The Old Gods Awake

[ozeveo 87]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwgaGW95Ovg

 

2nd of Sun’s Smile, 1521

 

The harmonies of the dombra and the quray - in layman’s terms, a particular kind of mandolin and flute - resounded throughout the air of the village of Dasoguz, itself deep within the territory generally considered to be Lesser Tarchary by the more sedentary inhabitants of Vailor. The melodious sound originated in no other place than the great yurt at the settlement’s centre, for the temporary construction provided lodgings for the petty sovereign of the village and its surrounding lands - none other than Morza Loghlar Ayrat Mehmetoglu Bey, who was addressed by friend and foe alike by the noble name of Ayrat Bey.

 

 

Ayrat Bey’s court was assembled inside the great Tarchar yurt, its ceiling almost seven metres tall at its highest point in the centre. Nigh on fifty souls had been packed into the cavernous structure, this cosmopolitan group consisting of a mix of beys, warriors, merchants and concubines. All eyes were focused on the four bards who sat atop stools in the centre of the yurt, just by the great hearth-fire. Two older men dressed in the traditional dress of the steppe strummed their lute-like instruments. Another man deftly played his flute, which had been carved from the finest Peremontese spruce. The musical efforts of this trio paled in comparison to the girl who sung to accompany them. She could have been no older than fourteen, and her entire body save her face was sheathed in blue, gold and white silks woven by Ayrat Bey’s company of seamstresses. Like the rest of the Tarcharmen, she bore a swarthy complexion with an almost grey undertone. Her honeyed voice was powerful and alluring as she sang in her native tongue.

 

“Baghcalarda kestane, baghcalarda kestane,

Tokulur danye, danye, tokulur danye, danye,

Amanim, civanim, kel yanima,

Incileri taqayim boynunar,

Amanim, civanim, kel yanima,

Incileri taqayim boynunar,

 

Baghcalarda meyvaliq, baghcalarda meyvaliq,

Bu nye qadar sevdaliq, bu nye qadar sevdaliq,

Amanim, civanim, kel yanima,

Ipek poshu sarayim bo boynunar,

Amanim, civanim, kel yanima,

Ipek poshu sarayim bo boynunar,”

 

The instruments slowly drew to silence as the girl finished her singing, smiling broadly as she directed a curt bow at her master - Ayrat Bey - who laid perched atop a great divan, itself a type of long carpeted chair not often seen in human or nonhuman lands alike. The Tarchar lord nodded his head in acknowledgement, the court surrounding him offering a sharp applause to the playing bards. Morza Argyn Mihal Ahmetoglu Bey, otherwise known as Mihal Bey, was assuredly the second greatest leader among them. He sat behind Ayrat in his lancer’s chainmail, his thin-lipped mouth curled downwards in a frown as he watched. A few of the retinue stuck out - uncomfortably so. Pale in comparison to his horselord contemporaries at this gathering, Garviel de Wett sat cross-legged in his Kaedreni gambeson as he observed the proceedings. Next to him, Gauldrim Irongut - who was known chiefly as Bodur to the local Tarcharmen - puffed on his whalebone pipe, smoke as grey as his braided beard rising from his stout form.

 

 

An envoy from Khalestine, who seemed to have no significant name or title, had been lurking in the corners of the yurt too. He had found a little success preaching the word of his ‘Allah’ to the Tarcharmen, enough success to be tolerated at Ayrat Bey’s court - but not yet enough success to make a difference. The powers that be still adhered more-or-less to the shamanistic faith of Gurbanlar, worshipping flame, earth and ancestors alike in their makeshift yurt-temples. A tried missionary, an experienced hand, would have been able to determine the reality of this situation through observation alone. Such an abstract faith provided so little in the way of strictures, rituals and moral impetus that with enough incentive, all but its most hardline and conservative followers would doubtless have converted to any deistic monotheism. But ever since Radovid of Blaviken was slain by elven insurgents, no such missionary existed among the Church of the Canon, a fact that the Caliph’s followers were doubtless capitalizing on in Dasoguz.

 

With a flick of Ayrat Bey’s hand, the servants in their iron slave-collars brought forth a dozen ochpochmak, a kind of savoury pastry filled with minced horse-meat, onions and other root vegetables. This was accompanied by wooden mugs of ayran for all the important dignitaries. The Kaedreni, Garviel, screwed up his nose at the beverage, consisting of a salted, watery yogurt, and passed his mug on to Gauldrim, who was more than happy to down two. When the simple meal was finished, Ayrat Bey indicated for Mihal Bey to come forward. The angry, thin-lipped Tarcharman descended from his position atop the carpeted dais, moving to the centre of the yurt so that all could regard him in the firelight.

 

In his tow, attached to him by a thick rope, was a cowed and manacled figure, a slave collar neatly encompassing his neck. He bore the garb of an Adrian soldier, however he spoke more eloquently than any inbred Brelusian. The sovereign of Dasoguz scanned Mihal Bey and his slave with curious eyes from atop his chair.

 

“Speak,” grunted Mihal Bey taciturnly, giving a flick of the rope that bound him to the captive.

 

“My name is Vytenis Andriukaitis,” said the captive, his voice impassioned with worry, “I am the son of the late Karol Andriukaitis, former Bishop of Savoy and High Auditor of the Papal States.”

 

Mihal Bey flicked the rope again, the silver earrings in his ear barely reflecting the blazing fire. “Tell him what you told me,” he barked, his voice thickly accented with guttural tones.

 

“The Church of the Canon, aided by a contingent of crusaders, seeks to invade your lands in the name of holy war,” began Vytenis hurriedly, accompanied by shocked cries from those members of the court who were able to understand his common speech, “Men from far and wide are signing up from the invasion. They wish to use your land to consolidate the Church’s rule.”

 

A eunuch translator whispered in Ayrat Bey’s ear, who up until now had remained relatively silent as Vytenis had spoken his words at the seething Mihal Bey’s behest. The sovereign of Dasoguz frowned intensely, raising his hand in a clenched fist as he finally understood the implications of the captive’s words, righting himself from his seat. Ayrat Bey would be the steppe-lord to unify the tribes, as Sauros Khan had done two centuries ago. It would be he who would settle the nomadic Tarcharmen in the Qirim, where they would finally establish their Greater Tarchary, as the progenitor Azghar had prophesied in legend.

 

At last, the conquest he had been waiting for had begun, and he didn’t even have to begin it. The old gods of Dasoguz had awoken.

 

 

[Publius 4098]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.