Their War (1)
While Daehan was busy brawling with the Crusaders pouring in from the west at Mudo, the buffer nation that should have been guarding that land — Fraise — was kept every bit as busy, for Islamic warlords kept hammering at it from the south without pause.
Yet out of that endless grind emerged one exceptional general who not only repelled every attack but expanded his territory besides. His name was Temüjin.
In the year 3665, during the Fourth Crusade, he crushed the enemies to the south and ascended to the seat of Great Khan. Those around him began calling him Genghis Khan — the Ruler of All Men — and his power began to gather like iron to a lodestone.
Temüjin visited the temple again today. The place where She dwelled.
The temple was always immaculate. Out of respect for Her wish that no shoes be worn inside, every visitor had to wash their feet outside before ascending.
May peace hold today as well.
He offered no special prayer for Her. Everyone who came brought their own; Temüjin simply bowed, pressed his forehead to the floor, and kissed the earth.
"You may enter."
"Thank you."
He had come today with a great purpose, hoping to hear Her words, and since She was said to be present, the Temple Chief had arranged an audience for him.
Click.
"Go on in."
"Then... if you'll excuse me."
The room he entered alongside the Temple Chief was a paradoxical space — not ornate, and yet splendid all the same. There were few decorations, but every one of them was wrought of noble gold and silver. And by the window bloomed Her favorite flowers.
Thud.
"Temüjin humbly greets You."
He knelt and bowed low, reverence filling his heart.
As a child, visiting the temple with his mother, he had once glimpsed a face behind a veil of sheer gauze — a face beautiful beyond description, noble beyond beauty itself.
And now, thirty-five years later, he found Her utterly unchanged from that day, and his heart overflowed.
"Don't be so stiff. Sit down."
"Thank you."
Her manner was naturally familiar — not the condescension of a superior looking down on him, but the easy warmth of an old friend — and his heart settled like a spring morning. He felt tears running down his face that he had long believed withered dry on the battlefield.
"Aigoo, a grown man crying? Is something troubling you?"
Why it was that Her worried tone brought to mind his mother fretting over him as a boy, when he'd come home bloodied from playing too rough with his friends — he couldn't have said.
"Hahaha. It's nothing."
"Good! Stay strong!"
"Uwahahaha!"
Genuine laughter burst from Temüjin for the first time in a long while.
"So. What is it you've come to say?"
"I wish to pass judgment upon those who dared set foot upon this land while invoking the name of God."
"Does it truly have to come to that? A great many people will be hurt."
Seeing Her value the lives of ordinary people above Her own majesty only hardened his resolve all the more. How dare the ignorant covet the very place where God dwelled — in God's own name, no less.
"It must be done."
And it was not his will alone, but the will of all his companions as well.
"Whew... Well. It can't be helped."
"Huh? Someone's come to see me?"
"They said his name is Aioshingir Temüjin."
How would you even know who I am...
"Who is he?"
"They say he just became the Great Khan. Genghis Khan, I believe they're calling him?"
"Whoa."
Oh wow. Now that's a genuinely terrifying name.
"And why is he here?"
"Apparently he's going to smash every last one of the people who've been making his life miserable?"
The Muslims and the Crusaders have been squeezing them from all directions, haven't they? No wonder he's livid. If anyone had laid a finger on my kids, I'd have turned Europe into a smoking crater ages ago. But nobody touched mine, so I kept my hands to myself.
"Well, I suppose I'd better meet him."
"Of course. It's hardly a meeting you can't grant."
So I met him — and what did he do but burst into tears, this fully grown man, and declare that he was going to kill them all?
Was he really that angry? I did try to talk him down, tell him to go easy... I honestly thought we'd domesticated the Mongol kids so thoroughly that there'd never be a Mongol Empire. But no! Somebody had to go poke the quiet, well-behaved kid. Ugh...
They dug their own graves with their own two hands. There's nothing I can do for them.
"Phew... Well, it can't be helped."
I suppose I'll have to send him off with a sword.
Toss.
"Take this."
"Thank you."
It was one of the many straight blades sleeping in my subspace. That steel of mine is so absurdly hard people had said there was no reason to curve the blade — so I'd made them straight instead, on the grounds that it simply looked cooler.
A sturdy scabbard, and a round ring on the hilt that served all manner of uses. A tiger and a bear wrought in gold adorned the scabbard, and the grip was bound tight in leather. A sword fit for ceremony, yet practical all the same.
"I have no intention of steering you all according to my whims. Whatever you decide, decide it so that you never look back with regret."
"As you will."
Wait. Did he actually get that? Why is it my will?
Hmm. Watching him carry the sword in both hands like a sacred relic all the way out the door is... kind of terrifying, honestly.
Whatever you're about to do out there, kids — please, try to keep it gentle.
And once he was gone, I asked.
"Daesinjāng? Am I really that hard to approach?"
"Hard to approach? No, my lady. You feel rather like the little brat from down the lane."
"Excuse me?"
Surely it's not THAT bad? Where's my dignity?
"Perhaps it is simply that he has never seen You in person before, my lady."
"Hmm..."
Not that I can exactly hold a live Q&A stream about it, can I?
"Nothing bad will happen, right?"
"Nothing bad at all, my lady. These are warriors who have roamed deserts and steppes all their lives."
No, not THEM I'm worried about — it's the Westerners and the Middle Eastern folk. You people don't know about the Mongol Empire. Those guys were brutal. Western mercenaries are pretty handy at sieges, aren't they? These lads are going to smash absolutely everything in sight. Well — those lunatics in the West sent their Crusaders all the way over here to pick a fight, so as far as I'm concerned, it's not my problem anymore!
"Open up the eastern grasslands."
"You mean for me to release the horses, my lady?"
"Yep."
It'd be a shame to leave the plains where old Mongolia once stood sitting empty, right? So I'd turned a whole herd loose out there. Who knows how many there are by now?
"And send them weapons, armor, and provisions too."
"This is their war, my lady. Are you certain?"
"It won't last long anyway."
If they're going to do it regardless, they might as well do it properly. It grieves me, but that land was fated to splinter and fall all on its own... And hold on a moment — without wasting any time on East Asia, they'll march straight into the Middle East and the West? Is the whole world seriously about to split in two?
Shing.
Temüjin drew the straight blade, its surface gleaming dark and smoky.
"I have heard the will of Her Holiness."
"Oh! You saw her in person?"
"As expected..."
"The Great Khan!"
"Genghis Khan!"
This was a kurultai — a council where the gathered nobles resolved the great affairs of the nation. Mongols sat here alongside men with yellow hair and men with red, peoples who had lived side by side for so many centuries that they were now brothers in all but blood.
"By Her will we have never once invaded them. But look at what they have done to us!"
"Wicked men, the lot of them!"
"How many brothers have we buried these long years!"
"Vile cowards, every one!"
These people still lived as nomads — and who, hearing of nomads that did not raid, would believe a word of it?
"Brothers! The time has come to punish those who sold the name of God to invade this land! This is a holy war!"
By the teachings of the temple they had striven, as they were taught, to love even their enemies — and in return had endured dozens upon dozens of invasions. Countless brothers had fallen, and never once had they mistreated Christian or Muslim alike.
They could not understand why they alone must suffer — and they had begun to burn with fury at the insult shown to their Haneul-nim.
If Haneul ever heard this, she'd pack a lunch and run after every last one of them, trying to talk them down.
"She has granted us weapons and food, and the horses of the eastern steppe besides! Brothers — make ready!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
"A holy war!"
"In the name of God!"
Warriors who, in another world, would have forged the Mongol Empire began to roar with the name of God.
"The land where She dwells is the sacred land of Ak Ana, and we shall forge Gazar — the land where the god Tengri Gazar makes His dwelling!"
The warriors changed the name of their nation and threw themselves into preparation for war. From Daehan they received bows — enough for every warrior to carry several — with arrowheads to spare, fine armor, and swords and spears besides.
But the most staggering gift of all was the countless warhorses of the eastern grasslands.
"Horses like these exist?"
The Gazar people were astonished. The animals looked much like the mounts they had ridden all their lives — only stronger. Far stronger.
"Leave the mares and stallions behind. Take the geldings!"
Geldings were what they rode in the main. A hard fate for the horses, perhaps — but castration gentled their tempers and spared them the brawling that came with the heats, which made them ideal for war.
Toward the end of autumn in the year 3669.
Four years of preparation lay behind them. They had recruited warriors, drilled them, and prayed.
Riders had gathered at Gazar's Mudo — fully four hundred thousand men, and horses beyond counting, tenfold their number if one.
The western lands they meant to cross turned to quagmire every spring and autumn, too soft for battle, and so they had been forced to choose winter.
"We shall not stop until we reach France, at the far western end of the world!"
"Uwaaaaaaah!"
"March!"
"March!"
France, the chief culprit of it all, and the Holy Roman Empire besides — this would be a march of years.
The Gazar army began by taking the lands around them, step by careful step. The north and west beyond the walls held no states yet, only scattered clusters of tribes living across the land, and the Great Khan's army moved among them with its host, bringing them to heel and gathering them in.
Their cultures, their faiths, and their property were left untouched. Only the Christians were barred from religious activity until such time as the Pope could be met.
"Is that it?"
"Yes, sire. They call it the Principality of Vladimir."
The first foreign city they had ever faced — the siege of Vladimir was about to begin.
"How long has the encirclement been in place?"
"One day, sire. I'd say we should attack tomorrow."
"Then let the warriors rest easy tonight."
Though he styled himself Genghis Khan, he had no intention of slighting the warriors who had gathered in Her name.
"And have surrender offered to them."
"Yes, sire!"
Should the terms be accepted, there would be no needless slaughter. But the defenders refused, almost to a man — they would wait, they said, for their own god's answer. And so they were honorably given the path of martyrdom.
The next day, a light snow began to swirl.
"And the surrender?"
"Refused."
"Fools."
"Preparing the heavy cavalry, sire."
War fought on horseback across the steppe was second nature to them, but siegecraft was unfamiliar ground — and on that unfamiliar ground, they held one very good weapon.
Daehan's generously supplied Fist Potatoes. The name was a joke; the power was not.
Hurl a few dozen of the things, and even the sturdiest gate begins to crumble apart, piece by piece. With no siege engineers and no siege engines, this was the only way these men had ever broken a wall.
"Send them out."
Puuuuuuu.
Warriors in armor so thick that even their horses were swathed in silver-clad plate rode out carrying torches, black Fist Potatoes tucked at their saddles.
Several hundred advanced at a slow walk. To spare the horses for as long a gallop as possible, they would pick up speed only when the arrows began to fall.
And behind them followed tens of thousands of light cavalry in leather armor, steel plate strapped over their vitals.
Dudududu — ting! Tting! Ti — thud.
Arrows found their marks now and again, but spent of their force against armor, they left no grievous wounds.
"Gallop!"
"Charge!"
The moment the arrows began to fall, the horses were already running. Even shy of full speed, the distance to the walls was one they could cover inside a minute.
From atop the walls, the defenders stared in bewilderment at the riders now closing on the gate, bristling with spent arrows like hedgehogs.
No siege engines, and they come empty-handed? What in God's name? Have they come to smash it down with axes and maces? Surely that's what they're thinking.
"Light them! All together — light them and throw as one!"
"Yes!"
Dudududu — ting! Da-dang!
Their own archers gave covering fire from far behind, but the defenders' arrows truly did fall like rain.
Fsssssssss—
With an ominous hiss, the thrown Fist Potatoes rolled to a stop before the gate.
"Everyone, move! Get clear — sideways!"
The armored riders scattered sideways faster than they had come.
KWA-BOOM!
In a single blast, the gate burst half apart.
But the knights facing that gate numbered in the hundreds — and the riders who had slipped through numbered barely a few dozen.