twisting fingers as the riders made their way towards the Kangar tent-city. Slung over the back of the noyan’s saddle, Yesugei's crushed leg screamed with pain every time the stallion bucked and swayed.

  “Enjoy the ride while you can, Qarakesek,” said Arsen-noyan. “Soon you’ll sup on far worse when B?ri-khan gets his way with you.”

  Over the horizon, the Kangar camp rose - green, blue, and red-roofed yurts that stood against the ashen field. Warriors, artisans, and children gathered as Arsen returned with his plunder: three of the rogue boyar Stribor’s wagons, laden with food, clothes, and coin, all stolen twice over.

  His men dumped their plunder in the center of camp, and the crowd surged over it all. A woman draped a silver necklace over her sheepskin robe, two men struggled over a silver plate, and three warriors used a long tablecloth to launch children into the air with laughter. Kangar in exile seemed a wretchedly-poor bunch, Yesugei noticed - Arsen's trinkets might well have seemed the world to some.

  Two of the noyan’s men rode on to inform the khan of their coming. Behind them, Arsen rode proudly through the camp. They stopped before a great yurt atop a wooden platform, the Kangar trident fixed to its roof - the same trident that once pointed in battle against Yesugei’s father when he and Naizabai-khan clashed over the Hungry Steppe.

  Now they’ve carried it far from home, and me with them.

  Arsen shoved Yesugei from his stallion. He landed hard, and when his injured leg hit the ground the pain nearly blinded him. A rough hand pulled him up by his collar, then forced him to his knees as the tent flap rose.

  “I give you plunder and a captive, my khan,” Arsen declared, planting his boot on Yesugei’s back. “And you would do well to kneel, Qarakesek.”

  When Arsen’s boot rose off his back Yesugei craned his head up. Four noyans stood behind B?ri-khan, their pale-eyed leader who was clad in a gilded scale coat over an orange robe, his black hair twisted into two long braids. He regarded Yesugei as another man might a worm - then flicked his angry gaze to Arsen.

  “I accept your gifts, Arsen-noyan,” the khan spoke, his lips pursed with silent anger. “You and your kin may claim a third of the plunder - the rest, divide between the other families.”

  Arsen’s riders spurred back to the crowd, horsewhips ready to disperse the teeming mass. As the rest of the camp watched, B?ri spread his arms and called, “Gather strong wine and set the servants to work! Tonight, we feast and name Arsen-noyan baghatur!”

  Cheers erupted. B?ri beckoned Arsen to him. “We have much to discuss, Arsen. Bring your pet with you, and let us speak of greater things to come.”

  The noyan grinned as he yanked Yesugei to his feet, and strode inside. But the nomad princeling saw the truth - the real reckoning would come only when they were inside, far from the watchful eyes of the tribe.

  His eyes scanned the city of yurts. From a brief glance he counted two, perhaps three hundred felt roofs - yet there were only a handful of Kangar warriors patrolling the outskirts, and none of the hallmarks for war. Free women of the camp still tended to the mundane tasks of life - sewing, herding sheep, and grinding wheat into flour, not fletching arrows or preparing sons’ and husbands’ armor. Smiths were not beating iron into armor plates, arrowheads, or blades, but rather nails, cookware, and trinkets for horse-tack.

  These are a people at peace, he realized as he staggered up the steps to the khan’s tent. No one here is ready for war. What have you done, Arsen?

  The noyan, oblivious, boasted to his peers of how he routed the southerners. His tale grew with each telling—his force swelled from thirty to fifty, the Stribor’s losses from threefold his own to five.

  “Aye, armored and mounted they were,,” said Arsen as the tent flap behind him closed. “But too few to protect the whole column, and too stupid to avoid my feint. My boys reminded them dearly why their ancestors always knelt before Khormchak boots, that we did!”

  The Kangar khan’s tent was large, but sparsely-decorated. A few tribute trinkets adorned the shelves, and in one corner, the silver horns of the Kangar war banner sat collecting dust, unfurled since the tribe was forced west.

  Once they were seated, one of the noyans raised his hand and spoke sharply. “Enough, Arsen. Spare us your foolishness.”

  “Foolishness?” Arsen’s joy twisted instantly into dark anger. “I don’t understand-”

  “And that’s exactly it.” A longbeard in a red robe and cap cut in. “You don’t understand. That is why B?ri-khan allowed you to prance around instead of skinning you alive for this folly you’ve brought on all our heads.”

  “A folly?” Arsen shot to his feet. With his head bowed low, Yesugei allowed himself a small smile as Arsen spat, “Did I offend you all by being daring while the rest of you sat around eating ash?”

  B?ri-khan, draped in a red chapan, sat silently. Arsen looked at each of the noyans, then strode over to the khan, his hands wrung in desperation. “Did I offend you? Did I steal some glory that was meant to be yours, B?ri?”

  A chill settled over the tent. The noyans shifted uncomfortably as they looked to the khan. Arsen danced blindly on the edge of treason, but the khan’s honor was his to defend alone.

  B?ri rose, his shined boots clacking along the floorboards as he stepped toward Arsen, his face an impassive mask. The noyan straightened his back and met the khan’s gaze bravely - so focused that he never saw the slap coming.

  The crack echoed through the tent and knocked Arsen to the floor. The noyan spat a curse and tried to stand, only for B?ri to seize his collar and haul him up.

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  “My khan,” B?ri corrected coldly. “I am no longer a boy, and neither are you. Or have you forgotten that along with my orders? I told you to patrol, to scout the borders, and nothing more. Yet you come back with plunder that was not meant to be ours.”

  “Wha-? B- but my khan, I defended our lands, brought food, treasure-”

  “And yet you left the men whom you robbed alive,” spat B?ri bitterly. “You should have killed them all and buried them deep, or not attacked at all. What do you think their masters will do once that boyar tells them he was robbed by our people?”

  Arsen’s mouth opened and shut stupidly as he tried to come up with a reply. B?ri dropped him in disgust.

  “Our pact with the Old Griffon was to fight the wolves of the steppe, not their dirty little civil wars. That was our shield. Have you forgotten what happened to our fathers the last time we struck before sensing the winds of fortune?

  “We could have had peace. Time prepare our riders in force, to strike a better bargain for lands or tithes. But now you’ve stolen time from me - and for what? A few trinkets? A few scraps of food that will feed ten families for a day when we’ve hundreds more under our rule?”

  Arsen clenched his fists bitterly as he stood, chastened. Even in the shade of the tent, Yesugei saw his face was red with embarrassment and illness as B?ri’s words sank through his thick skull.

  “I-I did not know, my khan,” Arsen stammered. “I’ll make amends however I can. Let me lead my men first into battle to atone for my mistake!”

  “We’ll have battles enough soon,” B?ri said. “But I’d rather you make amends for the lives wasted by your hands instead. How many men perished in your attack?”

  Six, my khan. Two felled by arrows, and four killed by the mage in the boyar’s company.”

  “Good men, husbands, brothers, sons of the Kangar all,” said B?ri. “For each lost son or brother, give ten sheep. For each wife you’ve left a widow, give four horses. Then until they remarry, you will care for them as your own.”

  "My khan-"

  "Choose your next words carefully," B?ri hissed. Arsen's plea withered to dust in his throat. “Be glad I am giving you widows instead of steel for your stupidity. Now go, baghatur, get out of my sight and thank the Eternal Sky for sparing you before I change my mind."

  Arsen’s anger burned plainly in his eyes, but he held his runaway tongue as he left the tent. The silence lingered for a moment, then B?ri strode over and turned Yesugei onto his back.

  “Arsen has left me with precious little patience,” the khan spoke, his pale gray eyes boring holes through Yesugei's. “Lie to me, and you will die by inches, Qarakesek. Who are you, and why are you this far west?”

  In the khan’s cold stare Yesugei saw a strange glint - like light reflecting off of smooth ice. Recognition. He knows…or perhaps he suspects.

  In a way, it was a relief - he grew tired of false names, tired of scrounging through forests and hills as a nameless, insignificant soul when he had once been held so high. If he was to suffer now, it would at least be with his real name upon his lips.

  No more lies. No more hiding. Speak with pride, speak the truth.

  “My name is Yesugei, ninth son of Aqtai. Prince of the Qarakesek.”

  The Kangar khan's eyes closed, and the corners of his lips twisted into a small smile.

  “Yes…you look so very much like him.” B?ri tugged on Yesugei’s ragged beard, grown out in Stribor’s captivity. “I see your father in your face, Yesugei-mirza. And in your face, I remember our exile.”

  “My brother Nariman wanted you and your people dead,” Yesugei replied. Sometimes, he wondered whether his eldest brother was of Naibazai’s blood more than their father - his voice had been the strongest to massacre their enemies when defeated, the most bitter in seeking vengeance against slights. “Death or exile - the choice was yours and yours alone - and it was a far better deal than others were given.”

  “But not as kind as others,” said the longbeard. “The Jalarin, the Oshkans…even the Quanli were allowed back into the Khan's peace, while your father kept us in exile. In dishonor.”

  “Kill him, my khan,” another noyan spoke. “Break his spine and let us put to rest our fathers' spirits. Your father's spirit. The blood feud can end here and now.”

  “He doesn't deserve a bloodless death,” said a third noyan. “How many of our own men were killed like dogs at Ongainur and other battles? How many had their throats cut like sheep instead of dying as men?”

  One noyan, a tall, shaggy-bearded man with an ugly scar across his right cheek, placed his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “My khan, I would bleed him for you. The Eternal Sky has given us this one as a gift - we should slice him from ear to ear, then send his head back to his wretched father.”

  B?ri-khan grinned. “My men can scarcely agree on the color of the sky, Yesugei-mirza. Yet for your death, they stand as one. However-”

  He seized Yesugei’s ropes, lifting him to his knees. Then, a knife flashed—his bindings fell.

  “My khan-” spoke the longbeard as he shot up, only to be silenced by the khan’s raised hand. The other noyans did not move, but their eyes betrayed the outrage their lips dared not to utter.

  Yesugei rubbed his aching arms as B?ri placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “My blood feud is with your father, Yesugei-mirza,” spoke B?ri. “Just as his lay with mine. When I was in your father’s grasp, he chose not to heed your brother’s words when he could have butchered our tribe without a second thought for honor. Instead, he gave us a chance for life - for freedom, no matter how wretched.”

  Yesugei nodded slowly. Only the Kangar khan stood between him and the noyans’ knives - yet the dread did not leave his gut. It cannot be. The noyans will kill their khan themselves if he lets me go.

  B?ri’s expression grew grim - and his hand squeezed Yesugei’s shoulder. The bitterness and sorrow that reared its head in the khan’s eyes made him seem old beyond his years. Then he spoke once more, “Our freedom came at a price, however. My people starved and died even in your father’s mercy. I saw hundreds wither away on the open road: old and young, slaves and warriors, mothers and their children. Their spirits linger with us wherever we go. And so those who were denied the Eternal Sky’s embrace - they will be your judge.”

  B?ri turned to his throne. In the shadows, a figure stirred. A man clad in aged leathers rose from the right side of the throne, and the beads sewn onto the shaman’s leather veil clacked softly as he stepped into the dim light of the yurt.

  “Aysen-guai,” B?ri spoke to the silent shaman. “I place our Qarakesek friend under your wing. Care for his wounds, and see to it that he is fit by dawn.”

  Then, with a wolfish grin, the khan sheathed his knife and faced Yesugei. “At sunrise, I will grant you the same mercy your father gave me—a chance for freedom. It is one that you shall win by the tip of the sword, as all your kin have lived by. If the spirits judge you worthy, I will send you from my lands with a horse and food. If not… you will join those your father condemned.”

  Yesugei’s gaze swept the noyans. Each was seasoned by war, tall and strong. But even weak as he was, he was certain he could outshoot any of them with a bow, the weapon which had won the Great Horde all of its battles. But now his fate rested on the sword -, that weapon for singers’ stories and duels. The thought almost made him laugh, if not for the crushing weight in his stomach.

  “Who will I fight, then?” He dared to ask.

  Silence, but only for a moment.

  “Me,” said B?ri-khan. “You shall face me - sons of our fathers, Kangar and Qarakesek. How their follies haunt us still.”