Legends of the Khan: BC Hotseat story thread

[Quirl]

The storms from the east and the whispers of war they carried were indeed warnings. The Mongols have come and have they unleashed a wrath far worse than both the Crusaders and the dark rule Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn combined. The hooves of their horses can be heard in Egypt. The tales of their atrocities smack on everyone’s lips. Dark times have come again. And, once more, the slaves will answer with a war of renewed attrition…

Summer, 1220 A.D.
Letter to the Baghaturs' Lords of the 4th Caliphate.

Esteemed Lords and Protectors of the Sharia,

As per your wishes, the Stable-and-Dock system in Egypt has been completed. The first of its fruits, the Shahada Regiment, have been fully equipped and now march steadily to the North to combat the Mongol invasion. This regiment is lead by al Mustain of Tanta along with his corporal, Medhat Ayyub. The second two regiments are expected to head out in another two seasons (two turns) and continue in this steady pace until this war is won. May Allah guide our blades in these harsh times and, as always, know your slaves are willing to serve and defend the rightful rulers of the 4th Caliphate.

Sincerely,

Alpawit Marsal and the Baghaturs of the Caliphate Mamluks

[phonicsmonkey]

Alauddin Qiwam-Ud-Dawlah, Emir of Balkh, had been ordered by the Shah to flee the city with his family in the face of the seemingly unstoppable Mongol advance.

After the massacre at Samarqand, when the full might of the horde had been revealed in all of its terrifying glory, no one was taking any chances and the royal line of the Ghaznavid Shahs was to be preserved at all costs.

So it was somewhat surprising to the men of the Urgench mounted archery brigade to find themselves under Alauddin's command, riding through the dead of night to the relief of the Seljuks of Merv, who were under siege from four Mongol divisions.

At dawn they crested a hill and saw before them the full extent of the task ahead. They were outnumbered some 8 times over, by a mixed arms force containing mounted archers of equal or greater skill than their own, and heavy lancers on swift warhorses that would try to split their force, surround them and trap them.



With a wild and ancient Persian war cry, the Urgench brigade charged down the hill into battle, manouevring so as to attack one flank of one of the four Mongol brigades, that way surrounding their targets without leaving themselves open to enfilade fire.

For some three hours they danced - feinting, withdrawing, charging in once more, all the while showering their foe with arrows and ducking the waves of return fire. They were well drilled and their commander had tremendous spatial awareness.



Like a swarm of biting gnats they pestered the Mongol forces, always appearing at the flank or rear of their formations, moving as one, and never becoming trapped in melee or surrounded by their foes.

But they were too few, and slowly the Mongol divisions began to co-ordinate their movements in an attempt to corner them on the hillside and cut off their retreat.

Seeing the danger, and with their ammunition almost spent, Alauddin sounded the retreat, and the Urgench brigade melted away into the desert. They had taken just over one Mongol life per man lost of their own...a reasonable result in the circumstances, but not one which would unduly trouble the horde.

[barcamartin]

- WHAT was that you said?

Fakhr hadn't wasted any time since he was given command over the Sultan's forces in Antolia. Rebels had been defeated and put to the sword from Nicaea to Rhodes, from Sinope to Famagusta. The western half of Cyprus was about to fall into Seljuk hands, and his campaign against the Roman loyalists was near completion. Just as his success was about to be crowned with the final Seljuk dominion over all Anatolia and it's islands, came a blow to the face.

- Well, general.. Konstantiniyye is under siege. Thousands of European crusaders have competely cut the city off from our reach. The army is far superior to the city's garrison and anything we can muster west of Rayy.

- Curses! Why now? I can't leave this bloody island, not as the last resistance is about to fall! It cannot be! And you say the Sultan has left the defense of Anatolia entirely in my hands? Not even Alp and his Turkomans remain?

- General, the pagan barbarians threatening our eastern borders are as numerous as rats, and vile as rabid dogs. There simply aren't any forces to spare. As far as I have been informed, Alp left Amasia half a year ago, ordered to lead the defense of Transaxonia.

- So, we finally take the great city from the Roman scum, and are then forced to leave it to frankish mongrels? No matter their number, I shall drive them back. In the name of the Sultan, and Allah, I will strike them down. Isn't it so that where ever we have been challenged, we have conquered? Where ever our faith has been accused of weakness, we have prevailed?

- Sir, yes but, wouldn't it be wiser to..

- I CARE NOT! Run along now, tell the officers to ready the assault. Send word to the docks to prepare the fleet for departure. Tonight, we clear the last Roman remnants. Tomorrow, we ready our bows for yet another slaughter of infidels. Death before dishonour, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOUR!

As the messenger ran off, Fakhr grinned. The last Seljuk riders in Anatolia would have to be enough. His own army contained equal amounts of local mercenaries and the finest Seljuk mounted bowmen. What army had stopped him so far? The Romans had been crushed. Even if Alp had been given most of the honours for the successful destruction of the Roman Empire, he, Fakhr Basan, had been Alp's right hand for several years. He deserved recognition, glory and victory. The second Seljuk conquest of Konstantiniyye would be his doing. Failure was not an option.

[phonicsmonkey]

Vizier Tariq left the Caliph's chambers with a heavy heart. It now seemed clear that Ghazni would fall within a season, their Rajput allies having abandoned them at the crucial moment and the armies of the Caliphate still too far off to effectively intervene.

As he trod the halls of the palace at Baghdad towards the Rajput diplomat's personal chambers, he reflected on the words of the Ghorids when first the great An-Nasir had struck his bargain with the Maharajah. Muhammed had been excoriating in his criticism of the Caliph, his tongue dripping venom as he castigated him for betraying his fellows of the ummah.

Tariq had been a simple courtier at the time, and he had observed how his predecessor Marshed had seemed to side with the Ghorid over his liege An-Nasir. It had been a demonstration for him that a Vizier could be more than a servant - indeed, could challenge the Caliph's decisons directly.

And still, had An-Nasir been correct? The Ghorids were not able to conquer India and lost many faithful jihadis in the attempt. The Rajput's power had threatened the Caliphate and its allies at the very moment that they were engaged in the bitter struggle with Rome and the Crusader Kingdom.

Now this new threat, the horde from the East, threatened to wash over the lands of the faithful like a black wave of wanton destruction, and the Hindus had decided to parlay rather than fight.

Well, let them do so and see where it gets them.

The armies of Islam are more than a match for these barbarous cattle-thieves, however numerous.

[Quirl]

Staining the Red Sea

Admiral Tulun looked out across the waters. Ahead of him, orange sails walked across the ocean like a line of feathers. His eyes narrowed as he regarded them. He stood motionless atop the dank planks of his vessel—his arms barred across his chest and his gray eyes locked in an unwavering analysis.

"They outnumber us," one of his men, Erim, said behind him. There was no fear in his voice—only the tone of cold observation.

Tulun sniffed the night air in defiance of such a statement. "What does it matter?" He asked, turning a sharp gaze to his subordinate.

"It matters not."

Around the two men, the winds began to pick up. The sun was setting over the eastern horizon and gray clouds were beginning to tuck themselves over the ocean sky. Again, Tulun sniffed the evening air and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword; the other he tucked behind his back. He started down the steps towards Erim and began to pace around him. "Why does it matter not?"

"Because our masters have given us a task," Erim replied, his gaze forward—stiff and at attention.

"And the Hindus are in the way?"

"And the Hindus are in the way..."

Tulun nodded, his gray eyes not leaving the man. He whispered, "Yes... yes they are." Then he started off again to the edge of the dhow, putting a boot on the railing there. He crossed his arms once more and looked out towards the Rajput navy. "And what do we do to those who interfere with our masters' will?"

"We... subjugate them."

Tulun smiled, his grays eyes adopting the tone of the growing night air. "So what is your observation now, Erim?”

“They have not brought enough men to die today…”

“Good…” Tulun replied, his eyes still locked ahead—his smile formed into a wide grin. “That is your place. That is my place.”

“Do I give the signal, Admiral?”

“Yes,” Tulun replied and Erim immediately hurried off. Once more, Tulun smiled at the column of ships sailing down the horizon. Then he swiftly turned around and drew his sword, drawing the attention of the other men aboard. “Do you see these fools on their rafts in the horizon!” He called, his scimitar pointed in the direction of the Hindu fleet. “These pagans have spilled Muslim blood. Slaughter them! And feed them to Allah’s creatures of the sea!”

"Al-hamdulillāh! Al-hamduliarobyān Al-Khilāfa!"

There was a great shout from the men aboard and a bellowing call from the horn as Emir blew into it. The others ships then began to turn around and set their sails towards the Hindu fleet.

Tulun stood on the railings as he had before, his chin tucked into his chest and an eager smile painted on his lips. The other men around him hastily began to assemble their weapons and the ship's defenses. There were shouts of joy carried over the increasingly growing winds. There were calls of prayer—songs and hymns.

And tonight, Tulun knew, there would be blood in these seas. Tonight, he knew, was the night the slaves would join this war...

[phonicsmonkey]

For over two years now the Caliphate armies had stalked the Mongols as they advanced through Ghazni and the lands of the Seljuks, but up to this point they had not engaged the invaders in battle, preferring instead to track their movements and lay fortifications in their path - the better to protect the damaged lands of the Caliph, still reeling from decades of conflict with the now-defeated Christians.

Now, with the eastern hordes in possession of Birjand and the route west into the Caliphate ahead of them, the Caliph in his wisdom had decided it was time to attack.

So it was that Yusuf Ibn-Jawzey, third and youngest son of the Crown Prince Mustarshid, found himself in command of a mixed force of spear, sword and mercenary horse, galloping across the bridge towards the city of Birjand.



He drew up his forces in a thick line, the spears instructed to dig the butts of their shafts into the hard earth in an attempt to counter the legendary charge of the Mongol lancers. Both flanks he declined in order to better protect his bedouin archers and catapults, which would rain fire and stones upon the Mongol foot.

Gazing out over the sandy plain which lay between the army of Islam and the walls of the city, Ibn-Jawzey thought he could detect movement behind the rough wooden pallisade - and sure enough, before he had even given the order for the catapults to begin their work on the walls, the gate flew open and out poured the Mongol horde.

Chaos descended as the Mongols, seemingly fearless of the Caliphate spears and led by the Khan's guardsmen, Kubeke at their head, charged headlong into the massed spears and began laying about them with their maces.



The highly-trained Abna Spearmen, pride of the Caliph's infantry, held their ground and soaked up the initial charge.



The catapults even managed to loose off a few incendiary missiles at the Mongols as they poured through the gate, crushing and burning them in their dozens.

On the flank of the formation the Arab Swordsmen and Faris Infantry held their ground and simply tried to take as many of their foes with them as they prayed to Allah to receive them into paradise.



But the Abna, the Arabs and the Faris were too few - elsewhere in the line the lightly armoured Nubian Spear were terrified at the savage onslaught of their Mongol opponents, and broke their line, panicking and attempting to flee.



And all the while the second Mongol army, led by Khanzada Chagatai, known to the fearful inhabitants of his conquered lands as 'the Tyrant', approached slowly from the north. It was clear that this was not to be a day of victory for the armies of Islam.



Utterly defeated, the remaining Caliphate troops were harried and cut down by their tormentors as they tried to flee.



Yusuf Ibn-Jawzey and the few remaining members of his guard unit cut their way through a weak point in the Mongol line and fled the scene to regroup with the survivors at their encampment to the south.



From the roof of the Birjand mosque, where the inhabitants of the city had huddled in terror to watch the battle, the scene was one of despair. They would not be freed from the Mongol yoke this day and would suffer further before deliverance came.

[phonicsmonkey]

It was just after dawn when the goatherds returned to the city of Birjand from the banks of the fertile river to tell of a mighty force of Caliphate troops that had, in the first rays of daylight, assaulted the bridge from the heights of the surrounding hills.

The Mongol Kubeke and his army had been encamped there guarding the upstream ford and the path to Birjand itself, wary of a second attempt by the Caliph's forces to retake the city after the defeat of Yusuf Ibn-Jawzey and his army some weeks before.

Some hour or so later from his vantage point on the roof of the Grand Mosque, Qassim the Iman of Birjand had watched the relief force of Mongols led by Khanzada Chagatai (known as the Tyrant) ride out along the road to the bridge to support Kubeke's defenders.

Between morning and early afternoon prayer the river had begun to run red, clearly visible from the heights of the city where it snaked around the walls to the east.

Now Qassim strained his eyes, searching through the heat haze for any sign, hoping beyond hope to see the fluttering standards of great Suleyman, Caliph of Islam and commander of the Faithful.

There! Some movement through the dust storm...but what colour is the banner?

His heart sank. The Mongols were returning - the Caliph's men had been defeated once more.

But wait - what was this? The Mongols were...too few, far too few and they carried with them the bodies of their leaders, suspended on great litters across the backs of pairs of horses.

Both Kubeke and Chagatai had been slain, and by Qassim's reckoning only one fifth of those Mongols that had left the city were returning.

He began to hope once more.