These Complications

An early morning had seen a grand, if subdued, breakfast for Spike. The king has personally come to see him that morning and invited him to dine in the upper halls of the palace. The others had been invited by way of messenger by the queen, just as Spike was leaving, to attend a separate breakfast with her and the princess. His travelling companions were, in the case of Lila, nowhere to be found, and in the case of Hadhayosh, down perusing the market with a pair of guards.

The king’s breakfast was rather simple for the two of them, even if it was presented as ostentatiously as if Spike were the visiting prince of a neighboring country, and not some sorta-noble from a distant kingdom that had never really made contact before. Distances and limited means of travel were often the greatest reasons why Equestria didn’t trade or engage in some sort of diplomatic communication with a huge portion of the world. Persia was by far no exception to his rule.

His sore muscles, well earned from the night before, eased as he sedately ate his food, though more out of politeness than lack of hunger. In reality, he was famished, but seeing as he was in a kingdom under siege, where availability of food was going to become scarcer, better to act as if nothing were different.

The king clearly knew otherwise, and their conversation the night before was still running through his mind as they sat in comfortable silence. The troubles ahead were likely going to be difficult for his family to travel through. Princess Luna had told him to travel through the lands of the Marengols, but with an army between them and their goal, perhaps he could reroute through India? Perhaps he should send a letter? It had been some time since his last correspondence with his friends and teachers.

The door to the main dining hall slammed open, interrupting his line of thought. A weathered-looking stallion, flecks of bright grey in his mane and short beard, hurried in with as much professional grace as he could muster. The king turned to him, as suddenly weary as he was wary.

“News?”

“A messenger came with dawn,” the stallion said, holding out a scroll. “The front gates nearly raised the alarm when the banners were seen.”

“Marengols?”

“Indeed, though the group was reported as being far smaller than usual for terms of surrender.”

The king took the scroll, giving a nod of thanks. The weathered stallion beat a hasty retreat as the king unfurled the parchment, his eyes darting over the scribbles.

Spike sat in silence, watching the king carefully. His expression was rather unreadable, but his body language, his scent, were changing. The king was scared, clearly, Spike could smell fear on anyone these days with how often he came into contact with the fearful. Yet, the fear was giving way to something else. The king’s grip loosened, relaxed if you will, as if the news for once wasn’t bad. How that was possible with a hostile force marching on your cities, likely headed for your capital?

The king set the scroll aside, sighing as he did so. In defeat?

“What is it?” Spike asked. “Asking for your surrender?”

“No, for once, it is not as I feared,” the king muttered softly. “A call for negotiations of a different sort. There have been events occurring far from here, deep within the Marengol’s territory, and the general marching within my lands has extended an olive branch I have never heard of before. I am to send a delegation to the approaching general seeking the terms for a ceasefire.”

“Really?”

“It’s an offer I can’t possibly refuse, unlike so many of the others. I have a chance,” the king muttered, pinching his fingers to merely a hair’s breadth apart, “this much of a chance to bring peace to my kingdom and expel these invaders without needing to slaughter my people or theirs. It is a chance I must take, but only with your counsel on the matter.”

“My counsel? Why me?”

“In all your journeys, Spike Dragul, I am most certain you have seen countless acts of diplomacy, and from the letters of the Princess of Dreams, have personally engaged in a few of those yourself.”

“I am on a mission to travel through their lands as it is, but I don’t know if it’s safe enough for me to risk my family,” Spike replied. “With all we’ve already been through, the deserts, pirates, Istanbull… putting them at such risk is not something I can just decide on. I would need their input, else we’ll detour through into India.”

“Would not Luna be against such an action? I was informed that you would be stopping in my lands before continuing on to the Marengol capital. A treacherous journey, yes, if only because of the harshness of the lands you would travel through,” the king said. “With a chance for peace, your trip to the heart of Marengol territory would likely be one escorted as dignitaries, both mine and that of Equestria. Surely they would not seek to harm visitors of such a notably rich and generous nation?”

“There’s no telling how the Marengols might treat Equestrians. From what I remember, we’ve never traded with them before, and anything of ours that found its way to them was likely sold to them at ten times the price from whoever purchased it from us in the first place. To be a world away must make them think we’re either too distant to bother with or too fantastical to be real.”

A good portion of the world likely thought the same of his homeland, as the “New World” was far out of reach for a vast majority of the world’s varied races and nations. Distances, cultural and language barriers, climate changes that some species were not used to, and the sheer cost of moving there for whatever reason one might have were the greatest obstacles for Equestria’s contact with the rest of the world. Spike was beginning to feel his mission was primarily becoming the establishment of greater amounts of diplomatic and economic connections, especially since he was technically married into noble families of two countries and the ruling family of another. Cultural flow between the nations was a close second, of course, and an important one for both recipients, but words and ideas could not flow if coin and goodwill did not do so first. After all, there were plenty of export and import opportunities for Equestria and whoever they established contact with, but making those connections often meant dealing with nobility, or those who wielded similar power. Only a guest of equal or greater standing would likely result in success.

Spike was beginning to suspect that the princesses had planned far more for him than they had originally let on.

“Ah, but you are not merely of Equestrian origin,” the king replied, steepling his hands. “You are a dragon, one of noble blood, and without a doubt a very interesting character for the Khan to meet. It would be foolish of me to simply give you away into their hands with their armies so close to my doorstep, and doubly foolish to attempt to coerce you to fight off such an army when a bloodless option has been presented me and my people.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I will officially appoint you as a designated envoy, of your lands and my own, to go with my scribes and diplomats. This will give you a better excuse to be on such a journey, as well as provide you with political capital for negotiations. Your natural senses will aid you in stepping around any potential situations that would cast an unfavorable light on your lands, and with your assistance, as well as your mere presence, I do not doubt a ceasefire, perhaps even peace, will be well within reach.” The king reached for his cup and took a drink, his crestfallen expression brightening slightly. “It has been far too long for such an option to have been granted to me.”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t help, but what about my family? I wouldn’t want to put them in harm’s way, even with your kingdom’s future at stake.”

“I can entirely agree with that sentiment, though I could not do the same in your position, as I am not in it in the first place. I have my duties, as do you, and while I do not know the travel restrictions upon those carrying foals, I do know that the Marengolian general would dare not attack a city your family was in. Yet I am not as desperate nor stupid as to hold an honored guest’s family hostage, I wager your princess of the night would have my head if she ever heard of such an idea.”

“Or I would,” Spike returned with a slight growl. He doubted the king ever could do such a dishonorable thing, but hey, stranger and more terrible things had happened…

“Be that as it may, your family will undoubtedly want to travel with you to the Khan, so I will provide the best means of securely transporting them to Karakorum in the midst of this Marengolian army. Your carriage will be encountering far less favorable terrain than before, I assure you, so the best wagoneers in my employ will impose as many additional spells and magicks on it as they can to aid you in your travels. Seeing as it will be getting cold fairly soon, especially at night, sleeping in your carriage will be far safer than being outside for anyone, including yourself, I’d wager.”

“Thank you,” the dragon replied, fully meaning it. “However, I do have a boon to ask for the carriage itself. It’s getting a bit cramped in there, and my family like to stretch their hooves every now and then. Is there any way your wagoneers would be able to help with that without them needing to leave the safety of the carriage?”

The king nodded, smiling. “I do believe we have a way around your problem.”

Silver Lining stood silently next to her king as the gathered diplomats, scribes and escort soldiers gathered in the apadana, with their guests yet to arrive. Spike had brought the news of her husband’s plans to his family, and their agreement to such a plan was the only holdup.

The diplomats were among the most senior and respected within the kingdom, their knowledge of surrounding cultures and histories unparalleled. They knew all manner of etiquette, even that of the more barbaric tribes further north and east, and would surely commit no faux pas when dealing with the Marengolian Khan.

The scribes were young and studios, able to listen and transcribe anything and everything they heard with incredible clarity and accuracy. As the aides to the diplomats, they would see into writing the upcoming accords, and hopefully, write up the ensuing peace treaty. For far too long had there not been quiet in their lands, and every single one of them knew that the very future of their people rested on them.

The soldiers that would accompany them were of the king’s personal guard, the Immortals. Far more heavily armed and armored than their ancestral namesake, they were trained from mere colts into shining examples of servility, duty, and lethality. In a personal engagement, they likely knew no better foe for many leagues, and even then would be hard pressed to lose against all but the most skilled of adversaries. A small number could fend off a much larger foe, save for those that wielded arms as powerful and terrible as the Marengols.

Yet the assembled weighed heavily on her heart, and amidst the mild chatter between the gathered hosts, the king his usual silent self, she leaned over.

“This is a risk long in the making, my king, but an opportunity we never expected to have.”

He nodded. “Indeed, my queen, but though it is a slim chance, it is one we must take. There is no telling how this Khan will be compared to the previous one. Will he be a war-happy stallion eager for bloody conquest, or will he be of the more distant relations sort, who favors diplomacy and the security of his own realm? His own people will crave peace if war has been too long, but they will crave war if threatened or insulted. A curious dichotomy, similar to any other we have seen, yet far more effective with these steppe peoples.”

“And if this is to fail?” Silver Lining hoped against hope this would succeed, as the stories of what had happened to the ruling families of other cities, other nations, chilled her blood. To think of what could happen to her, to her husband, to her daughter…

“Then the final solution will be our only one,” the king muttered, his face flashing a grim frown. “Alamut still stands, but rumors of their activities discredit others who lay blame at their feet. Gardens and libraries are their passion, not cloak and dagger. As it is, however, Masyaf…”

“They will answer the call?” Rumors circulated far and wide of the mysterious assassini, many of whom likely did not exist. Even if they did, how often the blame was laid at their feet indicated their nature was a far more fantastical one, and likely the scapegoat to draw eyes away from the actual conspirators, whoever they might have been.

Yet there was a grain of truth with every wild tale, so, perhaps…

“A few will, I am sure of it,” the king replied, before readjusting himself upon his throne. “But let us peak of something less dire, for our need for them will hopefully never come to pass.”

“The safety of our daughter, should the worst come to pass. Have plan been made?”

“Smuggled out of the capital, with a group of trusted aides and troops, to the lands further to the east. Moving east faster than the Marengols would prove immensely difficult, but to the east, to the court of her brother, that would be much safer.”

“His own kingdom would likely fall under the enemy’s scrutiny if they do not establish a lasting peace first,” Silver Lining muttered. “How well would the armies of his lands be able to march to reclaim his birthright, should we fall, and the crown passes to him?”

“Difficult to say, though their numbers would be very near to that of a full strength Marengolian host, if not greater. That is no guarantee that they would accomplish any more than the armies before them.”

“Fostering our son in the lands of his betrothed, as well as maintain that he stay there, was likely the smartest thing your brother ever did.” It was often unkind to speak ill of the dead, but in the case of her former brother-by-law, the queen knew if it weren’t for him, their lands would not be under siege as they were.

The king growled. “My brother made many mistakes, the last of which is costing us our kingdom, but I do not doubt for a second that this was done with the best of intentions. Our son-,”

“-has been raised far from home by those we do not know, surrounded by a culture dissimilar to our own, and will return, in the eyes of many of our subjects, not as a native ruler but a foreign puppet.” How she had been torn by the decision! Yes, it was safest for her son to leave, especially with such an enemy on the horizon so early in the war, but now, after all that had happened, she wanted her little colt back. Gods, how would he look now? Would he still speak as she remembered, or would a foreign tongue greet her upon a hopeful reunion?

“Yet he was not the first to do so,” the king replied. “Do not forget, Silver, that my own grandfather was fostered with the Caliph of Saddle Arabia many years before, and his grandfather many years before that in the lands of the Ottomares. Expanding the knowledge and cultural influence of our kingdom has done wonders for our people. It was only folly that my brother paid attention to those that sought glory through conquest, rather than glory through diplomacy.”

“Then we can only be so hopeful in that, even if the dragon as his family do not succeed, we will at least have been bought enough breathing room to act,” Silver Lining said as the aforementioned guests appeared from a side entrance.

“I have no doubt they will succeed, any more than our daughter will in finally declaring her love for our librarian and my spy.” He looked up at his wife, her expression one of suppressed shock. “What? Did you not think I knew?”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I may be king, but there are even some things that are outside of my jurisdiction,” he replied with a soft chuckle, before turning to Spike and his family. All were dressed for travel, as this was the time before winter truly began to settle in these lands, and where they were destined was going to be far, far more inhospitable.

“Lila won’t be going with us,” Asalah said, bowing slightly. “Our discussion ended with a fond farewell, but she is under no obligation to join us.”

“Indeed, but it warms my heart that you so readily accepted her into your group, even if for a short while,” the king said. “Hadhayosh?”

“The minotauress declared she will be journeying on without us, given our accompanying escort,” Maria replied. “She will be moving through the south and taking a boat back towards the lands of Saddle Arabia, across the Straits of Hornuz.”

“Before I bid you farewell, I received word from my wagoneers,” the king said, rising from his throne and approaching them. “The spells they have crafted onto your carriage will ensure your safe arrival into the hands of the Marengol host, as well as the journey to their lands and hopefully beyond. The interior has been enchanted to be far larger than it appears, almost like that of a house, whilst retaining its exterior size.”

“Wish we could have had that sooner, I’ve been craving a good bed for months,” Trixie muttered, just loud enough to earn a few chuckles from the others.

“As it were, the wheels are also capable of traversing most terrain with ease, road or not,” the king continued, before arriving in front of Spike. “If there is anything else?”

“Other than the supplies we will be carrying with us, everything has been set,” Spike said with a bow.

“Good, then as per part of our earlier discussion, I shall send copies of some of our most maintained scripts to your princesses, as well as opening the plans for trading from our most southerly ports,” the king said, placing a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “With that, I bid you farewell, Sir Dragul, and wish you and yours the best of luck.”

With ceremony out of the way, the group departed.

The journey from the capital had been a quiet one that morning. The inside of the carriage was taking some getting used to, given how spacious it had become, and as such, the journey was a quick one. The scribes, diplomats, and accompanying soldiers said little amongst themselves, their determination as resolute as the knowledge of their potential deaths.

Once the capital was out of sight, the mountain valleys twisted and turned, with mountain streams and copses of trees and shrubs the most common thing breaking their lines of sight. Eventually, when the sun began to sink lower towards the horizon, and the shadows grew longer, they came before a stretch of valley, whereupon Spike was greeted by the very first army he had seen in all his travels. The soldiers of the Prench robber baron, desert bandits, the armed forces of the Ottomares, the guards of the Transylmanian princess, they all paled before this host, like candles to a great roaring bonfire.

It was not as large as he had imagined, but the Marengols, according to the king, had almost always marched with armies far smaller than their opponents, in some cases, being outnumbered by wide margins. Yet these same armies were the ones that felled kingdoms, shattered high walls and crushed army after army, like an unstoppable tide or crumbling mountain. Those that survived the crucible were the ones that capitulated early; there had been no known record to date of one defeating them for good that did not entreat them to total destruction later on.

The cold winds whipped around them, as dry as the deserts that stretched out to the far north, as they made their way down the winding slopes. They were not accosted, though they had likely been spotted soon after leaving the capital. The spies and eyes of the Marengols were likely legion, inconspicuous and ranging far in all directions, with scouts as swift as the wind and as hardy as the few plants that grew alongside grass in their lands. A nation born in some of the harshest terrain in the world could thrive where others oft struggled.

Still, as they approached the outskirts of the great encampment, the soldiers outside began to make way for them, all strangely silent as they watched this procession. None seemed to take any special note of Spike, atop his carriage, for anything more than a passing gaze, something that unnerved the dragon just a bit. Were there dragons amongst their number? Did this explain their unmatched success despite incredible, and dare he say, seemingly impossible odds?

A few jeers here or there were the only noises along the entire way into the encampment, but those were soon silenced by apparent officers, if their slightly different manner of dress indicated anything.

Spike wasn’t sure what to think. None of these Marengols seemed to share much of any distinct differences between them. Here or there, some were taller, some wider, with differing shades of brown or black manes, and eyes that ranged from gold to red. Yet, here and there, he saw those that were not Earth ponies, as most seemed to be, but other races as well. The rare unicorn or two, all amongst the officers, but elsewhere there were a few pegasi, a small cohort of minotaurs, griffins, diamond dogs, even a few naga, batponies, and other species he had yet to encounter. A few in the distance even seemed to be… catlike, with mottled grey fur peeking out from under the armor they wore.

Perhaps the Khan and his court would be a source of answers to this, and other questions. Were these conquered beings, serving to protect their homelands through a tithe? Were they freed slaves, serving their chainbreakers out of loyalty or gratitude? Conquered foes forced to serve or face execution? Mercenaries, being paid to bring devastation to the enemies of the Khan? Or others, for their own reasons?

Soon, the troupe found themselves at the center of the army, most of the soldiers going back to their own duties, but more than a few continuing to stare at them. Spike was suddenly very glad his family and Eutropia were in the carriage, and not making their presence known. Surrounded by an army of males who likely hadn’t seen a mare or even a female of any species since they’d decimated Otrar, or from leaving Marengolian lands…

Within the middle of the camp lay a great series of tents, many of them scattered radially around a singular, far larger one, whose flap suddenly opened. Out stepped a trio of stallions, two Earth ponies, and one a unicorn.

“Sup, dudes?” the unicorn asked.

Reality seemed to freeze for a second as Spike attempted to process exactly what this stallion had just said. Words he hadn’t heard since Equestria were suddenly in his ears and working their way through his brain, but the resulting reply was far from what he wanted.

“Huh?”

“Oh, right, dignitaries,” the unicorn said. “Well, man, the name’s Bong Hit, but you can just call me Hit, nopony else here seems to want to call me anything else, so we’ll go with that. The general’s been waiting for you inside, man, so let’s like not keep him waiting any more, okay?”

Spike didn’t manage to reply to that before the stallion turned and retreated back into the tent.

“What the fuck,” the dragon muttered as he, the equally confused-looking scribes and diplomats, as well as half their escort, followed his lead, with the rest of the soldiers tang up a defensive position around the carriage.

Entering, Spike found himself before a rather unimpressive in material, but very intimidating nonetheless throne set in the center of the large tent. Off to the side sat a large map table, with guards lining the interior and armed to the teeth. Upon the throne, amidst a pile of furs sat what must have been the Marengolian general, a massive axe by his side and a sword rest against his leg.

A diamond dog, to be precise.

“A dragon?” the dog mused, spinning his sword on the edge of a stone jutting through the floor. “The Persian king sends a dragon to negotiate, how unusual. Or are you here to ensure his diplomats do not suffer the fate of their predecessors, a mercenary?”

“We have arrived as per your instructions, general,” the lead diplomat, an aged unicorn replied with a bow, the rest, Spike included, following suit. “We are here to discuss the terms you wish to make.”

“Terms? Such an impatient little pony,” was the reply, followed by a short growl. “I would have the dragon’s name first, for any dragon in my presence is more important a guest than a diplomat.”

“Should I give mine, would it be impolite to ask for yours in return?” Spike countered.

The general merely shrugged, a small smile tugging at his dour face.

“Spike, Spike Dragul.”

“I am General Sukhbataar,” was the reply. “For ease of your likely ill-attempts to repeat it, dragon, you may refer to me as Sukh. I am in charge of this army, and as such, your escort until we reach our destination.”

“Destination?” another diplomat parroted.

“Indeed, pony,” the diamond dog replied. “News has reached us of the death of the old Khan, and the upcoming coronation of the new. So, unless you wish to return to your master empty handed, I suggest you follow along with your dragon companion. We will be making for Karakorum in the morning, so I do suggest you find yourself somewhere to sleep for the night. That will be all.”

He gave them a dismissive wave, and with many either confused or fuming, they left.

“Spike, a moment?”

The dragon turned, as the dog general beckoned him back.

“Yes?”

“Where are you from, perchance?”

“I’m from Equestria.”

“Really? Has the land of the sun and moon mares decided to throw their lot in with a doomed kingdom?”

“No, I was just passing through.”

Sukhbataar made a scoffing noise. “I sincerely doubt it is as simple as that, dragon, but out of respect for your country, as well as whatever mission you are clearly on, so long as it does not endanger my soldiers or myself, I will not press. Still, if you are to come with us, I should very well warn you. The soldiers under my command are well trained, obedient, and without a shred of mercy when I tell them to be. So, keep your family in your carriage until we reach Karakorum, and they shall come to no harm, of that I can promise.”

Spike’s eyes imperceiptibly widened. “How did you-,”

“I could smell them on you as you entered my tent, and as much as my own soldiers lack the strength of smell I possess, it would not be good for them to find a group of females in their midst.”

“If anything happens to them...” Spike softly growled.

“Do you think me foolish enough to warn you for the sake of your wives? This is for the welfare of my soldiers, dragon. I have no intention of returning to my new Khan with barely an army left after you would go berserk upon them.” The general leaned back in his throne. “We march in the morning, and while you may be with us, we are not your escort. You will use your own supplies, you will keep to yourselves, and if you wish to speak to anyone, it will be me or my officers if I am otherwise engaged. Do we have an agreement?”

Spike was silent for a few moments. “Yes,” he replied, another growl escaping his lips. “But if any of your dog soldiers sniff around that carriage…”

“Then they will be resigned to whatever fate you deign for them, this I will let them know soon enough,” Sukhbataar replied. “Now go back to your family, before I change my mind.”

Spike left without another word.

“Cheer up bro, the gen dog’s not that bad once you get to know him,” Bong Hit said as Spike sat atop his carriage, the cold winds whipping through the valley. Whatever fires burned were surrounded by soldiers, keeping themselves warm from the encroaching winter’s teeth, and most gave Spike and his gathered group a wide berth.

“Where are you from, Hit?”

“Oh, dude, I let Equestria years ago, man,” the stallion replied with a weird sort of coughing giggle. “Been going all over the world for some of the best stuff around. From the best opium in the dens of southern China to the Griffin kingdom’s Mare-y Jane, to whatever hashish those assassini guys smoke up in their forts, it’s been a trip man. Came to the Khan’s capital one day man, and like, partook in some totally righteous stuff that almost killed everypony else who tried it. Khan-dude asked if I wanted a job, and thought, ‘yeah, sure’ or something, man.”

Spike wasn’t sure what to make of this stallion, so he decided to stay silent as Bong Hit began regaling stories of subsequent drug usage he hadn’t asked to hear. How was this stallion still alive?

Karakorum was never a quiet city, despite the vast majority of it being a sea of tents stretching out as far as could be seen. What buildings were made were often of great importance, or belonged to those of similar rank, and as such day and most of the night was filled with all manner of activity and hurry, save for only the deepest parts of night.

For the Khan-to-be, that meant preparing the upcoming ceremonial crowning. He was already Khan to anyone else around him, had been since the death of rival by chance of fate, and now, with his army returned from that valley, he was to secure the rest of his territory. Swearing fealty to the Khan was no different than it was for any other kingdom with nobility, but the paradigm shift from noble inheritance to promotion by merit was one of contention and extreme difference between his people and others. Anyone in his kingdom, born Marengolian or not, could become rise through the ranks to general if they worked hard enough and had the skill.

Regardless of age, race, and in the rare exception, gender, any of those that swore fealty to the Khan and showed an aptitude for it would rise. Those that did not, but still showed proficiency, would be placed in the roles that fit them the best. Captains, messengers, the expanding bureaucrats, or even within his personal guard.

Two approached him, siblings, as did their father. His throne, soon to become the center at which his power would be solidified, was silent, save for the flickering of torchlight as the vestiges of night drew ever deeper.

“Speak, Tsokhikh,” the stallion said.

“Your guards have informed me of the need for my counsel, my Khan.”

“Indeed. Before we begin, how goes your recovery?”

“The tarragons will not trouble our scouts nor settlers for years to come, I should think, mor then enough time to establish a hoofhold in such regions,” was his reply. “My wounds will heal shortly, as did all the ones before. This is not my first recovery from such conflict, my old student.”

“Forgive a stallion for misremembering his lessons, as there have been other matters at hand to take his mind off of the musings of his old mentor,” the Khan said with a genuine smile.

“What is it you need of me, my Khan?” Tsokhik was indeed as reliable as he was smart, but that was primarily because of how much he had invested in the Marengolians. It had been a long time since he had felt affection for a peoples as he had for them, not since…

“I am in need of your counsel on the upcoming coronation. Each Khan is remembered for how they are brought into this world as ruler of the Marengols, and I would like myself to be remembered as one that did not break up the families of his people, that sent his armies off at once to continue the wants and desires of the previous Khan. Rather, I wish to give them rest, a chance to recuperate their strength, to see loved ones and friends not seen for months or even years. Yet to do so could be seen as weakness amongst my enemies as well as my allies. What say you, my most wise mentor?”

Tsokhik was silent for a few moments, a wealth of memories returning to him in an instant. The martial traditions of the Marengols were well and truly tied to their strength and unity as a people, the foundations for which had allowed their first Khan to unite a disparate number of tribes into a fearsome fighting force. To channel that yet keep his people from setting off to war once more, it would take a delicate balancing act to accomplish both.

“A series of tournaments, testing the numerous skills available across all walks of Marengol life,” was his reply. “Archery, wrestling, sprinting, drinking, tracking, dueling, anything taking a large amount of skill. Yet we should focus on not just that worthy of soldiers, but also of those who support them, the chances of letting those who smith and craft and enchant enter for a chance to prove themselves. With such a vast array of competitions and honors, it would draw the attention of the nation for weeks, with any seeking their fortune or skill at such arriving. Besides, it would most likely coincide with the return of even the most distant armies, giving the returning soldiers rest and the chance to experience something other than long marches and war.”

“Hmm, an excellent idea, though we shall have to determine the prizes per competition,” the Khan said. “Our coffers are filled to the brim, and will likely grow only larger with the returning conquests, but we mustn’t give out more than we can afford to. I am thinking the top five in each competition will be the ones to earn some gold?”

“An excellent idea, it will appear to be fairer than the standard competitions where only the top three contestants are awarded. With so many likely to arrive and spend their own gold, even if they do not compete, the resulting windfall should more than likely make up for whatever is doled out to winners.”

“If there is anything else I require of you, Tsokhik, I will ask. However, as you said, your wounds are still healing, and I would never deprive as good a friend as you the time amongst kin and comfort. Return to your home until further notice, and sleep well tonight, my old friend. As for you two,” the Khan said, looking to his mentor’s escorts, “you are dismissed as well. I will expect your presence once the generals and their armies begin returning, but for the meantime, enjoy time with your father.”

With a bow, Tsokhik and his offspring bowed and left the palace.

“A competition? I wouldn’t have thought such balanced wisdom from you, father,” Naran said as the tea kettle was passed around. Of all the things to have picked up on from their previous wars and current trade with the realm of Qin, tea was one that all three were glad to have made it this far into Marengol territory. “Usually you tend to pick one extreme over another.”

“I can be full of surprises young one, you would do well to remember that,” Tsokhik replied with a knowing smile. “Besides, it will play well into all of our hands that such a series of competitions be held in winter. None will wish to range far and wide during such adverse conditions, and this way, the armies will stay closer to and receive the attention of their new Khan, all the while previous conflicts are either put by the wayside or peace is reached.”

“Peace would be preferable, if only because there is no telling how long before our strings of successes are thrown back in our face,” Naran continued. “Eventually a power will be angered with the might at their back to defeat our armies, or barring that, destroy our people from the inside out. I pray a night that dark shall never come.”

“It will not, for you two at least, if you enter and win a tournament or two.”

The two looked between each other and then at their father. “What?” Saran asked, the first word they had said all night.

“Good to see I at least have your attention,” Tsokhik chuckled. “To be perfectly honest, the two of you are wasted here. You are still young and full of life, and, well, to be perfectly honest, it has been a long time coming to tell you that both of you have far outgrown the boundaries you have placed upon yourselves.”

“We would never leave you, father, nor disrespect our Khan,” was Naran’s rebuttal.

“You will never leave me, remember? So long as one is in the other’s heart and mind, they will never be forgotten. I would think by now the both of you would remember your lessons with the Khan at least better than he does.”

“Yet even if we did wish to leave, how could we with honor? We are a part of the Khan’s bodyguards, among the best of the best. To be dismissed would bring shame upon us and you-,”

“Shame is something I have far outgrown the need the fret over, and in time, so will both of you,” their father replied. “If you win a competition, especially a more prestigious one, then you will likely be able to trade in the offer of gold for a boon from the Khan himself. With that, you could ask of him anything, and he would grant it, without any sense of dishonor or hostility. After all, he owes me much, and he is the kind to graciously grant a wish, within reason of course.”

“Then, if we do wish for something, he will grant it?”

Tsokhik simply nodded. “Of course. He is wiser than he lets on and far more compassionate than many previous Khans have been. Whether it was my influence or just the natural way things progress, it will remain to be seen. So, when the time comes, think of what you want, and be sure to put your best effort into winning. I will not think less of you, no matter what you ask for, as you two are my children, and I will always love you.”

He growled, his thoughts jumbled as they always, were when away from conflict. It made little sense to dwell on things such as that, for he would likely be called soon. Murder in the capital of a high ranking official was nothing to be scoffed at, and as such it would fall to him to see justice carried out.

The blade was thirsty, the roar of the crowds long since silent.

Blood was as drink, nourishing his brain and driving the pain away.

Bones were his food, those of the fallen, by his blade they were made undone.

He partook in the essence of others, seeing into their souls as their lifeblood was drained by his weapon.

Peace was weakness, a lie to be purged alongside those who did not fight.

His name… his name was like smoke, there, but ready to disappear in a light breeze of concentration.

Could he remember his brother, their battles… no, a brother yes, but only a face.

There was no name not his own. The Khan saved him, the Khan gave him what he wanted.

The others beneath him were, and would always be. They lacked the hunger, the thirst.

It was his alone, his to have. They would not take that from him. It was his, won, his victory.

Victory, the fight, both mattered, but only one sustained him. Gave him new life, gave him strength.

Let all challengers come, these games would be his domain. None would stop him.

His was the way, the way of blood, of sport, of feasting on the sweetest drink, of victory.

“Rex, you are called,” a voice said. A guard, an emissary, some in the Khan’s service, it mattered not. Lifting the great sword that he called his own, its twin resting until the bray of blood-hungry crowds called out to it, he moved from his darkened, incense-filled tent.

The cowering fool, even as his neck was placed on the block, said nothing worth remembering. None would remember them, and as Rex raised the sword, he only wished the murderer would try to fight for his life. Then, perhaps, the diamond dog would get a chance to enjoy the rush of the kill.

The sword fell, and so too did the murderer’s head.

Author's Notes:

Comments and reviews are my lifeblood, especially when they are questions I can answer or discussions with myself and my readers.

Well, it's been longer, far longer than I anticipate between the previous chapter and this one. Problems in life, new job, writer's block, anxiety, and a whole slew of other things tend to combine in pretty terrible ways.

As it is, I am now shooting for a new chapter every month, as my new job doesn't suck my will to live or write and gives me far more time to actually sit down and write. If I manage to get more done, hey, swell.