1408: Unification.

[Ephyra Em]

Edmund surveyed the field, once a peaceful patch of farmland, now a muddy pit littered with broken bodies and shattered weapons. His heavy breath through the visor of his bascinet rising as a mist through the cold autumn air. The taste of blood, smoke, and ash coated his tongue as he braced himself for the next attacker. The Bhalka horseman that now desperately circled him, clutching his shortsword with both hands, was trying to find any opening he could to strike at the plate armored juggernaut that had cut his mount down from underneath him.

Edmund's grip tightened around the shaft of his halberd, trying to anticipate the next move. When the comparatively diminutive rider rushed him, Edmund simply slammed him in the back with the long oak handle of his weapon, sending the man face down in the mud.

"Get up." Edmund growled.

"Chamaig novsh!" the rider wheezed, staggering back to his feet.

Edmund hated their crude tongue, which was nothing more to him than the shiftless man's version of the mountain szlavs' guttural nonsense.

The rider rushed forward again, this time slipping past Edmund's guard and hooking his blade into the fabric of his tabard. Edmund took the opportunity to slam his gauntlet into the top of the rider's head, dropping him to the ground after a wet cracking split the air.

The rider writhed on the ground as his eyes rolled, blood foaming from his lips. Edmund thrust the point of his halberd into the rider's chest. Better to kill him now than let him choke on his own blood.

He looked around, seeing his battle brothers still lost in the battle din. He threw down the halberd and pulled his greatsword from the now dead rider's fallen horse. Having to pull mightily to dislodge it from the animal.

Edmund trudged forward towards his nearest brother-in-arms, Gustaff, who was doing a thorough job fending off three of the mountain szlavs. These savages who called themselves Yamanta could never hope to beat Gustaff in a fair fight. Edmund was large for an Ephyran, Gustaff still made him look small. He watched as a swift blow from Gustaff's hammer spike pierced the shoddy helmet of one of the szlavs, the moment it took to pry it free giving the other two a chance to attack. Edmund stepped through and brought his sword down in the shoulder of one, as Gustaff slammed a fist into the face of the other.

Gustaff immediately brought the freed hammer head down onto the toppled third attacked, dispatching him without much else of a fight.

"Come, we will yet see the end of this day, my friend." Edmund grunted, pulling his sword from the fallen man, and moving towards two more of their own. Gustaff simply grunted and hurried after.

Karl and Henrich, two of the junior members of the order, jogged up alongside Edmund, brandishing their broad swords, tabards torn and spattered with blood.

"Where....have you two...been?" Edmund asked between heavy breaths.

"Causing trouble, Ser!" they said in unison, wicked, crooked toothed smiles on their broad faces.

Edmund didn't ask anymore questions. He knew Karl and Henrich had likely caused more problems for the enemy than anyone would give them credit for.

A line of szlavs bearing pavise shields tried to block the path, but Edmund and Gustaff simply chose not to stop, slamming into the middle of the line, splintering the shields as the rest of the line scattered. Edmund let out a roar as he swung around, bringing his sword down on the screaming soldier he had just knocked to the ground.
________________________________

After all was said and done, Edmund stayed on the field to supervise the collection of the dead and wounded. Watching from the top of a small hill on the outskirts of the field. It felt good to rest. His body was stiff and sore, no longer the young man he was twenty winters ago. He looked past the sparse treeline, into the valley. The walls of Tagtaryev just barely visible in the distance. Three winters it had taken them to reach this far, even with the support of the Cairinnics, who had proven to be exceptionally skilled in warfare.

Edmund felt a hard nudge on his shoulder and turned to see Gustaff holding out a wineskin, which he took gratefully. He took a small sip before handing it back after Gustaff had taken a seat on the grass next to him.

"How far away do you figure that is?" Edmund asked, pointing to the vague outline of the city walls.

"Half day ride. More perhaps." Gustaff grunted. "How we get through though, I don't know."

Edmund smirked. "Apparently that Cairinnic, William I think his name is, the smith. He's got some contraption that he's very excited to show off when we get there."

Gustaff raised an eyebrow. "That bell looking thing?"

Edmund nodded. He couldn't understand much of the Cairinnic language, but the crude drawing that William had made essentially said the strange apparatus would bring the walls down.

William spent most of his time fussing with that, or keeping strange hours with the alchemist, an odd fellow named Mirko, who was oddly enough, of the szlavic ilk, yet had no qualms about treating amd caring for those who would seek to conquer his homeland.

"I dont understand why a trebuchet wouldn't work just as well." Gustaff mused.

"Apparently it's better than a trebuchet. Only takes two men to run it, too." Edmund replied, taking the wineskin again.

"Look. Some of their holy men." Gustaff said, craning his neck to get a better look at the robed figures who seemed to blessing the dead of both sides.

"Strange fellows, but God fearing messianists, as all men should be. Even though their customs are odd." Gustaff remarked.

Edmund looked at Gustaff with a puzzled expression. "How do you know about their customs?"

"You forget old friend, that despite my nature, I was in fact blessed with education and the ability to read. That's why I know the Czernic customs." Gustaff shrugged.

"You always call them Czernics, why?" Edmund continued his questioning.

"Because that's what they are. They're the Czernic tribes. We only call them Yamanta because of the first interaction with them. Three hundred years ago, we reached them, and when asked who they were, they pointed behind them, and simply said Yamantau, which in their tongue simply means mountain. They were trying to say they had a village there." Gustaff explained.

"Hmm." Edmund grunted. He was never one for scholarly pursuits, he himself never even being able to read. He could write his own name, and speak two languages, but that was his extent. Edmund excelled at combat, so nothing else mattered.

One of the priests had cautiously drawn closer to them. Standing at the foot of the hill, holding up his crucifix pendant towards them as he cataloged the dead.

"Ne brinite, nećemo vam nauditi!" Gustaff called out, assuring the priest of his safety.

Edmund again cast a puzzled look towards his comrade.

Gustaff shrugged. "Know thy enemy."

Edmund rose to his feet. "I'll see you back at camp. I hear a bed calling my name, and Im sure that the Khan will want to ride to their camp at first light. God be with you, Gustaff."

"And with you, Edmund." Gustaff replied. He turned to watch his friend leave, before returning his attention the priest. Who was now joined by a handful of others, all carefully watching the green skinned knight who watched them from the hill.

 

[Ephyra Em]

"They have agreed to parlay, my lord." Gustaff announced, strolling back towards the mounted Khan. The Khan smiled and gave Gustaff a nod, giving a gentle click as he tapped his horse with his heels. He was followed shortly by the other knights from the Order Ephrus, as well as two wagons laden with barrels. Gustaff wondered what the barrels contained, but decided it was none of his business, joining back in, shoulder to shoulder with Edmund.

The tired eyes of the Czernics studied them as they marched into the sprawling camp, the Ephyrans could feel the hateful gazes, but paid them no mind. These were beaten men, and their Tzar had abandoned them, fleeing back to Tagtaryev as fast as his fat little feet could carry him. The brightly colored tents flanking either side of the winding pathway would occasionally have a flap drawn back to reveal the wounded, the dying, and broken, their spirits sundered by the ever advancing forces of Ephyra, the Cairinnics, and the Tuo Xi.

Coming into the head of the camp, the Khan stopped. Ahead of him stood a band of knights in shoddy patchwork plate, desperately pieced back together with whatever they could salvage.

Gustaff stepped out of formation and cleared his throat before trying to remember the words.

"The Great Khan Kamanaro bids you well." Gustaff addressed the tattered knights.

"Ser Timor of Kiroy." one of the knights said, stepping forward, forcing a slight bow before he clutched at his ribs. "What are your terms?"

Gustaff quickly relayed the information to the Khan, who gave a warm but tight lipped smile, before signaling for the barrels to be brought forward. One by one, they were silently set out, before being unceremoniously tipped over, silver coins spilling all over the muddy ground. The Khan leaned forward on his horse, his smile holding.

"Tomintli anoso mikistli." the Khan gestured. Offering them a choice.

Gustaff turned back to the knights. "Silver or death. You will take the money, or you will die here, in this place."

Ser Timor rubbed the back of his neck before quietly conferring with the two men at his side. The Khan tapped his finger on his saddle horn impatiently.


"Ompa ka se tlan mouikpa, totlok. Uel teh tlakui in tomintli iuan kaua, mitsanoso cam tlatlasa tlatsintlan motlapaluan iuan marzo totlok ipan Tagtaryev, mitskampa uil ka maluilokayotl se makuilpouali pa pan." The Khan told them.

"The Khan wishes you to know that there is a place for you, with us. You may take the money and leave, free men, or you can drop your banners, and march with us on Tagtaryev, where you will be rewarded with not only this, but a hundred times more." Gustaff said, halting every so often to try and find the right words.

"You would ask us to abandon our oaths?" Ser Timor asked incredulously.

"No. Simply take on new ones. Ser Timor, you seem like a good and reasonable man, I know for a fact that you and I have crossed steel in these fields, you are ferocious, and I personally would find your blade to be of great value." Gustaff assured him.

"You flatter me, Ser. I am bound to these men, and they will follow wherever I go. What assurances do I have that your Khan will uphold his promise?" Timor asked, his men nodding along, there mood somewhat hopeful.

Gustaff relayed the question to the Khan, who thought for a moment before turning to face Timor again.

"A home, lands, and a life of peace for as long as you so choose. You will be given the titles to the lands your homes sit on, no longer subject to the rule of the tax collectors and corrupt officials of your Tzar. You will be given titles and a place in the army of the Khanate if you so choose, or you may choose to settle throughout the Khanate. You will find the Cairinnics and the Tuo Xi to be quite hospitable." The Khan answered, startling Timor and his men with his proficiency in their tongue.

It had long been tradition that the Khan spoke only the two ancestral languages, but Kamanaro had never truly been one for tradition.

"I have learned your language so that I may better know you." Kamanaro told them, dismounting his horse. His fine leathers boots immediately splattered with mud, he trudged forward. He towered over Timor, but did his best to ensure his presence was not overpowering.

"Had I truly the intention of wiping your people away, as your Tzar says, I would do no such thing. The only difference between us, is that my skin is greener, I am taller, and I wear this damn golden wreath upon my brow. I am still a man, I am still a good messianist. I am still a servant of my people. Just like you. So again, I offer you the choice, Ser Timor of Kiroy. Will you take my hand and become the man you were born to be, will you take the coin and walk away, or will you choose to die honorably on the fields upon the morrow?" Kamanaro asked, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Timor again conferred with his men, and after a few moments, a seeming consensus was reached. One of Timor's men trekked over to the pole from which hung the tattered remnants of the banner of Tagtaryev, and tore the banner down. Timor pulled the small knife from his belt and cut his tunic away, exposing the scared cuirass beneath. The banner and the tunic were thrown down at the Khan's feet. The Khan simply smiled.

"We are in agreement then?" Kamanaro asked.

"We are, my lord. I do not believe you are the monster you are made out to be, and as long as you treat us as you have promised, we will serve with honor." Timor answered, dropping to one knee.

"Rise, Ser Timor, I am not your Khan yet. You will instruct your men to pack their things, and join us at our camp, there you will be bathed, fed, clothed, re-armed, and outfitted in armor befitting soldiers of my army. Your horses will be cared for, and you will know peace for one night, for tommorow, we will march on Tagtaryev." the Khan told him, before mounting his horse.

"We will report by nightfall, my lord!" Timor exclaimed joyfully.

The ride out of the camp was far less tense than the ride in, with the news spreading like wildfire among the men, some were joyous, while others just seemed apprehensive. Kamanaro simply hoped their worries would be eased soon enough.

As they crested the hill, Gustaff turned to the Khan and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, Ser Gustaff?" Kamanaro asked.

"That certainly was a stunning display of diplomacy, Sire. I didn't know you spoke the Czernic tongues." Gustaff remarked.

"It pays to know ones enemies, Gustaff. You know this. I had every intention of killing these men in their sleep, but...seeing their wounded, and what we've done to them, it did not seem right. Ser Timor seems like a good man, and if there is one thing we need, it is good men. Edmund!" the Khan called.

Edmund strode up alongside the Khan, slamming his fist off his chest plate. "Yes, my lord?"

"What say you to Ser Timor of Kiroy wearing the colors of the Order Ephrus?" Kamanaro inquired.

Edmund looked over to Gustaff. "You say you've crossed steel with him before. What say you, brother?" Edmund asked.

"It is true, he is ferocious, a lion of a man. He felled six of us by his own accord, and fended me off fairly well, I managed to land that shot into his ribs, and I believe that to be the only reason he broke away. He is not of our blood, but he is of our spirit." Gustaff explained.

"Then let it be so. I will have one of the pages bring him to our quarter and have him properly outfitted, your grace." Edmund told the Khan.

Kamanaro smiled. "We will make good on my promises to them. Just in case though, have the guard presence doubled around them tonight. In case they plan on trying to kill us in our sleep instead."