Daybreak:Alpha Chapter

Chapter 3 - You Cannot Escape the Past

"With Heaven's aid I have conquered for you a huge empire. But my life was too short to achieve the conquest of the world. That task is left for you."

- Temujin, the Genghis Khan, to his sons and generals.

Subutai watched his fist close and reopen, feeling the strength of a grip he had not achieved in decades.

"It doesn't quite feel like I've reincarnated," he tried to articulate the strange emotion simmering inside him.

He remembered too much of his past life, in far too great detail, to match the phenomeon that the Buddhist monks spoke of. One moment, he was an old man of seventy-two dying in his yurt, surrounded by family and children as they sadly parted ways. He heard the melancholy of his wives, who raised the family during his years away on far-flung campaigns. He felt the strong yet gentle grip of his grandson Aju, whom he had personally groomed into a fine warrior during his final years.

Then next, his consciousness awoke in another realm, with a greater clarity of mind and strength of body than he had felt for decades.

Subutai half-snorted at himself. There was a moment when he had thought the Abrahamic faiths correct, when his senses returned before a woman of such divine elegance that she could only be described as an angel or saint. But Tara proved beyond all of that. She was the Bodhisattva of Mercy -- a transcendent mortal who journeyed the worlds to teach the message of compassion and liberation. Her deific powers were on display even now, as she and Subutai sat cross-legged within a translucent bubble that flew at tremendous speeds. Frozen rivers and frosted pines blurred beneath them, yet neither the discomfort of bone-chilling winds nor the sensation of rapid movement emerged as they shot through the air faster than any arrow could fly.

It was a good thing that he was a worshipper of the great sky-father Tengri. His faith taught that mankind had yet to reach the wisdom necessary to understand the truth between the universe and its creator. Thus, there was no need to reject or deny the existence of any heavenly being... especially not when they existed in the flesh before his very eyes.

"It's not the usual," Tara's smile remained serene. "A Samaran is normally reborn into a Samaran mother's womb. They would grow up the same as any other child. Except in addition to their present experiences, Samaran children slowly reclaim fragments of their past lives. The comprehensiveness of their memories is determined by their spiritual karma -- their depth of enlightenment as they journey along the Great Wheel.

"Your body, however, was accelerated to seventy-two years old: precisely where you had left off. It was the best way to ensure that your new body would accept the soul transplant and memory transfer. I could neither spare twenty years to wait for your growth, nor risk losing the invaluable lessons from your lifetime of experience."

Subutai frowned as he rotated his shoulders and flexed his legs. It felt so seamless and natural, with none of the aches of his old age.

"I think you missed the athritis."

Tara chuckled.

"Samarans have lifespans reaching two hundred years. Their physical aging drastically slows after maturity at age fifteen, much like the human mages of this realm. Even now, your physical body is comparable to a human on Earth in their late twenties. You'll have plenty of time to live out a long, fulfilling life -- provided that you save these people, this realm."

Subutai's lips pursed as he returned a nod in understanding.

Tara had explained her limited window of intervention before she showed him her goal in the most succinct manner possible. Hardly four hours had passed since they stood by the river bend that sheltered her homeland: the Protectorate of Samara. The harsh, continental winter had transformed the natural moat into an icy highway. Subutai had watched as a Tumen of twenty-thousand eastern cavalry charged onto its frozen surface, knowing that the defending militia and their low, earthen-palisade walls on the embankment held no chance of stopping the onslaught.

Then, as the marauding horsemen crossed the midpoint and prepared their first salvo of arrows, an icy mist had quickly shrouded the entire river in an otherworldly fog.

Subutai had seen the power coalesce through Tara's outstretched palms. His eyes had swollen into saucers as he felt genuine surprise for the first time in decades. Her magic -- as there was no other way to describe it -- poured into the air like the weaving lights of an aurora borealis. Within a minute, the sound of iron hooves striking ice had vanished from the world, replaced by the clattering thumps of armored bodies crashing into hard ground.

The mist lasted only minutes before passing. its retreat unveiled a highway of dazed horses, abandoned by the masters who now laid dead on thick ice. With tranquil expressions and no wounds to speak of, they passed away as if in their sleep, their souls reclaimed by heaven's decree. Only their worldly possessions were left behind: steel, gold, furs, and steeds, all in excellent condition, all meaningless in their end.

When Subutai asked Tara just exactly what she had done, all the white-haired, white-garbed Bodhisattva said was: "I freed them from a life of violence and murder."

Gives a whole new meaning to 'liberation', he smirked a hint.

"I understand that the last few hours have borne a great deluge of information, too much to be absorbed at once," Tara's gentle voice recalled him back to the present. "However, it is also important that we keep conversing, as you only have a few days to grasp as much of the local languages as you can."

"It is curious," Subutai admitted. "I can tell that the words emerging from my mouth sound familiar. It reminds me of how the Rus princes pleaded for mercy when they surrendered. The language should be one that I have no business understanding, yet... I do. It's as if the words transform into meaning within my mind, in the seamless manner that only my mother tongue could achieve. Even when I speak, it is in Mongolian that my thoughts construct. Though by the time they leave my lips, everything -- the pronunciation, the structure, the grammar -- everything has changed.

"How does this work?" He puzzled with bewilderment in his gaze.

"Ever since you awoke, we have been conversing in Polisian, the lingua franca of this region," Tara expounded. "Your understanding of the language exists through a telepathic linguistics spell that I have bridged our minds with. This means that whenever you listen or reply to a language that I know, your mind will reach across the link and tap into my linguistics knowledge to translate the words.

"However," she continued, "unlike conventional secondary language use, the speech is not translated into your mother tongue as it would normally require, but straight into mental comprehension. This means that the language-learning part of your brain can directly copy down the information transformation that you have just processed, astronomically increasing the speed that you can absorb and grasp new languages in."

Subutai was still grasping the magnitude of this unique opportunity and gift when the Goddess grinned:

"We call this Truespeak, as it allows any two sentient beings to converse so long as one of them understands a language. Unfortunately, this magic is taxing to maintain for most spellcasters, unless they already have a sacred magical bond linking both individuals. Therefore, this important learning tool is only available while I am free to intervene in these few crucial days. If you cannot grasp the languages that you need during this short time period, then you will have to learn it the hard way."

"I take it you cannot simply create this 'sacred magical bond' between me and someone else?" Subutai asked.

With her smile never faltering, Tara closed her eyes and shook her head.

"'Magic' is just another word for the radiance of the soul made manifest. That is what spellcasters truly are: channelers and crafters of the spiritual energies that flow freely throughout the realm. Thus, 'magical bonds' are connections forged between two individuals that -- over time -- could link two souls together in a union that transcends life itself. They are sacred because of this, and certainly not to be created on a whim for mere convenience."

It made him wonder just what exactly constituted a 'sacred magical bond'. Suddenly, even marriage and children sounded commonplace and limited to the boundaries of a single lifetime.

"However, I do have a person in mind to help you acclimate to this world," Tara offered, with a sparkle in her spring-green gaze that made Subutai's eyebrows vanish into his hairline. "She is the highest-ranking Samaran in the Federated Principalities of Polisia's military hierarchy, and therefore the perfect candidate to acquaint you to your new role and support you in the task ahead."

...

Sheltered within the alcove in front of the limestone city hall, Subutai watched as Lydia followed behind the Grand Magistrate Kazimir. The elderly man climbed onto the wooden, speaker's platform with her help, ready to address the 'Veche Assembly' of Ilmen.

Night had already fallen upon the capital city, and the overcast weather and its flurry of snow kept the 'moon' out of sight. Nevertheless, the city square was still modestly lit by tall posts with elevated glass orbs filled by magical light. Their illumination was sufficient for Subutai to clearly to see the faces of thousands gathered before them, the overwhelming majority of whom were women and old men.

He estimated that no more than fifteen percent of those in attendance were men of healthy fighting age. Many of them had rushed here with their tools of trade still in hand. They included blacksmith hammers and carpentry augers, highlighting their specialist roles as those essential to war production. Boys as young as seven labored in the workshops along his way here, although few were present at this assembly. Meanwhile, the duties of the city's militia fell upon the women and elderly, who wore mismatching padded armor and carried a mixture of crossbows, spears, and bardiche axes.

"Citizens of Ilmen," the slightly-hunched Kazimir addressed the crowd, his wizened voice magically amplified to resound across the plaza. "I come before you this evening in both weal and woe. Many of you have undoubtedly heard the rumors: that General Golitsyn's army had been annihilated today outside the Frozen Fortress of Perym..."

The atmosphere was sullen as only a third of the crowd made any reaction. The news had been leaked from Coalition Central this afternoon on orders from the Grand Magistrate himself. He had sought to lessen the shock before the official announcement. But after years of catastrophic defeats, the Polisians seemed as though they've grown numb to the pain of further loss.

No. Apathy didn't quite describe it. Looking out into the crowd, Subutai could still see the silent anguish of fathers and hear the quiet sobbing of mothers. Almost every family within the city of Ilmen had just lost another member, though it was also not their first grievance suffered in this war.

Resignation, Subutai identified the mood at last. It hung in the cold air like a thousand nooses, ready to strangle the lives of those awaiting their execution.

It was an attitude far more dangerous than any outburst of anger or misery.

"It is a day of great sadness for our realm, but we must also remember that their sacrifice was not in vain," Kazimir's voice hardened. "Reports confirm that in their valiant defeat, our brave troops have dealt a grievious blow to the Eastlings' northern force. Our foes lie bloodied and crippled. And when those barbarians attempted pursuit into the Protectorate of Samara, they were routed by the defending militia and their commander..."

"Stop lying to us." A man from the crowd complained out loud.

"The Samarans? Who are you trying to fool?" Another sardonic voice came. "Those cowardly 'pacifists' are no more capable of defeating the horsemen than a herd of swine."

Subutai frowned. There was a time when he might have agreed. But when he annihilated three armies of the Song dynasty during the final year of the Northern China campaigns, the local monastic leaders risked their lives to petition for leniency towards the defeated soldiers. They marched through ranks of bloodied Mongol sabers without batting an eye; they even refused to kowtow to mortal overlords, claiming that they would only serve the divine.

Even in this world, the Samarans did not hesitate to rally every man and woman to the defense of their hearth once war visited their doorsteps.

Only the ignorant could claim 'pacifism' and 'cowardice' were one and the same.

From the rear, Subutai watched as he expected Lydia to intercede. She was, after all, a Samaran hero whom the public could not deny. Her presence was meant to be a 'stepping stone' for introducing him. Yet, the girl's hesitation was obvious as she fidgeted and half-heartedly raised her hand.

It was almost as though she had been paralyzed by the crowd's attention, and she soon missed her chance as another anonymous voice cried out:

"No offense to the White Lily, but she is a Velikayan by birth. The rest of Samara won't even march out from their lands in force!"

"We just sent another hundred thousand lives to their graves for nothing. That's the truth ain't it!?"

She's useless here. Subutai pursed his lips as he strode forward, no longer waiting for his turn as they desperately needed to regain control.

It was true that Kazimir's words were nothing but fabrications. The encounter at Samara took place yesterday, and could not have possibly been affected by today's battle outside Perym. However, for the sake of public morale, Kazimir seized the opportunity to string a link of direct causation.

Subutai carried forth a large sack over his shoulders. His white hair openly challenged the naysayers as he presented himself to the crowd. His legs stopped only at the platform's edge, where he dropped the bundle at his feet and reached in.

His hand then flung its contents into the assembly: a dozen severed human left ears.

A wave of silence rolled through the masses as both shock and surprise took hold. Every eye was suddenly trained upon him, and Subutai seized the opportunity by raised the entire bag before upending it over the elevated platform. An endless stream of human left ears poured out of the enchanted sack, which could not possibly have the natural volume to hold its contents. It took a minute before the flow of flesh finally stopped, accumulating a small mountain from beneath the platform to as high as him.

"Twenty thousand fresh left ears! One from each defeated Eastling soldier!" Subutai declared with as a firm and mighty voice. "It is proof beyond contestation! You can count them yourself if you doubt!"

It was Mongol tradition to sever the left ears of the defeated, not only to accurate assess each victory but also as proof of individual soldiers' deeds. Tara had not approved of this 'mutilation', but even the strategist in her saw its potential need and requested the Samaran militia to help out.

Thousands of mouth fell gawking at the unbelievable pile of trophies. Lydia herself stared as though her eyes might fall out in astonishment. Only the Grand Magistrate returned a nod of appreciation before he once again faced the awed and murmuring crowd:

"I know what you are thinking, that twenty thousand foes is but a mere fraction of our own losses. But these numbers come from only the destroyed Eastling column, and not the tens of thousands more we inflicted upon the enemy in battle." Kazimir reminded them all before making a pained expression.

"We have all suffered the insufferable and endured the unendurable in this war. I myself have seen seven of my children and grandchildren killed in the line of duty. I know that many of you believe we should capitulate. Though even if we ignored the ill fates of those who tried to surrender, should we not also consider what it means for our own futures?"

"At least we would still have a future!" Croaked an elderly voice.

"Yes. Perhaps the Eastlings might accept your surrender," Kazimir nodded. "They are in need of slaves after all! Your grandsons would make excellent arrow shields for their next conquest; your granddaughters the perfect toys to reward their warriors. You will become another tool of their intimidation, another way to threaten and force your family into whipped servitude."

Silence. Not one rebuttal from amongst the crowd. The topic was simply too painful to even contemplate.

"But consider it now: what will you do, when you face the end of your life and must tell your great-grandchildren the truth? Will you admit that you cowardly abandoned all the blood and sacrifice made by their missing parents? That you threw away countless family lives, before bowing your heads in slavish subservience to their fathers' murderers and their mothers' rapists? That you had a chance -- one last chance -- to preserve their dignity and future, but you chose to throw it all away in a gutless plea for your own safety!?"

Standing before the assembly of thousands, the most powerful man in the Polisia spoke not as the leader of a large federation, but as a patriarch and grandfather who only wanted the best for his family.

"Is that what you want for your descendents? Such shame and disgrace that they shall never again hold their heads high and challenge foreign authority!? To leave them nothing but memories of how they were conquered, humiliated, and enslaved!? To give them no defense when others laugh and kick them down for their inferiority!?"

A simmering anguish began to spread across the town square as countless heads shook. Even mothers in tears clenched their fists at the unspeakable injustice that Kazimir envisioned for them.

"But what can we do?" A woman near the front muttered aloud.

"What can we do?" Kazimir rhetorically repeated the question. "The Gods themselves have presented us with a clear alternative. They have seen the bravery of our boys and wept at the blood spilled by our girls! They have watched as we resisted the cruel trials of fate with the utmost fortitude and courage. Is this victory -- limited as it may be -- not proof that they have acknowledged us at last? They have revealed to us not only the enemy's vulnerability, but also a gifted commander capable of leading us to victory!"

Subutai had to suppress his scowl when Kazimir presented him. As a proud Mongol general who exemplified the virtues demanded by Genghis Khan, he despised claiming credit for what was not rightfully his. Nevertheless, he stood silent and stoic, recognizing that this was not the time for his beliefs to resist practicality. His new nation demanded a victor, and Subutai -- once known in the Mongol Court as the 'Unfailing' -- would again rise to the challenge.

He did not speak one word. There were no words fit for the enormity of the circumstances at hand. All he did was raise one fist in a gesture of unwavering strength.

"It is for this reason that I call upon your support!" Kazimir bellowed with every strength that the old politician could muster. "I call upon your steadfast determination to endure just one more push! For only the persistent can secure a future for not only themselves, but their descendants as well! I call upon your courage to raise one last great host! To give its reins of authority to the man our Gods have chosen!

"All those in support, say 'Da'!"

...

Ten minutes later, the newly entitled General Subutai -- Commander of the nonexistent Coalition Central Army -- continued to stand silent and thoughtful. His object of observation was the young Lydia and elderly Kazimir, as the Grand Magistrate issued orders face-to-face on the other side of the town hall's lobby:

"Major Lisitsyna, I am reassigning you, Colonel Raskova, and Colonel Balykin to our new General's command. I want the three of you to assist him in rebuilding our field army."

"Yes Sir." Lydia saluted, her right arm bent and fist clenched before her chest. Her briefest glance revealed a glint of irked discontent towards the new commander, but she made no mention of it and upheld the discipline expected of a military officer.

"I want timely reports, no later than a day at most, on every decision and progress made," Kazimir continued issuing his list of directives. "The fate of the Federation is at stake, and we must all uphold our duties..."

"So, what do you think of her?"

Tara's serene voice manifested straight into Subutai's mind, instead of coming from where she stood adjacent to him. It almost distracted him for a second, but his mind instantly refocused on the true issue at hand:

Widow or not, Subutai had no doubt that Lydia was still a girl. It had nothing to do with her age, and unlike many others he did not believe the experience of a maiden night to somehow magically imbue females with sagacity. She was a pretty flower, sure. However compared to a woman of the steppes, Lydia lacked not only wisdom and independence, but even the strong physique expected to uphold a family through Mongolia's brutal seasons.

Lydia Ilyinichna Lisitsyna was modest in height and thin to the point of twiglike. She was supposedly twenty-two years of age, though she appeared more like a delicate flower of seventeen. Her voluminous, snowy-white hair identified her Samaran nature; the silken tresses flowing gently down her back in excess, reaching past her slim waist and touching her narrow hips. Her soft cheeks presented a fair complexion that shone like flawless porcelain, meanwhile her large, clear-aqua eyes, dainty nose, and small lips added to her air of feminine innocence.

She was a daughter most fathers would be proud to have, just not one ready to brave the open world.

Nonetheless, Lydia wore a Polisian uniform that left no doubt of her command in the callous arena of warfare. Her wardrobe reminded him of a white, open-front coat sewn onto the sides of an azure shirt. It hugged her torso like a glove, emphasizing the shallow rise of her chest. The skirt below barely graced her knees, though her long legs were fully covered by warm, white leggings of a tighter fabric than he had ever seen.

Only one article set her uniform apart from the other female officers, and that was the outer jacket -- a standard version of the men's uniform -- draped over both shoulders and held in place by a silver chain beneath her collar.

And this is supposed to be my partner? He thought with disdain, before replying to Tara:

"She's no Jebei, that's for certain."

Subutai thought back to his former life, to the companion whom he shared countless victories with. Jebei 'the Arrow' was the finest archer of the Mongol Empire. As one of the 'Four Hounds', he was one of Subutai's role models before the younger general rose to equal rank and partnership. Together, they hunted the Shah of the Khwarezmid Persian Empire to the end of the world and led the Great Cavalry Raid that shattered a dozen nations in its wake.

"I've linked us with a private telepathic bond," Tara explained. "Focus on your thoughts without speaking the words, and you'll be able to converse without speaking aloud."

Closing his eyes, Subutai visualized the words as he spoke. It was a little disorienting though, as even the Mongol writing he envisioned transformed into Cyrillic script in his mind.

"Nice trick. My spies would have loved this."

"Magic raises the stakes all around," the Goddess kindly added. "And as for Lydia, she's actually more like your brother Jelme."

Subutai almost snorted, as he watched Lydia nod and bow to Kazimir's demands on the other side of the warm lobby.

"My brother chose whom to dedicate his life to. The Great Khan was a hero of the ages, one worthy of his loyalty." He proudly declared. "But that girl is just..."

"She devotes to whomever treats her with kindness." Tara tried to finish his thoughts. But Subutai had none of it as he voiced his disdain:

"In other words, she is a pawn. Just look how she is being ordered to report on my every action even now."

Smiling as serenely as ever, the Bodhisattva briefly closed her eyes and gently shook her head in mild disagreement.

"A conscientious nature does indeed leave her ill suited for politics, though it also makes her the least likely to misplace trust. Kazimir may believe in her honesty, but he is a career politician who sees only interests. He will never view her as anything more than a game piece; use that to your advantage," She kindly advised.

Subutai's brows furrowed in astonishment before he faintly scowled. "Are you really the 'Bodhisattva of Compassion?'"

Tara, however, merely chuckled:

"I am not a Goddess of convenience who could simply be described by one word."

At that moment, the 'Destroyer of Thirty-Two Nations' somehow managed to look sheepish.

"Remember that not every leader is as farsighted as your Genghis Khan," Tara continued. "You will need time and space to establish the conditions necessary for victory. Until then, her reports will boost the confidence of those in power above you who manage the raucous Veche Assembly -- enough to purchase the autonomy and influence necessary to achieve your goals."

Subutai still couldn't believe that the Polisians were shortsighted enough to entrust ultimate political power to masses, or that a public vote would be needed to appoint their top military leader. The common opinion was notoriously fickle, unreliable, and often outright ignorant. How could the average peasant match the strength, strategy, and vision of a unifying autocrat?

It's as if they were 'trying' to lose...

His thoughts returned to Temujin, as if often did. The Genghis Khan had unified and established the Mongol Empire, the greatest military power that the world had seen. If only he could have lived twenty years longer, the entire known world would have been conquered.

But instead... He trailed off with a resigned exhale.

"You really do despise politics." The Goddess' observed as though she could read his thoughts. Though perhaps it wasn't that hard, as Subutai realized that his jaw was clenched tight and his hand had curled into a fist as well.

"I had devoted a lifetime to the Great Khan's visionary leadership: five whole decades spent expanding his realm. Yet in my old age, I return from my triumphs in Europe to find his descendants behaving no better than a pack of wild mongrels," he almost spat the words out loud. "Temujin's dreams had yet to be fulfilled, and they were already tearing apart our legacy in a ceaseless political struggle that would divide the realm.

"How do you think that made me feel?" His voice resounded with an iron bitterness as though he bit blood from his own tongue.

"All men eventually die," Tara spoke serenely. "Even the legends."

"But you haven't, have you?" Subutai reflected.

"I no longer live the same life as when I was mortal," Tara replied. Her gaze nostalgic even as she stared upon him, as though there was something familiar between them.

The exchange stirred memories of meeting another so-call 'immortal': an elderly man who Temujin spent countless hours with, who easily became one of the most influential figures during the Great Khan's waning years.

"Have you ever met an Taoist monk named Qiu Chuji, the 'Everspring'? He was said to have lived hundreds of years."

"And in his old age he advised the Genghis Khan on matters of life, morals, and religious affairs," Tara nodded. "Yes, I have met him. He was a rare mortal of boundless wisdom, who transcended the worlds despite being born into a lesser spiritual realm."

Subutai's lips tightened once more upon hearing this:

"He once told the Great Khan that there was no such thing as immortality. It appears that he lied."

"He didn't." Tara firmly refuted. "Temujin's hard life left him too bitter, too spiteful to walk the path of enlightenment. Qiu chose to reply in a limited context, because he did not wish to give the Genghis Khan false hope. He could only try to heal the wounds in those final years," her voice softened to a tender condolence, "to give the lonely man behind the facade of ruler and conqueror some semblance of peace."

The Goddess' hopeful, spring-green gaze then turned towards the man standing besides her.

"But you're different."

Subutai scoffed. Only respect and propriety kept his following tone from becoming derisive:

"You think I can 'enlighten' myself? To journey the worlds for eternity as you do?"

However, Tara simply shook her head.

"Immortality requires severence: to break the barriers of understanding and forgo all attachments, to accept all that is both agreeable and intolerable at the same time. But you cannot escape the past. You cannot break its chains, forgot whom you are, or how you have walked every step of your path.

"That is why: immortality is not for everybody," Tara returned a plain smile, one without any need for solace or condolence. "It certainly does not suit you.

"Though... you may yet find peace and purpose in a different form of perpetuity."

That last comment left Subutai confused. "There's a difference?" He puzzled.

"That, I cannot teach you." Tara responded with a mysterious smile. "For it to have any meaning, you must find the answer for yourself."

As usual... Subutai exhaled a faint sigh.

Though her words did make him contemplate:

Just what exactly did I... do I want from life?

He had once followed his brother, swearing his oath of allegiance before the Great Khan when he was barely an adult. He ceaselessly pursued glory, adventure, and fame, spending an entire lifetime campaigning, winning countless battles that forever etched his legend into the annuls of the world.

Chorasmia. Persia. Georgia. Khazaria. Siberia. Russia. Poland. Hungary. China. His campaigns had pushed out the borders of the largest contiguous empire in world history. He routinely defeated armies three to five times his own in size, including using a mere reconnaissance force to both disembowel the united armies of the Kievan Rus and obliterate the martial might that Georgia had prepared for the 5th Crusade. He annihilated the combined armies of Eastern and Central Europe in just three days, in two coordinated battles that took place hundreds of miles apart.

He was known as the 'Unfailing' because he had truly become peerless.

Yet in his old age, he departed the Mongol Court and tore every badge of honor from his yurt. When the end came calling, he departed the world as a simple man, surrounded by only the family and children that he truly loved and cared for.

But did that mean I have no regrets? Did that mean I departed my past life content and satisfied?

No.

The final decade had left him cynical and jaded, bitter at the infighting that tore the empire back into splintering factions. Decades of hard work and toil, of freezing nights and bloody campaigns, all undone by the political distrust between Temujin's descendents.

Though why exactly did that bother me so much? He could not help but wonder. Had I not done all I could to fulfill the Genghis Khan's will? Had I not already established my own legacy and lasting fame? Had I not experienced the 'greatest happiness' of life in Temujin's own words countless times?

Yes, he answered to every question. I had everything.

...But just like the empire: it did not last.

And even the greatest general of the greatest conqueror had no answer for what had gone wrong.

...

Subutai forced his pensive thoughts aside as he watched the elderly Kazimir stride over. The Grand Magistrate soon stood before him, stern in expression but with the friendly gesture of an offered hand.

"I promise you that I will secure your Generalship from the Assemblies of the other Polisian states," Kazimir confidently declared.

Subutai nodded in response. Although his thoughts somewhere between better you than me and your politics are ridiculous.

"Thus, I pray that my faith in you will not be misplaced," the leader of the Polisian Federation voiced his last hope.

This time, Subutai lowered his chest in a shallow, cordial bow. He chose not bring his palm to clasp his heart, as was the nomads' custom to show loyalty and respect. Instead, he settled for meeting Kazimir's hand in a firm grip, and vowed as though swearing an oath to the heavens:

"Your Excellency: I have never deceived nor failed my liege before, and I will not begin so now. But I must warn: this is not a war that may be won without altering the society that you know."

"Our society already lies changed, by the endless lives lost and by the dread specter of fear," Kazimir's somber expression revealed the fatigue in his deeply wrinkled face. "But the laws of nature must be obeyed. Change -- however reluctant -- is necessary for survival.

"Do what must be done, General," Kazimir declared. "We have no other choices remaining."

And this time, Subutai swore to himself even as he nodded back. I will not settle for a mere military victory.

He would not tolerate everything he had worked for to become just another fleeting dream.