Forlorn Hope - Chapter 8

Politics, Raiders, and the Defence of the Realm

The Temple of Sel by Redd Oscar

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Lothan was stunned by the stamina and strength of his new Ostalori mount, yet his mood remained ashen. He fondled the breasts of the woman shaped handle to Chatogan’s mirror but that did not relieve his grief either. For all the new men added to his warband from Baku, Yalldar and bolstered by a nomadic horde almost a thousand strong he should have been ecstatic. Instead the loss of his friend to some no-name enemy commander turned his stomach and sullied the whole thing.

‘You cannot mourn forever, Prince,’ Hufin said. ‘I miss him too but he would not want you wallowing.’

‘You’re right yet I cannot stop.’

‘Almost as if you enjoy wallowing,’ Rugad shifted in his new saddle, unable to find a comfortable spot. ‘Does this leather ever soften?’

‘Gotang promises it will,’ Lothan ignored the jibe.

‘The promises of a nomad are only as good as their horse,’ Rugad said.

‘These horses are pretty good so I’d trust him,’ Hufin clapped Rugad on the shoulder, much to Rugad’s disapproval.

‘Prince, we are in sight of the Temple!’ Gotang galloped towards them, returning from his scouting mission, the reins in one hand as he stood in the saddle. ‘The gates are shut and there is sign of fighting.’

‘The Gör Khāni?’ Prince Lothan slipped the mirror into his belt.

‘Who else would attack the Temple of Sel?’ Hufin said.

‘Where is Tamon?’ Lothan twisted in his saddle but all he could see were horsemen from Yalldar, long braids flapping in the wind.

‘With the Baku and the nomads, settling some dispute, I think,’ Rugad replied.

‘Find him.’

Rugad did not bother with a response and guided his horse into a gallop down the flank of the warband. Gotang reared to a halt a few yards away, horse and rider dripping with sweat but for the horse it was red in colour.

‘Any sign of Hunli’s father?’

Gotang shook his head, ‘Enemy have formed a blockade of the road. No catapults or battering rams.’

‘Then what do they want? The Temple will have months of supplies, maybe a year,’ Prince Lothan raised his fist and the warband shuddered to a halt. Three thousand men rode behind him, far fewer than his father, the King, had wanted but for every man not here that meant they were inside Silicia or already dead.

‘They probably want to prevent the Temple from assisting Silicia,’ Tamon called out as he galloped down the flank with Rugad. ‘The Temple would have cared for refugees, sent food, maybe assassins or worse. Now they’d be hard pressed to.’

‘There are tunnels,’ Gotang had caught his breath and fingered the hilt of sword.

‘Well that’s useful for them but not us. Presumably the Gör Khāni have no knowledge of those secrets otherwise we’d be looking at different situation. How many invaders, Gotang?’

‘Hard to say, I didn’t spot their camp but judging by tracks upwards of a couple thousand.’

‘My Prince, we can destroy them to a man,’ Tamon said.

‘You aren’t usually driven by bloodlust, we would lose many,’ Lothan rubbed his chin.

‘The warband expects spoils, My Prince, we cannot drag them across the countryside without payment, or food. The Baku especially are eager for a fight.’

‘Politics…’

‘Two men in a room creates politics, My Prince, time to get used to it. Better yet, get good at it,’ Tamon sat hunched in his saddle, his mangled arm curled up against his chest. He was sweating and wincing with every movement.

‘You should have stayed in Ostalor.’

‘You’re deflecting. We need to devise a plan and have it shared. Gotang knows the Yalldari dialect, I can speak to the Baku. The nomads, they don’t have a name and have no love for cripples but…’

‘I can speak to them,’ Rugad said.

‘Why did the horde join?’ Lothan asked.

‘Like the Baku, want of spoils. Their disagreement is about how they will be shared,’ Tamon said.

Prince Lothan groaned and looked to the sky, ‘Their homes are being burned and they bicker like hags.’ He turned to Gotang, ‘Take Hufin and scout out the enemy camp. Numbers, formations, do they have a baggage train, a watch, where are they weakest. Go!’

The pair bellowed agreement and galloped off towards the two obsidian towers peaking over the horizon.

‘Tamon, bring the Yalldari and Baku headmen. Rugad find the nomad’s chief. I want them all here when we devise a plan,’ Prince Lothan said.

A watch passed before Gotang and Hufin returned. Gotang grinned from ear to ear, ‘The enemy are fools. They don’t have the food for a siege, nor the equipment, and their camp has its back to the cliff. We can drive them into the sea.’

‘Steady,’ Tamon said. ‘An enemy without the option to retreat will fight twice as fierce.’

Gotang grunted, ‘My father-in-law remains inside the temple.’

‘You’re sure?’ Lothan said.

‘Certain. I saw a few of the stablehands on the walls serving as watchmen.’

‘Chiefs, Elders,’ Lothan wheeled his horse around to face the Baku, Yalldari, and nomad leaders. The nomad still hadn’t given his name or the name of his warband but at this point it didn’t matter. He was all rippling muscle with two bows, a sword, a spear, and covered in layered furs. The scars on his knuckles spoke of a certain drinking game played with a coin, and if that was what he did for fun then war must have been a joyous thing to him.

The Yalldari headman removed his fur cap and twisted the ends of his moustache. He spoke but Lothan only caught half the words. The Baku elder, however, caught all of it and shouted something aggressive.

‘Nabin says he won’t fight beside the Baku.’

‘And Pagon, Baku Elder, says Nabin should forgive past grievances or we are all done for.’

Prince Lothan held his head in his hands. ‘And the nomad?’

‘He doesn’t care about settled people’s petty problems,’ Rugad said. ‘He was very vocal about leading the charge though on the way here.’

‘Gotang, Hufin, what else did you see?’ Lothan said.

‘They have less men than we thought. Not enough yurts and cooking holes, judging by the smoke,’ Hufin said. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why they’re here. They can’t take the Temple but they also can’t stay encamped for more than a few days based on the baggage train. Is there enough game in the area?’

‘No. Plenty of fish if you can get down to the shoreline,’ Gotang said. ‘I didn’t see nets or lines but they could be on the beach out of sight.’

The nomad chief barked a question. Rugad interpreted, ‘He wants to know why he sees men but hears women.’

‘Strategy a foreign concept to this man?’ Lothan turned back to Hufin, ‘Are they all in camp? Where are their horses and how many?’

‘Half are horses but they’ve let them graze free. The infantry march before the Temple and hurl taunts but nothing happens.’

‘Right. What’s this nomad’s name.’

‘Tukan son of Tukan,’ Rugad said.

‘Chief Tukan! Take your riders, prevent the enemy from using the road. Steal what horses you can and hit the camp from the north side.’ While Rugad relayed the instruction Prince Lothan turned to Pagon, ‘Elder Pagon, ride for the Temple gates, kill all the Gör Khāni you find, once cleared attack the camp from the south.’

Tukan grunted, dipped his head to Prince Lothan, and galloped off.

‘He respects you as thanks for the horses,’ Rugad said.

Prince Lothan heard the words but had no time to accept them. ‘Headman Nabin, ride with me and strike the camp direct. The fighting will be hard.’

Nabin grinned, clearly happy with the honour.

‘My Prince, wouldn’t Tukan have been better for the assault.’

‘Politics, Tamon. He wants loot. What loot would a nomad want above all else. Horses. They ride three or four each so they never have to stop. Giving settled folk horses would have insulted him.’

‘Wise, My Prince.’

The three units split apart, the ground rumbling from the surge of movement. The Gör Khāni would know soon enough but Lothan prayed they would have little time to prepare.

Prince Lothan meandered through the captured Gör Khāni camp. The Ostalori, led by Gotang, searched every yurt for cowards and survivors, all were to be handed over to the Temple of Sel and, most likely, had a life of slavery ahead of them. Lothan could imagine worse lives than serving the Temple. The smell of death clung to the air, hot and heavy. He admired the engraving on a dead captain’s chest plate, two dragons circled about each other with fangs bared, untying the straps he tossed it on the nearby cart laden with loot.

As he picked his way between the dead and dying, the smoking yurts and the bloodied moon blades, he wondered why they had been here. Hufin and Gotang were right, they’d lacked the food or equipment to siege the Temple and, in the end, they’d been no fishing nets or lines down on the beach. In fact, it seemed the Gör Khāni hadn’t bothered to search the beach at all for if they had they would have undoubtedly found the tunnels leading into the Temple. Something was off with the whole ordeal. There was no reason for the raiders to be here, no benefit to carving a path across the Silician peninsula just to wait for death, whether by starvation or by blade. Lothan kicked a discarded helm and watched it bounce and roll between a pair of yurts.

‘Something on your mind?’ Tamon emerged from the command yurt built atop a raised platform and flying the long tailed flag of Gör Khān.

‘Why were they here? Any answers in there?’

‘No, but a few casks of good wine. A couple of expert maps of the peninsula too. I’m sure the men will appreciate the gold.’

‘Don’t tell my father. He would say all loot belongs to the crown.’

‘The policy of a King who hasn’t left his palace in a long time,’ Tamon ducked his head. ‘Apologies.’

‘You’re right but you shouldn’t say it. Hold your tongue if you want to keep it.’

‘Of course, My Prince,’ Tamon bowed deeply.

Lothan watched the long green flag ripple in the wind, the gold embroidered horses head facing the sea and frothing with rage. ‘Why sacrifice thousands of good men to besiege a Temple renowned for its assassins who can’t enact a siege anyway? It doesn’t make sense.’ The tall twin towers of the Temple pierced the sky, the dual crescents shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

‘We’ve been out here close to three weeks. The Grand Commandant said four weeks before the siege began, at most,’ Tamon recalled. He limped back and forth before the yurt.

‘The Great Sack of Lard knew we would need to gather the warband. If his men have the maps you say they do then what else do they know? How did they send cartographers to map our lands without anyone noticing? This was a ploy to draw us away from Silicia so that by the time we returned the city would already be lost. We have to return. Now!’

‘My Prince, the men are claiming their spoils, they’re tired, the horses need rest and Gotang has a duty to make certain his father-in-law returns home safely. If we ride we risk fracture.’

‘There are at least four villages on the way back, we can gather their fighting men.’

‘No, give the men rest and you can double your warband on the return journey. If we ride through the nights we can be back in three days.’

‘Exhausted and unfit for battle,’ Lothan rubbed his temples.

‘Then we have to hope the city holds.’

‘It will hold. It has to.’

‘As you say, My Prince.’

‘You don’t think it will?’ Lothan climbed the steps up to Tamon.

‘Silicia has no food stockpiled, they have few arbalests and catapults to counter the siege engines the Great Emperor is reported to possess. The walls are high, it is true, but the men are finite and flaming arrows can only do so much,’ Tamon avoided Lothan’s gaze.

He was right, the Prince knew it, but that meant it was all for nought and he should ride into the desert. That was more ridiculous than fighting one hundred thousand men with less than ten thousand horsemen as to reach the Drifting Sea meant passing the Great Sack of Lard’s lair. No, there was only one option. ‘Tamon! Gather Gotang, Nabin, Pagon, and Tukan, I have a plan.’

The four leaders stood at the foot of the steps leading up to the Gör Khāni command yurt. Tukan son of Tukan had more torcs than his arms could hold while Nabin had found new bows and swords for himself.

‘I hope you are satisfied with your spoils,’ Lothan began. His words were interpreted in whispers. ‘Unfortunately we cannot stay. Silicia is under threat and a greater battle awaits us.’ He caught Gotang’s eyes. The man had been to see his father-in-law and been snubbed as protector by the prideful old man but he hadn’t been insulting. ‘We will ride day and night, stopping only when our horses need to. Thanks to the captured steeds and those received as thanks for relieving the siege each of us has at least two horses.’

Nabin, Headman of the Yalldari winced.

Tukan laughed and made what sounded like a mocking jape.

‘We ride to defend our homes, our families, our people. The villages the Gör Khāni raiders burnt will not be the last if we are defeated. The nomads chased to the ends of the world will be chased into the underworld, to be die and be forgotten. I will not allow it, we cannot allow it.’

Tukan and Pagon cheered their enthusiasm.

‘There are more villages and wanderers we can, we will, intercept on the ride to Silicia. We will bolster our numbers and have the element of surprise. Are you with me?’

Tukan son of Tukan was the first to pledge himself. Gotang was second. Pagon and Nubin watched each other. The Yalldari muttered something to the Baku and moments later the pair nodded towards the Prince.

‘It warms my heart that we have agreement. Inform your men we ride to save the city of Silicia and destroy the Emperor of Gör Khān!’

A resounding war cry broke from the lips of the leaders.

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