RISE OF THE HUI - TIMUR'S DREAM
'With eyes like fire and voice of thunder
Timur the lame tore nations asunder
The scourge of god, the morning sword
Their blunder they could not afford
And they burned when they faced him'
-Timur the Lame, excerpt from a 15th century Hui poem written by Fa Bufan
The winter winds snapped at their heels like a hungry pack of wolves, their cold teeth piercing into their skin, every step sending an ache of pain coursing through their bodies.
Their movement was slow and rhythmic, as deep as a drum. The sea of men marched on despite the cold. Many knew they would not live to see winter through, but better to risk the wrath of nature then bring down upon them the anger of Timur.
Samir had no idea how large this army was. Just by looking at the serried ranks surrounding him he'd have to estimate they were in the region of hundreds of thousands. Men of all sizes and races made up Timur's army. The large man plodding next to Samir was as swarthy as they came, Indian most probably, or an Arab. Behind his bushy black beard he wore a deep scowl. Dispersed through the army were Turks, Mongols, Persians - all who took Timur's banner as their own when the great warlord had marched upon their cities and massacred their families.
Samir had not yet experienced battle. He did not fight the Ottomans at Ankara, nor did he clash at Terek River. He was still half a boy, green as they came, not yet understanding the full meaning of war. When he had offered his sword to Timur back in Samarkand he was drunk on ideas of glory and bloodlust.
Where is that boy now? Samir thought. He did not want to admit it to himself but deep down he could feel fear churning in his stomach. He didn't even know where they were marching to or what heathen foe they would be fighting next.
"Where do you think we're going?" Samir asked his dark companion, for want of taking his mind off the weight of his armour more so than any interest in conversation.
"Egypt, paleface" the larger man replied, his accent as thick as his neck.
"What will we find there?" Samir continued, now genuinely intrigued.
"A war."
Samir was now struggling to keep up, his legs seemed unable to hold his weight. The last thing he wanted was to fall back and disrupt the the rhythm of the army.
How can they all keep? he asked himself.
"You must be stupid," a voice from behind Samir sneered, "we are not marching on Egypt,"
"Who dares call Jahal of Agra an idiot?" the dark man boomed, turning his head, "was it you, paleface?"
Samir shook his head furiously.
"It was I, brother," a tall figure from behind them replied, "we are marching east, not west,"
"So?" Jahal grunted.
"So Egypt is not east," the other man replied, rolling his eyes.
"Then where are we going?" the irratation was apparent in Jahal's voice. Samir was half worried he would strike at the first thing at hand - which was unfortunately Samir's face.
"It is simple," the other man said, smiling, "we will find our war in China,"