Greywolf - The Council of the Khans

"Why don't they just slap the crown on Timur's head and be done with it?" I grumble.

I'm standing in the back of the command tent with Hypam and Wysper, Asena still nursing her wounds with Castor keeping her company. Around us are groups of the important people of Bukhara and the White Horde, huddled together in knots of their own kind.

The wooden throne, carved into the form of an enraged boar, is hauntingly empty, the dozen or so khans of the various tribes, both from the nearby encampment and the one many leagues away, standing together on the left hand side. Avitohol's standing in front of the throne, with Titan and the Keeper of the Spirits behind him, while beside him, Timur's got Kula and the khans of the Ghost Goat and Bloody Dog clans. Karl stands between the two khans.

Standing next to me, Hypam chuckles. "Tradition," she says quietly, adding in a harsh voice, "And may they choke on it."

Wysper slips her hand into mine as Prince Varsena walks out to stand in front of the throne. "Thank you all for coming. The tribal khans have agreed to use Greco-Roma for the last part of the council, so our Bukharan friends will understand what is being said." With his hand, he motions towards Timur. "Karl has agreed to translate for the two khans who have already made up their minds."

The prince gestures towards us. "Before proceeding, let me explain why we call this the 'challenge' part of the council. Before we became the People of the Eternal Sky, when two warriors vied for the Khanate, leadership was decided by single combat... which the horde clans, far to the north of us on the steppes, still practice.

“However, the People no longer follow this method. Besides being a warrior, the Khan of khans must have wisdom and sharp wits, so the challenge will be with words and not weapons." Prince Varsena pauses. "As is our tradition, if anyone believes he has a better claim to the throne than these two candidates, speak now or remain silent from here on."

Silence holds fast as Hypam whispers in my ear, "Another holdover from the old days. Anyone can challenge for the throne, but you leave yourself vulnerable to the new Khan's wrath if you aren't chosen."

After a few moments, Prince Varsena nods. "No other challenger has stepped forward. Now, as the challenge proceeds, I remind everyone that no disruptions will be allowed, and only the candidates may speak freely. I will be asking questions on behalf of the khans, and if you are asked a question, either by myself or one of the candidates, you may answer." He pauses. "Prince Avitohol, since Khingla the Wise originally designated you as his heir, you will-"

"My name's Attila."

Prince Varsena blinks. "Apologies, but your name-"

"Is now Attila. Yasataar, the Keeper of the Spirits, gave me my test of manhood as being the one who would rescue Greywolf, by leading Hypam and her warriors in a raiding party." He motions back towards me. "It worked, and so now I want to be known by my new name."

Prince Varsena glances at Yasataar, who bobs her head with its tangled hair covering her face. Timur shrugs. "If he wants to call himself 'Little Father', that's fine with me."

"Then Attila is the name you shall be known as from now on," Prince Varsena says. "What are your plans for the People of the Eternal Sky, if you are elected Khan of khans?"

Attila takes a deep breath. "If I'm chosen to lead the People, I'll do my father's will and move us eastward in the spring."

Timur turns towards his little brother. "Leaving Bukhara to fend for itself?"

Attila shrugs. "Bukhara's your problem. Anyway, we migrate until we reach the petty kingdoms of our Indus subjects, in a place close enough to the Xian empire to establish trade with them, and talk to the Ogri about a treaty between our two peoples."

"Obviously you have been taking advice from Titan."

Attila turns towards his brother, and I watch as his eyes narrow. "Better Titan than advice from necromancers and whores." A collective gasp goes up from the Bukharans around us as Attila turns back towards the empty throne. "Titan knows of several defensible places where we can set up our permanent home, along the caravan route connecting east to west. We'll make ourselves the key for Xian and Indus to trade safely with the rest of the world, growing rich and strong in the process." Timur lets out a derisive snort and Attila rounds on him. "You think it won't work?"

Timur turns to face his brother. "Where shall I begin? Our father had a noble dream, but terribly flawed, and he refused to see the real world for the dream. The petty kingdoms of Indus are restless with the People of the Eternal Sky so far away, and when they hear the news of the Great Khan's death, by summer they shall be in open rebellion. Nor will the empire of Xian wish to establish relations. They think of us the same way as they do the Horde clans on the steppes, and the moment you settle down close to their borders, they will see you as a threat."

"Not if we've got a defensive alliance with the Ogri," Attila shoots back.

Wotan's blood, I hate it when Timur smirks. "Speaking of the Ogri... Cermet, the minor Lich who helped me achieve our victory over the Sasnayams, commands corpse-beetles which she uses to bring her news, and shares with me anything she finds out that is worth knowing. Prince Attila, did Titan ever mention to you that he's banned from entering Haven, the Ogri capitol city next to the plateau called the 'Roof of the World'?"

Titan stiffens as Attila looks up at him. "Is this true?"

"Only the old city, behind the massive walls built during the war of the Daemo Princes. My prince, after the war, Haven outgrew the defenses, and I have been to the new section many times. I have powerful friends among the Ogri leaders who would welcome a stable kingdom on their southern border."

"And exactly why were you banned from Haven in the first place?" Titan glares at him, but Timur only strokes his beard as he raises his eyebrows. "No reply? Then let me share the knowledge Cermet's corpse-beetle overheard. Although Titan looks like one of the wise Ogri, in truth he is an ogre out of ancient legend, with an archaic code inside him holding the ogre in check. If he disobeys this code, the ogre breaks free and goes on a rampage. Is it any wonder that Haven has banned him?"

Attila stabs a finger at his brother's face. "You're lying."

"I may lie but the dead cannot. If you wish, I can have Cermet brought here and recite the entire conversation Titan had with Amazonia."

"I want to talk to Az instead."

"I fear that will not be possible," Timur says as he strokes his beard again. "Last night, Amazonia rounded up all the Shambler soldiers and marched them to the first staging area where the dead, grey tree exists. Tomorrow night, she will march them to the next, and onward until they reach the final staging area, where the legion will rest until it’s needed. I'm not expecting her back for at least a couple weeks."

Attila looks up at Titan again. "Are you actually an ogre, or is Timur lying?"

"Timur twists the truth," Titan rumbles in a dangerous voice. "I have kept the ogre inside me leashed for thousands of years, and will continue to do so as long as I am alive."

"Oh, really?" Timur's smirk returns. "I can see Amazonia's Chaldean, known as Dancer, near the front of the crowd. Shall I call him up and let him tell the story of the day you went into an ogre's rut and savagely raped Amazonia, almost causing her death?"

Several knots of Bukharans gasp, and even the nobles look shocked as Titan's hands clench into fists. "It was not rape."

"Dancer told me it seemed that way to him. Regardless," Timur turning back towards the khans, "let me summarize the plan of our... 'little' father. He would force march our people to the edge of Xian, in the face of multiple rebellions among the petty kingdoms, and use the warriors of our hated enemy, the Black Dragon clan, to enforce his will."

"That's because you're plotting to steal away all our warriors," Attila snaps.

"The warriors of our people understand who is the better leader. They want a seasoned commander, not a child who listens to a pretend Ogri that could revert back to his ogre self at any time."

"We have heard Prince Attila's plan," Varsena cuts in before either one can speak. "Prince Timur shall now speak of his."

Attila shuts his mouth, giving his brother a dark glower as Timur says, "Now that Amazonia has rooted out all the Sasnayam spies in Bukhara, I can finally let everyone know the details without fear of the heart-eaters learning our strategy. My plan is for the People of the Eternal Sky to regain and surpass the glory and the wealth of our ancestors.

“By spring, we will know who among the southern satrapies are willing to throw off their slave collars, and who we will need to subdue. First, we shall plunder and raze the western satrapy of Amul, sending its wealth back to Bukhara, and then turn south." Timur smirks again as he strokes his beard. "Once the south is with us, we march west into the Sasnayam empire itself."

"And you actually believe the Sasnayams are just going to let you do it?" Attila folds his arms across his chest. "They're going to march on you with everything they've got and destroy you."

Timur looks down at him for a moment. "Our father was right: you truly are a child, unready for the mantle of leadership. The Sasnayams are off balance right now, and thousands of refugees fleeing to the capitol and bearing tales of horror will help keep them there."

He turns and motions towards the crowd. "Sybil the Daemo and Ishtar have contacts in Tesiphon, the Sasnayam capitol, who can let me know how events there are playing out, and how best to play the temples against each other." He turns forward again. "When we turn west, our numbers will swell with recruits from the south, while the necromancers swell the Shambler ranks from the bodies of the dead soldiers." Timur spreads his arms out. "How can we lose?"

"Kula taught me that no plan's ever perfect," Attila says. "What will you do when your plan begins to fail?"

"Unlike you, my plan is well thought out. Unlike you, I will keep our people safe by having them migrate to the lands I showed to the khans two days ago, and keep them there permanently under the stewardship of Prince Varsena, who will-"

"What?" Attila's arms go to his sides as his hands clench into fists. "Varsena, you're betraying me for him?"

"Prince Varsena," Timur emphasizing the title, "does this for our people, and for the unborn child growing in his wife's belly." He looks at Varsena, who's fixed his own gaze at the carpets on the floor. "Brother, I promised you a public apology for my harsh words in the past, and I do so with a glad heart. I was wrong in my opinions of you and readily admit it."

Varsena's gaze raises up from the floor. "Gratitude, and apologies for my own harsh words as well." He takes a deep breath and turns around. "Khans of all the tribes making up the Khanate of the People, you have heard the challenge and deliberated among yourselves. Have you come to a decision?"

An old man with a white beard glances around at the other old men, who nod back at him. Then the old man steps up beside the empty throne and clears his throat. "Prince Timur, at the funeral that your brother, Avitohol, missed, we named your father 'Khingla the Wise', due to the great respect and admiration we had for him. If Avitohol were some years older and more seasoned, we would have followed the Great Khan's wishes and chosen his youngest son."

The old khan's eyes grow hard as flint. "All of us, except the khans standing with you, Prince Timur, have misgivings about your association with necromancy. However," his voice sliding into a sigh, "our misgivings over losing our warriors to you and seeing them replaced with barbaric animals are far, far, greater. So we the khans of the People of the Eternal Sky, ask you, Prince Timur, to take your place upon the throne of your father and become the Khan of khans."

Timur inclines his head into almost, but not quite, a bow. "I am deeply honored with the trust you are giving me. I understand your misgivings, and can only hope that time will show them to be unfounded." He steps forward and Varsena steps aside as Timur stops an arms length away from the throne. He draws a deep breath.

Then he takes a step forward, turns around, and sits. The throne's carved boar head glares down at us as Timur looks at his little brother. "Prince Attila, even though you challenged me for the mantle of leadership, I am willing to forgive and embrace you as a warrior. Swear me your oath of loyalty, and I give you my word that I shall name you crown prince after me, setting you above my own children."

"I was already crown prince," Attila says.

"And you will be again. Fighting in the upcoming war this spring, alongside Battle-commander Kula, will give you the seasoning the khans believed you lacked, while Kula teaches you the wisdom needed to become a Great Khan yourself." Timur opens his arms like a loving father. "What do you say?"

"Never." There's a harshness to Attila's voice I've not heard before as he folds his arms over his chest. "You've spoken your piece, now hear mine. As of this moment, I renounce my loyalty to the White Boar clan and pledge to start my own, the Grey Warg clan."

Varsena gives a start. "Wargs of the Shadowlands? That is an ill-omened name."

"Ill-omened indeed," Yasataar says, "but not for him."

"Do not tell me you are joining him in this folly."

The tangled strands of hair covering her face wave as she shakes her head. "My place with this Khanate, or any other, is finished. I gave my word to teach the young outlander, Wysper of the Brittani people, the ways of dream-walking and knowledge of the spirits, and that is what I shall do."

Timur growls, "Keeper of the Spirits, your place is with the People of the Eternal Sky."

"No longer. I warned you," her voice becomes mocking for a moment, "O Khan of khans, that trolls live in many hearts, and gave you the chance to choose the path Tengri wished you to take... the path of peace."

"The peace of death, you mean. Your way would've led to all of our deaths."

Yasataar shrugs. "Perhaps. However, you have chosen your path, and no longer need my help."

"On the contrary," Timur says. "You will join the Khanate in its new home, and carry on your work keeping our people content while the warriors are away fighting." His expression darkens. "This is not a choice."

Yasataar laughs. "O Great Khan, do you truly believe you can hold me?" She motions around the tent with her hand. "I shall share with you the greatest mystery laying at the heart of our existence. Everything around you, all that is seen, or heard, or smelled, or touched, is part of the long dream our ancetors and ourselves have shared for ages uncounted. Every world is one world, connected by the Shadowlands, and if you understand the dream well enough, you can alter the dream in small ways. Small to the dream, of course, yet large to us."

Kula growls, "The Keeper of the Spirits has gone insane."

"Or she's the only sane person here," Attila snarls back.

Before anyone else can speak, Yasataar opens her arms wide. "O Great Khan, before I leave, let me share what the wind of Tengri has shared with me. A storm shall soon form in the north, across the steppes where our ancestors once roamed, that shall eventually sweep south and destroy everything in its path."

She turns towards Attila. "Only the far south of the wise councilor, and the island of the child of the Warg, will survive. All else is rotten to the root and must be plowed under the earth. Only then can new shoots spring up among the ruins, untainted by old darkness, and grow up strong."

Yasataar turns and points a bony finger at Timur's face. "O Khan of khans, you shall be the first to face this storm's wrath. Will you be strong enough to withstand its fury, or will you prove to be rotten as well?" She smiles. "We shall see."

A storm of anger's forming on Timur's face as he slowly rises from his throne. "Kula, you are right; the Keeper of the Spirits has gone mad. Take her into custody for her own good."

Kula starts towards her as Attila moves to block him. But Yasataar grasps Attila's arm with a bony hand, gently tugging on him to move him aside. "No one can hold me, Little Father. Tell Wysper to look for me in her dreams." Attila hesitates, but then steps backwards a few paces while Kula moves towards her again. He reaches out with a scarred hand to grasp her shoulder.

Yasataar dissolves into tiny flakes of brown, and white, and green, but mostly red, hovering in the air as Kula leaps back. People start yelling as someone opens the tent flap, letting in sunlight and a cold wind which scatters the flakes and spreads them around the inside while people scramble to get out. Several settle on the skin of our arms before melting like flakes of snow, leaving no trace.

Then the wind whispers in our ear, "Always remember, everything is nothing, except a dream."