Soul Census - War of Shadows - Book 1

Chapter 2.3 - Taylan Chagatai

Three Mongol warriors hid in the trees, looking up at the long stairway that led to the Chinese fortress—their objective. They went alone, in secret, to ascertain the enemy’s defenses. It was not sanctioned by the commander of their unit, the Mingghan-u Noyan—but then, most of what Taylan did was not known by the commander anyway.

Bolormaa and Ganbold did not like it, but Taylan told them that even Subutai taught that autonomy was part of the Mongol warrior discipline. That proved enough to convince them, but the truth was that Taylan was here for a different reason and was indeed sanctioned by an authority within the clan—one higher than the commander’s.

“Attacking this fortress is costly,” Bolormaa said. “I do not understand why the Khan wants us to sacrifice so many for so little reward.”

Ganbold nodded silently behind him—always with the wind was Ganbold’s opinion on things political, and usually in whatever direction Bolormaa’s hair happened to blow.

Taylan looked at his friend, Bolormaa. Sunlight reflected off the Chinese blood that stained his helmet. Kinks in Bolormaa’s armor revealed blood-soaked silk, no doubt commingled with some of his own blood. By comparison Taylan’s own armor looked unblemished.

What Bolormaa did not know was that, despite appearances, Taylan had killed many more men as a secret assassin serving Batu Khan—killings of enemy kings and princes, as well as potential rivals to the Khan’s power in the Mongol Empire. Stories and numbers he could not boast about to anyone. Secret victories never to be whispered.

“You are a bloody mess,” Taylan said. “When was it you last bathed, tsereg?”

“Ha,” Ganbold said. “Bolormaa’s slave no longer bathes him. He must keep her in chains now or worry about his boov being bitten off.”

Bolormaa squinted at them both—a gesture of annoyance that always gave Taylan a chuckle.

“Hear you none of my words?” Bolormaa said. “Always jokes falling from your tongues. This campaign is throwing away many Mongol lives for a worthless mountain.” Bolormaa looked down at the ground. “Subutai would never have supported this.”

Taylan looked up at the mountaintop, where the Chinese sat. Taking it would be a minor symbolic victory for the Mongol Empire. However, losing it would be a much greater symbolic victory for their rivals, the Song Dynasty.

“Ours is not to question the will of the Khan,” Taylan said, “but to execute it upon his command. Subutai would have done the same.”

“Bah!” Bolormaa said. “Subutai left this rock to go home and die because he did not believe in this campaign. We should be gathering our forces for richer lands, not wasting it on this fishing village.”

Taylan knew Bolormaa was right, but he had to discourage him, as Bolormaa was easily enraged into rash acts.

“I heard other whisperings,” Ganbold said. “That Subutai is alive and well and that his death was a deception. That he even now is making plans for greater conquests elsewhere.”
“You should not listen to such baas,” Taylan said.

There was a sudden noise behind them. Taylan made a motion to hide. Bolormaa remained standing, drawing his sword defiantly.

Stubborn fool.

The sound of a spear cutting through the trees landed on Taylan’s ears.

Bolormaa dodged it and roared forward, meeting the ten Chinese soldiers head-on, dropping one immediately. Taylan and Ganbold both drew their weapons and jumped into the fight.

Taylan positioned himself on the edge of the tree line, diving in and out with his attacks, using the cover of tree branches to catch each attacker’s sword. Fortuitously, two of the soldiers embedded their blades into the same tree. Taylan smiled as he slashed them both down.

A group of four Chinese rushed toward him. Taylan grabbed the helmet from one of the dead ones, dug it into the ground with dirt, and flung its contents at them as they attacked.
With the enemy blinded, Taylan charged at them, slashing two of them almost instantly, and a third he decapitated, the soldier’s head rolling down at the feet of the remaining foe.

The last enemy looked at his headless comrade and then with uncertainty at his opponent.

Taylan gave him a smile. The soldier threw his sword onto the ground and dropped to his knees.

“Surrender,” the soldier said in broken Mongolian. “Surrender.”

Taylan looked over at his two comrades. Ganbold lay dead, but he’d taken two down with him. Bolormaa was finishing off another one, so that left only the soldier on his knees.

Taylan raised his sword into the air and looked into the eyes of his enemy. “I am Taylan Chagatai,” he said. “And I take no prisoners.”