In the aftermath of the fierce battle against the Nipih, Naci and Horohan find themselves waist-deep in the reconstruction efforts of the ravaged Haikam settlement. The sound of hammers on nails, the pulling of ropes to erect new tents, and the coordinated effort to rebuild speaks volumes of their resolve.
Naci is a whirlwind of activity, her hands alternating between carrying beams for a new longhouse and directing Haikam warriors in rearranging the defensive barricades. Horohan, bow slung across her back, is not far behind, wielding an axe with a practiced ease to chop down trees for additional lumber. Both wear the sweat and grime like badges of honor, but it’s the awestruck looks from the Haikam tribe that matter most.
Among the Haikam warriors, respect for Naci and Horohan has grown exponentially. Initially cautious, even skeptical, they now discuss the two newcomers in hushed tones of awe. “Did you see the way she swung her sword? Took down three Nipih in one stroke!” one young warrior says of Naci. Another chimes in about Horohan, “And her aim—pierced a Nipih archer right through his eye from a hundred paces!”
But it’s not just the warriors who are enamored. The women of the tribe, many of whom are busy tending to the wounded and organizing supplies, look upon Naci and Horohan with gratitude. They bring them bowls of water to wash their faces and plates of food, despite their own meager supplies.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Horohan takes a moment to approach a group of Haikam women who are busily applying herbal poultices to the wounds of their men. “Why do you think the Nipih attacked now?” she asks, kneeling beside them.
One of the women, her hands stained with medicinal herbs, looks up and sighs. “Their lands are poor, mostly tundra. Yet, they always seem to have enough. We’ve long suspected that they hide a significant part of their wealth.”
“From the Moukopl empire, you mean?” Horohan probes.
“Yes,” another woman adds, her voice tinged with bitterness. “We lost many young men to the Moukopl draft, even some of my own kin. Yet, no Nipih were taken. They must have found a way to keep the empire’s tax collectors at bay.”
“It gave them the advantage, the opportunity to strike while we were weaker,” the first woman concludes, a weary anger in her eyes.
As Horohan strolls back through the settlement, her thoughts drift to Naci’s earlier remarks about the Moukopl empire’s divide-and-conquer tactics. “Could they really be pitting tribes against one another by selectively drafting men?” she muses. The idea sinks its claws into her, fitting too neatly with the unfairness they’ve just witnessed in Haikam. But before she can delve deeper into this thought, a burst of childish laughter breaks her reverie.
Up ahead, Naci is holding court among a gaggle of Haikam children. They’re all eyes and ears as Naci lifts her young eagle, wings still not fully formed, from its perch. With an air of practiced drama, Naci extends her arm, and the eagle—more fluff than feathers—clumsily flaps its wings. The children clap and cheer, completely enamored.
Seeing an opportunity for some playful rivalry, Horohan raises her fingers to her lips and emits a sharp, piercing whistle. From the skies, a majestic shadow descends, circling once before landing gracefully on Horohan’s extended arm. Khatan, her full-grown, regal eagle, eyes the scene below him with disdain, as if judging Naci’s fledgling.
The children’s attention shifts instantly, their eyes widening at the sight of the imposing bird of prey. Even some of the adults who were pretending not to watch steal glances.
“Ahem. Real eagle coming through,” Horohan announces, unable to suppress her smug grin.
Naci shoots her a glare, visibly miffed at being upstaged. “Showing off, are we? Khatan is practically an elder compared to my little one here.”
Ignoring Naci’s irritation, Horohan bends down and gently places Khatan on the shoulder of one wide-eyed child. The young boy stands frozen, somewhere between pure joy and sheer terror.
“Naci, perhaps your youngling could learn a thing or two from Khatan here,” Horohan quips, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Naci huffs and quickly covers her young eagle’s eyes. “You shouldn’t see this, darling. This is what overcompensation looks like.”
As the laughter and the moment of lightheartedness fade, Naci leans in closer to Horohan, her eyes locked onto her with a glint of focus. “Wanna come hunting with me?”
Horohan is intrigued. “Sure. More quality time with your eagle?”
“Ha! Not just that. We can use the opportunity to bring back some fresh meat for the Haikam. Their supplies are low, and they need the morale boost.”
Impressed by Naci’s forward-thinking, Horohan nods. They both call for their horses, mount up, and head out of the settlement, their animals’ hooves crunching against the gravelly earth.
As they ride, Horohan speaks, “You’re pretty considerate, you know. Thinking about the Haikam’s morale like that.”
Naci shrugs, but her cheeks redden ever so slightly. “When you grow up with a father who makes you read ancient tactics and philosophy alongside your algebra, you tend to think that way.”
“Your father sounds like an interesting man,” Horohan ponders aloud, curious about what kind of life must’ve led a man to impart such wisdom to his daughter.
They ride in comfortable silence until they reach the riverbanks. In the soft twilight, they spot a group of deer grazing near the water’s edge. The sight instantly shifts them into hunting mode.
Horohan gets an idea. “Let me show you another trick with Khatan.”
She dismounts and places her eagle on her forearm. With another sharp whistle, Khatan takes to the skies, soaring high before swooping low over the group of deer.
Panicked, the deer scatter, bolting away from the riverbank. And as Horohan predicted, they run directly in the path the two hunters had laid out.
Naci watches the spectacle unfold, her eyes widening in surprise and admiration. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Horohan grins, feeling a warm surge of pride. “I aim to impress.”
The deer dash right into their line of sight, and with practiced ease, both women draw their bows. The arrows fly, piercing through the air before finding their marks. Two deer tumble to the ground, life snuffed out almost instantly.
As they secure the deer to their horses, preparing to take them back to the Haikam, Horohan can’t help but think how their individual strengths come together so naturally, like two sides of a well-balanced blade. And it’s in moments like this, when they’re in sync and the rest of the world fades away, that Horohan realizes they’re not just fighters or survivors, but partners—in every sense of the word.
As Naci and Horohan ride back into the Haikam settlement, the weight of two deer hanging from their horses, a cheer erupts from the gathered crowd. Their faces light up, eyes shining with gratitude, and the air is instantly filled with a sense of collective triumph.
“Seems like we’ve made ourselves popular,” Horohan remarks, amused.
“You think? We’re practically celebrities,” Naci retorts, winking at her.
Soon, preparations for a feast are underway. Meat is skewered and placed over crackling fires, while a gaggle of children dance around, barely able to contain their excitement. As the aroma of roasted meat fills the air, the chieftain and some veteran warriors gather to discuss the next day’s plan for the payback raid on the Nipih.
Pomogr outlines the tactics. “We’ll go through the marsh that separates us. The Nipih won’t expect us to take that route. Once we cross, we’ll split into two groups and encircle them from the north and south.”
Naci exchanges a glance with Horohan, a concerned expression settling on her face.
The feast kicks off with a sense of communal joy, the air filled with laughter and the clinking of utensils. But as everyone dives into the much-needed meal, Naci pulls Horohan aside, distancing themselves from the revelry.
“That plan … it’s bad. Really bad,” Naci whispers, her voice tinged with concern.
Horohan raises an eyebrow, intrigued but not entirely surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“Going through the marsh is risky. It’s a death trap, and it’ll slow us down. And the steppes and tundra on the Nipih side? They’re too open. We’ll be sitting ducks,” Naci explains.
Horohan absorbs this, recognizing the sense in Naci’s words. “Do you think you should say something?”
Naci hesitates, her gaze drifting across the circle of faces—faces that belong to men who’ve led their tribe for years, faces that might not take kindly to a dissenting voice, especially from an outsider and a woman.
“I don’t know,” Naci admits, her voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t want to undermine the chieftain, and, well, you know how it is. I’m not one of them—not yet, at least.”
Horohan listens to Naci’s reservations, her eyes narrowing as she processes the tactical flaws in the chieftain’s plan. The stakes are too high, and the risks aren’t just theoretical—they’re real and they’re immediate.
“Stay here,” Horohan finally says, a resolute expression settling on her face. “I’ll handle this.”
Before Naci can respond, Horohan turns and walks back toward the gathering of warriors and the chieftain. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what she’s about to do. Despite her outsider status, she’s been in situations like this before—when posing as a man was her daily life.
“Chieftain Pomogr, may I have a word?” Horohan interrupts, her voice carrying enough conviction to command immediate attention. The chatter dies down, and all eyes turn to her.
“Speak,” the chieftain says, eyeing her cautiously.
“With all due respect,” Horohan begins, “I believe there’s a significant flaw in the tactic you’ve proposed for the raid.”
Murmurs ripple through the circle, but Horohan presses on, laying out the risks of navigating the marsh and the dangers of the open terrain in Nipih territory. She doesn’t embellish, nor does she downplay the situation. She merely presents the facts as she understood them.
“As it stands,” Horohan concludes, “we would be making ourselves vulnerable to counterattack while gaining minimal strategic advantage.”
A tense silence fills the air. It’s broken by Pomogr, who finally asks, “Do you—or anyone else—have a better suggestion, then?”
Horohan turns to Naci, her eyes locking onto hers with an unspoken invitation. “Naci has valuable insights into tactical planning. If you would allow her to share, she might have a better plan.”
Naci feels her pulse quicken, but she steps forward, accepting the challenge and the opportunity to prove her worth. With a nod from the chieftain, she begins outlining a revised tactic. “The key to victory is not necessarily in attacking the enemy, but in creating conditions by which the enemy defeats itself.”
A couple of eyebrows rise, intrigued by her opening statement. She continues.
“It’s an idea from a book on military strategy. The marsh that separates us from the Nipih can be used to our advantage—just not in the way you’ve outlined.”
Murmurs echo through the crowd, but the chieftain signals for silence. Intrigued, he nods for Naci to continue.
…
As the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, the Haikam warriors gather, their faces set in a combination of determination and cautious optimism. Chieftain Pomogr gives a nod, and the group moves out, heading towards the marsh that serves as the no-man’s land between their territory and that of the Nipih.
The trek through the marsh is arduous but uneventful, the warriors moving in a disciplined formation, careful not to disturb the treacherous ground beneath their feet more than necessary. Upon reaching the other side, they pause only briefly to catch their breaths and adjust their equipment.
With another signal from Pomogr, the Haikam warriors advance further, their eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of the enemy. The air is tense, each warrior attuned to the subtlest of sounds—the distant rustle of leaves, the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. Despite the calm, they all feel the lurking presence of impending danger. Then, the tension breaks.
Just as they move past the marsh, a wild cry rings out from their flank, cutting through the uneasy stillness like a blade. Heads turn sharply toward the direction of the sound, eyes widening at the sight that meets them: a swarm of Nipih horsemen galloping toward them, lances poised and bows at the ready.
“Archers! Form a line!” Pomogr shouts, but even as the Haikam warriors attempt to comply, a rain of arrows from the Nipih riders arches through the sky, landing among them with deadly precision. Two Haikam warriors cry out and stagger, hit but not critically wounded. It’s a grim realization that they’re outmatched in both numbers and mobility.
For a moment, there’s confusion—individuals looking at one another, gauging whether to stand their ground or flee. It’s a young warrior who breaks the momentary paralysis, his eyes locking onto Pomogr. He nods subtly, almost imperceptibly, and that seems to snap everyone back to reality.
Then, almost as if by collective instinct, the Haikam warriors pivot and start retreating back toward the marsh they’ve just crossed. The earth trembles beneath the hooves of the Nipih cavalry, who are evidently emboldened by what they believe to be a fleeing enemy. The horsemen let out a triumphant yell, urging their steeds faster, lances lowered menacingly and bows drawn taut for another volley.
As they reach the edge of the marsh, the Haikam warriors glance back, their eyes meeting the incoming wave of Nipih horsemen with a mix of dread and determination. It’s a do-or-die moment, and every Haikam knows it. The ground beneath them transitions from hard-packed soil to the familiar, sinking muck of the marsh, each step a gamble between solid footing and treacherous sinkholes. But it’s terrain they know, and it’s their only hope.
Give chase the Nipih do, their triumphant cries turning to frustrated snarls as their horses struggle with the marshy ground. Lances become unwieldy in the close, unstable terrain, and their bows less effective when their targets are zigzagging through a landscape that offers some cover in the form of reeds and small stands of trees.
Like predators closing in on their prey, the Nipih warriors follow the Haikam into the marsh. It’s a tactical blunder they realize too late; the Haikam turn and encircle them, taking advantage of the slowed Nipih, who now struggle through the swampy terrain they had called a fortress.
…
“We’ll lure them into believing we’re attacking as you originally proposed, but after crossing the marsh, we’ll feign retreat,” Naci outlines, her voice steady.
“Feign retreat? That’s risky,” one of the veteran warriors interjects.
“Yes, it’s risky,” Naci agrees, “but it’s a calculated risk. If we do it right, they’ll chase us, thinking they’ve gained the upper hand.”
“And then?” Pomogr presses.
“And then we lead them into their own marsh. We’ve turned their natural fortress into a trap,” Naci says, her eyes flickering with the intensity of her plan. “Once they’re in, we surround them. They’ll be the ones slowed down by the difficult terrain, making them easier targets.”
“And … then?” A veteran asks, curious to know to what extent Naci has planned.
“And then they’ll feel the warmth of Tengr,” Naci exclaims, snapping her fingers.
Next to her, Horohan pulls a stick out of the bonfire and swings it in front of the chieftain and the veterans, the ignited tip dancing in the night.
…
Just then, a series of arrows descend from the heavens, as if guided by some celestial force. Haikam archers, who had remained hidden in the higher ground, reveal their position, bows drawn. They had been waiting for this exact moment, their arrows finding their marks among the disoriented Nipih. Horses whinny in distress, some collapsing under the weight of their riders. Cries of pain and shouts of alarm erupt among the Nipih, causing even more confusion.
At the same time, a different kind of noise rises in the distance—hoofbeats, but distinct from the panicked stamping within the marsh. Naci and Horohan lead the Haikam cavalry, circling around the wetlands at breakneck speed. Their target is clear: the vulnerable Nipih encampment. With their enemy’s forces embroiled in the marshland debacle, it’s the perfect time to strike.
Naci’s eyes meet Horohan’s as they gallop, smiling. Their hearts pump with adrenaline, the wind slicing against their faces, but their resolve never wavers. Reaching the Nipih camp, they don’t hesitate. Torches are thrown, igniting tents and supplies. Panicked cries echo from within, but by that time, the damage is done. Within minutes, the encampment is ablaze, a warning pyre that can be seen for leaps.
In the aftermath of the fierce battle against the Nipih, Naci and Horohan find themselves waist-deep in the reconstruction efforts of the ravaged Haikam settlement. The sound of hammers on nails, the pulling of ropes to erect new tents, and the coordinated effort to rebuild speaks volumes of their resolve.
Naci is a whirlwind of activity, her hands alternating between carrying beams for a new longhouse and directing Haikam warriors in rearranging the defensive barricades. Horohan, bow slung across her back, is not far behind, wielding an axe with a practiced ease to chop down trees for additional lumber. Both wear the sweat and grime like badges of honor, but it’s the awestruck looks from the Haikam tribe that matter most.
Among the Haikam warriors, respect for Naci and Horohan has grown exponentially. Initially cautious, even skeptical, they now discuss the two newcomers in hushed tones of awe. “Did you see the way she swung her sword? Took down three Nipih in one stroke!” one young warrior says of Naci. Another chimes in about Horohan, “And her aim—pierced a Nipih archer right through his eye from a hundred paces!”
But it’s not just the warriors who are enamored. The women of the tribe, many of whom are busy tending to the wounded and organizing supplies, look upon Naci and Horohan with gratitude. They bring them bowls of water to wash their faces and plates of food, despite their own meager supplies.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Horohan takes a moment to approach a group of Haikam women who are busily applying herbal poultices to the wounds of their men. “Why do you think the Nipih attacked now?” she asks, kneeling beside them.
One of the women, her hands stained with medicinal herbs, looks up and sighs. “Their lands are poor, mostly tundra. Yet, they always seem to have enough. We’ve long suspected that they hide a significant part of their wealth.”
“From the Moukopl empire, you mean?” Horohan probes.
“Yes,” another woman adds, her voice tinged with bitterness. “We lost many young men to the Moukopl draft, even some of my own kin. Yet, no Nipih were taken. They must have found a way to keep the empire’s tax collectors at bay.”
“It gave them the advantage, the opportunity to strike while we were weaker,” the first woman concludes, a weary anger in her eyes.
As Horohan strolls back through the settlement, her thoughts drift to Naci’s earlier remarks about the Moukopl empire’s divide-and-conquer tactics. “Could they really be pitting tribes against one another by selectively drafting men?” she muses. The idea sinks its claws into her, fitting too neatly with the unfairness they’ve just witnessed in Haikam. But before she can delve deeper into this thought, a burst of childish laughter breaks her reverie.
Up ahead, Naci is holding court among a gaggle of Haikam children. They’re all eyes and ears as Naci lifts her young eagle, wings still not fully formed, from its perch. With an air of practiced drama, Naci extends her arm, and the eagle—more fluff than feathers—clumsily flaps its wings. The children clap and cheer, completely enamored.
Seeing an opportunity for some playful rivalry, Horohan raises her fingers to her lips and emits a sharp, piercing whistle. From the skies, a majestic shadow descends, circling once before landing gracefully on Horohan’s extended arm. Khatan, her full-grown, regal eagle, eyes the scene below him with disdain, as if judging Naci’s fledgling.
The children’s attention shifts instantly, their eyes widening at the sight of the imposing bird of prey. Even some of the adults who were pretending not to watch steal glances.
“Ahem. Real eagle coming through,” Horohan announces, unable to suppress her smug grin.
Naci shoots her a glare, visibly miffed at being upstaged. “Showing off, are we? Khatan is practically an elder compared to my little one here.”
Ignoring Naci’s irritation, Horohan bends down and gently places Khatan on the shoulder of one wide-eyed child. The young boy stands frozen, somewhere between pure joy and sheer terror.
“Naci, perhaps your youngling could learn a thing or two from Khatan here,” Horohan quips, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Naci huffs and quickly covers her young eagle’s eyes. “You shouldn’t see this, darling. This is what overcompensation looks like.”
As the laughter and the moment of lightheartedness fade, Naci leans in closer to Horohan, her eyes locked onto her with a glint of focus. “Wanna come hunting with me?”
Horohan is intrigued. “Sure. More quality time with your eagle?”
“Ha! Not just that. We can use the opportunity to bring back some fresh meat for the Haikam. Their supplies are low, and they need the morale boost.”
Impressed by Naci’s forward-thinking, Horohan nods. They both call for their horses, mount up, and head out of the settlement, their animals’ hooves crunching against the gravelly earth.
As they ride, Horohan speaks, “You’re pretty considerate, you know. Thinking about the Haikam’s morale like that.”
Naci shrugs, but her cheeks redden ever so slightly. “When you grow up with a father who makes you read ancient tactics and philosophy alongside your algebra, you tend to think that way.”
“Your father sounds like an interesting man,” Horohan ponders aloud, curious about what kind of life must’ve led a man to impart such wisdom to his daughter.
They ride in comfortable silence until they reach the riverbanks. In the soft twilight, they spot a group of deer grazing near the water’s edge. The sight instantly shifts them into hunting mode.
Horohan gets an idea. “Let me show you another trick with Khatan.”
She dismounts and places her eagle on her forearm. With another sharp whistle, Khatan takes to the skies, soaring high before swooping low over the group of deer.
Panicked, the deer scatter, bolting away from the riverbank. And as Horohan predicted, they run directly in the path the two hunters had laid out.
Naci watches the spectacle unfold, her eyes widening in surprise and admiration. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Horohan grins, feeling a warm surge of pride. “I aim to impress.”
The deer dash right into their line of sight, and with practiced ease, both women draw their bows. The arrows fly, piercing through the air before finding their marks. Two deer tumble to the ground, life snuffed out almost instantly.
As they secure the deer to their horses, preparing to take them back to the Haikam, Horohan can’t help but think how their individual strengths come together so naturally, like two sides of a well-balanced blade. And it’s in moments like this, when they’re in sync and the rest of the world fades away, that Horohan realizes they’re not just fighters or survivors, but partners—in every sense of the word.
As Naci and Horohan ride back into the Haikam settlement, the weight of two deer hanging from their horses, a cheer erupts from the gathered crowd. Their faces light up, eyes shining with gratitude, and the air is instantly filled with a sense of collective triumph.
“Seems like we’ve made ourselves popular,” Horohan remarks, amused.
“You think? We’re practically celebrities,” Naci retorts, winking at her.
Soon, preparations for a feast are underway. Meat is skewered and placed over crackling fires, while a gaggle of children dance around, barely able to contain their excitement. As the aroma of roasted meat fills the air, the chieftain and some veteran warriors gather to discuss the next day’s plan for the payback raid on the Nipih.
Pomogr outlines the tactics. “We’ll go through the marsh that separates us. The Nipih won’t expect us to take that route. Once we cross, we’ll split into two groups and encircle them from the north and south.”
Naci exchanges a glance with Horohan, a concerned expression settling on her face.
The feast kicks off with a sense of communal joy, the air filled with laughter and the clinking of utensils. But as everyone dives into the much-needed meal, Naci pulls Horohan aside, distancing themselves from the revelry.
“That plan … it’s bad. Really bad,” Naci whispers, her voice tinged with concern.
Horohan raises an eyebrow, intrigued but not entirely surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“Going through the marsh is risky. It’s a death trap, and it’ll slow us down. And the steppes and tundra on the Nipih side? They’re too open. We’ll be sitting ducks,” Naci explains.
Horohan absorbs this, recognizing the sense in Naci’s words. “Do you think you should say something?”
Naci hesitates, her gaze drifting across the circle of faces—faces that belong to men who’ve led their tribe for years, faces that might not take kindly to a dissenting voice, especially from an outsider and a woman.
“I don’t know,” Naci admits, her voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t want to undermine the chieftain, and, well, you know how it is. I’m not one of them—not yet, at least.”
Horohan listens to Naci’s reservations, her eyes narrowing as she processes the tactical flaws in the chieftain’s plan. The stakes are too high, and the risks aren’t just theoretical—they’re real and they’re immediate.
“Stay here,” Horohan finally says, a resolute expression settling on her face. “I’ll handle this.”
Before Naci can respond, Horohan turns and walks back toward the gathering of warriors and the chieftain. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what she’s about to do. Despite her outsider status, she’s been in situations like this before—when posing as a man was her daily life.
“Chieftain Pomogr, may I have a word?” Horohan interrupts, her voice carrying enough conviction to command immediate attention. The chatter dies down, and all eyes turn to her.
“Speak,” the chieftain says, eyeing her cautiously.
“With all due respect,” Horohan begins, “I believe there’s a significant flaw in the tactic you’ve proposed for the raid.”
Murmurs ripple through the circle, but Horohan presses on, laying out the risks of navigating the marsh and the dangers of the open terrain in Nipih territory. She doesn’t embellish, nor does she downplay the situation. She merely presents the facts as she understood them.
“As it stands,” Horohan concludes, “we would be making ourselves vulnerable to counterattack while gaining minimal strategic advantage.”
A tense silence fills the air. It’s broken by Pomogr, who finally asks, “Do you—or anyone else—have a better suggestion, then?”
Horohan turns to Naci, her eyes locking onto hers with an unspoken invitation. “Naci has valuable insights into tactical planning. If you would allow her to share, she might have a better plan.”
Naci feels her pulse quicken, but she steps forward, accepting the challenge and the opportunity to prove her worth. With a nod from the chieftain, she begins outlining a revised tactic. “The key to victory is not necessarily in attacking the enemy, but in creating conditions by which the enemy defeats itself.”
A couple of eyebrows rise, intrigued by her opening statement. She continues.
“It’s an idea from a book on military strategy. The marsh that separates us from the Nipih can be used to our advantage—just not in the way you’ve outlined.”
Murmurs echo through the crowd, but the chieftain signals for silence. Intrigued, he nods for Naci to continue.
…
As the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, the Haikam warriors gather, their faces set in a combination of determination and cautious optimism. Chieftain Pomogr gives a nod, and the group moves out, heading towards the marsh that serves as the no-man’s land between their territory and that of the Nipih.
The trek through the marsh is arduous but uneventful, the warriors moving in a disciplined formation, careful not to disturb the treacherous ground beneath their feet more than necessary. Upon reaching the other side, they pause only briefly to catch their breaths and adjust their equipment.
With another signal from Pomogr, the Haikam warriors advance further, their eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of the enemy. The air is tense, each warrior attuned to the subtlest of sounds—the distant rustle of leaves, the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. Despite the calm, they all feel the lurking presence of impending danger. Then, the tension breaks.
Just as they move past the marsh, a wild cry rings out from their flank, cutting through the uneasy stillness like a blade. Heads turn sharply toward the direction of the sound, eyes widening at the sight that meets them: a swarm of Nipih horsemen galloping toward them, lances poised and bows at the ready.
“Archers! Form a line!” Pomogr shouts, but even as the Haikam warriors attempt to comply, a rain of arrows from the Nipih riders arches through the sky, landing among them with deadly precision. Two Haikam warriors cry out and stagger, hit but not critically wounded. It’s a grim realization that they’re outmatched in both numbers and mobility.
For a moment, there’s confusion—individuals looking at one another, gauging whether to stand their ground or flee. It’s a young warrior who breaks the momentary paralysis, his eyes locking onto Pomogr. He nods subtly, almost imperceptibly, and that seems to snap everyone back to reality.
Then, almost as if by collective instinct, the Haikam warriors pivot and start retreating back toward the marsh they’ve just crossed. The earth trembles beneath the hooves of the Nipih cavalry, who are evidently emboldened by what they believe to be a fleeing enemy. The horsemen let out a triumphant yell, urging their steeds faster, lances lowered menacingly and bows drawn taut for another volley.
As they reach the edge of the marsh, the Haikam warriors glance back, their eyes meeting the incoming wave of Nipih horsemen with a mix of dread and determination. It’s a do-or-die moment, and every Haikam knows it. The ground beneath them transitions from hard-packed soil to the familiar, sinking muck of the marsh, each step a gamble between solid footing and treacherous sinkholes. But it’s terrain they know, and it’s their only hope.
Give chase the Nipih do, their triumphant cries turning to frustrated snarls as their horses struggle with the marshy ground. Lances become unwieldy in the close, unstable terrain, and their bows less effective when their targets are zigzagging through a landscape that offers some cover in the form of reeds and small stands of trees.
Like predators closing in on their prey, the Nipih warriors follow the Haikam into the marsh. It’s a tactical blunder they realize too late; the Haikam turn and encircle them, taking advantage of the slowed Nipih, who now struggle through the swampy terrain they had called a fortress.
…
“We’ll lure them into believing we’re attacking as you originally proposed, but after crossing the marsh, we’ll feign retreat,” Naci outlines, her voice steady.
“Feign retreat? That’s risky,” one of the veteran warriors interjects.
“Yes, it’s risky,” Naci agrees, “but it’s a calculated risk. If we do it right, they’ll chase us, thinking they’ve gained the upper hand.”
“And then?” Pomogr presses.
“And then we lead them into their own marsh. We’ve turned their natural fortress into a trap,” Naci says, her eyes flickering with the intensity of her plan. “Once they’re in, we surround them. They’ll be the ones slowed down by the difficult terrain, making them easier targets.”
“And … then?” A veteran asks, curious to know to what extent Naci has planned.
“And then they’ll feel the warmth of Tengr,” Naci exclaims, snapping her fingers.
Next to her, Horohan pulls a stick out of the bonfire and swings it in front of the chieftain and the veterans, the ignited tip dancing in the night.
…
Just then, a series of arrows descend from the heavens, as if guided by some celestial force. Haikam archers, who had remained hidden in the higher ground, reveal their position, bows drawn. They had been waiting for this exact moment, their arrows finding their marks among the disoriented Nipih. Horses whinny in distress, some collapsing under the weight of their riders. Cries of pain and shouts of alarm erupt among the Nipih, causing even more confusion.
At the same time, a different kind of noise rises in the distance—hoofbeats, but distinct from the panicked stamping within the marsh. Naci and Horohan lead the Haikam cavalry, circling around the wetlands at breakneck speed. Their target is clear: the vulnerable Nipih encampment. With their enemy’s forces embroiled in the marshland debacle, it’s the perfect time to strike.
Naci’s eyes meet Horohan’s as they gallop, smiling. Their hearts pump with adrenaline, the wind slicing against their faces, but their resolve never wavers. Reaching the Nipih camp, they don’t hesitate. Torches are thrown, igniting tents and supplies. Panicked cries echo from within, but by that time, the damage is done. Within minutes, the encampment is ablaze, a warning pyre that can be seen for leaps.
