'Ai Orsa' – The Hunt, A Saka Novel

[Shahrasayr]

Ai Orsa – The Hunt, A Saka Novel

by Lil'Shah/Shahrasayr​

“We were hunted by the hunted, who were hunted by the greatest of hunters. We were forced to leave our grazing lands, to leave the lands of our forefathers so we could promise our younger the opportunity to be able to ride freely, to sleep at night peacefully. Now we ride south in search of such a homeland. We are the children of the steppe and we have been hunted for too long. This is now our hunt. We shall become the predator after living as a herd of prey for too long.” ​

Mogha sat on his horse viewing the city in a distance. He stood there watching the hustle and bustle of the city go by, its walls being manned by men of Greek costume and dress. He just sat there, his horse munching on the luscious grass near the city. As he sat, another well decked Scythian horseman rode up from behind him, in a rush to inform him of something special. He whispered something in his ear, awaiting Mogha’s reply.

The man merely smirked, before turning his horse around and starting to make it canter away from the city. He was scared inside even though he tried not to show it. His invaders and hunters were coming and he had a feeling they too were running from something, though what it was he dared not dream.

He had to at least attempt to make a peaceful entry into home for his tribe. He needed less blood to be shed for he needed to keep his promise to his people. Yet if the need came, the Greek blood that would be shed would be nothing compared to the greater massacre the Saka would have to face.

************​

“You mock us barbarian. You think after centuries of barbarism and raiding, we would let your filthy kind into our lands? You claim to lead tribes of Scythians and claim to be fleeing from some greater threat, yet I don’t give a damn who or what you are enemies are Maues. You shall not gain entry the lands of Eucratides, do you understand?” shouted the man in Greek

Mogha having picked up bits of the sentence due to his tuition by the sages in both dialects of Greek and many other languages. He was starting to lose his patience due to the incompetence of the man in front of him.

He could tell even the man’s lieutenants were not completely comfortable about the decisions he was making. He was trying to insult Mogha’s honour and heritage, the foolish, wine drunk pig he was.

Clenching his fists and leaning closer on the table and directly in front of the man’s face, he quietly said:

“Look yavana, I have had enough of your insolence. I came here with an offer of friendship, an offer that would have made people willingly people become your servants and loyally serve you and your lord Eucratides, who may I remind you is on his death bed, his sons conspiring to usurp each other.

It’s a shame, as I was raised to consider the realm of Eucratides as the greatest king and his realm as the most glorious one, yet I am now reminded by your behaviour and idiocy that these were foolish thoughts and war combined with bloodshed is the only way to get a message through to you yavanas. Our talks are over. I look forward to greeting you on the battle field and will save an arrow for you.”

With this Mogha marched out of the room, his entourage of various Saka chiefs in tow. He was now determined to get into lands further south, willing to do whatever it takes to lead the Saka that far south. His sheep could no longer feed of their old pastures and needed greener ones. And such land could be found in the hills of Sughd, in the kingdom of the Yavanas.


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Yes here I am, writing another TL even though I should be focusing on the Iron Pillar or Khybar Ghati but my interest in the Scythian tribes stops me. This novel dwells on the concept of the Indo-Scythian kingdoms and their culture, and what would happen if a surviving Greco-Indo-Scythian culture remains on the Indian sub-continent.

Sughd- Sogdiana or Sogdia
Yavana/s- Greeks, mainly referring to the ones of the Greco-Baktrian Kingdom here. Their falling apart, as the last great king Euacratides is dying

 

[Shahrasayr]

A Week Later, On the Fields outside Alexandria Eschate/ Khujanda

the Plains and Hills of the Battle​

The men lay ready, containing and whispering words of encouragement to their horses, their oldest and closest friends. They were messing around with their quivers, stringing their bows and watching their own reflections in their swords, perhaps a last glimpse of themselves in these most tough of the times. They were all men of the Steppe, tough born to ride, doing so since the day they were born.

Mogha, rode in front of the men in pride, his left hand man and symbol bearer, Hora in tow. He was proud of what he saw, all the different men of the Saka tribes together, together to face a common enemy. He could make out the Stag symbol of the Saka Rauka, the Oak tree and the Ram of the Mahs Saka (Massagetae) and he could even see the twin dragons of the Daha tribesmen in a distance.

He slowly cantered his force around to the approximate middle of his forces, signalling for Hora to blow the Kharinaa, a horn made of a stag’s horns and shaped like a stag. Hora blew on the horn with full force, getting the attention of almost all of the men, the rest being silenced by their comrade’s sudden stop to his chatter.

Mogha started to canter his horse across the place before finally raising his fist to show his call for might and addressing them with:

“O scions of Utarvyusa and Ajina, children of Ahura Mazda, I beckon you to heed my words. We have been forced to leave our grazing lands by dark forces, our homes have now been reduced to nothing. I reach out to you to heed my call, for I have taken it as a responsibility lead you to a new homeland.

The Yavanas before us think themselves great, they think they have true bravery and loyalty, they think they are virtuous warriors. Yet we are the true noble hearted ones. We have led our families and herds away from danger and we will not be able to protect them any further if we do not crush the enemy today. We gave the Yavana a choice, a chance of friendship. They turned it down, now let them taste the steel of Veshparkhar.”

The uproar sent from the horsemen was wild, the echoes of the war cry sent reaching the Greek soldiers and sending a shiver down their spines.

The horsemen were starting to flow into their positions, taking formation on the lower part of the Fergana hills. They were opposed by the Greco-Bactrians, who were already waiting patiently for them, the cool air of the Fergana valley flowing through the hills. For at least ten minutes there was no movement on either sides, the birds chirping or some Bactrian camels munching on in the distance. Mogha just stood there waiting for the Greeks to make the first move, hoping to find an instant fault in their tactics.

No such movement came, flustering Mogha. How could he have been wrong? Had he not studied the classic tactics of the Yavanas for ages? Had he not tried to understand how they thought in the art of war? Yet here he was wrong, his chiefs passing him a look of expectance. He had to take the initiative, he had to define the future of his peoples, he would be the reason either they died or triumphed over these arrogant foreigners.

He gave the signal for his right wing to start moving forward, the Greeks positioned in an overlapping position on the bottom of the hills. He gave the command in Saka to start the merciless peppering of the Bactrian soldiers with arrows, many of them hills-men armed with axes and daggers, protected by poor quality, often a simple leather vest.

The Bactrians raised their shields and started a slow march forward, their elite warriors’ hoplons and sarrisas glistening under the vibrant sun. Many a man fell to an arrow, the vicious but effective Saka technique of charging and firing, before retreating just in front of enemy weapons, firing over their shoulders as they rode away.

The Bactrian soldiers continued to try and march up the hills, going as fast as one could in heavy armour carrying 11 foot long pikes. Any unfortunate Saka archer who didn’t move fast enough while running away was speared by this oncoming hedge of spikes. The rest of the Saka archers had by now joined the fray and were raining hell down upon the Bactrian soldiers.

Now is when Mogha ordered the charge of his heavily armoured Ysanainu Aysiramja, rich chiefs and great warlords who have decided to form a guard and companion soldiers for their chief. And what a charge it must have been as Mogha shouted charge in chaste Greek for the enemy to understand and these heavily armoured horsemen thundered into the battlefield, their horses being given the horns of mountain goats to keep on their heads and themselves being decked in heavy ornaments and the finest armours.

The charging horsemen wheeled around a bit and hit the elite Bactrian soldiers, presumably many of them from partial or complete Greek descent, right in the flanks. Mogha crashed into the men and probably trampled one man over in his charge. He was faced by a couple of young men but he easily overpowered them, leaving them alive, a Saka custom in which you could only fight a man of similar equipment, skill and status in close combat.

After overpowering two or three men like this, Mogha was faced by a suitable adversary. A Greek man of many scars and war-markings approached him, the two men exchanging blows from horse to the ground.

Suddenly the Greek man whirled to the side, and cut Mogha’s horse right in the underbelly, the beast wheeling around before crashing to the ground. Mogha jumped off just in time to not get his leg crushed and stuck underneath the horse.

He swiftly picked up his spear and faced his adversary, the Greek already charging in for a hack at Mogha. He parried the blow with his spear, the weapon being cleaved clean in half but at least saving his life. He then drew his Kainyaka a Kopis-like double edged blade. The two traded and parried each other’s attacks for a while before the Greek tripped over Mogha.

Just as the man was bringing down his sword on Mogha, Mogha rolled over and grabbed the nearest thing he could reach for. He then turned around and smacked the Greek as hard as he could with the object and it landed on the Greeks face, delivering a severe cut and making the Greek drop his shield.

Mogha got back on his feet and rushed for the shield, grabbing it and knocking out his dazed adversary with it. He dropped the shield after that and shouted out to one of his men to let them ride on the same horse, the man mounting him on.

Just as Mogha was getting ready to fight further, the Greco-Bactrian forces started to route. It had been an astounding victory, with a few losses yet it allowed the Sakas complete access into the lands further south. Khujanda was theirs for the taking, as the entire ranges echoed with the beating of shields and the ecstatic roars of victorious men.

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Utarvyusa- The Saka version of Apollo according to Herodotus
Ajina- The Saka version of Ares according to Herodotus
Ahura Mazda- God of the Zoroastrian religion
Veshparkhar- Sogdian version of Shiva, a Hindu god

 

[Shahrasayr]

Khujand, 145 BC​

The two men walked the streets of Khujand, the town going about its usual business, the fact it had just been conquered by a nomadic invader not fazing most town folk. So many of the Saka soldiers freely walked the streets, their bows not on their shoulders.

It was quite a spectacle for most of the invading warriors as many were young and had never seen a marble building in their life, and when such a concept was sprung upon them they could not help but behold.
Then there was the Greek fortress inside of Khujand, Alexandria Eschate.

Many a Saka soldier was delighted at the luxuries Khujand, only a border town of Baktria, could offer and wished to stay, yet the wiser amongst them knew this would be folly. Would the Yahojhi stop just because they had access to the pastures of the Saka? No, they wouldn’t and Mogha knew this fact.

He was walking with the only other man he could trust besides Hora, a half-Greek and half-Saka Haumavarga man, Zoilos. The times were tough and Mogha knew he had to move and start getting the tribes moving soon. He would also extend the offer to any Sogdian or Greek who would come.

“Tell me Jhoilasa, what is your opinion? The Yeuzhi approach, when do you think we should leave Khujand?” Mogha asked, himself considering some of these buildings wonders as he viewed them.
The man considered for a second staring into the huge covered Bazaar in front of them.

“My lord in all my wisdom I think we should start moving southwards by the end of this week. The men have rested for two weeks already and their families have been satiated for the long ride ahead. Another reason for these sayings is, my spies have reported that Eucratides is dead. He has been granted freedom in Elysium.”

Mogha sighed. The one chance he had for safe passage was pinned on this one man’s recovery from the jaws of death. Now war was the only way, the only way there could be a new homeland for his people and he despaired all the extra bloodshed. The fighting would be extremely tough and their horses weren’t made for the rockier terrain of Baktria.

“May the Tajhuka guide his soul to a better land my friend. Good men die too fast Jhoilasa, the sinners living to see their work and evils crumble apart. Now I know there will be no peace till I see them begging for mercy on the battlefield. Who has succeeded the Basileos and taken the title of lord of the Yavanas?”

“A young man by the name of Heliocles. A nephew of Eucratides. The nobles prefer him as he has a much better chance at keeping the fracturing empire together. I have heard the sons of Eucratides were not deserving of the glory and are drunk power hungry fools. One thinks he emulates Alexandros. Another believes himself to be an incarnation of Herakles. I’ve heard a third has run off and tried to rally for support with the Parthians and their Shah Phraates has welcomed him.” came the reply from his companion.

Mogha looked at Zoilos in the eyes in a look of desperation. His friend was giving him news that was slightly irking him. All doors had closed and the circumstances for a battle against the Baktrians to the south wasn’t good.

“Rally the tribesmen and the rest of our peoples. We shall leave exactly 700 warriors in Khujand, some of the swiftest of our riders, to keep watch here and keep control. If the Yahojhi get within 5 stades of the city they must abandon it and ride southwards as fast as their horses can carry them. Also give out the edict if any Yavana or Sughdya wants to join our ride south they can join us. I will spare some horses for them.

will also leave tomorrow with 200 horsemen and seek court with Hilakhlija. I have to give it a chance, too much of a risk lies there if I don’t. You and Hora should stay here and lead the main caravan out and the end of the week.”

The other man unsheathed his knife and made a small cut on his thumb, pressing it against the forehead of his chief, a symbol of his best wishes for his lord. The two men hugged and then walked their separate ways, the idle chatter and uproar of the bazaar continuing around them, unaffected by what change the future might bring.

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Tajhuka- Saka for Stag. It is vital in the Saka religion and is linked with purity, ride and death, though which are not all synonymous. More on this next time.

Sorry guys short update, some work sprang up. I will discuss more on the Saka religion. Please critique and comment on what you think.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Nahuya Damaya Tajhuka ​

The Saka faith was a polytheistic and animistic one at its core. They worshipped gods whose names have by now been forgotten and corrupted or even never documented in literature. A few of the practices, customs and beliefs we do have are from Greeks and there a minimal amount of Persian ones but they seem to have been destroyed. So all information I give here has to be taken as lightly as one can and is open to full criticism.

***********​

Hora walked towards the fire pit, the light of the flame a warming moment and glimmer of hope in this coldest of nights. Tonight was the third after the full moon, a religious moment, a moment to invoke Cahulika, who in the incarnation of a gold and red, black headed snake had been avenging the deaths of evil doers.

The first of the victims to die to the incarnation of the angry god was a Saka Tigrakauda chief who had attempted to rape the beautiful daughter of a herdsmen. The ill-fated girl was killed in the struggle against her assaulter and by the time Hora and Zoilos had gotten news of the heinous crime it was too late, the tribe had to move further and start migrating again. They had stopped again after about a week’s travelling and were going to choose the punishment for the chief before the divines apparently did. In protection of the Damaya, they gave justice to the family of the girl. Another sinner was a rogue Sogdian general whose death had just reached them a few days ago. Snake bites had been found on his leg. He had been extorting tribute for a safe winter passage and had killed more than 30 people who had refused to pay for their passage, taking the lives of innocent young children. This man too now lay dead.

While justice had been done, Cahulika was known to continue their fury and not stop their vengeance for a long time. A snake had been caught and had been put in a rich, gilded cage near the fire pit, the priests chanting hymns to calm his anger. While the priests chanted, more holy men brewed the divine drink, Hauma, for tonight was the night of reaching and communicating with the gods. The chiefs would drink it first, the priests next, the tribesmen after that, finally getting to any non-Saka foreigner who wished to drink the sweet nectar.

After an hour of worshipping and praying before the snake, the bowl of Hauma was passed around. Zoilos drank it first, sitting cross legged before slowly drooping into a state of transcendence and an all-round high. He drifted away, and then the bowl was passed to Hora. He let the nectar pass through his mouth and waited a few seconds. The Hauma took its time on affecting him, since he had consumed it since his childhood and it had been a core part of his spirituality.

Then his eyes drooped and everything blacked out, leaving nothing behind but emptiness.

***************​

When Hora opened his eyes he was lying on an open field, covered in dirt and dust. The sun was shining down brightly upon him, the glare taking some time to get adjusted to. He stretched and picked himself up of the ground. He stood up and started walking around, staggering around a bit. When his eyes adjusted he tried to see what was around him. There was a clear blue sky and flat plains of lush grass as far as the eye could see. He noticed even though the place was completely lit and looked like a normal day, there wasn’t a Sun. The only light that seemed to be there was emitting from his right. He turned and looked seeing a single beam of light rising from the ground far away. Without thinking he started walking towards it. He kept walking for what he thought an eternity, before it started to come into sight.
There was a tree in the distance, unlike the kind he had ever seen before in his life. He started to run towards it, picking up the pace into a full blown sprint within minutes. He soon reached the tree panting, out of breath and was surprised at what he saw. The branches of the tree were rising out of the ground [1] apparently. He was fascinated at what he saw before realised that there was a man there as well. The man was in a cross-legged position and was sitting with his eyes closed. Hora looked a bit further to his side and saw a stag on the ground resting under the shade of the tree.

He looked at the markings on the stag and looked at the saddle that was on it. The saddle was made from a tough greyish looking cloth and some other types of leather. The deer had stripes round its neck and the hair right around its hooves was a darkish red. He couldn’t believe it; this was Tajhuka incarnate in his visions. Then realization slowly creeped onto Hora, suddenly becoming aware if Holy Tajhuka was before him the man himself must be Yamisa himself, lord of death and diviner of the fate. Hora fell to the ground with his head bowed towards the man and he started randomly chanting prayers that he had heard the priests say over the years, not having a single clue what anyone of them meant.

The man opened his eyes and looked at the man kneeling at his side. He smiled and tapped Hora on his head. Hora slowly rose and seated himself next to the man. The man gestured towards the ornate stick next to him. Hora picked it up and passed it to the man. The man gestured towards the fire pit in front of him and Hora looked. He noticed that the beam of light he had seen earlier was actually the smoke from the burning incense glowing a divine radiance. Then out of the corner of his eyes Hora saw that the man had started to draw with the stick into a pile of ash he had laid down in front of him. First he drew what looked like the tree they were sitting under. The next drawing was something Hora had never seen before. It was the most handsome man he had ever seen, his face utterly serene, his garb a simple one and sitting in a similar position to the god beside him. The final drawing was a deer that looked like Tujuka, yet its horns were extremely short [2]. And it’s shoulders stauncher. The man then looked at Hora and said:

“The day you see all three of these figures together, you must settle your people there. They can for once pitch their houses there a life, never having to burn their houses and leave their homes again.”

The man put his hand into the fire pit from which the incense light was rising. Hora followed without thinking and as soon as his hand touched the rising smoke a searing pain went through his arm and he let out a howling scream.

*************​

When Hora came around he was in his tent, Zoilos sitting next to him sipping on a drink. Hora slowly tried to rise out of the bed, but the pain in his right arm was too much. He dropped back down.

“Jhoilasa, what happened? Why does my arm feel like it’s been crushed by a boulder?” Hora said while making another failed attempt to get up.
Zoilos sighed and put his cup down.

“I came out of my trance before you and looked around. One second you were sitting there completely still, the next you were leaning into the fire with your hand held out. You fell in but your hand stopped you from falling in completely. The priests dragged you out and bathed your hand with cold water from the lake. You have been sleeping since last night and didn’t even come out of your trance when you got burnt. What did you see?”

Hora continued looking at the ceiling for a few moments, before slowly he slowly started raising his right hand and stared at his palm.

“If we can safely reach further south quickly, it seems like the gods have graced us with a destined homeland. Say, have you ever heard of a tree which has multiple trunks rising from the ground?”

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[1] Banyan Tree
[2] A neelgai, a type of antelope native to South Asia

 

[Shahrasayr]

Baktra: Phainó Fáros​

Baktra, 144 BC

Mogha was here. The capital of the Yavanas. And he was impressed. Khujand was nothing compared to Jariazpana/Balhdika [1]. The tribe had finally reached the gates of around a month after he had reached, the strange events that had taken place told to him by Hora. He kept this in mind, but he was not as superstitious as his companions and was cynical of the priests and the clergy.

He was now headed for the great temple of Dionysus where he would discuss the terms for a passage or possible homeland for the Saka peoples in the lands of the Yavana. He started walking up the steps of the temple, three banner riders in tow. The building itself was impressive, columns upon columns of white marble, with carvings of nymphs, spirits and other divinities. Walking inside a simple man of the steppe could not help but feel awed at the colossal structures inside, everywhere he looked, there were marble statues and miniatures of gods, their attendants and the lord of wine himself. And when he looked up on the roof was the greatest spectacle itself. A massive mosaic of the deer footed goat sitting on his throne, attendants all around him and filling his cup with wine.

Mogha soon snapped out of his sightseeing demeanour and walked towards the inner shrine where the meeting was to take place. The shrine was quite different to the rest of this amazing structure. It was in fact built with a reddish stone instead of the beautiful marble used in the rest of the temple. Even the design wasn't slightly Greek in any way, resembling more of a Persian style of architecture. The guards moved their spears to give way and let the royal party in. Inside Mogha noticed that the bricks were inlaid with sacred inscriptions in a language he could not decipher. There was a statue of a mounted man, resplendent on each side of the shrine. In the middle was a fire, in a fire pit with six steps leading up to it. On the other side of flame sat the young blonde Greek king on the lavish and comfortable klinai [2], flanked by his guards on either side.

The man smiled at the sight of the slightly scruffy looking Scythian that had just walked into the room. He smiled and gestured the man to sit in the opposite klinai. Mogha did as he was asked and tried to get as comfortable as he could on this foreign piece of furniture. Seeing tis uncomfortableness gave the Greek a bit of a chuckle. He leant forward to start the discussion.

"Well lord of the Scythians, what would you wish talk about? Your people have been harassing the civilized folk of Bactria ever since the time of Megas Alexandros and now you have come to ask for our aid. You hoped you would deal with my father, aaah, don't try to hide it, you did didn't you? But you'll find I am as merciful a man as him. So tell me why you flee south Scyth? Hurry, and say or can you not speak?" the Greek lord spoke, especially saying the last few words in a malicious tone. Mogha ignored this and kept his composure.

"Oh Yavanaramja [3], we flee from a far greater threat than any Saka or Surmuta can pose to your....'civilized' way of life. These peoples are the children of the moon and they descend from the north east, wiping out all resistance that they are faced with. There was a village to the north of my tribe's lands, one of the few settlements beyond the Yukza Artu [4]. I remember a trader that had been sent to collect the textiles for the
Hudkaulir [5] festival. He reached the village, collected the items bringing them back. He then told me that he had forgotten 20 bales of the cloth back in the village. He headed out again and came back a day, silent and pale. He then described to the rest of us what he had seen. These demons had built a tent for their lord with the heads of the dead enemy acting as an archway. That is when we decided to head south."

When Mogha had finished reciting his story he looked up to see what the Greek king thought of it. To his surprise the Greek was entertaining himself with his sword, sheathing waving it about, before sheathing it again. Mogha was infuriated by the insolence this man in front of him was showing. He rose from his seat and drew his dagger, looking at the man in front sternly. In response the Greek guards drew their swords, causing the three Saka banner riders to do the same. Mogha swore before sheathing his dagger, yet unrelenting in his fury.

"Yavana, you think this is a joke? I have seen hundreds massacred in front of my eyes in the fury of these riders from the east and you, you treat me like I am a madman? I came here asking for friendship and also to warn you of the dangers coming from the north. I thought if I told you about this peril the glorious kingdom of Sughd could together with the Saka people fight them off. You disregard my words, so your cities too shall be trampled underneath the hooves of their million horsemen. Merciful are you? The Yahojhi won't be when they find a miserable scoundrel like you living in a luxurious palace." Mogha thundered, the words sounding like a tidal wave of fury as they came out of his mouth.

This time it was Heliocles who rose. He just smirked and looked the Saka man in the face, who was easily an inch or two shorter than himself. He drew his sword, once again triggering both parties to draw their weapons. He held the blade in the fire in front of them before whipping it out. He then slowly put it into his wine, causing steam to rise out.

"I did take you for a madman, yes. For who else would think that the might of Bactria cannot face a group of roving barbarians?" he drew closer and talked in a more softer yet more nefarious tone. "Listen to me Scyth, there is nothing that my armies cannot rival. Great powers like the sons of Seleucus have challenged my ancestors kingdom and all have failed. I do not feel threatened by a few swarthy and filthy barbarians coming from the east. They too shall perish should they face me, graced by Zeus and descendent of Iason [6]. So let them come for if they try to trample us with their hooves, we shall simply put down a few pikes they can't jump over. " finished Heliocles, sitting himself back down.

"You are not half the man I thought you were. Yet you are twice as deluded as I guessed you could have been Yavana. Your so called army and might is divided, your authority holding no sway and your brothers and generals vying for power. You are simply just a fool that thinks the world is as simple as the tasteless wine you drink. I swear on Cahulika that the injustice you bring upon your family name shall be avenged. Hopefully then someone with less of a clouded head can sit upon that throne."

With this Mogha and his guards stormed out of the temple and within an hour out of the city as well. War was coming and at the end of it, no matter the outcome Baktra would not stay a shining beacon of knowledge and culture.

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[1] The various Saka names for the city of Baktra. While the Persian for it was Balkh
[2] A type of Couch
[3] Yavanaramja- Saka word for Greek king
[4] Saka name for River Jaxartes
[5] Saka festival, Hudkaulir is the binding of the Earth and the Sky. A dead Falcon is to be hunted and cremated in a sacrificial pit.
[6] The royal family of the Greco-Bactrians claimed descent from Jason.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Saka Camp, Night, Spring 144 BC

Mogha sat on his seat, glass of badeh [1] in his hand, chuckling deriously, while the rest of the men in the grand tent sat in silence their heads hung in shame, despair and shock. The messenger too could not bear himself to look at his Chief. He averted his gaze to the back of the tent, so he would not bear the brunt of Mogha's rage.

Mogha himself kept giggling like a madman, holding his face and dropped his glass badeh to the floor. The liquid spilt all over the beautiful carpet, staining it. He finally took his hand of his face and looked at the messenger, still laughing. He then suddenly stopped laughing and his face twisted into a stern expression. He stood up bent down and picked up his fallen cup, but the well decorated vessel made of bone simply cracked in his grasp.

"My friend repeat what you said please? I want to make sure all of the men seated here could hear your message. Come on brother, say it again."
The messenger stumbled forcing the words out, his brow sweating as heavily as a storm that might flood and destroy the crops.

"Oh, Murundai, the Lord of the Parni, Meherdat [2] has honoured a call to arms from Heliocles of the Yavanas. He has dispatched his general Sohrab with all the troops he wasn't using to help the Yavana king. They are currently at Ashkabad and march for Bahldika and may be here within two weeks."

Mogha feigned happiness and ecstaticness and tuned around to his generals and chiefs. He looked at each of them expectantly hoping to see shame on the face of every single one of the men in front of him. He got his results. Each of the famed horsemen were hanging their heads.

"You heard that men? This man here has delivered me news all of you should have told me about. Add to this, it is because of your stupidity that we have ended in this situation, my anger knows no ends. What the hell were you thinking when you accosted that messenger party? Have you know sense what an insult this is to any proud lord? In my view this is all your doing and I should have every single one of you tied to a horse and ragged on the ground while it runs for three stades."

But by now Mogha was thinking rationally again and his anger had calmed down, replaced by despair at his situation. He scratched his beard and thought of what his next move would be now he was practically a small rabbit chased by two of the greatest wolves, with the ever looming threat of the tiger not far away. He then realised what he must do. He should do what any rabbit would do to evade capture. He must run into his hole, away from prying eyes. He stood there thinking for about fifteen minutes, oblivious to the rest of the world. He finally spoke, coming to a hard conclusion by the look of his eyes.

"My foolish friends, you must realise that while our chance of a safe passage and settlement was already doomed thanks to the Yavana's stupidity, now you must know that we can fight no war against Yavana if the Parni [3] are at their sides. For these are the same Parni that are reducing the mighty empire of Sulaka [4] to dust in the west. So I have come to final conclusion. We shall split the tribe in two, the larger half going south towards the hills of Paradaka [5]. The other half shall ride back north with me so we may find refuge in the Pamir Talooki [6]. I do this with a heavy heart, but the tribe must be split for its own good, for as fate sees it, Tujuka has commanded it." finished Mogha, exiting the tent for his own, leaving gloomy atmosphere in the chieftains' tent. The future was looking gloomy for the tribe and the line of Kardaka [7]..................

Pamir Village​

[1] Persian wine, very symbolic and central to Persian tradition. It'd been fermented through out the Zagros Ranges and Iranian plateau for a long time.

[2] Mithradates I. He was considered greatest Parthian shah and one of the greatest Iranian rulers ever. He reduced the Seleucid empire to nothing but a rump state in Syria and defeated the Greco-Bactrians a few time. He was considered a great Grecophile despite destroying some of the greatest Hellenistic nations in the east.

[3] Native word for Parthians.

[4] Saka pronunciation of Seleucus.

[5] Balochistan. I couldn't find a suitable name for Balochistan except for this. Paradaka was actually a Indo-Scythian dynasty (probably a tribe actually) that ruled in the 3rd Century CE. They were actually mentioned as Mlecchas in the Vedic texts and were apparently conquered by Alexander

[6] Pamir Mountains. Kyrgyztan's flag actually is a referance to their Scythian heritage. The forty lines on the sun representing the forty mountain clans united by a legendary king.

[7] Mogha's ancestor and the name of his dynasty

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Ok guys, short update! Sorry I haven't updated for a while but RL has held me back for a while.

Anyways this is a MAJOR POD. In OTL Mithradates never answered this call to arms and the entire Greco-Bactrian kingdom was engulfed, but the Saka kept fleeing since the Yeuzhi were still on their tail. They fled to modern day Sistan province (which by the way come from Sagastan, a Middle Persian derivation of Sakastan) in Iran. From there they migrated into Hindustan in 1st century CE.

What's happening here is we are having an earlier migration combined with two migration routes, nearly one century earlier. This allows more time for cross-cultural exchange.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Ai Amoā​

The horse staggered and nearly fell over the cliff. A few rocks fell down the mountain, the deep ravine looming ominously below them. The winds blew and more snow blew into their faces, the chill of the Pamir Ranges settling in.

For the first time in its history, the caravan road being trekked upon currently was facing the biggest caravan it had ever seen. At least a kilometre long, the Sakai caravan moved along slowly and steadily, across the mountains of the Pamir. At some points the road got so narrow only a single cart could fit on it at a time and the migrating caravan would have to stop and arrange itself so no man would fall to an icy death down the mountains.

At the front of the rolling line of people and baggage rode Mogha, fully decked in armour in case the mountains tribes were to ambush them again. He remembered how the last encounter had ended up against them. The well bred Caspian horses of the Saka were a liability this high in the mountains and the recurve bows comparatively useless against the javelins of the Pamiri tribes. He had lost twenty good warriors against their foes in the last skirmish for only one dead hillman.

If he didn't make peace with the mountain tribes soon enough he might not have any men left to fight and defend their fated homeland.

"Wherever in the world that may be." wondered Mogha as he looked in to the foggy distance of the cliffs.

He rubbed his horse, Akuhsätā, on the neck affectionately, wondering what the future would herald for the tribe and if they would ever see an open grassy plain ever again. He kept trotting the horse forward anxious to get out onto the wider paths of this route. Then the cold slowly started creeping in. A warrior to his right started warning everyone a blizzard was coming. They had to get prepared for the chill that was to come. Mogha turned around and reached to the back of his horse and took off the deer pelt placed out on its hind legs. All the while the horse continued to keep trotting forward, for such was the connection between a Sakai nomad and his horse.

Hours passed and the caravan continued to slowly move through the mountains of the Pamir, the winds of winter slowly settling in and claiming many a life. The route started to move slowly down the mountains, into the valleys. The caravan continued down into the lower lands and Mogha turned his horse around to have a look at the victims of the blizzard. Just as he had started trotting his horse the other way a scream was heard. An aijhysäta [1] lay dead on his horse and a javelin through his heart. A whistling sound and another one of his guards lay dead and his horse panicking.

Mogha looked around furiously for the perpetrators and could see the silhouettes of men up above them on cliffs. The veteran warriors were already up in arms and firing their arrows towards the assailants. After a few volleys from the Saka horsemen the mountain attackers started to waver and flee. Mogha realised this might have been his only chance to negotiate with the mountain men, took with him a group numbering ten and rode off in pursuit of the routing men.

Riding hard and fast, howling war cries, the horsemen thundered down the road, jumping over ravines in a most graceful fashion, almost as if they were flying. Within a few minutes Mogha and the aijhysätai were within arrows range of the routing hillsmen. With a single graceful shot in mid gallop a aijhysäta shot one of the cowards in the leg, pinning him to the ground but not dealing any large amounts of damage.

As the man on the ground howled in pain the aijhysätai circled him like hungry vultures and Mogha dismounted from Akuhsata to question the man writhing in pain on the ground in front of him. Mogha casually walked up to the man and lifted him by his shirt onto his feet, before punching him in the nose and sending him to the ground. He then crouched next to the moaning man who was clutching his nose and his inner thigh. He kneeled and looked at him disdainfully before speaking.

"May there be pain for you, you bastard. I lost many a good man today because of your hostility, men who could take a falcon up in the sky above down with a single arrow. No here's what you are going to do unless you want to end up as a pincushion of arrows. You will take me to your chief so I may talk to the bastard." spat Mogha, still viciously clutching the man by his throat.

The man just simply blinked in fear, whimpering and grovelling, clasping his hands for mercy. Mogha rolled his eyes while cursing, letting go of the man's neck and stood up to face his companions. All of the calmed their horses down and remained perfectly immobile in the presence of their Murunda [2].

"Brothers, this despicable man of the mountain attacked us when we were weak. But we shall not kill him when he is brought staggeringly to the ground. He has been humbled and I have no more ill will against his tribe. We may be warriors but we have to tend to our sheep. I want to bring peace between our tribes, but for that I will need someone who knows to speak their tongue. Does any of the finest riders amongst us speak it?"

An aijhysäta raised his hand before speaking what he knew. With a gleam upon his face the rider dismounted from his horse and walked knelt before Mogha.

"O ajynäo [3], I know of one such man. He joined the tribe a month ago and he lives with my family. He is of these mountains and may be of help while talking with other mountain men. I shall take you to him." said the aijhysäta still looking down and kneeling.

"Very well brother, rise and take me there. Also bind this man and carry him on your horse to the caravan. After a week of constant movement I think now would be the perfect time to stop for a night of rest."

Both men mounted their horses once the wretched and wounded hill man had been tied up and left with the other eight riders. As they crossed the peaks and made their way back to the Saka camp, the only thing Mogha could think of was the importance of the safe crossing through the Pamir Talooki, for if there were any more foes for the Saka tribe to face, they would need all the warriors they had.

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[1] aijhysäta - Literally means 'silver born'. It was a title of great importance and was given to the greatest archers in the tribe. They formed a sort of chieftan's guard and unlike other titles you needn't have been of high birth to become a aijhysäta.

[2] Murunda - Don't know if I mentioned this before but it means lord.

[3] ajynäo - It means 'imperishable'. A title of respect, it was usually given to the venerable elders of a tribe, yet it could be applied to anybody held in deep respect by you.

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Alright guys, sorry the update has come a bit late, I've had quite the adventure looking for some dictionaries for this novel. I couldn't find one for quite a while and was contemplating if I had to abandon this book. But then salvation came in the form of 'Dictionary of Khotan Saka by H.W Bailey'. It has the Saka vocabulary but since it is from the Khotanese period it is Pali influenced. Luckily thanks to what I do know about Iranian linguistics I could 'Iranianicise' the words.

Just as I was celebrating and researching where to find this book, I found it, but there is only one copy in the whole of Canberra, in the Australian National University's Menzies library. And it was not to be borrowed since it was an antique large book. You could however go and read it there. But then I fell sick. So I had to stall writing the update for a few days. Anyways I have finally found an online copy on this page. (Completely Legal)

Short update for you to enjoy.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Kardaka Village, Winter 143 BC

As Mogha rode through the gate of the Kardaka tribe's walled village, protected by a fine wooden palisade, he could not help but feel the eyes of the villagers on him. As the strange men on horses trotted into the village, most men stood in awe at the brightly coloured armour of the men and horses and were frightened if the goat's horns that had been placed upon the horses' heads as part of their ceremonial dress.

The village itself was nothing of power but as Mogha looked at the men working and going around their daily business, he could see why the Kardakas struck fear into the hearts of rival tribes. The men wore rough clothes of goatskin and coats made of bear skin, while the women wore their hair matted, twigs and leaves strewn out. The attire and looks weren't the only things dangerous about the Kardaka though, as in the distance he even saw a young child being told how to swing an axe and throw javelins.
He glanced then over to his leading companion, the one who was leading this small pack of Saka riders into diplomacy with the Kardaka chief. He believed

Pallana was a good man if a bit quiet and reclusive. They had been introduced three nights before, when the Kardaka assailants which attacked the caravan had been repelled. One of the aijhysäta had shown him into the tent of Pallana where Pallana was simply sitting cross legged, his eyes closed and a necklace of beads in one hand. That's when he had realised that Pallana was different from the other members of the tribe. He wouldn't come for the consuming of the Soma, wouldn't join in the chants and he wore only clothes woven from nettles. Yet he was no old ascetic, as Pallana might have been a few springs younger than Mogha himself.

The group of Saka horsemen had by now reached the centre of the village at the heart of it was a towering Himalayan cedar; dwarfing all trees in the area by its height and age. Underneath the trees sat a few old men in simple robes and a young man with his hair worn in locks, decked in full chain armour and skin as pale as the snow on the mountains. The men had a fire pit in front of them, putting all manner of offerings into it.
As the vanguard reached the meeting point, Mogha leant over to Pallana and whispered into his ears in fear of being understood.

"These Kardakas, they are capable of understanding you right? And how so, how do you know the language of these people?" he glanced behind his shoulder to see if any tribesmen had run off alerting the rest to attack or something equally disastrous before turning back to his friend "I mean they will agree, if you are not wrong about what they want from us."
Pallana kept trotting forward, not even glancing at his lord's questions and leaving Mogha to look at him expectantly for a few moments before responding.

"You needn't whisper syūdhajynäo [1], none can comprehend our tongue in this village. As to answer your questions, my father was from these hills and believed in the power of the fire and the mountain. When my mother took him as hers [2], she also chose to convert as she found the faith soothing and that was how I was raised." Pallana rubbed the back of his horse's neck, as it was getting tired at the long ride from the Saka camp. "As for your second query, all I shall say is take my word for it. These people have faith in honour so you must to."

When the Saka men finally reached the great tree in the centre of the village they dismounted their horses and gave them food and watered them before finally settling down to talk with the Kardaka chief. The old men clipped a few leaves of the great cedar and threw it into the fire. The talks had begun.
Sitting cross legged on the other side of the holy fire from the Saka the young chief of the Kardaka, a man who couldn't have been older than five springs younger than Mogha, started spitting out what sounded like harsh words in the tongue of the tribe. Pallana leant in and whispered in his lord's ears. " He is furious. He says you trespassed with our tribe on the route that is a pilgrimage way for them and can only be used by foreigners with permission from the tribe. He says we have defiled sacred rites. Listen to rage and respond quickly and kindly if you do not want to be at war against the tribesmen."

Mogha nodded in agreement and let the mountain man vent out his rage. The man made many a angry gesture and shouted at the Saka horseman. They stood there just listening to him and Pallana translating the occasional word for Mogha. When the Kardaka chief finally finished Mogha put up his hand and put a fist to his chest.

"Lord of the mountains, I understand your anger and wish that you bear no ill will towards my tribe. Kardaka men are brave and able warriors, even though you may not be able to ride a horse. Would I kill a man if they had not attacked us? I am sorry we have dishonoured your gods by using the sacred route, but we flee a great menace." he finished, putting emphasis on the injustice done to the Saka. Pallana translated Mogha's words for the angry Kardaka chief, the man's expression melting from one of anger into one of curiosity and a little sympathy. He muttered a few words that sounded like a question.

Pallana turned to Mogha with the forms of a smile. "He says he wants to listen to your story and what this great menace is that you speak of."

"Very well, I shall repeat my story as I did to the Greek king. The menace comes from the far north where the laws of the steppe are not followed and the word of the gods waver. They come bearing great blue banners and ride on horses which are larger than even a finest of our steeds. Their arrows are poisoned, so that the land on which they fall will not be able to feed our herds for years." exaggerated the Saka chief. "We simply ask for passage and refuge from these demons."

Pallana repeated the words of Mogha into the Pamiri of the Kardaka chief. The mountain chief signalled Pallana to stop so he could discuss the matter with the elders of the tribe about how to deal with the Saka immigrants.

The Kardaka chief got into a heated discussion with his council of elders as Mogha, Pallana and his aijhysäta simply waited for a resolution. The old men quarrelled amongst each other and the one that sat next to the fire-pit put an offering into it every time a man finished his say. The young chief sat there intently waiting and heeding the advice of his venerable advisors. After two hours of waiting so he suddenly raised his hand to show he had heard enough. He stood up, off the boulders near the tree, and walked towards the fire pit. He looked at Pallana and said something solemnly, before putting his hand over the fire.

Pallana nudged Mogha to stand up and face his contemporary. "He says he would like to introduce himself once again. This time as one great warrior and lord to another." Pallana then straightened his tone of voice to emulate the Kardaka chief. " He says his name is Dahir, son of Jambdu. He is a brave man of the mountains and an able warrior. He is the lord of the Kardaka tribe of Mount Achiktash. He asks would a brave warrior like you be able to be a friend of the Kardaka."

Mogha smiled and proudly clasped the hand of Dahir, nodding. "It would be an honour to be able to live alongside a man such as you." At this Pallana said yes to Dahir in Pamiri. At this Dahir called out behind him and a beautiful young woman stepped out from behind the ancient Himalayan cypress.

"Oh and my lord, he also gives his sister's hand in marriage, as well as a small place in the valley where we may settle the tribe as a home." remembered Pallana.

Mogha looked at him a bit expectantly, waiting for him to remember something. When Pallana was unable to remember Mogha decided to say it himself. "Is she happy with this marriage? It would defile our traditions if this beautiful lady didn't accept this marraige." after which he whispered "But it would break my pride further."

Pallana realised and asked the lady the question at which she smiled and nodded, meaning the couple would now be laden with gifts from the Kardaka village. After spending a few hours in a simple Kardaka wedding ceremony Mogha mounted his bride on the finely decked Akuhsätā and started to leave the village with the rest of the Saka troupe.

As Mogha exited the village he thought about what events had just transpired. He could not help but wonder something didn't feel right. Beautiful as it was, where was the deer next to the perfect man the prophecy spoke of? Where was the flat land which he could ride his horse in any direction freely, with the trees that had many trunks coming out of the earth? "The hunt is not over." he pondered.

But this would suffice for now. He had completed his duty of finding his people a homeland and there was much to do so he could settle his people here in the cool valleys. As they passed the palisade he looked at Pallana and made a simple statement.

"Do you think you could teach her our tongue? I would prefer if I wouldn't need to have a translator around for every single conversation I have with Uharde [3]."

END ACT I​

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[1] syūdhajynäo - Immortal orphan. Mogha has a interesting back story that shall be explained later.

[2] A strange example of the famed Scythian gender equality. Scythian (especially the Massagetae ones) women were known to kidnap men from rival tribes and southern targets according to Herodotus (admittedly a biased source).

[3] I need to have some creative licence! Uharde is a fictional character who may or may not have been married to Mogha. I am saying she is, as sources are sketchy when you are investigating something 2100+ years ago.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey guys, I'm back. I have recently been shifting houses so I haven't had much time to devote but I have finally finished the first act of this TL. I would like to give a big thank you to the 17 of you who voted for me in the New Ancient category in the Turtledoves, I am honoured.

I would like to especially thank Xenephonte for nominating this TL and praising it to the extent he has. Thank you so much.

What will happen now is, the story will pick up where we left after twelve years, in 131 BC. You guys will get a map sometime tomorrow and that'll be all the clues you're getting.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Ai Gäogāha​

The man thundered on his mount over the hot and dry hillocks, the dust flying up behind him. He panted while riding his horse full gallop, the thrill of the ride and the importance of his mission keeping him going. While he rode on he cursed as a the sun thundered down upon him and the east wind started to blow and dust got in his eyes. Skilfully just letting go of his horses reins, letting it thunder on, rubbed his eyes and saw what he needed to reach. In a distance was the small town of Asttuacä [1], looking untouched and cut off from the rest of the world despite the power it commanded over the rest of the landscape.

He slowed his horse down and began trotting it on their the long trek into the town. Under the sweltering heat of Pardaka, he started to see why the Saka of these lands were known as some of the deadliest archers and skilled riders. The grass in the area was dry and burnt, unlike the grass of the cool and misty Steppe. The sun here burnt every inch of skin exposed to the sun and made everyone thirst for water like never before.

He arrived at the gates of the settlement at midday and took a huge drink of water before heaving and getting off his horse. He walked up to the two chatting guards at the front of the gate who had b barely noticed him. One guard saw him coming out of the corner of his eye and clasped his dagger just in case of a fight. The messenger stretched for a moment before relaying his message.

"I come bearing news for the great chief Hora. I come with knowledge of the events in the mountains that he must be informed of." he rasped, his mouth still parched. The guards grew alarmed at the sound of the word 'mountains'.
"You're not one of those hill men are you? You wear Saka clothing but we cannot be sure if your words are of truth...." one guard exclaimed, pointing at him. "Lay down your weapons and then you may talk."

The ignorance of the men angered him. "Why would I be a hill man? Do you not see my steed, do you not hear my voice and me speaking my mother tongue?" he stated, not taking no for an answer. "Any ways, a true Saka may not put his bow back in the quiver till he has fired with it." drawing an arrow before turning around and firing it into the distance.

The guards seemed happy with this answer and sheathed their swords, shouting commands to the man in the tower to open the gate. As the wooden gate creaked open, the messenger mounted his horse and trotted into the town.

Instantly he was met by a gust of familiar scents and sights all around him. Here was the sights of his childhood, sights that were seemed many a lifetimes ago. He could see a few ladies tattooing a bride's feet, men stringing their bows, a couple of young men trying to break a horse and many other things he missed. This was the world he dreamed of and remembered, if it was a little hotter and dustier than the cool misty Steppes.
As he rode on through the village the top of the Parysä's [2] hall came into view. A beautiful structure, one of the few with a wooden roof and beautifully carved figures on it. He saw the two heavily armoured guards wearing armour that was so reminiscent of that of Yavanas. He was sure if he were to approach them and ask where they had gotten it they would say off the bodies and chests of their enemies. The truth would probably be that they had stolen it from a grave or a caravan.

When he stopped in front of these guards he expected as much or less incompetence as he had received at the entry. Yet he only had to say he was a messenger and they moved their spears out of the way for him, calling for a pitcher of water to be thrown at the feet of his horse [3]. He got off his horse and a guard took it away to tether it, while another opened the door of the hall to him.

He walked in and saw what could only be described as inspiring. yellow tinted windows let in golden sunlight into a hall with many armoured and eccentrically colourful men, a huge hustle and discussion taking, place. And at the end of the hall sat the parysä Hora on a ornate wooden throne covered in rugs and furs, that had been carved from the same wood on the wall behind it.

The messenger made his way across the buzzing crowd of warriors and chiefs, to the throne where the parysä was having his own conversations, wrapped up in them. He then went and knelt before the throne and waited for Hora's attention. As soon as he did so the parysä noticed and signalled his banner riders to silence the entire hall. Hora looked at the man before him before a look of remembrance came upon him.

"Rise rider. I think I recognise you from a long time ago. Yes, you were the very messenger that delivered the message of Meherdat's aggression weren't you? Have you got some more news that may change the fate of the tribe?" chuckled Hora, the rest of his hall echoing his laughter. Some of the older warriors of the tribe genuinely laughed, having memories of the split. The younger ones did so out of fear of getting on the bad side of the parysä.

He rose and looked at the warrior sitting in front of him with sadness. "Once more you shall be disappointed by the information I bring, o chief. Great events have taken place in the north. My lord, murunda Mogha is dead. He joined the great hunt in the sky two winters ago. He had just cornered a boar when the cliff under him and his horse gave way and he plummeted to the land of the dead, his last wish being that you would know that he had found a home. I have ridden for a long time to deliver this message to you as he shall ride no more." the entire hall having fallen silent as soon as he had uttered those words. The parysä in front of him looked shocked for a moment before it turning into a look of reluctant acceptance.

"We had found a home for ourselves in the Pamir Talooki but now once again we are being stirred to move. Murunda Mogha's son, Paśyai, a young rider of no more than 15 years of age rallies the people to go raiding in the southern mountains. He is not content with the hills and mountains he was born in and has heard of the stories if the flat plains of the Steppe and desires that his people may once again roam such lands."

"But surely the tribe will not let such a young and inexperienced warrior lead them in battle? A boy of merely 15? Or has the air in the mountains maddened the men there?" asked an astonished Hora. Never had he heard of someone so young leading an entire tribe on hunts and raids.

"My lord is no ordinary man and he is a seasoned warrior even at his age. He has slain wolves with nothing but his bowstring, strangling them. He is a true rider, as he can fir an arrow of the back of his mighty steed in the middle of the night, with no light.

O parysä, I am a messenger of the hunt. In the north, under the shadows of the mountains times are changing once again. I have heard the Yeujhi wolves stir once again and the great stone cities of the Yavanas lie in ruin and flame. They come from the north and direct themselves towards us and I fear we shall have to ride once again. Perhaps they shall not stray towards the south, into these dusty hills.

But for sure we are once again we have started to move into distant times. I have heard that there are cities of stone larger than those of the Yavana to the South and East. I don't know of these are mere myths or the truth but we shall have to find out soon enough." he finished. For a moment there was utter silence in the hall before a thunder of applaud went up. Hora presented the man with the skin of a lion and invited the man to stay for a feast. The messenger could only accept. He had very long ride ahead of him.




[1] - Literally 'dry land' in Saka, so named for the drier qualities of grass and dusty land which the village is built on.
[2] - The servant. The word Hora's Saka are using for his title as he was but a companion and servant before being made into a chief.
[3]- A Saka custom as to say that one's travels may finally be tended to.

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This party has started. Alright so I have a clear sense of the direction I want to take this TL and I have recently comeback from a hurt wrist and a hectic last few weeks. I shall be posting as frequently as I can (AKA; Biweekly at worst, weekly at best). Thanks to everyone who's been supporting this TL and please forgive my clunky style of writing. I'm still trying to get my head around POV writing, which will become very frequent in this TL as it goes on.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Bahlatta, Spring 132 BC

His eyes opened and his blurry vision started to clear, as he felt heat. He could feel the cuts and pain stinging all throughout his body, yet he tried to force himself up. He fell back down onto his stomach, writhing in the pain. He tried once again and managed to lift himself onto his knees.

He looked to in front of himself and saw flames, to his right the same and to his left a similar ordeal. He could see the silhouettes of the great northern riders who had swooped on them like eagles, ripping them apart. He could see them harassing the wounded and taking people prisoners, as well as loading their carts and horses with their loot and bounty.

He struggled onto his feet and started stumbling forwards before falling back on his knees, shouting a roar of pain and anguish, one of the many among the cries and screams of the local populace, wails of women and the laughter and crude tongues of the barbaric raiders. In a last successful attempt to get back on his knees he used his dagger as a stable crutch. Once he was up, he started coughing and wheezing with the growing amount of smoke and flames enveloping the area around him.

Looking around to see the skilled opponent that had disarmed and knocked him out during the battle and raid. He saw many of the foreign warriors, none of them his nemesis, the one that had dishonoured him in battle. To the horsemen it mattered little, they didn't notice him getting up and moving around and he knew it. In this state who would care about some crippled and wounded wretch?

As he staggered around he picked up a spear lying next to him and straightened his helm. Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but flames, and the strewn bodies of fallen soldiers. Many of them were pin cushioned with multiple arrows, lying face first in the ground. Then in the distance, he saw the devil himself. A silhouette rode towards him, jumping over the flames and thrusting his blade forward. As the rider inched closer his face came into vision. The rider was visibly young in age, with a round nose, tanned skin, and his hair was as deep red as the flames he was surrounded by. In his clouded grey eyes there was a sort of determination that was seen in few.

He steadied his shield for the impact from the charging horseman. But then came a sudden move he should have seen coming. The horseman sheathed his sword mid-gallop and turned his horse around a mere few feet away from him, instead drawing his bow as he turned away. The Saka drew an arrow in a flash and once again suddenly fired an arrow. It landed in his knees and he fell to his knees shouting in rage. It was as if the world slowed when the warrior released his second arrow, the one he was holding in his bow hand. It whirred straight towards his face and he closed his eyes, accepting his fate. For a single moment the pain was the most he had ever experienced, then everything blacked out.

********​

Pasyai looked at the dead man in front of him with a sort of respect. This opponent had fought well and deserved an honourable send off. He dismounted his horse and dislodged the arrows form the bleeding body of his fallen enemy, placing them neatly in a row beside him. He then turned the body of the man to face the starry and red night sky, also putting the shield of the dead man on him. Just as he had finished his task his aijhysäta came riding behind him. He turned around to face his elite warriors as they drew their blades and made raucous cries of victory. Tied to their horses tails', all of these men had slaves bound in a line behind them and their horse laden with loot.

"My lord this settlement lies in flames and for a hundred stades the skies are red with the flames. Should we head start the long ride home now, or perhaps should we head to our camp to rest for a few more nights before doing so?" the rider quizzed ecstatically, obviously being excited to show his clan and family the result of his first great raid.

Pasyai mounted his horse and started trotting to the main square of the town. "No need to head back to our homes so quickly. That would be an act that might seem weak or cowardly. No, for that would be weak. Rally the men and find me a man that can speak both our and their tongues. A trader would be best, these people have warriors amongst them and I know that real warriors do not barter".

The riders who were trailing their lord quickly bowed and turned around, deciding to gallop off down the hill and into the burning town square with their plunder, so they could tell their friends and clansmen that everyone was allowed to retire from a hard night of pillaging. Pasyai alone kept riding upwards to the top of the hill.

Eventually he reached the top of the mount where he had a beautiful vantage point from where he could see the valley and town below. It was a mesmerising site as the brilliant red of the flames rose up into the night sky. He knew his father would have disapproved of such a raid, but alas, the times were tough and the previous autumn there had been a meagre harvest from the already barren lands of the Pamirs.

He just sat there for a while on his trusty horse, viewing the site below. This town, Balatta, he had visited it as a child with a cloth trader that was close friends of his father's. The memories of visiting the little beautiful temple that was near the main square especially remained in him. It was beautifully carved into a cave and the many fantastic idols in it painted by the local maidens. There was a glass roof on the top of the cave-temple so that the small hall would be illuminated by a beautiful golden light whenever the sun shined through the glass.

It had been a local priest that had told him that. He had told him a story as well, a story of how a god or hero or something saved his people from thirst and starvation. He had forgotten the story for most of the part, a vague memory sitting in the back of his mind. He wanted to make a parallel situation between the hero and himself but he knew that the situations were different.

Scrunching up his face, he started riding back down towards the town to check on his troops, hoping they wouldn't be getting to rowdy or too drunk to ride their steeds. He silently watched flames as his horse walked down the hill. The night was definitely quiet for what had happened and the only sound was the occasional rustling in the grass and the crackling of flames.
That's when Pasyai heard it. A groaning and coughing coming from his left, in a near distance. He steered his mount towards the noise to investigate. It trotted towards the groaning and Pasyai saw where the sound was coming from.

Lying down with his head against a rock was a wounded man with an arrow in his knee. The man could not have been older than himself (yet he did not look like the fighting type) and Pasyai instantly felt a pitiful guilt for what he saw in front of him. He dismounted from his horse and got out a pitcher of water from his luggage, knelt next to the wounded and put it to the mouth of the rasping boy so he could drink.

The boy coughed and tried to get up and failed. He lacked any strength in his arms, which Pasyai noticed were also bleeding and bruised. Pasyai put the pitcher beside the boy, who picked up the pitcher and drank some more water, most of it falling beside him and on his face. He then used the remaining to wash his straw-like black hair, which was crusted in dried blood (as was the rock behind it. Pasyai could only guess his head had been dashed against the rock). The boy looked up at Pasyai and smiled a wry smile.
"Pass my spear, I 'm feeling fitter than ever. I'll skewer the fools off their high horses." he rasped, wheezed and coughed, a little blood coming out of his mouth. He kept on smiling and tried to get up once again, failing as before. "Tell me oh great rider how may I repay the debt of my life?" he said mockingly, trying to move his legs but shouting in pain.

Pasyai mistook the boy's statement seriously and looked at the bleeding man in front of him suspiciously. He then sighed and got an arrow from his quiver and dipped the tip of it in the boy's blood. He then leant in to whisper into the boy's ears.

"Give this to your chief so he may deliver it to his lord. Ask him to recite that if the great lord of these vales does not pay tribute to me and give my tribe land to settle on I shall send him an arrow for every town I sack. Every time the head of it shall be a little bit more covered in the blood of the fallen than the previous." Pasyai stopped to think of what a fair time should be to give his adversary.

"If he has not agreed to such a treaty before the leaves have fallen than his realm will shall".

Pasyai got of his knees and dropped the arrow next to the wounded warrior, adjusted the mattress on his horse before he mounted his horse and started trotting away. The wounded boy in turn just watched shocked at the man who was riding away, before turning to the arrow next to him. He wondered how in hell he would get up and take the message to his smouldering village.
​

 

[Shahrasayr]

Maracanda, Middle of Spring 132 BC

The city was in flames. All throughout the streets there were flames and black smoke rising into the air. The temple of Athena was in ruins and the Greek soldiers were barely keeping the invading horselords from breaching the acropolis. In the centre of the city's acropolis a man knelt before a awesome and terrifying statue of Heracles, murmuring to himself as the dire situation slowly penetrated his mind. All that had been promised to him had been waved away and the all the gods had disfavoured him at the same time.

The Megas Basileos of Persia, the Philhellenes, Shah Mithridates had died and he had lost a great ally and friend. The Son of Mithridates, Phraates, had sent word that he had no soldiers to spare to help the lord. Many traitors rose up across the land in his kingdom and while he was in Maracanda a cousin of his, Eudracos, had taken control of Bactra, getting the loyalty of most of his generals and forces along with it. Within a year the great southern lord, Basileos of Indica, Menander had taken and conquered much of his southern lands. His kingdom had been rendered into a crumbling state, as he struggled to keep control of his remaining lands and reconquer his lost ones.

And then came the great riders from the north, the riders of Hades. The Scythian had warned him, those many years ago. He had told him of the terrors these horsemen would bring and in his foolish, young hot-headedness he had sent the Scythian away.

What was his name again? Was it Moudes, Melabes or Midas or Megeles? No, I don't any of those feel right. Whatever it was the man was right. He had a wit and spoke the truth, while I? What was I but was a fool. Yet he was older now and perhaps wiser. Heliocles rose and sheathed the xiphos [1] which he had in front of him.

Rising from his knees, he put his helmet on and grabbed his shield. For the past five years this what he had become. He had become more a warlord and less a king. As he was walking across the marble floor of the temple, he could see the red sky and the rising smoke through the columns and great marble doorway. Just as he was about to step out he saw a soldier running
up the stairs, panting and heaving as he reached him.

When the man finally managed to get to the top he threw himself onto the floor in front of Heliocles and caught his breath. The man was obviously wounded, a massive cut across his forehead and an arrow lodged in his right arm. The blood dripping from his mouth and head made a chilling contrast against the white marble of the temple.

"My lord, the city is almost lost. The Tókharoi [2] have made a great push and they have entered the acropolis. General Eumenes has sent me to warn you. The end of the kingdom may be nigh." The man choked and spluttered blood as soon as he spoke the words, before succumbing to his wounds. Heliocles could only feel pity for the man. He had delivered his last message and now Elysium awaited him.

He strode down the steps of the temple and into the main agora where Eumenes was rallying the last of the remaining troops. Down at the mouth of the acropolis he could see a thin phalanx trying to hold its ground against a horde of bloodthirsty riders. The men in it were covered in blood and grime, worn out from the hours of fighting. Heliocles walked up to his loyal commander, as the man was shouting orders and pointing towards the waves of invaders hitting against the shield wall of the Bactrian phalanx, giving inspirational words to the soldiers.

Heliocles allowed himself a little smile, a genuine one. Not one of arrogance or pride but of humility. Strange isn't it, how this world turns? Years ago I would have trusted only my Hellenic generals, my so called 'kin'. Yet they have deserted me now and the only one who still follows me is a native of these lands. Heliocles tapped Eumenes on the shoulder, the other man turning around and bowing.

"My lord! The final hour is upon us. Here today we make a last stand. Our archers are running out of arrows while the enemy has enough to last them an age. Our men are tired and it looks as if the enemy has an endless amount of men. Also our men are losing will and the Tókharoi men look fiercer and more bloodthirsty every charge, the fact they never seem to miss their aim makes it even more stressful for our soldiers." explained the General, creases showing on his forehead. Eumenes then turned around to shout an order to the troops as both men walked across the graveled plaza towards the central fountain, before turning back to his king.

"The men will not buckle when their king is in their presence I will stand and fight alongside them. Tell me how many men are left?"

The two men stopped at the fountain. Eumenes stopped and gave a cold hardy stare at the water beside them. It was turning more and more red as wounded and bloody soldiers came to wash their cuts and grazes. "Two hundred. Maybe less. My lord are you truly willing to fight out at the mouth of the acropolis?"

"I am. May I be damned if I die today without my sword tasting the blood of the barbaric Tókharoi." replied Heliocles, coldly and sternly. This was seeming to be the last day of his life and he would only spend it with those who had been loyal and courageous.

"Then my lord, you truly are a son of Heracles. If this be the last time we meet I would like to say that it has been an honour to serve under you, a true king of the Hellenes."

Eumenes then trust his shield into the hands of Heliocles, wearing a tearful smile on his face. Heliocles returned a small smile before strapping the shield on and drawing his sword. He then started walking down the cobble road out of the acropolis, never looking back. This would be the last time he ever saw the statue of his illustrious ancestor, Iason, the only one who could grant him victory and an honourable one at that.

As he walked down the cobbled road he saw dead and dying soldiers, well placed arrows in their throats and head. A younger Heliocles would have shivered at this sight, yet this had no affect on him. The man who walked towards the enemy today was one who had everything promised to him, one who also had it all taken away within months as well. To many he had a status worse than that of a beggar; that of a king without a crown, one without a throne and one without a kingdom.

As he walked towards the clashing of steel down the long road he allowed himself a little time to wonder, some thought and insight before the storm of violence to come. Maybe it is fated. Perhaps this would not have been the fate of this beautiful city if I had not come. Archon Archias took pity and now he is the one that pays the price. I shouldn't have come, maybe then there would still have been some honour and legacy left in my name.

Then suddenly Heliocles was snapped out of his thoughts, the roaring sound of battle in front of him. He saw the phalanx and how it was breaking. The men were dropping their large sarissas and drawing their more effective xiphos, switching to a more close, brutal form of combat.

Seeing this Heliocles broke into a sprint and ran straight into the thick of the battle. All around him the cohesion keeping his soldiers alive till now was lost and personal combat was beginning. A few of his men noticed his arrival and doubled their attack; their king had arrived.

Heliocles found himself pitted against a well armed Tókharoi warrior, heavily decked in colourful armour and his weaving black hair in a ponytail. His foe was armed with a spear and thrust it towards Heliocles' stomach, hoping to land a strong enough blow to get through his chest plate. Inexperienced. He simply hit it away with his aspis [3] and swung at the man. The Tókhari dodged it just in time to avoid a cut.

The man then swung the butt of his spear up and nicked the jaw of Heliocles, who lent back just in time to avoid a direct hit. Though the Tókhari did land a small cut, this gave Heliocles the time to lunge forward and hack at the man.

The Tókhari was fast and perhaps not as inexperienced as Heliocles thought, as he was able to move himself out of the way of Heliocles' weapon and hit him in the thigh with the back of his spear, making a small wound with the spike at the butt of his spear. Heliocles groaned and staggered back a bit before readying himself again.

The two men circled each other, oblivious to the battle around them where a hundred such duels would have been taking place. The Tókhari once again leapt in and thrust his spear at Heliocles, who deftly moved to the side. He quickly cleaved the spear in half with his sword, disarming his enemy. The startled Tókhari tried to unsheathe his sword, but Heliocles simply smashed the man's face with his shield, bringing him to the ground.

As Heliocles leant in for the final strike, he bought down his sword towards the man's chest and plunged it into his heart. He had slain his enemy. Just then a searing pain went through his leg and he went down onto his knees. An arrow had got him in his inner thigh. He staggered before more pain came and a second arrow hit him on the arm. He let out a roar of pain and looked around. His men were wavering and retreating. As Heliocles staggered around he fell to his knees, the arrow ripping into his flesh. He and two other men were surrounded by Tókharoi men within minutes, completely encircled. It had then began to dawn on Heliocles. These were no ordinary pillagers. They were an efficient fighting force who had other goals.

After his capture Heliocles' world went past quickly. He was taken to an guarded tent that had been set up in the middle of the town's ruined agora [4]. The Tókharoi priests ripped out his arrows, making him howl in pain before rubbing some paste on his wounds. There he was shackled to the floor and his tent was left guarded. While waiting in the tent he dwelled on his life some more and tried to remember the Scythian's name some more, yet nothing came to mind.

After a few hours a few guards walked into his tent. They got him by his arms and hauled him up pushing him out of the tent. He was led across the city to what was the amphithéātron before the Tókharoi sacked the city. There he witnessed what the Tókharoi had made of it; they had made a court out of it.

The more experienced warriors of the chief sat around the lower, inner seats and the less mighty ones sat at the higher and outer seats. The great Anax [5] of the Tókharoi sat in a covered tent on the stage where the plays would once take place. Now a different kind of tragedy would play out around here.

He was led up the steps onto the stage where he faced the Tókhari Great Chief. The chief was an astounding man to sight, his robes made of astounding colours like the darkest blue of the sky and a vibrant golden hue. His chestplate was inscribed with a strange script and had depiction of a strange Pégasos-like beast.

Heliocles was made to stand before his enemy and the Tókharoi chief simply grinned at him. The man gestured for him to be readied for execution. Heliocles remained expressionless and showed no resistance as he was made to go on his knees lay his head on the crude block, the top of a broken marble column.

As a Tókhari warrior announced some things to the numerous chiefs and warriors in their strange language, Heliocles simply waited and simply thought of what things would await him. The Moirai [6] hadn't been kind for a long time and he only hoped that for once they would have destined him something nice; a quick death.

Then he heard that the Tókhari announcer had stopped talking the man was pointing at someone beside him, yet Heliocles did not dare move his neck in case the pain of death would be a painful one. Then as if it was a miracle, as if it was some sort of consolation from the gods, a single word came to his mind.

Maues. Yes. That was it. That's his name.

He was content now and simply cleared his mind, closing his mind and waiting for the final blow, yet it did not come. He opened his eyes looked around and saw that his executioner had put his sword beside him and instead was looking expectantly at the Great Chief.

A guard came from behind him and pulled him up, off the ground. He was then taken to the man once more and made to stand in front of him. The chief was still grinning and took a drink from the cup beside him and looked at Heliocles with cheerful sympathy. Them to Heliocles surprise he spoke chaste Greek.

"You look like an interesting man Huhavzna. It would be a shame to kill a man like you. Tell me, do you have an interesting story? If you do I will give you and any of your remaining soldiers their freedom."

The surprised Heliocles let all that flow past him and stared at the man in front of him. "You speak my tongue, how? Does culture flow past the Jaxartes?"

The chief simply shook his head and looked at Heliocles, taking another sip of his drink. "No, no my friend. You have to answer my question. Then I might consider answering yours. Remember you are my captive."

Heliocles then thought for a moment before reciting his life's story from his crowning, his rise to power and the dark years he spent as a rogue in hiding within his own kingdom. The great chief closely listened to what was being told. After Heliocles finished reciting his tale the chief ordered his bonds cut and his men freed. The king of all Hellenes east of the Tigris rode out of the city with his crippled army. He had nowhere to go but he would find a kingdom for his crown........


---------------------

[1] Xiphos - A Greek hacking sword.
[2] Tókharoi - Greek name for the Yeuzhi while they were still nomadic.
[3] Aspis - Another word for the famed hoplon of the hoplites.
[4] Agora - The city forum. A place for discussion, philosophy and thoughts to pass.
[5] Anax - An archaic Greek word for King. Basileos became much more common later on.
[6] Moirai - The Fates, the weavers of your destiny in Greek mythology.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Paśyai​

Forests around Huẉïśgrutka, Middle of Spring 132 BC

Paśyai dislodged the arrow from the great Deodara tree, turning around and slipping it in his quiver. He had tracked and slain two deer today, just having missed his third prey. He sighed and turned around, sheathing his bow and walking to his horse Hujsïka. He secured the dead deer with the ropes to the colourful mat on the back of his horse. He winced when he saw the small amount of prey he had been able to kill today. It was definitely a mediocre haul for the height of spring.

Mounting Hujsïka, he started riding towards his village. Today, or more so tonight, was special. The Imherao [1] had ordained today would be the first great divining of his life and he had to get all the necessary special ingredients for the hauma to be brewed. And the special ingredient he had needed, he had found yesterday.

He had needed to find strips of bark from the purrā kiśauka [2] and had found such a tree, a rarity according to the elders of his tribe, this far south. He watched as the sun began to set. Now all that remained was the fast ride back to Huẉïśgrutka [3].

****​

The khāśạna [4] of the Imherao was dimly lit and the only thing in between the sitting Paśyai and the old man seated in front of him was a small cloth and fire pit, as well as some beautiful brass vessels with carvings of Tajhuka. In the small silk cloth were placed all the ingredients of the hauma which was to be made.

The water in the brass vessel had come to boil and steam, so the priest removed it from over the fire. He then got the small bag of cloth and slipped it into the pitcher, placing it on a beautiful mat with a miniature of two stags locking horns. He uttered a few words to Arimppaśa, before handing the sacred knife to Paśyai.

He knew exactly what he had to do. Paśyai took the knife from the Imherao and made a small cut on the fore of all the fingers on his left hand. The priest put the pitcher with hauma in front of Paśyai, who squeezed his hands to let the blood drip from his fingers into the vessel. The drink was almost complete. The priest then took a horn of a stag sitting beside him and stirred the drink.

Paśyai meanwhile put his hand bleeding hand in his lap, not flinching. He placed the knife on the mat next to the pitcher which the priest was stirring while humming and chanting hymns. The priest noticed the calm Paśyai simply staring at the fire and smiled. Most men going through the ritual would clutch their hands and wrap it in their karašta [5] while groaning in pain.

"Śūra hvaṇdä, hvāṣṭānä pūrä."

The words went right past Paśyai's ears as his hand had started to sting. The priest stopped stirring and handed the vessel to Paśyai, chanting a few words. Paśyai took the pitcher and drunk the sacred drink. The world around him slowly twisted and turned before everything slowly blacked out.

****​

When Paśyai woke again he was in an endlessly stretching plain of dry grass, the only distinguishing feature a large mountain right in front of Paśyai. He himself was standing on a neatly cobbled road, something he had never seen before. Instinctively he started walking up the road.

At some places on the winding and seemingly endless road became many steps before reverting back to a road. As he continued on the mountain he eventually came upon a little shrine-like structure on the side of the road. It had what looked like very strange and abstract drawings on it, as well as a painting of a lion prowling a fire. He leant in closer, so he could get a better look.

Suddenly he realised what the strange things above the painting were.
It is the writing of Yavanas. Instantly a sense of grief overcame Paśyai. His father was starting to teach him how to read and speak the tongue of Yavanas, as well as write it. Yet Mogha had died only two days after his schooling had began. There was no one else in the entire tribe who could speak or read Yavana phirrai[6].

He got back up off his knees and kept walking up the path. As he got further up the all surveying mountain, the scenery changed from trees, earth and grass to rocks and snow. He also encountered many more of these shrines with many interesting and strange inscriptions followed by drawings. As he was getting very high up the path, he witnessed one which struck out to him.

There were two boys, one dark skinned and the other fair skinned. They were both herding cows but had multiple limbs and had rays of the sun coming from behind their heads. The dark skinned boy was also playing a flute while he tended to the cows with his other arms. What also struck out about the shrine was that the script looked nothing like that which he had seen on the previous stone shrines.

He once again got up and continued his journey up the mountain. As he looked over the side of the peak he saw the flat plains below truly were endless. As he edged closer to the top the snow and storm slowly cleared, revealing a peaceful and tranquil nice meadow at the top. In the centre of the meadow was a tree whose roots were coming from the ground and beside flowed a stream.

Slowly Paśyai approached the small haven, a clear contrast from the rest of the surroundings. As he walked closer he saw two animals and crouched down. Drinking from the stream was a ram and a stag, both animals content with the other being close by and sharing their drink. Suddenly the grass started drying and the tree started dying. Paśyai watched in amazement as the lush grass around him turned into sand and dead grass.

He then turned his attention back to the two animals and saw that the stream had started to dry. The stag had stopped drinking while the ram had continued to drink. After a moment the stag came back to take a quick sip, but the ram slammed it away with his powerful horns before turning back to his drink. The stag came back with a vengeance and hit the ram on his hind legs, catching the beast off guard.

Feeling a sting on his leg and looked down and saw it was bleeding moderately. He then looked back up to see that the two animals, who had been friends merely moments ago, had gotten locked into a fight to the death because of the ram's greed.

Paśyai watched as the two animals ripped apart each other, every wound the ram got also appearing on himself. He soon saw both animals had battered each other to exhaustion and were bleeding heavily, as was he. As they bled, a few wolves came out of the shadows, appearing mysteriously. They killed the dying animals with ease and feasted on them.

Paśyai tried to move away slowly but slipped on some stones, making the wolves' ears pricking up. They looked around fiercely and one saw the bleeding Paśyai. The hungry animal looked at him with a cold smile and sprinted forward, leaping onto the wounded man.

****​

Paśyai woke up shouting and screaming, dripping in sweat. He was on the floor exactly where he had been before the ritual began and the Imherao was sitting across and looking at him with curiosity.

He sat back up and stretched his arms, looking around to try and see how much time had passed. This was almost impossible in the dim hall of the Imherao, where it felt as if it was still the evening and no time had passed. The priest then beckoned Paśyai to retell his visions. The young chief complied and recited the entire experience from start to finish, shuddering at some points.

The priest sat quietly and thought after Paśyai finished reciting his visions. He then seemed to come to a satisfying conclusion. "The ram was obviously symbolizing you and your progeny, while the stag symbolised some other great house. If the Moghao take this path and become consumed by greed, our peoples might get caught in internal strife which will destroy our peoples. The wolves were the Yaojhi who will swoop in and finish us off completely."

Paśyai looked at the priest with disappointment and anger. He had expected portents of a great future and brilliant destiny that awaited him in his first consuming of hauma, not ill omens and warnings. He got up and stormed towards the door of the khāśạna. Just as he was about to open the door he stopped when the priest said something that caught his interest.

"What did you say venerable one?" he asked, looking at the priest who had not moved from his position beside the fire pit, which was less flames and was rather filled with embers by now.

"Calm down fiery one. Arimppaśa favours those who stay patient. For you she divines an opportunity for victory. If the Prūśavārāmja [7] does not return with an offer of friendship by the next full moon you must ride with the largest host you can call upon. There will endless riches and glory in war. If he does give back a valid offer you must accept it and treasure it."

Turning away and opening the door, a blast of cold air of the night greeted Paśyai. He smiled at the news, before turning around to greet the Imherao a goodnight before closing the door and walking towards the tethered Hujsïka, mounting the horse. The young chief then rode off towards the Murundja's hall to get a good sleep, this time around with dreams that were a little bit more attractive.

---------------------------​

[1] Imherao - known as the Enarei to Herodotus, this hereditary class of diviners were priests of the goddess Arimppaśa, a Saka equivalent of Aphrodite Urania.
[2] purrā kiśauka - The moon tree, a name for what is known as basswood in America and the lime tree in the UK.
[3] Huẉïśgrutka means 'high water' in Saka/Hvatanai. It is the name of the village because of the waterfall which is not located far from it.
[4] khāśạna - Abode, dwelling or sanctum sanctorum.
[5] karašta - The dress made from animal skins and very similar to the kurta, which is worn commonly throughout north India and Pakistan.
[6] Yavana phirrai - Greek language
[7] Prūśavārāmja - King of the Prūśavā, the Saka name for the people of the Gilgit-Baltistan region.

Pronunciation of letter combinations in Saka

hv - 'huv'
bv/b - 'bvih' or 'vih'
ys - 'zuh'
js - 'chaas' or 'haas'

 

[Shahrasayr]

Keśava​

The court of Keśava, Śrīnagar, Late Spring 132 BC

"ENOUGH, all of you! I decree not a word of this shall reach the ears of Milindha. If I come to know that someone has told the vainglorious idiot in Takṣaśilā I'll have the man thrown in a pit of lions."

The entire court went completely quiet. Their king had spoken and his tone of voice was suggesting today he didn't want to mess about. Keśava rose off his throne and walked down the centre of his hall, quietly staring down all of his nobles and courtiers. They quivered in their golden seats, each of them from one illustrious background or another.

He could feel the anger boiling up inside of him and looked around to find the pillar depicting the Buddha's first sermon. His raged quelled and he sighed, cursing their pettiness. Keśava then returned to his throne, some attendants helping him on.

He then looked at the young man who stood in front of him. It was a brave thing to deliver bad news to a king and Keśava admired the bravery of the youth. Some say that you could be executed for giving your ruler ill tidings. But anyone who would kill a messenger is not befitting to be a ruler to start with.

"Young man, take the word back to your town's Praṣasitra [1]. Tell him that we will send forces to guard the town." he announced. Keśava's voice was the regalest his courtiers had heard and was quite the opposite of his physical appearance.

At this the young man bowed and turned around to leave the court the guards opening the magnificent golden gates of the court for him. As Keśava watched the young man leave he was deep in thought.

This was one of the few chances he would have to prove himself in a real battle. All his life a different kind of war had been fought all around him. One of hissing threats and curses with concealed daggers rather than rousing speeches with strong steel swords. Here presented was an opportunity to use his skill in speech to take the reins of this dessicated court.

His court by now had reverted back to its petty scheming, webs of hatred and power play being spun by these wicked spiders. Some claimed to do it for the gods. Others for the people's glory. And every single one of them was a lie, making Keśava so repulsed that he cringed a bit.

As he silently watched the courtiers discuss amongst themselves he saw how they would pass looks and whisper to each other, sometimes even gazing at the throne, before quickly turning back as soon as they saw their king looking at them. He knew they hated him and he couldn't help but think that he reciprocated these thoughts.

"Well my kind friends, what has happened? We are subject to a foreign nation and barbarians are waiting to charge into our lands and loot us of our wealth. And your fight for your petty gains. Would it suit kshatriyas [2] like you to be lax, while creatures like me fight the Mlechchas [3]?" he mocked his lords. He knew those more experienced politics would take it as a slight and try to retort, yet it would whip up the fury of the fresh young Damaras [4].

And it did as Keśava had predicted, many head-strong, foolish and young lords rising up and proclaiming their oath to fight the oncoming hordes in the name of the dharma [5] and all that is holy. After fifteen or so young prince did so, Keśava decided plenty had sworn their swords and rose.

"Then you will swear, you will swear that you will fight ferociously. I shall swear, I swear on my untainted arm that I will fight like lion! Go to your towns and clans, doing amass a glorious army in the name of the dharma!" he roared as he removed his cloak and drew his sword, revealing is tiny and deformed left hand. He then unsheathed his khanda [6] and raised it in the air, his young vassals doing so as well and chanting for the glory of their kingdom and liege. As Keśava surveyed his ecstatic commanders, he saw many of his old rivals and ill-wishers cursing at his success at getting in the heads of the foolish young lords. Yet one person caught his eye.

Old Jnaneśvara sat hauntingly calmly on his seat just viewing the ruckus and coldly studying it. Keśava knew one thing if anything about being a successful ruler; if someone is unreadable he is a threat.

As the commotion went on in the palace, outside the skies were slowly enveloped by dark clouds and the sunlight was strangled as the winds blew. A storm was coming and the thunder would soon be on its way.

-----------------​

[1] Praṣasitra - Governor, but it would be more of a tax collector and headman in this case.
[2] Kshatriya - The warrior caste in the Vedic and Hindu philosophy.
[3] Mlechchas - Derogatory term developed in the early Northern Black Polished Ware period to refer to sinful foreigners by Indians.
[4] Damara - Lord, at this stage simply meaning the village and clan chiefs rather than anything feudal.
[5] Dharma - Extremely complicated to explain. Here is the Wiki article.
[6] Khanda - Indian hacking sword.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Jnaneśvara​

Khápula, Early Autumn 132 BC

The old man was deep in contemplation as his chariot went past the walls of the small keep. As he it slowly approached his destination he stretched a bit and prepared to disembark, taking off his hat.

As he got off a servant came to his aid and helped him off. He couldn't help but feel old, age slowly starting to get the better of him. The guard at the gate of his manor stepped to the side and opened the door for him to enter, instantly getting a blast of warm air.

He stepped into the warmth of his manor, walking down the steps and settling himself on the couch. As he got comfortable, a young man walked into the room and seated himself on the couch opposite Jnaneśvara.

"Ah, Pārśva how was your journey to your cold homeland? I do hope that you were given no trouble in your travels through the realm of the Yavana Rajan?"

The man tried to comprehend for a few seconds before replying to the old man in broken Gandhari.

"My journey was comfortable, Damara. There was no lack of attendance to my needs and the food was good." the young man faltered, bringing a smile to Jnaneśvara's face. The young boy he had raised had become a man. Though he could still work on his Gandhari grammar.

"Well then my son, I hope that in your ten year education at Takṣaśilā you have learnt something. The reason I called you back to Kashmir is because I need your architectural expertise. All other thinkers in Takṣaśilā refuse to consider the roving horde of Mlechchas to our north a threat and our king acts headstrong out of his malice for the nobility." he explained to Pārśva, the brilliant mind slowly taking it in, thinking of a reply.

"Lord, you know that I not consider anyone Mlechcha. All is equal if they live peaceful, our lord Mahavira has said. But if they wish to kill I shall help you protect souls from the north man. What you need me to design?"

He called for someone and a man arrived with a few tied rolls of paper. He thanked the servant and took the paper, unrolling it and handing it to Pārśva. He had it written in Paiśācī [1] so the boy would be able to comprehend it better. He watched the youth study the paper carefully, noticing that his adoptive son looked quite intrigued.

"In the Arthashastra [2], the venerable Kauṭilya wrote about six different kinds of forts and gave many variations of each of them. What your asking me to make is known as guha-durga [3] in Sanskrit, a secluded outpost. It is not common design. I can definitely draw one, but why there a need to make so cut off?" he questioned, looking up from the piece of paper.

Jnaneśvara took a sip from his cup, thinking about how he should answer. The boy had never had a head for warfare or strategy, instead more interested in numbers and such. How could he explain the power of a horde to him? To see a charging dust cloud of ferocious horsemen could break the morale of any man, even if they would outnumber the Mlechchas.

He leaned into answer, wearing a grim look on his face. "My boy, this is an enemy unlike all others we see in recent times. They fight like a shadow, coming and going like a strong wind, leaving a trail of flames and misery in their path. If we fail to defeat them in open ground we will need a safe place to retreat and carefully plan our next move. We will need a fortification which is impossible to reach if defended well and large enough to house a two hundred men."

"It can be done, but it will take time. Also you will need to spend lots of money and resources. If it is fine with you I will look for good site, so I'll survey region soon?" Pārśva said heaving and rising from his seat. He rolled up the papers and put them in his cummerbund.

Jnaneśvara looked up to see how his son had changed. He hadn't seen him for five years, and ten years before that. The boy had always been so engrossed in his studies, before he knew it he had become a man. "Oh and Pārśu, the Ṭhakkura [4] of Gallāta has invited me to a leopard hunt. I would like it if you could join us then, once you have settled on the plans, you know?"

Looking at the desperate look in the old man's eyes, Pārśva smiled and shook his head. "You know I cannot do that sir. You forbid me from taking putting on the garb of an ascetic and I listened, now allow me to live some of the vows set by divine Mahāvīra. You know well I cannot kill an animal."

"Oh well, I hoped I would still be able to persuade you. I have heard that in the foothills of the Himālayas, the area of the old Mālla kingdom, this little tradition of yours is starting to grown in popularity again [5]." the old man sighed, obviously crestfallen that he could not spend time with his heir in these late shades of his life.

He then tried to struggle out of his comfortable seat and the servant standing in the rushed to aid him up. Once he was back on his feet he put his arm around Pārśva's shoulder and slowly shuffled up the few steps of the room into the manor's main courtyard. He then stopped when he was in the centre of the courtyard to admire the finely cobbled pavilion on the floor. He remembered when he had paid the Yavana artist to come and design the beautiful mosaic floor depicting the lord Iṇdra fully ornate on top of his mount Airāvata.

"My son, you are my heir, future ruler of this little fief in the mountains. Throughout my life I have strived to do only one thing; make sure the people in my domain never have to fear the evils of war and they never go hungry. I have used methods which have forever blackened my kárma. Up in these mountains we have lived prosperous lives. Promise me you will continue to protect this land once I have been sent for another birth." he pleaded in a sad tone.

Pārśva saw the sadness in his eyes and kept his hand on the old man's shoulder. "I promise, I will be just Damara of Khapula. I promise with my heart." the young man vowed keeping his other hand on his chest.

"Good, then let me suggest you something. One krosha [6] from here there is a mountain which is reasonably flat enough for construction. Why don't you go and survey it? It might be what we are looking for."

Pārśva then bowed and took his leave, walking through the courtyard doors back into the compound, leaving the old Jnaneśvara alone in the compound. He kept looking at the mosaic as drops of rain started to fall and thunder rumbled like a horde clattering hooves in the distance.
​

​

****​

[1] Paiśācī - We aren't exactly sure what this language was, it was either another name for Pali or a different language spoken in the modern day area of Bihar and Jharkand.

[2] Arthashastra - A political and secular treatise by Chanakya, the man who engineered the entire Mauryan empire. It speaks of many subjects, from kingship to animal husbandry.

[3] guha-durga - A castle situated on a small hill or ina valley, surrounded by impassable mountains.

[4] Ṭhakkura - A feudal title. It was very common in the semi-feudal Damara system which was unique to Kashmir. I will spread throughout the sub-continent in this TL.......

[5] Another POD. Ahmisa is gaining popularity once again due to the Sunga emperors mismanagement of Buddhism

[6] Krosha - A Sanskrit measurement equal to 4 km.

I'm back. Bit of a worthless update, yet things are gearing up.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Kaotam Vimajśetra; 'There Lies the Golden Stag' (Grand Pearl Press, 2054)​

A Saddle found in the Huẉïśvima kurgan, proposed grave of the Saka chief Paśyai​

Times were turbulently changing as the ides of the 2nd century BC began. To start off, in the year 150 BC, the assorted northern Saka tribes had won their long drawn war against Keśava, the Maharājan of the Kamboja Raj. Led by their hardened chief, the long thought semi-mythical king and folk hero Paśyai, the ancient capital of Srinagar was sacked. According to contemporary sources of the time, the Saka raiders had looted the city for two entire days before they rode back to their villages laden with gold.

While much of the period is very undocumented and sources are sketchy, there is one fact historians have ascertained. The Damara system of feudalism had begun to spread slowly from Kashmir and would travel with the Sakas as they established and ingrained themselves in the political intrigues of India.

Though a few important details continue to make historians scratch their heads about the period. The most important is that why did Paśyai sack Srinagar, a city which would not regain its full glory till the days of the Trident Uprising [1], when in most folk tales and contemporary sources paint him as a very troubled man and reluctant raider? Of course extreme circumstances can make a man change his point of view and character, and we would love to know what these circumstances were that made him turn the rich city into a impoverished village.

Another important detail that is left blank in the current timeline is what happened after the end of the war. Evidence points that Keśava, himself a flawed character with an interesting story, according to local legends became an ascetic who went to meditate in the high mountains. His son Mārtanda was raised to the throne and became a vassal of Paśyai according to Damara laws. Yet that still raises the question of what happened to the chief of Sakas himself?

On 2nd June 2040, a dig in the Huẉïśvima kurgan archaeologists found the purported grave of Paśyai and in it his mummified body. After DNA tests and scans being run it was confirmed that this was most likely Paśyai and out of the entire treasure trove in his grave, only one thing stood out and could actually help explain his end; the body itself.

The mummy had many wounds all over it, quite a few of which were probably fatal. This interestingly links with a myth that a stone tablet that a stone tablet found in Śirkāp tells. It tells of an unnamed Mlechcha king that was invited to the wedding of Anūśankara (Anaxagoras in Greek, son of Milindha (Menander), emperor of the Indo-Greeks. The king arrived at venue and took part in the wedding festivities, but insulted the emperor. Milindha ordered his arrest because of the perceived insult, and the mysterious king resisted. He was apparently overrun by twelve guards who surrounded and attacked him, brutally murdering the brave king.

Until now this tablet was considered a fanciful tale, perhaps one which was used as a king to glorify some made up ancestor. But not anymore, for the pieces of this puzzle start to fall in place. Milindha and Paśyai were contemporaries (albeit one was much older than the other) and many historians say it is certainly possible that they would have had a rivalry as kings.

This is the slightest of the mysteries of this murky period of history. Historians seem to know even less about the war itself than they know about what happened after it. And this may not be such a mystery after all;
Huvishka the Great [2], first and greatest Kushan emperor of India, was known to have pillaged Takṣaśilā at least twice in his bid to conquer the lands east of the Indus. It is also recorded that he himself went ahead and chose specific texts to destroy, removing those that had dishonoured his dynasty. And it is a known fact that twelve years before the reign of Huvishka, his father Kanishka had been slain by a Saka archer by the name of Maomja.

Historians do wonder if the Kushan emperor tried to exact revenge by destroying many traces of Saka history, perhaps trying to eradicate the proof of any rightful claim of sovereignty the Sakas had over the land by destroying the records of their greatest victory. And the maybe the worst part is that it worked. Slowly this part of our history was taken out of the books and completely vanished from our memories.

Yet it's not as if historians are completely in the blue about the details of the first war of the Scythians. They have managed to assemble quite a bit of data and have information on this war.

It was apparently mostly made of minor battles and light sieges between the two sides, many of the cunning Damras changing sides multiple times throughout the war. Some were like Jnaneśvara, a man who was apparently of a great age at the start of the war. His adoptive son is quite more well known, the Jain architect and later preacher, Pārśva. Many small castles started developing around the region. These were not forts, but proper castles. The difference being that the lords and kings were expected to reside in them at all times, not only wartime.

A great contributing factor to this was also the fact that the lightning fast Saka horsemen used to raid the small villages, forcing an urbanisation as many villagers moved into these towns and castles for security. This was a defining moment in the history of the world. Feudalism proper was starting to take root for the first time.

Getting back to the war though, there is only one major battle that is thought to have happened. In a small valley near the town of Kaolkaij[3], in 2005 lots of arrow heads and spear heads were found by villagers. Eventually archaeologists found out about the site and set up a dig there. After many weeks of excavation and finds it was established that this was the site of a major battle.

The battle was named posthumously; 'The Battle of the Two Fingers', for near the stream running past the site they found a little stone tablet bearing the strange inscription "'two fingers'. Along with this was another interesting find. A Greek-style vase found not far from the battle depicted a red-haired youth in full armour brandishing a spear and mounted on a horse. There is also a small inscription which was pieced together to say 'MURAONDAI'.

This piece helped us imagine what Paśyai may have looked like and what Saka war attire was at the time. With a helmet that was reminiscent of Cyrus the Great and traditional Sakai scaled armour the man is depicted with no shield but a bow and quiver at the back of his horse instead. The spearhead also looks like that of dory carried by Greek hoplites, yet this may just be an artist's interpretation.

Alas even though this chapter of Sakai history may have been blackened out by vengeful invaders or simply forgotten thanks to the great devourer time, it set the stage for history as we know it. Who knows what the outcome of history may have been if the Saka may have lost the war, simply becoming another migrating tribe into the brilliant and exotic kingdoms of Indica.
On the other hand, the next stage of history that remains known by the entire public and one piece of history that we may never forget. The ascension of Huśva Mayao, second son of Paśyai, as Muraonda of the Northern Saka.


--------------------------

[1] Trident Uprising -Wouldn't you want to know what that is.
[2] That's right, Kanishka got the short end of the stick in this TL.
[3] Kaolkaij - Gilgit

Lots of stuff this update. Kudos to Nassirisimo who's 'Dream of the Poison King' inspired this style of writing. Don't worry I will properly document Paśyai's life and the entire struggle to conquer Kashmir proper novel style.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Paśyai

A man of the Wild Hunt​

Outskirts of Kaotkvima, Middle of Autumn, 135 BC

He withdrew his sword from a body of a fallen opponent, wiping it with a cloth that he had retrieved from his baggage train. As he looked around, the result of the skirmish was clear for all to see; the Saka had won and another road into the lands of the Kambvoja was still in their control. This was the had been the third attempt to take this village by the enemy and yet they had not sent a proper army.

Walking around the fields, a shine caught his eye. He walked towards it and saw it had come from a dead foe's body. He kneeled down and surveyed the body, taking off the small golden object from a string tied to the fallen warriors waist and carefully inspecting the small golden trinket he saw.

It was a little golden statuette of a man sitting with his legs crossed and eyes closed with a smile on his face. Some brief memories of one prophecy or another came to his mind, one that his father had told him. He turned it around and had a look at the base before placing it in the dead man's hands. He feared to know how Hvakina [1] mounted atop mighty Tajhuka would disdain him if he stole from a fallen warrior, shuddering at the thought. It would be a true disgrace upon him, so much he may not be able to join his ancestors in the hunt.

Yet it would fetch it's price and it was very pretty miniature. Paśyai opened the man's hand and retrieved the tiny idol, holding it very protectively. There was just something about it alluring, not exactly the fact that it was made of gold, but something else. He put it in the sash that he had at his waist.
Paśyai got up and mindlessly ambled around. He knew eventually he would have to head back to Kaotkvima [2], but he felt too tired to ride back straight away. As cold winds blew threw the small field surrounded by massive Deodaras, he wondered why his chiefs had decided to settle a camp here of all places. This place sent shivers down his spine and the very name of the place was warning enough to not challenge the locals. As he walked the trees rustled around him, the chill winds blowing around him.

As he walked along he wondered about his foe. The king of the Kambvoja had proved a wily opponent indeed, not giving open battle to him, yet instead keeping inside his well stocked and well guarded castles. He cursed and let a blast of chilly air out of his mouth. The Saka knew nothing of how to take down the strong walls of forts. He lumbered on lost in thoughts of how to combat his enemy.

Paśyai knew that if the war didn't finish by the onset of winter the Saka wouldn't and couldn't survive. He ran his hand through his curled thick red hair as the stress and frustration mounted. A solution had to be found and it would need a miracle. He got to his horse Hujsïka and lay down on him, watching the clouds go past, deep in thought.

He sat there for a ages before cursing as he could find no solution to this great problem. Just as he was ready to mount his horse and ride into Kaotkvima, he heard the thundering of hooves in a distance. With his legs limp he staggered up, seeing two men ride up to him.

It was śyao [3] Śaoysta and the wise Pallana. He breathed a sigh of relief once he saw that Pallana was there. Śaoysta usually bought important news of strategy and affairs such as the construction of a house in Huẉïśgrutka, which had become quite large last time he was there.

Pallana usually helped him out with such things and was one man who had been by his side all his life. Right from his upbringing and education, to helping his grief stricken father live through his mother's death, Pallana had been the most fatherly figure to him, Pallana's wife Tabviti was his mother and their two sons; Otaośira and Takimaśada? They were his brothers.

"What news do you bring śyao?" he asked giving a hollow smile to the man on the magnificent white horse. Śaoysta dismounted and kneeled before him. He gave an weary sigh and tapped him on the shoulder. Śaoysta's constant compliance to tradition was quite a pain some times.

The tall and well built rider rose like the sun over a mountain, turned around and went to his saddle, retrieving a long bundle of orange silk. The silk itself seemed exquisite, but judging by the look on the face of both men, it was the contents inside this that were of value. Pallana also stepped of his horse, quite agile for a man of his venerable age.

"Paśyai, this is a gift. A gift from someone powerful, someone that will help us gain victory over the Kambvao," the wily old man said, both eyes gleaming with a look of knowledge. He beckoned Pallana to speak and share this news with him. "There is a local lord, Hvidimva [4], who has said he will declare his support for us and shall give us three hundred warriors and allow our army to safely garrison in his castle. But there remains a condition, in that in return he asks that we shall stop raiding his villages for supplies. What do you say to this offer my lord? I shall remind you that reason that we have been raiding entire towns is that we are starting to run out of supplies."

Paśyai listened and nodded, looking down and staring at the ground, stroking his scruff of a beard. The offer was very inviting, but it was not an easy one. 'If a man is fickle enough to burn all ties to his former lord and declare loyalty to another so easily, who can say that the bastard will keep his oath a second time around?'

"Pallana, seek a meeting with this man in Huẉïśgrutka. I will talk with him of friendship and loyalty there, for I cannot be sure he shall keep his word if we go to his lands. Śaoysta, come with me back to Kaotkvima and help restore some order for our warriors are weary and broken, their quivers empty and their steeds dead."

Both men nodded, bowed and mounted their horses, Paśyai following in suite, they rode off towards Kaotkvima. As the horses thundered along, Paśyai's mind began to wander. Sometimes he wondered what life would have been like if his father had not died, instead continuing to rule the tribe. Perhaps this entire war could have been avoided, after all wasn't it his own greed and pride which had started this?

Cracks were starting to show in his morality and he could feel it. 'Why did I go up and inspect that dead man's body. Looting is forbidden by Hvakina and Arimppaśa frowns upon it. Have I started to become a demon? In death will I have to roam among the Wild Hunt?' The distressed boy goaded his horse to go faster, shooting ahead of the other two men.

A cold flush came upon him and he started to feel light headed. He commanded his horse to go even faster. The memories of all the men he had slain came to him, their faces flashing before his eyes, each one having one of two expressions; fear, the want for mercy or hate, the seething hanger and disgust for him.

He leaned forward and nearly fell of his horse, his vision fading away. Almost instantly, Hujsïka came to a stop sensing that his master was in some sort of distress or the other. The young chief adjusted himself back up. That was the most terrifying experience of his life, for never had he felt, like he wished death upon himself. Another chilly gust of wind came through the forest on either sides of the road. He thought, nay, he knew spirits of the forest were angry, for he had insulted them by stealing from their descendants and they would give him no peace till he returned what was rightfully theirs.

Paśyai dismounted, staggering a bit and walked to what looked like the largest of the trees around him. He fished out the idol from his bag and nestled it at the base of the tree. He then drew his knife and made a cut on his hand, taking the blood smearing it before the idol. The troubled soul kneeled before the idol and muttered a prayer to Arimppaśa.

"Arimppaśa anaolska-ttiśā, adātta tti anaśimu muho, marṣyarä mah, mukạ anāspetä." [5]

Just as he had finished praying, the two men rode in from behind him, calling out for him.

"Ah, murundao there you are, we have been searching all over for you. Are you of a sane mind, you seemed as if you were possessed when rode of unexpectedly like that!" Śaoysta joked as he trotted in front of Paśyai.

He simply gave a deep breath before smiling and responding. "I'm, I'm feeling fine yes. I thought I saw a fine looking stag not far ahead and I rode ahead to give it chase. But the bugger's ran away so we can go back on path and continue our journey."

The response seemed enough for the two men who waited for their chief to mount before they resumed their journey. And this time around his chest felt lighter and his head clearer for all the dark thoughts that had been troubling him.

*****​

[1] Hvakina - Known as Aginos to the Greeks, this was the main war god of the Saka and hunter of the Wild Hunt, a mythical band of sinners that escaped on their way to atonement and ravage the human world. This legend will become more prominent as the Indian sub-continent becomes Sakafied
[2] Kaotkvima - The village where OTL Chilas sits, established as a small fort. Will become the second largest city in * Kashmir one day.
[3] śyao - An office equivalent to left hand or marshal.
[4] Hvidimva - Hidimba is an interesting character that we might visit. He is a snake and one of the Damaras that ultimately swapped to the Saka side, betraying Raja Kesava
[5] - "Arrimpasa of endless splendour, wrongful then unworthy I have been, forgive me for I am foolish and without haven."

 

[Shahrasayr]

Bvuda

The great leader and Palāka viewing the scene​

Fields of Kalhaka, Dead of Winter, 135 BC

The man took care and steadied his arrow. He cut all distractions out of his mind as his mind and eye synchronised to the painted mark; he let the arrow loose. It whistled through the air and got the partridge straight in its neck, bringing down the bird.

Two of his twelve companions gave a roar of approval and patted him on the back. He could only smile to himself. 'Well, not everyone can hit a bird at a mark of a hundred yards.'

He rode past the dead fowl and in one swift move picked it up, leaning on the side of his horse. He then put the game in the bag at the back of his saddle before riding to rejoin his comrades in their patrol. The onset of winter made it hard for such patrols to make any progress or actually even scout anything, making the entire activity seem like a big waste of time.
The men trekked on, the five of them through the snow covered, rocky hillsides of the mountains. There was an utmost silence, an uncomfortable one at that. His experience had told him that such a silence usually meant there was trouble afoot in the mountains.

"Unusually quite isn't it?" he thought out loud to no one in particular. "There should be some sort of sound echoing around these god forsaken mountains."
The man at the front of the six man scout part was the first to respond, not even turning his head to respond. "Well there should, but there isn't. I know you aren't exactly a veteran tracker or hunter but it's a quite obvious."

"Yeah boy. Don't think that you can just join the ride and expect to become a greater and respected tracker just like that. Stupidity is one thing that is not respected amongst these ranks," spat out old Palāka from next to him. "You may be an aijhhvirgka [1], but this far from the rest of the army you are equal to the rest of us."

Bvuda let the words of the old man pass him by. He knew they were simply jealous of his skill and perception. Never once had he used his blood as a tool to gain power. 'Hell, if blood and honour mattered that much to me would I have married my darling Deyki?'

He looked back to see Hvārru simply raise his eyebrows at the man trotting along in front of him before shooting a sympathetic look to him. Bvuda let a smile loose, the old man was always kind to him.

The small band continued to ride in silence through the snow capped hills of the land, not a single man making any sound. The silence was discomforting but welcomed to some extent. Bvuda wished he rather wouldn't have to talk with these rude and grizzled soldiers. He would probably get insulted even more, he thought cringing.

As their horse trotted along silently through the rugged and cold landscape, the horseman at the front came to a stop as they edged the top of this steep mount. Bvuda nearly rode his trusty steed into the arse of the horse in front of his, but reined in the horse in time. He wanted to call out to the man at the front to ask what the problem was, but then decided against it. 'Anyways, How do I even address him? Father never even told me his name, just that I should fight and serve under this man'.

"Palāka come here and tell me what you see. You've always been a better scout than me haven't you?" the leader o the band called out from in front. "Hurry up man, come here."

Palāka did as he was told with a mixed expression of surprise and curiosity on his face. The man rode out of the two line formation and rode up to the front of the formation. Bvuda couldn't see very well from here but it looked liked the bitter old man's eyes had widened considerably and he kept switching his view from whatever he had seen down in the valley at the bottom to the other man.

"I-I s-swear I had come h-here only two-- nay, three days ago and s-scouted the area for an-nything. It can't be, I swear it c-can't be," stuttered the malign old soul. "It just isn't p-possible, in the name of Hvakina it just isn't possible..."

"Ah really? You came here two days ago and surveyed the entire area properly? No, my friend. What probably happened was once again you were very drunk because you were reminiscing of the old days of raiding and pillaging under Murunda Härao, before the blessed Mogha came along and instilled some sense into our peoples. You were then shouted at by a śyao to go and do your job, doing it quite shit because you were cold drunk."

Palāka looked frightened for his life as the leader's voice grew harsher and slightly louder. The man then relented and gave another exasperated look to whatever they had seen down in the valley.

By now the rest of the men had also grown curious as to what it was and trotted ahead to get a better look. When Bvuda did so he got the shock of his life.

There were massive tents surrounded by a wall and what looked like two or three thousand men amassing outside this camp. In front of this great mass of iron, men and wood were two great obelisks, tall stones so big that they could clearly be seen from this far a distance. Suddenly the reason for the old warrior's outburst of anger seemed justified.

Another new recruit amongst the scouts, Khaodan, broke the silence. "Should we go and tell the Murundai about this? I'm sure lord Paśyai would love to know about this," he said looking at the rest of the comrades expectantly. "Plus look at it this way, they don't know that we know about them being here."

Bvuda along with five other of the new recruits in the scouting party nodded in agreement to this. Bvuda ran his finger through his tangled, coarse black hair looking at the large stones more closely.

"They look like too massive fingers sticking out of the ground." he said out loud to no one in particular.

But it seemed like his words fell on deaf ears, as the rest of the party had fallen dead quite and were looking at the leader stare young Khao down back into his place. The tension was high as the leader contemplated what do to, breathing very heavily with his eyes shut tight. He then finally sighed and opened his eyes.

"This short one may be onto something. We're going to ride back to the camp and demand a meeting with Lord Paśyai as soon as we arrive at the gates of Kaotkvima. No delaying this, I want every single one of the men present here to come and present themselves before the Murundai."

'Aye' came the chorus of voices and all men readied their horses. They would need to get back to Kaotkvima thrice as fast as they had come here and Bvuda was not the greatest of riders on this rocky and uneven terrain. He waited for the five veteran men amongst their troop to ride ahead before he too launched off towards the well defended camp. As he rode he could not help but wonder if more blood would be shed over the next few days than there had been shed over the entire war.

He ducked and wove through the snow covered cedars, all twelve men in unison. Riding hard and fast Bvuda kept steady in his saddle. As he turned around to look behind him, his eye fell on the pheasant he had shot earlier. He cursed in cold breath, watching the dead bird bob up and down. 'I was looking forward to some damn game'. He turned his head forward once more, ducking and narrowly missing a branch coming towards his face.

The young rider continued to ride at this pace for an hour, Kaotkvima coming within view of the troop soon enough. As they drew near the gate, the leader approached the guard and explained what they needed. The guard shouted orders to open the gate and leant into the ears of the man to whisper something. Bvuda continued to watch the two talking, getting prepared to greet and inform the chief. As much as he preferred to stay out of the intrigue between the two aijhysäta clans, he had picked up a few tips from his father and brother on how men behave when tensions reach a point. And by the look on the face of the guard talking to the boss, it looked like the news the Murundai was about to give them was just as bad as the news they were going to deliver to the Murundai...




[1] Aijhhvirgka - a 'Silver Wolf'. This is a cultural effect of the Saka migrations, as the tribe migrates southwards and away from people culturally Saka (let's not forget that Mogha took the smaller tribe), the Aijysata or the royal guard are forming little clans and houses reminiscent of dynasties. There are only two such clans in Pasyai's realm at the moment, the Vultures, Hayskäma and the Wolves, Virgka.

-----​

It's back.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Paśyai​

Chief's Hall, Kaotkvima, Dead of Winter, 135 BC

"WHY? WHY IS IT THAT NO ONE IN THIS FUCKING ARMY HAS WITNESSED THAT OUR ENEMIES HAVE GATHERED NEARLY A THOUSAND MEN AT OUR GATES?" shouted out Paśyai, slamming his fist on the arm-rest of his chair. The entire hall was silently watching their lord rage like a bear stung by a bee, snarling and stomping everywhere. Paśyai saw that some hung their head in shame like the old rider and his band of scouts who had told him this news. Others followed in suit like most of the Virgka clan. They simply defied this rage, ignoring it and some even smiling smug smiles to themselves. Their point had been proven, the foolish young son of a usurper had already brought the tribe to a ruin within a year. He had challenged forces greater than his own riders.

'They think this is a reason to oust me. I'll show them. I'll prove myself a great Murundao, I'll ride alongside the Hvakina by the time I'm dead, a sword of the Wild Hunt.'

Tears had began to well up in his eyes but he held them in as his blood began to boil. He was a man now, sixteen years of age, lord of the [1] Nahvonai Saka and the Kardaka. He would not act like a little boy who had his food stolen from him. 'Never.'

He straightened himself up, shaking his fist and loosening his posture. Weakness like this was becoming a problem for him ever since the night mares had started. For months they had come, just a few similar dreams of him being chased by nameless voices through vales and glades of the land. The air was thick and cold without respite, there was no one but him but these endless voices of hate and darkness.

He cleared his throat, sucking in all his fears along with the phlegm and spit. "I know what all the great warriors and the aijhysäta seated here think. They think that a son of an usurper has no right to rule let alone lead the tribe to war. I have led my people down nothing but dark plains according to the Wolves and the Vultures would prefer there be no war at all."

He paused for a second as even the wandering eyes fell on him. He had their curiosity before, now he would get their attention.

"So I say it here and now. My father was an usurper of the great warrior Härao."

As soon as this statement had been uttered the silence in the room went from being one of uneasy tension to being a silence so thick one could take an iron sword and cut right through it. The profoundness of this statement was immense, Paśyai noticed as he looked around the room. The expression on that of the Wolves was that of victory, the one on the band of rider's of shock, Pallana looked as if he could cry and all his śyaos were shocked.

"My lord, please don't denounce your father like so. He defeated Härao in fair ritual combat," explained Pallana as he spoke from the side of Paśyai. He then looked at the Wolves who sat on one side of the room looking at the slightly raised platform where Paśyai sat with Pallana and Śaoysta on either side. "These men only hated him because he was an orphan, like all Imyarao, who cast aside his destiny and fought. They also spite him because he refused to raid neighbouring tribes and the Yavanas.

Murundao, I beseech you. Calm down your wrath and march back to Huẉïśgrutka so we may live to fight another day. We may perhaps even be able to bolster our numbers with some more of other tribes joining us."

Paśyai's brow creased at this statement. He felt anger bubbling through him like a river of fire, as he clenched his fists. "Did he? And how did that work out for him? The Yavanas scorned him and cast our peoples out when he offered to fight alongside them. Our people were split in two by his indecisiveness. He made us suffer a long march south only to take us back into these mountains where our horses could not ride freely as they did on the open Steppe.

He refused to fight Yaojhi like a brave man. He was as weak and spineless as the Saka who followed that knave Hora to the dusty south. I shall not show such cowardice against the Paorśava, these-"

Paśyai did not get a chance to finish the sentence, a deft slap landing on his face. Śaoysta rubbed his hand and mumbled something, tucking it back in and folding his arms. Paśyai put his hand on his face and winced, having gone bright red there and leaving a searing pain like holding a bar of burning iron.

He looked at his śyao with shock. The pain he felt was nothing compared with the surprise.

"I was but a young boy when your father ordered the great wandering. The Hunt it was called. Because it was not just a normal wandering for new pastures, for this time around there were no pastures left to move to," he said looking into the empty distance. "The Yaojhi had burnt everything, the Maś Sakadai, Saka Raoka, Saka Kaśfao and many other tribes joined us Haomvarka on our voyage. Those who stayed were put to the sword."
He then looked at the young king and poke coldly, "Don't think you know about the steppe my lord. Your father sacrificed everything he had to make sure his people could actually eat and not starve. He offered refuge for people who were misguided by their chiefs.

Don't think you can state what bravery is. Your father defined it my lord."

The small heated hall sat in silence for a few moments, no one daring to make a move. Too many things had happened suddenly today. Cracks had began to show in the leadership of the tribe and army. And sudden realisation came to Paśyai that these cracks had always been here, he had just been too blind to realise this. 'Hatred runs too deep in my people, the Aijhöna [2] that surround me have never let me see how my people actually live. They have taught that the goat herders, craftsmen and loggers are weak. They have tricked me, fooled me into thinking only the hunters are strong. Maybe Pallana is right, I am but a chold who does not understand.'
He then thought about the words he had uttered before, tears welling up once again. 'Father? How could I insult beloved Papa? I'm sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry.'

Nothing was said as Paśyai got to his feet and took a deep breath. He then raised his arms and took his helmet from the side of his chair. He then placed his helmet on his head and unsheathed his word pointing hit up. The entire hall looked at him expectantly, trying to anticipate what he might do next.

"Saddle your horses. Fill your quivers and wipe your swords clean. WE RIDE FOR BATTLE!" he roared, his words echoing across the room and soon being followed by the frenzied and ecstatic howls of the Wolves as well as the wild cawing of the Vultures. He looked to Pallana who simply stared at the floor in despair, then moved his regal gaze to Śaoysta who simply continued to stand as he had before, loyal to the death. Then he looked to the band of riders who had come originally to tell the news. His eye fell on one of them, a man who was probably no more than five or six years older than himself. There was something about the man which was interesting, something which gave Paśyai a niggling feeling at the back of his head.

He snapped out of these simple thoughts and went back to the most pressing thoughts of them all. 'It'll be suicide. How can we face a large army like this in such a tight valley. They have surprised us and we are not ready and we are very weary. The horses won't be able to move properly in battle. But I can't go back now. Not now after everything I've said. Oh, Papa you ride with the wild hunt. Please ask Hvakina to ride alongside us, for otherwise I may ride alongside you sooner than you might have expected...'



[1] Nahvo or Nahvonai - North or Northern
[2] Aijhöna - Silver blood, the term used to define the nobility in Saka clans.
Höna - Blood

-----​

Well this is it. A small update before the Battle of the Two Fingers, which shall decide the fate of Kashmir and perhaps the entire sub-continent.

 

[Shahrasayr]

Bvuda​

The Battlefield of the Two Fingers, Dead of Winter, 135 BC

He heard the horns being blown from both directions as the massive cluster of Saka horsemen stood waiting for the enemy. And as the sound of the Paorśava horns broke through the still air in the area in this small valley, he could see their foe speckling the horizon like tiny dots, a caravan of spears and banners off in the distance.

He looked up at the grey sky and gave a deep sigh. The heavens showed that there would be now snow today, instead taking a even more hellish stance. Hard balls of ice were falling down upon the armour of the warriors assembled on the battlefield. Slowly he could see the enemy taking formation in a distance, also slowly marching forward towards the Saka lines. He could fear his horse growing nervous underneath him as the enemy marched forth. ‘Don’t blame the poor thing. It’s a death trap, we won’t be able to ride properly in such a small place.’ But if there was anything life had taught him so far, it was to not question the words of his chiefs and leaders so he trusted their line of thought.

Then the horn blew. He steadied his horse and got his bow out, drawing an arrow and pulling it back till his ear. He noticed that everyone around him had done likewise, but they hadn’t fired yet. He waited for others to fire so that he wouldn’t make a mistake. Then he saw the men around him ride forward, their arrows bow still drawn in the same position. He nudged his horse into a canter and did the same. Riding forward till they were only a hundred metres away from the approaching enemy, still maintaining their bows in the same position.

As the enemy arrows began to pepper the Saka force, finally another horn was blown this time around to fire. At a range of less than sixty metres the Saka horsemen let loose their arrows into the enemy soldiers. No sooner had they done so, they wheeled back around and rode away. Bvuda drew another arrow and turned around firing it into the ranks of the enemy forces, while riding away from them.

As they rode away from the enemy, he turned around to see how much damage had been wreaked upon the enemy. To his surprise the enemy had continued to march forward despite the obvious losses that they had taken. The call for another volley was made, a horn being sounded. As he prepared another arrow, something came flying out of nowhere and landed right next him in the ground, making his steed buckle nervously.

‘An arrow? Seems like they’re returning our gracious gifts.’

He once again rode forward with the rest of the mass of horsemen, pulling back his bowstring mid-gallop, aiming it towards the slowly approaching lines of the Paorśava army. As soon as the shout went out, he loosened his arrow upon them, and gracefully turned his mount around at the last second. If only Father could see me now, it wipe the scornful look off his vile face. He almost stopped his horse then and there at the thought of his father. The father who had cast him away for taking a poor non-Saka woman as his wife, a tanner's daughter. 'Father and the rest of the Virgkao may be silver but Deyki, she, she is gold.'

Almost being, the key word, the thrill of battle keeping his head in the moment. Another arrow landed next to his horse as he galloped away, causing the stallion to swerve to the left. He nearly crashed into another warrior who was riding next him, but managed to steady horse quickly enough.

“Oi, calm boy! Calm,” he shouted to the jittery beast as he stroked the back of its neck. “In the entire stables we Virgkao have, they had to give me the horse with cowardice flowing through its blood.” ‘Probably another one of Father’s ploys. He probably handpicked this one for me.’

Once they had ridden away back to the main , they once again turned around their horses t for another volley. Bvuda’s eyes grew wide in surprise at what he saw. The enemy continued to march forward, despite the immense casualties they had taken. Yet this tide of spears and steels didn’t seem to stop. The horn went out once more, they were going in for another volley. This time he knew he had to fire as many arrows as he could into their ranks.

Once again he rode within the mass of Saka horsemen, charging ahead. He readied an arrow, drew it back to his ear and fired. As soon as he had set one arrow loose, he drew another one and fired, aiming and getting a man straight in his throat. A third time he drew his bow and fire it into the ranks of the Paorśava army, as he rode towards them. All the while it seemed like they had no intention to stop marching forward. His third arrow also found its mark, this time in the chest of an unsuspecting soldier. ‘Poor fool.’ By the time he had drawn his fourth arrow the foe were dangerously close. He knew this was the last one he would get to send into the enemy. As he set it loose, his horse stumbled upon some rocks and the arrow struck the shield of a soldier instead of his head.

Barely a metre away from the cold spear tips of the enemy, he swerved his horse around rode away, getting a quick glance at the riders who had decided to wait till the last second to loosen their arrows upon the enemy. Out of the corner of his eye he witnessed one man who had waited too long and rode his horse into the wall of spears that was oncoming. Even though the unlucky soul’s arrow found a victim, every man the outnumbered Saka lost was a grave blow.

As he rode away back to the lines of the Kardaka warriors, he saw them proudly adorned in their furs and rough spun tunics, armed with their axes and spears on foot as they were accustomed to fight. The sleet and hail didn’t seem to faze them a bit, he noticed as he grew closer to them. These men were the true rulers of these mountains, regardless of who claimed kingship of the lands. And the murundao Paśyai stood there amongst them, in all the dignity a boy of barely sixteen could muster faced against a massive enemy army. As he rode towards the warriors, he heard a few horns go off behind him. In curiosity he turned around, witnessing a band of heavily armoured horsemen streaming through the ranks of the enemy spearmen. They butchered any man who had been lax in their haste to get away, giving chase to the Saka who had been a little bit more diligent.
As soon as he saw it Bvuda tugged the reins of his horse to go faster. ‘Not that he needs any encouraging, the coward.’ As if the beast read his thoughts, the black spotted stallion rode ahead as fast he could. Soon all the surviving Saka riders were amassed behind the Kardaka lines of infantry, loosening their arrows into the enemy and facing the wrath of the enemy at the same time.

Bvuda tried to get his horse to calm down and face the oncoming wall of enemy spears, but the beast could not handle it. It reared back and tried to flee in the other direction, causing a general ruckus amongst the line of Saka warriors. In a swift move, he lashed out and grabbed his quiver before jumping off his horse. A stray arrow found it's mark in the horse's head and the stallion crashed down nearly crushing Bvuda's legs. ’Bloody coward, he nearly took out my legs before he got to use his.’

As he staggered onto his feet his eyes met what was happening back in the thick of the battle. The Paorśava warriors were nearly upon the Kardaka footmen and some Saka riders were preparing to make a charge into the wall of enemy soldiers. He instantly picked up his quiver and strapped it around his waist. Then breaking into a sprint, he ran straight towards the back of the group of axemen, making his way through the ground which was starting to get extremely muddy and tough to walk on.

Once he had made it to the rest of the army, he elbowed his way through the thin and dense line of foot soldiers, seeing men being struck down by the enemy arrows beside him. Yet he pushed on till he was nearly at the front of the battle, where he witnessed the lord Paśyai fighting alongside the solemn man who had disciplined him in front of the entire council. The young man struck down man after man without remorse, his beautiful axe a blur of steel. ‘That beast there is a far cry from the pitiful looking boy I saw sitting with the aijhysäta.’ Turning from his thought back to the battle happening around him, in the midst of the fighting he saw a Saka soldier who was laying on his back, weapon out of hand, and a enemy warrior about to run his spear through the ailing fighter on the ground.

He rushed towards the Paorśava spearman and thrust his sword into the back of the man. His unwitting foe crashed to the ground like a felled tree, never knowing the face of the man who had slain him.

"Never let anything stop you from helping the helpless, my love?"

“No, no, no. Not now. Please not now,” he whispered to no one in particular as he helped the man on the ground back to his feet, handing the man a dagger from his person. “No Deyki not now. I can’t think of you and our little one now. Not amidst all this.”

The man on the ground simply dusted himself before he patted Bvuda's back, thanking him for the weapon before picking up the spear off his assailant and rushing off into the fray.

Turning around he saw that the main Kardaka line was starting to move back slowly and many Paorśava were starting to fill the space between the dismounted Saka assa-barrai [1]. They were going to be stranded. He knew that many of his fellow dismounted warriors would start falling to Paorśava steel soon, they were simply not prepared to fight on foot. Those that had retained their mounts had already ridden back behind the Kardaka lines. 'By Tajuka, so much for “ride to battle. And the Halsuhvayyao [2] will probably stay to guard the gates of Kaotkvima. No, we will have to fight on foot.'

He tried to push his way back towards the main line, striking down a Paorśava warrior from behind and kicking another into the cold slush of the ground. But even as he tried to clear a path, two more would come and fill the gap left by a dead foe. Slowly they were surrounded and left fighting in small groups. Heavily breathing Bvuda could feel himself starting to take a toll from the cuts and wounds all over him.

He slowly staggered past a dead Saka man on the ground. It was getting late and he knew it. The chance of him getting back to his wife and unborn child was small, some would say even impossible. ‘Never thought it would end like this. On my own two feet with a sword in my hand. I don’t believe it, a sword. Heh. I even gave away grandfather’s dagger,’ he wryly chuckled and thought. But as he struggled to keep himself up, wading through deep muddy ground with the battle going on around him, he saw another dying man. The figure on the ground wasn’t Saka but Paorśava. As the man was dying and coughing up blood, no sun to light his soul but the clouds of a storm. Strangely no hate or pity filled Bvuda but a sense of duty when he saw the scene. ‘Whatever this man’s story was it’s now over. I shouldn’t let the last words of his tale be filled with pain and treachery rather than glory and honour. Just like mine will. Yes my story. Perhaps it's better for me if I join Hvakina and his riders sooner. At least there will be a tale about me. At least I won't be forgotten like thousands of souls here today will. If I do get a good tale about me, perhaps even a song, I hope Deyki’s baby will hear it. Hear about it's father.’

He leant forward on his sword plunging it into the man’s heart, ending the wretch’s pain. However it did not soothe Bvuda’s. Regardless, an energy filled him, a second wind as such. The winds, rain and sleet had not stopped falling from the heavens instead empowering. There was no great dishonour left for him, no ties but the woman he loved and their child. ‘I’m already been cast off from the Virgkao. But I’ll show them I’m no embarrassment. I’ll be the a true wolf, the one who howled while pack whimpered.’

“MAOKI HÖNA!”

He howled like a wolf, but he had no pack. Yet he raised his blade to fight. He attacked a well-armoured foe wielding a mace. The man swung at him with full force and Bvuda only narrowly dodged the mace crushing his foot. Wheeling around he swung at the man from the left and cut his ear before the man moved. His enemy turned to him and roared swinging the mace at his face. Ducking down, Bvuda rammed his sword through the man’s stomach, forcing it through the chainmaille. The man spurted up blood, flinging it all over Bvuda’s eyes.

Once he wiped it from his eyes he saw that many of the Kardaka troops were starting to make a retreat as was his chief. Paśyai, cushioned in five or six arrows, turned his horse around and raised his sword shouting orders to follow him, the remnants of the horsemen starting to exit alongside him. A blind betrayal from their king, the one who they fought, died for. The sight of this fueled Bvuda, it fueled him with something that he hadn't felt till now; anger.

‘The foolish boy, if he runs now it’s all over for the Sakai people’s. The Paorśava will burn down Huẉïśgrutka, Kaotkvima, Kalhaka, every town. We will all pay the price for his hunger. If only Mogha was still Raomja. Now this idiot son will ruin all that Mogha had saved from the Yaojhi.’

As rage pumped through his veins he slew another man, lopping the head off the Paorśava warrior from behind. ‘No honour means there can be no dishonour.’ Turning around there was another warrior, this time actually facing him. The man thrust forward with his spear, piercing Bvuda’s leather armour and plunging into his gut. He howled in pain as the cold steel was ripped out of his body as quickly as it had entered, the rain dripping upon his grimacing face.

The pain made him stagger back, dodging the next attack from the spearman. Not willing to risk a third encounter with a spearhead he leaped to the man’s side and plunged his blade into his foe’s ribs. As the Paorśava warrior collapsed so did Bvuda clutching at his gut as blood streamed out of his mouth. Yet he would howl once more. ‘Mae šisbak virgka.’[4] With that thought he mustered all his remaining strength and roared.

“Maoki höna, maoki höna, maoki höna, MAOKI HÖNA!”

With that Bvuda crashed to the ground backwards like boulder when it fell from a cliff. As the grey heavens spat down their fury and the mud started to engulf him he kept his ears open. At first all he heard was the clash of steel and the shouting of men and their own war cries. But to his surprise he heard a chant rising . A chant of how in the end all who hunted in their life, whatever their prey, their prize, they would find it in the end. And he knew that even though they may have lost this battle, the war was not lost. Deyki would have a child. Their child.

But she would be made an outcaste. The Aijvirgkao would make sure of it, make sure she would have to live in the mountains away from the safety of the town. At the mercy of the Wild Hunt and any kind soul. The young Muraonda would not dare to interfere against the traditions of his aijhysäta. That’s when his eyes flew open. Life had always been cruel to him. But he had to make sure it would not treat his child the same way. He had to.

With all his might he tried to open his eyes, instead coughing up more blood. They were shut like a mountain pass in the dead of winter. He was cold and slowly drowning in mud and rain, just wanting release, escape from the world that caused him pain. Yet the pain would not lift and Bvuda’s limbs refused to move. As the chant of the Saka grew louder and men trampled around and trod on him he wondered why they said these words. He had his reasons. What were theirs? As he drifted into darkness he only hoped that Deyki had a bright future.

That was when the tears started flowing from his face and began mixing with the blood, phlegm, mud and rain. ‘How much of it do I regret? None. I am not a fool to think I am born from silver. I am made from mud and ash, to them I shall return.’ As he was resigning himself to the arms of the Wild Hunt, Hvakina coming forth and offering to him a mount, fully saddled and valiant unlike his previous steed. He smiled and reached out towards it as the Wild Hunt blew on their conches and a roar of great men was heard...

***​

[1] Assa barrai – The core of the Saka army, the horse archers.
[2] Halsuhvayyao – From the word ‘Halsa’ and ‘Vayo’, these were the few infantry warriors available on the Steppe. Belonging to the Massagetae tribe the name means, Tower Winds or ‘towering winds’. This is due to the fact that they were lightly armoured so as to be able to still ride horses to and from battlefields and also dismount quickly.
[3] Maoki Höna – “My Wild Blood”
[4] Mae šisbak virgka - “I am a true wolf.”

 

[Shahrasayr]

Heliocles
​

Alexandria in the Caucasus, Dead of Winter, 135 BC

“Then it is settled. I shall wed your most lovely of daughters, Helena, and thus ensure that all children born from this union shall have the blood of Perseus mix with the blood of Iason. When shall it happen?”

“It is wonderful that you are accepting this most humble of offers I have presented before you Megas, there is no greater honour for me than to see my daughter wed to the true heir of Eucradites.

We should see you union arranged before the gods on Brumalia [1] and secure this alliance one once and for all.”

Heliocles put on the friendliest smile he could muster for his host and soon to be father-in-law as the big burly man picked himself up and left the room, hands rubbing together in the cold winter frost and keeping that wicked grin of his smeared all over his face.

Heliocles had been allowed safe passage and stay in this small town and fort of Kophene [2] on the charity of Governor Proxenus and his machinations. While all other men of power and title in the area had turned him and his tattered, wandering army away, Proxenus had greeted him with open arms and welcomed him into his care.

‘Maybe I should be thankful for it. At least I don’t have 600 hungry mouths to feed anymore. Yet this has all happened in a rush and I still don’t fully trust him…’

He got up and walked across the marble floors of the room and onto the balcony, looking out of the window towards the yonder, two pleasant sights greeting his eyes.

Helena, the shifty governor’s daughter and his betrothed had a face that was very nice on the eyes and was one of the factors that had made him even consider the alliance. He probably wouldn’t find a suitable candidate for marriage otherwise, no great Bactrian houses remained and foreign sovereigns would have been much more cautious in wedding into a king without a throne.

His eyes moved from the comely lady to the sight of snow capped yet still green mountains before him, rolling away and in the distance Kophene town could even be sighted, pristine and free from the filth that begins to consume large settlements.

“Well the many spears and elephants that come with the marriage could perhaps help me reclaim Baktra one day. 4,000 is no small figure and my men couldn’t hope to take on the Tókharoi with the current state of their equipment.” He whispered to no one in particular.

Much time passed as he saw his future wife and her father depart from his balcony spot, seeing them and their armed guard mount up, riding off back towards Alexandria over the mountains towards the north.

‘Huh. The city lies to the north of here. Perhaps this is a safer place to be than Alexandria. Heh but you can never be south enough these days, what with the amount of hordes and barbarians roaming about these days.”

He continued to lean against the balcony and watch life in the fort go past when it hit him. South. There in lay the cause and answer to his problem, the one man who could help him reclaim his crown.

H e rushed off the balcony, through the room where he had held audience with Proxenus and down to the main courtyard of the fort. He rushed in and all there looked at him as if he was some sort of mad man.

“Where is General Eumenes?” he asked a passing guard who was counting some rations, slightly irritating the man.

“He is down in the wine cellars my king, no doubt trying to aid in the upcoming wedding festivities. But I beg your pardon Anax, if you don’t mind I need to finish doing these numbers. Ledgers help maintain everything from the smallest of inns to empires you know.” Heliocles looked sheepishly at the man as the grizzled soldier went back to his numbers.

“Yes of course my good man. Keep up these standards,” he apologised to deaf ears as he retreated from the scene back into the building.

He ran past some servants gossiping about the bad quality of fabric a distant merchant was peddling, a soldier of his who seemed to be talking to his shield in a most disconcerting of manners, two guards were rolling some dice and betting on who would take their next shift and other manners of life.

Finally he arrived to a flight of stairs that took him to the bowls of the building. Inside he saw Eumenes talking with a servant about the 'terrible' quality of wines in the area. Why is he always lying about these small things?

“Eumenes?”

The man turned around and signalled for the servant to exit. “Yes my Anax?”

“I believe I may have found a solution to our lack of a patron and soldiers.”

“What would you mean my lord? Governor Proxenus has already pledged to give us ten-fold the men we have. He will give you soldiers and you will give him prestige, or was that not the gist of your meeting with him?”

“Yes it was, but those shall become a part of our core forces and 6,000 will seem like a pittance compared to how many men I think we could have if we approach the right person.”

Eumenes simply looked at Heliocles for a moment before realisation dawned upon him. He shook his head as he put the ladle he had in his hand down upon the casket the servant had brought out.

“Surely you are feeling comedic today, because anyone being rational and serious would not consider such a thing.” Eumenes proclaimed trying to shoot the idea down. “What you are doing is trying to pick up a cool ember. It may not look that hot, but by the gods can it burn you.”

“Come on Eumenes. Surely dealing with Menander can’t be that hard. I don’t plan to go back on my deal with Proxenus, I simply wish to get a better one with the most powerful ally I might have remaining.”

“Powerful he maybe, yes. But Menander is an Emperor proper and while no one is arguing the legitimacy of your title you are still but a Megas Anax, while he is a Baseilios. And without Proxenus’ help we don’t even have a real army to speak of.”

“Are you trying to say he would not help me against the vicious Tókharoi that ravage Bactria? That he would not help a fellow Greek in need? Because if I remember properly he signed a treaty with my uncle agreeing that both are heirs of Alexandros.” Heliocles said his voice gaining a bit of heat and traction.

Eumenes let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. “Alright my lord we shall try. I shall send a messenger to Menander requesting a council. We shall then gather a small band of riders hetairoi [3] and ride out to Taxila to talk with him.

But do not be surprised if the terms he puts before you are heavily in his favour. He would be a fool to not do so in likelihood and trust me Heliocles, Menander is no fool. One does not become Emperor of the Indus easily, neither does one easily crush the might of the entire Sangas Empire either. Vasomattros [4] and his massive force were crushed at Sagala by Menander.

And my final request is that you would atleast wait until after the wedding my lord, we need those soldiers to not look weak and malleable before him or else he would set his terms even lower.”

Yet Heliocles did not care about any of the statement after the fact Eumenes had agreed to send a messenger to Taxila. ‘I trust in the word of Menander, his reputation precedes him and he is a firm believer in the enlightened ways of Boddo [5].’

“...My lord? It is utmost critical you have been listening to me.”

“Hmmn? Wedding? Oh yes of course, we shall definitely go after the wedding...”


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[1] Brumalia is an ancient Athenian festival that was celebrated mid-winter. It was the only appropriate festival I could find for the time.

[2] Kabul’s Greek name.

[3] Apparently all elite light cavalry post-Alexander was referred to as hetairoi or ‘Companions’, even through the Diadochi period.

[4] Vasumitra Sunga. In OTL he was the only capable Sunga emperor after Pushymitra Sunga himself all others were just capable enough or complete cronies to their nobles.

[5] Buddha in his Greek translation.

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Short update, but its back. Should see next update in a week, Or two.