The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the sprawling encampment that has become the uneasy amalgamation of Jabliu, Alinkar, Orogol, Nipih, and Haikam tribes. A month has passed since Naci's bold declaration as Khan of Tepr, and yet, the simmering rivalries still pulse beneath the surface, dividing the tribes into separate clans that only occasionally interact.
A lithe and enigmatic figure returns from its clandestine journey to the border with the Moukopl Empire. As it steps into the heart of the encampment, it is greeted by Konir, the elusive shaman whose sharp wit and smug demeanor hide a profound knowledge of the arcane.
Konir, his dark eyes dancing with a mischievous gleam, approaches the newcomer with a sly smile playing on his lips. "Well, Meicong," he drawls, his voice dripping with fox-like charm. "What news have you brought from the other side?"
Meicong's response is as cold as the winter wind that sweeps across the steppes. "The Moukopl court is in shambles," she replies, her voice laced with an undertone of bitterness. "The Crown Prince has gone missing during their ill-fated expedition into the Yohazatz desert."
Konir's laughter rings out like a mocking melody. "Ah, Yile," he says, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "I wonder if he had a hand in this misfortune."
Meicong shrugs nonchalantly, but the knowing look in her eyes speaks volumes. Yile, the influential eunuch who had been a supposed friend and confidant to the Crown Prince, had always operated behind a facade of loyalty. Only those who truly knew him understood his cunning nature.
Konir, still chuckling, begins to juggle a handful of bones that he uses for divination. "Perhaps," he muses, his voice a low purr, "Yile convinced the prince to embark on that doomed expedition, all to cast him aside."
Meicong's lips curl into a wry smile, and she nods in agreement. The political games in the Moukopl court are intricate and treacherous, and Yile is a master of manipulation.
As they converse, Meicong's keen eyes notice that the encampment seems unusually empty. She furrows her brow and gestures toward the deserted area. "Why is the encampment so quiet?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.
Konir grins and motions for her to follow him. "There's a little game afoot," he says, his voice laced with anticipation. "Care to join me and see what mischief awaits?"
As Meicong and Konir make their way to the outskirts of the encampment, the raucous sounds of laughter and cheers become increasingly deafening. At last, they ascend a small hill, and before them unfolds a spectacle that draws Meicong's attention like a magnet.
A colossal game of tag is in full swing, played on the backs of galloping horses. Konir, with a glint of playful amusement in his eyes, explains the game's rules to Meicong. It's a lively display of skill and agility, where the riders vie to tag one another with strips of colored cloth.
Meicong's gaze is irresistibly drawn to the two most exceptional competitors in the fray. Leading the competition with a breathtaking display of raw speed and agility is Horohan. Meicong has heard whispers about her upbringing as a man and her warrior training in horsemanship, but witnessing her prowess is something else entirely. She outshines almost every other participant.
Hot on Horohan's heels is a young man from the Nipih tribe, identified by the colors on his banner. Meicong has never crossed paths with him before, but he's clearly a formidable rider. He's inches away from dethroning the reigning queen of the race.
The Nipih boy is a striking figure, his ebony hair flowing behind him as he guides his horse with deft precision. His determined eyes, a shade of deep brown, are locked onto Horohan. The wind tugs at the loose strands of his hair, and the muscles in his arms ripple with every calculated move.
The duel between Horohan and the Nipih boy intensifies with each passing second. Horses pound the earth beneath their hooves, creating a thunderous rhythm. Maneuvering with a skill that borders on poetry, they weave through the other riders, their hands reaching out to graze each other's cloths in an exhilarating game of chase.
At a critical moment, just when it seems the Nipih boy might seize victory, he makes a fateful misstep. His horse stumbles over a hidden stone, throwing him slightly off balance. In that fleeting instant, Horohan seizes the opportunity and deftly tags his cloth. The crowd erupts in a cacophony of cheers and protestations, acknowledging her victory.
Konir, genuinely impressed by the Nipih boy's display, applauds him with admiration. "He's quite the rider, isn't he?" he remarks to Meicong.
Meicong's eyes dart around the field, and then she inquires with a puzzled expression, "Why isn't Naci participating in the game? I would have thought she'd be the type to revel in such contests."
Konir points toward the largest tent on the opposite side of the hill and grins. "Actually, she's the one who came up with this game," he says. "It's her way of easing tensions between the tribes."
Meicong squints her eyes against the sunlight and spots Naci's figure seated in the midst of a lively gathering, clutching a liquor-filled container. She shakes her head and sighs. "She appears to be in high spirits. Should I tell her that her brother is likely dead?"
Konir bursts into laughter, his mirth echoing across the hill. "You do have a sense of humor, Meicong!" he chuckles. "But I'd advise against delivering such news while she's in her cups. You don't want to provoke the Khan when she's drunk!"
Amidst the boisterous revelry, Naci raises her cup high, the amber liquid gleaming in the sunlight as she laughs heartily. "Father, Mother, what do you think of my wife?" she exclaims, her voice carrying over the cheering crowd. "Such agility! Isn't she beautiful?"
Gani, Naci's mother, joins in her daughter's laughter and nods with enthusiasm, her eyes alight with pride. When Horohan gallops past, Gani cheers loudly, waving her scarf in admiration.
However, Naci's father, Tseren, stands apart from the jubilant throng, his expression clouded with an undeniable unease. He takes another deep swig from his cup, as if trying to drown his worries in the comforting embrace of alcohol. Naci notices her father's melancholy demeanor but chooses not to comment. She knows that her unconventional methods and ambitions have clashed with his sensibilities, but he also understands that her actions have saved Jabliu from the brink of extinction.
Tseren empties his cup, and Naci promptly refills it over and over, in a manner that is almost comically stereotypical.
Naci's aunts, Lura and Tali, seize the opportunity to make some unnecessary comments about Tseren's newfound enthusiasm for drinking, suggesting that his daughter's influence is revitalizing his spirit. Naci intervenes swiftly, her voice carrying authority as she shifts their attention away from the topic.
"What do you think of the results of this round?" Naci asks her aunts, diverting the conversation to more pressing matters.
Lura sighs, her expression one of mild disappointment. "The results are too predictable," she opines, shaking her head. "It makes the game less interesting."
Tali, on the other hand, counters with an air of optimism. "But did you see the Nipih boy?" she chimes in, her eyes shining with intrigue. "He showed some unexpected talents. Who knows, he might best Horohan in the next round."
Naci's attention is drawn to the Nipih boy once more. She recognizes his face from their previous encounter and had believed since then that he has the demeanor of a warrior. “You are wrong, Auntie. I am the only one that can beat her.”
Before the next round can commence, however, a sudden commotion erupts at the fringes of the gathering. Haikam tribespeople clash with their Nipih counterparts, threatening to escalate the tension and disrupt the playful mood.
In response, Naci takes a deep breath and whistles loudly, a sharp, piercing sound that cuts through the chaos. All eyes turn towards the sky, and in that moment of silence, her juvenile eagle, Uamopak, takes flight. It soars overhead, shrieking and circling, a mesmerizing display of grace and power. The tension in the air eases, and the brawlers begin to disperse, their tempers cooled by the unexpected spectacle.
Horohan, her brow furrowed in curiosity, approaches the group of troublemakers amidst the Haikam and Nipih tribespeople. The Nipih, their faces contorted with frustration, argue vehemently that the Haikam have cheated by sabotaging their horses. The Haikam, indignant and angry, vehemently deny the accusation.
With a wry smile dancing on her lips, Horohan asks the Nipih, "Do you have any proof of these accusations?" She raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in her eyes.
The Nipih argue that their horses have become drowsy and slow, insisting that the Haikam's shaman must have hypnotized them. Horohan can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of their claims. She turns to the Haikam and inquires if their shaman possesses the skill to perform such feats.
The Haikam respond with pride, affirming that their shaman is indeed skilled enough to accomplish such a task. The Nipih, interpreting this as a confession, grow more irate.
Just as tensions threaten to escalate further, the Nipih boy who had come close to winning the previous round steps forward. He beseeches his tribesmen to cease their outburst, arguing that they are embarrassing themselves. The Nipih, however, remain adamant, insisting that the Haikam are responsible for stealing all the good horses in the region.
Horohan sighs, recognizing the futility of this argument. She suggests calmly, "The Alinkar pastures are full of good horses. You can choose whichever you want."
She ponders the deep-seated rivalry between the Nipih and Haikam, knowing that a single game cannot erase the enmity that had existed just weeks before. Eventually, though grudgingly, both tribes accept that their grievances won't be resolved now, and they prepare for the next round.
However, the young Nipih boy remains visibly frustrated and unprepared. Horohan approaches him and asks where his horse is. He replies despondently, "My horse can't run anymore, and I don't know where to get another one on such short notice."
Horohan contemplates for a moment and then steps down from her horse. She hands him the reins and says with a warm smile, "His name is Kafem. He's good-tempered. Take care of him. What is your name?"
The boy’s face brightens, his eyes radiating gratitude. "Thank you, Khatun. I’m Fol. But how are you going to run?" he asks.
Horohan smiles and replies, "I'll use another horse." With that, she turns and walks away, making her way to the tent where her family is seated.
As she arrives, her eagle, Khatan, takes flight and lands gracefully on her shoulder. Naci greets her with a warm smile, asking, "What's going on, Horohan?"
Horohan pets Khatan lovingly and explains, "I had to give my horse to Fol, the Nipih boy, so he could continue the game. Would you mind handing me Liara for today?"
Naci nods with a grin. "Sure, no problem." She stands up and addresses her family members, saying, "I'll be right back." Together, Naci and Horohan head off to retrieve Liara, and get her ready for the next round of the exhilarating competition.
As Naci and Horohan walk away from the bustling crowd, finding a moment of solitude, Naci seizes the opportunity to playfully grab her wife from behind and draw her close. In a voice as melodious as a nightingale's song, she recites:
"In the midnight sky, your beauty shines like the moon's soft glow,
A radiant pearl, casting a mesmerizing, silvery shadow"
Horohan, though, shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curling into an amused smile. "You reek of alcohol," she teases. "And stop holding me so tightly; it makes it hard to walk!"
Naci, undeterred, lets out a burp and nuzzles closer to her wife. "But I love you sooooo much," she declares, her voice filled with warmth. "And it's getting so cold lately. I don't want winter to come."
Horohan chuckles at her wife's antics. "Winter comes every year," she replies with a touch of practicality. "It's a part of our ecosystem, and it brings water for the plants."
Naci pouts playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Boooooring!" she exclaims. "The only good thing about winter is the comfy holidays we have during the new year."
Horohan can't help but smirk teasingly. "Well, at least there's something to look forward to," she remarks.
Naci's smirk turns mischievous as she leans closer to Horohan, her voice dripping with playful anticipation. "Yes," she purrs, "my first new year with Horo-tun. I wonder what kind of mischief I will get up to with you..."
Horohan feigns a blush, playing along with the teasing banter. "Please be gentle," she replies in mock innocence. "I'm still a maiden."
Naci bursts into laughter, the sound ringing through the crisp steppe air. The two women continue their playful banter, their laughter warming their hearts as they walk hand in hand.
At the back of their yurt, Naci lets out a sharp whistle, the sound carrying across the vastness of the steppes. Like a phantom emerging from the horizon, Liara approaches, her white robe resembling a cloud drifting in the endless sky. Naci affectionately pats the flank of her beloved horse, speaking to her with a mixture of apology and reassurance.
"It's not me but Horohan who will be riding with you today," Naci says, her tone soothing. "Please don't be mad at me, Liara."
Liara, visibly annoyed, stomps her foot on the ground, her equine impatience evident. Horohan steps forward, addressing the horse with a playful smile. "I'm sorry, Princess," she says, "I'm not stealing you from your master. It's just for today."
Naci interjects, her voice firm yet affectionate. "Hey! I'm not her master. Liara is my friend!" She emphasizes the word 'friend'.
Horohan, with a mischievous glint in her eye, decides to tease Liara further. "Apologies," she says, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "I'm not stealing you from your dear friend. I already hold a much better spot in her heart."
Liara stomps her foot once again, her irritation clear.
Together, Naci and Horohan lead Liara back to the site of the competition, where Horohan can prepare the horse with her saddle and banners. Naci waves her farewell with a hiccup, her steps unsteady as she makes her way back to the tent where her family awaits, the effects of alcohol still present.
On her journey back, a familiar figure stands in her path, catching her attention. Naci greets him casually. "What's up, Temej?"
Temej's expression is serious as he informs her, "Meicong is back from her little trip."
Naci raises an eyebrow in curiosity. "And where did she head to?"
Temej replies, "The border. But considering how short her trip was, she couldn't have ventured deep into the empire. She must have met someone there."
Naci contemplates this information, her gaze distant. "And where is the shaman?" she inquires.
Temej responds, "Konir has met up with her, and they're now watching the game from the hill."
Naci nods thoughtfully, her mind working through the intricacies of the situation. "Alright," she says, snapping her fingers decisively. "We know they know, and they know we know. Everything seems to be going well for this healthy relationship to continue. Let's keep it that way."
Temej's voice draws Naci's attention as he mentions another matter. She tilts her head curiously. "Hm?"
"There's news," Temej begins, "that a Yohazatz man has found shelter with the Nedai after crossing the desert."
Naci's surprise is evident. "How did he manage to reach the Nedai without passing through Nipih first?" she wonders aloud.
Temej speculates, "He might have taken an alternate route. We don't have much knowledge about the Kamoklopr, after all."
Naci ponders the implications of this development. "Fair enough," she concedes. "The Nedai were not exactly helpful to us during our time of need, despite their previous good relations with Jabliu. I had plans to confront them after resolving our issues with the Kolopan, since they’re currently holding Urumol who still has a rightful claim to the Alinkar throne. However, if the Nedai receive assistance from the Yohazatz, they might become untouchable for a while..."
She contemplates the situation further and asks, "What do you think about the possibility of kidnapping him? Is that something we can achieve?"
Temej responds with a nonchalant shrug. "I have no idea. Maybe you should discuss it with Pomogr."
Naci raises an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Pomogr isn't exactly the type of person I'd choose for a subtle kidnapping mission," she points out.
As Naci begins to walk away, lost in her thoughts, Temej interrupts her with a final piece of information. "One last thing," he says.
Naci turns back to him, her curiosity piqued. "What is it?"
Temej reveals, "A merchant from Seop has arrived."
Seop, a formidable and affluent kingdom nestled in the archipelago to the east of Tepr, occupies a unique position in the region. As a vassal of the mighty Moukopl Empire, Seop enjoys favorable relations with the imperial overlords, their shared cultural similarities creating a bond that shields them from the harsher treatment often inflicted upon other lands. Seop's men are rarely drafted into the Moukopl army, and some even hold esteemed positions in the imperial capital of Bezijil.
The Seop merchant, named Goeghon, sits on the ground, surrounded by a jovial gathering of Orogol tribesmen. They had eagerly purchased foreign alcohol from him, forming a fast friendship over the shared revelry. Goeghon is now engrossed in the Tepr game before him, utterly captivated by the spectacle unfolding in front of his eyes.
Unfazed by her own inebriation, Naci strides purposefully toward the seated and slightly intoxicated men. As her presence becomes apparent, the Orogol's laughter gradually subsides, and they cast curious glances in her direction.
Standing amidst the Orogol, Naci extends a formal introduction to the merchant, her voice carrying the weight of her ambitions. "Welcome to Tepr, merchant from Seop. I am Naci of Jabliu, Khan of Tepr, and I have pledged to rule over all that my horse can reach. I seek enlightenment from your kingdom's wealth of knowledge, and in return, I offer you a privileged place to witness the golden era of my people. If you accept, you shall receive riches beyond mortal comprehension."
Goeghon, still reeling from the effects of alcohol and taken aback by Naci's sudden and impassioned speech, stammers in response, "I don't have much to offer." He struggles to grasp the direction of Naci's intentions.
Naci, undeterred by Goeghon's uncertainty, presses forward with unwavering determination. "Perhaps you don't possess these riches now, but you will discover the means to obtain the knowledge I seek. Name your price, and you shall become the wealthiest man in all of Seop. That is, once you hold the very knowledge I desire."
Goeghon's curiosity is piqued, and he leans in closer. "And what knowledge do you seek?" he inquires.
Naci locks eyes with the merchant, her gaze intense and unyielding. "I seek the secrets of crafting fire that explodes and the wisdom to construct walls that defy the flames."
The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the sprawling encampment that has become the uneasy amalgamation of Jabliu, Alinkar, Orogol, Nipih, and Haikam tribes. A month has passed since Naci's bold declaration as Khan of Tepr, and yet, the simmering rivalries still pulse beneath the surface, dividing the tribes into separate clans that only occasionally interact.
A lithe and enigmatic figure returns from its clandestine journey to the border with the Moukopl Empire. As it steps into the heart of the encampment, it is greeted by Konir, the elusive shaman whose sharp wit and smug demeanor hide a profound knowledge of the arcane.
Konir, his dark eyes dancing with a mischievous gleam, approaches the newcomer with a sly smile playing on his lips. "Well, Meicong," he drawls, his voice dripping with fox-like charm. "What news have you brought from the other side?"
Meicong's response is as cold as the winter wind that sweeps across the steppes. "The Moukopl court is in shambles," she replies, her voice laced with an undertone of bitterness. "The Crown Prince has gone missing during their ill-fated expedition into the Yohazatz desert."
Konir's laughter rings out like a mocking melody. "Ah, Yile," he says, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "I wonder if he had a hand in this misfortune."
Meicong shrugs nonchalantly, but the knowing look in her eyes speaks volumes. Yile, the influential eunuch who had been a supposed friend and confidant to the Crown Prince, had always operated behind a facade of loyalty. Only those who truly knew him understood his cunning nature.
Konir, still chuckling, begins to juggle a handful of bones that he uses for divination. "Perhaps," he muses, his voice a low purr, "Yile convinced the prince to embark on that doomed expedition, all to cast him aside."
Meicong's lips curl into a wry smile, and she nods in agreement. The political games in the Moukopl court are intricate and treacherous, and Yile is a master of manipulation.
As they converse, Meicong's keen eyes notice that the encampment seems unusually empty. She furrows her brow and gestures toward the deserted area. "Why is the encampment so quiet?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.
Konir grins and motions for her to follow him. "There's a little game afoot," he says, his voice laced with anticipation. "Care to join me and see what mischief awaits?"
As Meicong and Konir make their way to the outskirts of the encampment, the raucous sounds of laughter and cheers become increasingly deafening. At last, they ascend a small hill, and before them unfolds a spectacle that draws Meicong's attention like a magnet.
A colossal game of tag is in full swing, played on the backs of galloping horses. Konir, with a glint of playful amusement in his eyes, explains the game's rules to Meicong. It's a lively display of skill and agility, where the riders vie to tag one another with strips of colored cloth.
Meicong's gaze is irresistibly drawn to the two most exceptional competitors in the fray. Leading the competition with a breathtaking display of raw speed and agility is Horohan. Meicong has heard whispers about her upbringing as a man and her warrior training in horsemanship, but witnessing her prowess is something else entirely. She outshines almost every other participant.
Hot on Horohan's heels is a young man from the Nipih tribe, identified by the colors on his banner. Meicong has never crossed paths with him before, but he's clearly a formidable rider. He's inches away from dethroning the reigning queen of the race.
The Nipih boy is a striking figure, his ebony hair flowing behind him as he guides his horse with deft precision. His determined eyes, a shade of deep brown, are locked onto Horohan. The wind tugs at the loose strands of his hair, and the muscles in his arms ripple with every calculated move.
The duel between Horohan and the Nipih boy intensifies with each passing second. Horses pound the earth beneath their hooves, creating a thunderous rhythm. Maneuvering with a skill that borders on poetry, they weave through the other riders, their hands reaching out to graze each other's cloths in an exhilarating game of chase.
At a critical moment, just when it seems the Nipih boy might seize victory, he makes a fateful misstep. His horse stumbles over a hidden stone, throwing him slightly off balance. In that fleeting instant, Horohan seizes the opportunity and deftly tags his cloth. The crowd erupts in a cacophony of cheers and protestations, acknowledging her victory.
Konir, genuinely impressed by the Nipih boy's display, applauds him with admiration. "He's quite the rider, isn't he?" he remarks to Meicong.
Meicong's eyes dart around the field, and then she inquires with a puzzled expression, "Why isn't Naci participating in the game? I would have thought she'd be the type to revel in such contests."
Konir points toward the largest tent on the opposite side of the hill and grins. "Actually, she's the one who came up with this game," he says. "It's her way of easing tensions between the tribes."
Meicong squints her eyes against the sunlight and spots Naci's figure seated in the midst of a lively gathering, clutching a liquor-filled container. She shakes her head and sighs. "She appears to be in high spirits. Should I tell her that her brother is likely dead?"
Konir bursts into laughter, his mirth echoing across the hill. "You do have a sense of humor, Meicong!" he chuckles. "But I'd advise against delivering such news while she's in her cups. You don't want to provoke the Khan when she's drunk!"
Amidst the boisterous revelry, Naci raises her cup high, the amber liquid gleaming in the sunlight as she laughs heartily. "Father, Mother, what do you think of my wife?" she exclaims, her voice carrying over the cheering crowd. "Such agility! Isn't she beautiful?"
Gani, Naci's mother, joins in her daughter's laughter and nods with enthusiasm, her eyes alight with pride. When Horohan gallops past, Gani cheers loudly, waving her scarf in admiration.
However, Naci's father, Tseren, stands apart from the jubilant throng, his expression clouded with an undeniable unease. He takes another deep swig from his cup, as if trying to drown his worries in the comforting embrace of alcohol. Naci notices her father's melancholy demeanor but chooses not to comment. She knows that her unconventional methods and ambitions have clashed with his sensibilities, but he also understands that her actions have saved Jabliu from the brink of extinction.
Tseren empties his cup, and Naci promptly refills it over and over, in a manner that is almost comically stereotypical.
Naci's aunts, Lura and Tali, seize the opportunity to make some unnecessary comments about Tseren's newfound enthusiasm for drinking, suggesting that his daughter's influence is revitalizing his spirit. Naci intervenes swiftly, her voice carrying authority as she shifts their attention away from the topic.
"What do you think of the results of this round?" Naci asks her aunts, diverting the conversation to more pressing matters.
Lura sighs, her expression one of mild disappointment. "The results are too predictable," she opines, shaking her head. "It makes the game less interesting."
Tali, on the other hand, counters with an air of optimism. "But did you see the Nipih boy?" she chimes in, her eyes shining with intrigue. "He showed some unexpected talents. Who knows, he might best Horohan in the next round."
Naci's attention is drawn to the Nipih boy once more. She recognizes his face from their previous encounter and had believed since then that he has the demeanor of a warrior. “You are wrong, Auntie. I am the only one that can beat her.”
Before the next round can commence, however, a sudden commotion erupts at the fringes of the gathering. Haikam tribespeople clash with their Nipih counterparts, threatening to escalate the tension and disrupt the playful mood.
In response, Naci takes a deep breath and whistles loudly, a sharp, piercing sound that cuts through the chaos. All eyes turn towards the sky, and in that moment of silence, her juvenile eagle, Uamopak, takes flight. It soars overhead, shrieking and circling, a mesmerizing display of grace and power. The tension in the air eases, and the brawlers begin to disperse, their tempers cooled by the unexpected spectacle.
Horohan, her brow furrowed in curiosity, approaches the group of troublemakers amidst the Haikam and Nipih tribespeople. The Nipih, their faces contorted with frustration, argue vehemently that the Haikam have cheated by sabotaging their horses. The Haikam, indignant and angry, vehemently deny the accusation.
With a wry smile dancing on her lips, Horohan asks the Nipih, "Do you have any proof of these accusations?" She raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in her eyes.
The Nipih argue that their horses have become drowsy and slow, insisting that the Haikam's shaman must have hypnotized them. Horohan can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of their claims. She turns to the Haikam and inquires if their shaman possesses the skill to perform such feats.
The Haikam respond with pride, affirming that their shaman is indeed skilled enough to accomplish such a task. The Nipih, interpreting this as a confession, grow more irate.
Just as tensions threaten to escalate further, the Nipih boy who had come close to winning the previous round steps forward. He beseeches his tribesmen to cease their outburst, arguing that they are embarrassing themselves. The Nipih, however, remain adamant, insisting that the Haikam are responsible for stealing all the good horses in the region.
Horohan sighs, recognizing the futility of this argument. She suggests calmly, "The Alinkar pastures are full of good horses. You can choose whichever you want."
She ponders the deep-seated rivalry between the Nipih and Haikam, knowing that a single game cannot erase the enmity that had existed just weeks before. Eventually, though grudgingly, both tribes accept that their grievances won't be resolved now, and they prepare for the next round.
However, the young Nipih boy remains visibly frustrated and unprepared. Horohan approaches him and asks where his horse is. He replies despondently, "My horse can't run anymore, and I don't know where to get another one on such short notice."
Horohan contemplates for a moment and then steps down from her horse. She hands him the reins and says with a warm smile, "His name is Kafem. He's good-tempered. Take care of him. What is your name?"
The boy’s face brightens, his eyes radiating gratitude. "Thank you, Khatun. I’m Fol. But how are you going to run?" he asks.
Horohan smiles and replies, "I'll use another horse." With that, she turns and walks away, making her way to the tent where her family is seated.
As she arrives, her eagle, Khatan, takes flight and lands gracefully on her shoulder. Naci greets her with a warm smile, asking, "What's going on, Horohan?"
Horohan pets Khatan lovingly and explains, "I had to give my horse to Fol, the Nipih boy, so he could continue the game. Would you mind handing me Liara for today?"
Naci nods with a grin. "Sure, no problem." She stands up and addresses her family members, saying, "I'll be right back." Together, Naci and Horohan head off to retrieve Liara, and get her ready for the next round of the exhilarating competition.
As Naci and Horohan walk away from the bustling crowd, finding a moment of solitude, Naci seizes the opportunity to playfully grab her wife from behind and draw her close. In a voice as melodious as a nightingale's song, she recites:
"In the midnight sky, your beauty shines like the moon's soft glow,
A radiant pearl, casting a mesmerizing, silvery shadow"
Horohan, though, shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curling into an amused smile. "You reek of alcohol," she teases. "And stop holding me so tightly; it makes it hard to walk!"
Naci, undeterred, lets out a burp and nuzzles closer to her wife. "But I love you sooooo much," she declares, her voice filled with warmth. "And it's getting so cold lately. I don't want winter to come."
Horohan chuckles at her wife's antics. "Winter comes every year," she replies with a touch of practicality. "It's a part of our ecosystem, and it brings water for the plants."
Naci pouts playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Boooooring!" she exclaims. "The only good thing about winter is the comfy holidays we have during the new year."
Horohan can't help but smirk teasingly. "Well, at least there's something to look forward to," she remarks.
Naci's smirk turns mischievous as she leans closer to Horohan, her voice dripping with playful anticipation. "Yes," she purrs, "my first new year with Horo-tun. I wonder what kind of mischief I will get up to with you..."
Horohan feigns a blush, playing along with the teasing banter. "Please be gentle," she replies in mock innocence. "I'm still a maiden."
Naci bursts into laughter, the sound ringing through the crisp steppe air. The two women continue their playful banter, their laughter warming their hearts as they walk hand in hand.
At the back of their yurt, Naci lets out a sharp whistle, the sound carrying across the vastness of the steppes. Like a phantom emerging from the horizon, Liara approaches, her white robe resembling a cloud drifting in the endless sky. Naci affectionately pats the flank of her beloved horse, speaking to her with a mixture of apology and reassurance.
"It's not me but Horohan who will be riding with you today," Naci says, her tone soothing. "Please don't be mad at me, Liara."
Liara, visibly annoyed, stomps her foot on the ground, her equine impatience evident. Horohan steps forward, addressing the horse with a playful smile. "I'm sorry, Princess," she says, "I'm not stealing you from your master. It's just for today."
Naci interjects, her voice firm yet affectionate. "Hey! I'm not her master. Liara is my friend!" She emphasizes the word 'friend'.
Horohan, with a mischievous glint in her eye, decides to tease Liara further. "Apologies," she says, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "I'm not stealing you from your dear friend. I already hold a much better spot in her heart."
Liara stomps her foot once again, her irritation clear.
Together, Naci and Horohan lead Liara back to the site of the competition, where Horohan can prepare the horse with her saddle and banners. Naci waves her farewell with a hiccup, her steps unsteady as she makes her way back to the tent where her family awaits, the effects of alcohol still present.
On her journey back, a familiar figure stands in her path, catching her attention. Naci greets him casually. "What's up, Temej?"
Temej's expression is serious as he informs her, "Meicong is back from her little trip."
Naci raises an eyebrow in curiosity. "And where did she head to?"
Temej replies, "The border. But considering how short her trip was, she couldn't have ventured deep into the empire. She must have met someone there."
Naci contemplates this information, her gaze distant. "And where is the shaman?" she inquires.
Temej responds, "Konir has met up with her, and they're now watching the game from the hill."
Naci nods thoughtfully, her mind working through the intricacies of the situation. "Alright," she says, snapping her fingers decisively. "We know they know, and they know we know. Everything seems to be going well for this healthy relationship to continue. Let's keep it that way."
Temej's voice draws Naci's attention as he mentions another matter. She tilts her head curiously. "Hm?"
"There's news," Temej begins, "that a Yohazatz man has found shelter with the Nedai after crossing the desert."
Naci's surprise is evident. "How did he manage to reach the Nedai without passing through Nipih first?" she wonders aloud.
Temej speculates, "He might have taken an alternate route. We don't have much knowledge about the Kamoklopr, after all."
Naci ponders the implications of this development. "Fair enough," she concedes. "The Nedai were not exactly helpful to us during our time of need, despite their previous good relations with Jabliu. I had plans to confront them after resolving our issues with the Kolopan, since they’re currently holding Urumol who still has a rightful claim to the Alinkar throne. However, if the Nedai receive assistance from the Yohazatz, they might become untouchable for a while..."
She contemplates the situation further and asks, "What do you think about the possibility of kidnapping him? Is that something we can achieve?"
Temej responds with a nonchalant shrug. "I have no idea. Maybe you should discuss it with Pomogr."
Naci raises an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Pomogr isn't exactly the type of person I'd choose for a subtle kidnapping mission," she points out.
As Naci begins to walk away, lost in her thoughts, Temej interrupts her with a final piece of information. "One last thing," he says.
Naci turns back to him, her curiosity piqued. "What is it?"
Temej reveals, "A merchant from Seop has arrived."
Seop, a formidable and affluent kingdom nestled in the archipelago to the east of Tepr, occupies a unique position in the region. As a vassal of the mighty Moukopl Empire, Seop enjoys favorable relations with the imperial overlords, their shared cultural similarities creating a bond that shields them from the harsher treatment often inflicted upon other lands. Seop's men are rarely drafted into the Moukopl army, and some even hold esteemed positions in the imperial capital of Bezijil.
The Seop merchant, named Goeghon, sits on the ground, surrounded by a jovial gathering of Orogol tribesmen. They had eagerly purchased foreign alcohol from him, forming a fast friendship over the shared revelry. Goeghon is now engrossed in the Tepr game before him, utterly captivated by the spectacle unfolding in front of his eyes.
Unfazed by her own inebriation, Naci strides purposefully toward the seated and slightly intoxicated men. As her presence becomes apparent, the Orogol's laughter gradually subsides, and they cast curious glances in her direction.
Standing amidst the Orogol, Naci extends a formal introduction to the merchant, her voice carrying the weight of her ambitions. "Welcome to Tepr, merchant from Seop. I am Naci of Jabliu, Khan of Tepr, and I have pledged to rule over all that my horse can reach. I seek enlightenment from your kingdom's wealth of knowledge, and in return, I offer you a privileged place to witness the golden era of my people. If you accept, you shall receive riches beyond mortal comprehension."
Goeghon, still reeling from the effects of alcohol and taken aback by Naci's sudden and impassioned speech, stammers in response, "I don't have much to offer." He struggles to grasp the direction of Naci's intentions.
Naci, undeterred by Goeghon's uncertainty, presses forward with unwavering determination. "Perhaps you don't possess these riches now, but you will discover the means to obtain the knowledge I seek. Name your price, and you shall become the wealthiest man in all of Seop. That is, once you hold the very knowledge I desire."
Goeghon's curiosity is piqued, and he leans in closer. "And what knowledge do you seek?" he inquires.
Naci locks eyes with the merchant, her gaze intense and unyielding. "I seek the secrets of crafting fire that explodes and the wisdom to construct walls that defy the flames."
