Tömörbataar rode hard through the desert, the wind biting at his cheeks as he clutched the letters meant for his father.
He passed retreating tribes like lightning, his speed so intense that when he reached the Iron Herd tribe, they panicked—thinking either he was chasing them or that something terrible was behind him. Many, especially those on foot, ran in fear until Tomor finally shouted, "I'm just delivering a letter!" Some collapsed from exhaustion before realizing the misunderstanding.
Meanwhile, Dulgun approached her grandmother cautiously.
"All the remaining tribes—except Ember Veil—have submitted letters," she said, trying not to sound confrontational. She urged her grandmother to comply, not wanting her to offend the Great Khan by appearing defiant.
Khaness Erkhbayar reached to hug her granddaughter, but Dulgun stepped back.
"I'm on official business. That would be inappropriate," she said formally.
Erkhbayar's face darkened.
"Oh? And is that why you went directly to Khan Baatar Zuun like he's your grandfather?" she snapped, slapping Dulgun across the face. "I birthed your mother, not him. Next time, bring that letter to me. I know how to manage them from behind the scenes."
Dulgun stared her down.
"There won't be a next time. And you dare slap an envoy of the Great Khan?"
"You're threatening your grandmother now?" the Khaness scoffed. "Wonderful. Then kneel here. The whole day."
---
In the cold silence of midnight, Tomor finally reached Ordu-Baliq.
The wind howled across the steppe, and the tall grasses danced under the moonlight. The city slept, save for the guards who patrolled the gates. Tomor dismounted and quietly entered the Great Yurt, careful not to disturb anyone—especially a man like the Great Khan, who had many wives. He knelt before the hearth and, exhausted, fell asleep.
At dawn, the Great Khan Batu and his advisor Tonyukuk entered the yurt.
They found Tomor sleeping like a rock. Batu turned to the guard.
"When did the prince return?"
"Late in the night," the guard replied.
Batu smiled. "A soldier who sleeps like a log."
He took the letters from Tomor's satchel and handed them to Tonyukuk.
"Take him to his mother's yurt," he ordered.
Tomor didn't stir as the guard carried him through the quiet camp. At the threshold of a yurt marked with sacred symbols and a silk banner, a woman in shamaness robes emerged as if expecting them.
"Enter," she whispered.
The guard laid Tomor gently upon quilted mats and fox-fur blankets beside his sleeping younger brother. Above them hung eagle feathers, bone beads, and blue cloth—charms to ward off the evil eye. This was the yurt of Shamaness Khaltma, the She-Wolf of the Moon Crows, and no one entered without bowing to the Eternal Blue Sky.
She sat reciting ancient words, her presence like a heartbeat echoing through the soul of the clan.
---
Back in the council yurt, Batu sat on the throne, reading the first letter.
Tonyukuk handed it over.
---
"To Batu Khan, Son of Amala Yara,
Whose name travels faster than arrows, whose wrath darkens the skies,
From Tömörjin, Khan of the Stone Banners,
Voice of the Fifth Tribe, Warden of the Southern Wind,
Your message came wrapped in silence, but its words roared louder than thunder.
We read it beneath torches that trembled in the hands that held them. I have seen old warriors weep—not from shame, but from the memory of death they once defied. Your threats are not hollow. They are bones already broken.
But hear me, Batu, Child of Wolves:
We have stood against ice and famine.
We have buried sons and fathers alike—and still marched.
We have seen empires rise to drums and fall to whispers.
You say you do not conquer. You consume.
But even the hungriest fire burns out.
If this is to be our last winter, let our ashes speak of defiance.
We will not submit.
We cannot pay what we do not have.
And peace… peace died long before your riders crossed the hills.
Come, then.
Bring your shadows.
Let the bones of my tribe mark the edge of your empire.
If you break us, let it be known you broke men who chose death with dignity over life in chains.
— Tömörjin Khan,
Last Voice of the Stone Banners"**
---
Batu handed the letter to Tonyukuk.
"As expected of Tömörjin," he muttered. "Pride playing with fire."
Tonyukuk studied the parchment.
"This was written with trembling pride… caught between fear and desperation," he observed. "He knows he's outmatched, but clings to dignity."
"You can see all that in the ink?" Batu asked, impressed.
Tonyukuk just nodded, slightly embarrassed.
"My daughter is lucky to have you as a husband," Batu commented.
Then Tonyukuk's tone shifted. "But it's been months since I last saw her."
"She was tending fevers in the southern village last I heard," Great Khan said, "and now aiding the wounded of the Wolfborn Horde."
"She truly is a princess of the people," Batu said, nodding with pride.
Tonyukuk handed him the second letter.
---
"To Batu Khan, Flame of the Steppes,
Son of Amala Yara, whose shadow stretches across the world,
From Alagh, Khan of the Ember Veil,
Shepherd of the Desert Wind, Keeper of Ash and Dust,
Great Khan, we have heard your voice—and we have trembled.
Your words shattered our pride more swiftly than steel.
Why choose ruin when you offer survival?
Why spill blood when the earth is already thirsty?
We kneel.
We accept your peace.
We will pay tribute.
Our gates are open. Our warriors lay down their arms.
Our children are taught your name, so they may never forget who spared them.
All we ask is to serve in silence—and be left standing.
— Khan Alagh,
Ash beneath the hoof of Batu"
---
"Khan Alagh is too humble," Batu said. "He is exempted from tribute. Others left without a word—he sent one. That earns respect."
Tonyukuk passed him the third scroll.
---
"To Batu Khan,
Scourge of the East, Lord of Dust and Bone,
From Köködei, Khan of the Night Blades,
Dagger in the Dark, Last Flame of the Ninth Tribe,
We received your words. They are carved into the skin of our envoys.
We hear. We obey.
The tribute will come. The gates will open. The banners will lower.
But know this, O Khan of Death: every tribe that bows learns to crawl into your shadow—and strike from beneath it.
Your name strikes fear now. But names fade. Flesh burns. Empires rot.
We will smile. We will bow. We will serve… until your back is turned.
And then, we will teach your warriors that death is not always something to be embraced—especially when it comes slowly.
— Köködei Khan,
Who Bows with a Blade Behind His Back"**
---
Batu roared.
"Annihilate the Night Blades!"
Tonyukuk silently noted the order. Batu fumed.
"Just because they're tribesmen of Uncle Choibalsan's mother, they think they can defy me? Let them serve as a lesson for all the royal in-laws."
He snarled, "My grandfather's dead. Let them find another ghost to protect them."
The yurt fell silent. Then Tonyukuk handed him a fourth scroll. Batu opened it. It was blank.
He scowled. "Tell Dulgun—no one leaves the battlefield. I want them all to see the Night Blades fall… especially Khan Baatar Zuun."