The First Turkic Khaganate, 576 CE. Image credit to Ktrinko on Wikimedia Commons.
Göktürks depicted in Mongolia, 6th-8th Century CE. Source https://depts.washington.edu/silkroad/museums/ubhist/ubhist15a.jpg
The origin of Turkic culture is as mysterious as the lands from whence they came from. Due to the very nature of nomadic peoples it can be difficult to get concrete answers as to their origin. At times Turkic speaking peoples lived in what is now Mongolia. In others they shared borders with Korea, China, Armenia and the Middle East.
They migrated as far as Eastern Europe and caused other nomadic cultures to migrate as well. They roamed the steppes of Asia during the birth of ancient China, the fall of the Western Romans, and the rise of the East Romans(Byzantines). Their culture can be difficult to pin down simply due to how nomadic governance functioned. At times Turkic speaking peoples would unite into shared confederations. In other times their federations would shatter into countless splintered tribes. On rare occasion they would incorporate non Turkic nomadic tribes into their ranks, or the ancestral tongues of the Turkic language would simply be used as a language for trade, making it difficult still to track down what was part of a shared Turkic empire and what was simply an outside peoples looking inward.
Keep in mind nomadic horse cultures had a habit worldwide of incorporating other horse-peoples into their ranks. Fast forward a thousand years and the Mongolians did the same thing, absorbing Turkic speaking peoples into their empire from the Golden Horde all the way to the Ilkhanids. The confederation of Turkic tribes that made up the Göktürks would have likely behaved in a similar manner.
That tangent aside let us discuss the Göktürks. As mentioned earlier there is some semantic debate about whether the first Göktürk Khaganate was actually an empire or rather more akin to a confederacy of tribes. There is precedent for both, seeing as nomadic cultures in later centuries flip-flopped from federation to empire. Regardless the Göktürks are to most scholars credited with the formation of the First Turkic Khaganate.
From the 500s to 700s CE the First Turkic Khaganate united various Turkic speaking peoples into an alliance that made them a threat to their more urbanized neighbors. China and Persia both had troubles with this "horde" of wild horsemen. Despite their infamous reputation they were not afraid of trade when it suited them. They had good relations with the ancestral kingdom of modern day Korea, the Goguryeo. Various tribes in Bactria were brought under their heel. When they weren't fighting China they were receiving Buddhist missionaries from them. They also received many Manichean and Nestorian missionaries.
Despite their multiculturality they typically were adamant believers in Tengri, the leader of their nomadic pantheon who later found himself a member of the Mongolian pantheon. They were among the first in written history to refer to themselves as some variant of the word "Turk". Names such as KökTürk, Kök-Türks, Kök türü̲k̲, Köktürkler, and Tujue are among the many earlier names given to these nomads going back as early as the 500s in Chinese writings and orkhon script.
Under the leadership of pseudo-mythical Bumin Khan they overthrew another nomadic peoples known as the Xiongu around modern day Mongolia and Central Asia and established what is considered the First Turkic Khaganate around 552 CE. They quickly established trade routes that stretched from the Middle East to the borders of Korea.
There is some belief that orkhon script, the writing system of the Göktürks, descended directly from cave markings from thousands of years prior to the empire's formation. While this is a hotly debated and unproven theory it is among the most fascinating potential candidates for the script's origins. (Şaban Taş).
Orkhon table: Thomsen, Vilhelm. Inscriptions de l’Orkhon déchiffrées, Suomalais-ugrilainen seura, Helsinki Toimituksia, no. 5 Helsingfors: La société de literature Finnoise (1893).
Photo credit to Vilhelm Thomsen on Wikimedia Commons.
While the Göktürks(First Turkic Khaganate) remained a threat to urbanized China for a few centuries its very loose nature was eventually its undoing. The Khaganate kept only rudimentary control of its many tribes, usually only banding together for conquest or defense against its more established neighbors. A civil war in the 580s and early 600s caused the empire to split in half into a Western and Eastern empire. The Göktürks fought against other Turkic speaking peoples such as the Huns, Khazars, and Uyghurs. For a short time they gave the Byzantines aid against its Sassanian Persian rival. But the civil war permanently weakened the Turks to the point that they became easy prey to their neighbors.
Through the remaining centuries the two remaining halves, the Western and Eastern empires, became victim to further civil infighting, Chinese invasion, and ironically war with their cousins the Uyghurs that did them in. The Turks that remained were either absorbed into enemy empires or fled outward. Descendants of this empire, the Oghuz, formed a new federation of their own. Descendants of the Oghuz went westward for trade, raiding, and mercenary work within the Arab and Persian world. In the 700s the survivors of this nomadic ethnic group came into contact with Islam and Christianity.
The Oghuz later gave birth to the Seljuks who conquered Iran as a launchpad into Anatolia. The Seljuks formed the Sultanate of Rum(Rome) in Anatolia much to the detriment of the Byzantine empire in 1071 CE. These Turks combined their own Turkic culture with Persian and Arabic. While the Seljuks themselves eventually dissolved their descendants the Ottomans survived well into the modern world and their child, Turkiye/Turkey, survives to this day.
Sources:
Şaban Taş. (n.d.). Historical Documents on the Origin of the Gokturk Alphabet. https://openaccess.yeditepe.edu.tr/yayinaea/%C5%9Eaban%20Ta%C5%9F_65d462c34436f.pdf
Meet all the hot royal people! There’s a lot of them!
- So you see, with all the other royal people it was different
- They just have to produce one heir. One.
-For Nesryn and Sartaq? at least two
-Preferably way more
-The current Khagan is in good health, though, so they have a bit to wait
-Which is good, because Nesryn is still mildly freaked out about the whole 'might become empress of the mightiest kingdom in the world' thing
-With her whole family living in the Southern Continent now, Nesryn is content
-She and Sartaq spend a lot of time in the mountains with the ruks
-And she actually has a part in Borte and Yeran's wedding. Nesryn and Borte pretty much become bffs.
-However, duty calls, and Sartaq must return
-And though he says she can stay in the mountains, Nesryn decides to return with him
-All of the royal siblings have pretty much accepted Nesryn as their new sister. (Some more than others, cough cough Arghun)
-And so they don't mind letting her sit in on important meetings.
-In fact, her advice is often valued
-Although the current empress is a very quiet woman, she takes a liking to Nesryn quickly. She can be seen sometimes, whispering to her son about what a good choice he made in wife
-Though she is very happy in the Southern Continent, Nesryn does miss her friends a lot
-She writes, but it can take months for mail to reach the mainland, so sometimes she just doesn't even try
-When the first Peace Ball is held, Nesryn is over the moon
-But it just takes so much time to get there and back that she and Sartaq admit they really can't go every year. Instead they settle for every other year
-Duva has had her baby, a little boy named Taran
-After his birth, Nesryn mentions that Sartaq should probably tell his siblings what the two of them have planned
-Which he insists she must do as well, since she helped him think of what to say
-So the future empress and emperor tell the other royal siblings this:
-They will break the tradition of killing the opposing siblings. They will leave them to live their lives, so long as they never pose a threat of any kind
-And it hurts Sartaq's heart, but he must say his conditions
-If either of them find out about scheming or betrayal, all the siblings and their children lose their lives. They will not tolerate anything of the sort
-But, thankfully, even Arghun and Hasar, notorious for their scheming, agree to the terms
-Nesryn and Sartaq get married about a year later
-Hasar, Duva, Renia, Delara, and Borte are all there to help her get dressed, and Nesryn has never felt happier
-At least, until she is officially married to the love of her life
-Chaol and Yrene actually make it just in time, and all of Nesryn's nieces, nephews, and little cousins are running around. They've even adopted one-year-old Taran into their group
-The two retreat to the mountains for a month-long honeymoon, because they can
-And they spend a long time in just pure marriage bliss
-Eventually, they return
-And Nesryn gets to work helping out
-She quickly becomes a favorite of the people. Neith's Arrow, their own future empress
-Thankfully, with the Southern Continent having such a casual culture, nobody minds Nesryn wearing riding leathers or sparring clothes around the palace. So long as she dresses up nicely for formal events, they couldn't care less
-She is able to spend a lot of time with her family, baking sweets in their kitchen
-Their sugared almond puffs can put even the palace cooks to shame
-Everything is good, peaceful, and happy
-When they attend a Peace Ball, Nesryn manages to find herself enamoured with the little Fae babies running around everywhere. Aelin and Rowan make some damn cute kids
-And Nesryn can't really help herself
-On the trip home, she gets a terrible case of seasickness
-But when it doesn't stop, even after being home for weeks, she and Sartaq start to suspect something is up
-And, sure enough, Nesryn is pregnant
-To say they are ecstatic is an understatement
-It isn't long before everyone in the palace knows
-Everyone congratulates them, even Arghun, who looks very slightly pissed off the whole time
-Sartaq is a bit of an overbearing mother hen throughout the whole thing, even though Nesryn promises him she's fine
-She spends a lot of time with her sister, because Delara has had four kids already, you know?
-And also she's craving sweets 24/7
-Nesryn actually goes past her due date, and that sucks because she feels like a whale
-At this point she's like "Sartaq I can't believe you did this to me"
-When she finally goes into labor, it's a blessing
-Duva is there, because despite her vapidness, she has had a baby and knows what Nesryn needs
-Delara doesn't get the message until later, and arrives right before Nesryn starts pushing
-With her sister and sister-in-law coaching her, Nesryn has the strength she needs to give birth
-It's a beautiful baby boy with his father's face
-Sartaq is so in love with his new son and with his amazing, incredible wife
-They name him Kasem, which means 'happiness'
-Kasem grows up with tons of aunties and uncles. He always has someone to watch him, no matter what time of day
-They take him to the mountains when he is six months old, in the middle of summer so he doesn't have to spend the night in the cold
-Kadara and Salkhi love the little babe a lot. They are gentle, even when he tugs on their feathers
-Borte is absolutely in love with her little nephew
-A year after Kasem's birth, Duva and her husband have a baby girl named Haya
-And when Kasem is two, Borte and Nesryn both become pregnant
-Nesryn spends most of her pregnancy in the mountains with Borte, and the two are practically joined at the hip
-Her second pregnancy is much easier, though she still has awful morning sickness in the beginning
-Borte gives birth first, to a baby girl she names Indra
-Nesryn is not far behind, having her second baby barely a week after Borte
-It's a girl as well
-She is named Dara, which means 'pearl of wisdom'
-And sure enough, little Dara is very wise
-She always seems to be very smart and mature for her age
-Around the same time Nesryn and Borte have their babies, Arghun's wife has their first child, a girl named Maleia
-Dara likes her cousins a lot, though she is always closer to Indra than Maleia
-In the coming years, more babies are born
-Borte and Yeran have another little girl named Varsha, and Arghun becomes a father to another daughter, who he names Vanida
-For Nesryn and Sartaq, they are content with their little family, for the time being
-Dara loves books a lot, and when she goes to her first Peace Ball, she becomes best friends with Aris, Dorian and Manon's daughter
-She is also the darling of the public. She loves people and attention at all times
-Kasem is a very confident little boy, often boasting that he can beat anybody at anything
-Needless to say, he gets a few lessons in losing graciously
-Kasem and Dara are best friends as well, and they love to be around their (much) older cousins and baking with their mother's side of the family
-When Kasem is eight, Nesryn finds out she is pregnant again
-Since it's been a while since her last pregnancy, this one is fairly difficult. She stays in the palace a lot and is tired all the time
-But she thankfully delivers a health baby girl she names Dhyana, which means 'meditation'
-She's only just getting used to having a new baby when...
-Nesryn finds out she's expecting again
-She isn't sure how to feel. She's happy for another baby, but she doesn't know if she's prepared to have two little ones at the same time
-But, she knows she's going to have a lot of help
-I would also like to add... Sartaq is an amazing father
-He is so very patient, with his kids and with others
-No matter what, he always makes time for them
-He grew up feeling distant from his parents, and he doesn't want that for his children
-And Nesryn, she's a great mom
-She's definitely the fun parent
-The kids love to watch her because everything she does is just so mesmerizing
-And she's a great singer
-When she's on the mainland, people often ask her and Rowan for duets because they have amazing singing voices and they sound pretty good together actually
-But she always sings her kids to sleep
-And every single time Sartaq falls in love with her all over again
-No matter what kind of day they've had, whether they argued or they just cuddled all day, Sartaq can always count on hearing her sing to their kids
-The next baby they have is a little boy
-His name is Ronin, which means 'warrior'
-Ronin is the shyest of Nesryn and Sartaq's children
-He gets along well with Dara, because he likes to read and create
-The same year he is born, Kashin and his new wife have a baby boy named Haider
-Sometimes Nesryn will just find him wandering around the palace halls, lost in his own little world
-Two years after Ronin's birth, Hasar and Renia announce that they are going to have a baby
-The man who did it is kept a closely guarded secret, but nobody really cares about him
-Hasar and Renia have a baby boy named Rangsey
-And Nesryn... wants another baby
-Which she never thought she'd say, seeing as she has four kids already
-But Sartaq agrees wholeheartedly, and Nesryn finds herself pregnant again
-This pregnancy... is tough
-It's the hardest one she's ever gone through
-She's terribly exhausted all the time, sometimes even so tired she can't tuck her kids in. Sartaq is not a good replacement singer
-Thankfully, though, the terrible pregnancy leads to an easy birth, with a beautiful, healthy baby girl at the end
-This baby is the last one Nesryn will ever have. She is sure her family is complete
-The baby is named Akira, which means 'intelligent and bright'
-Akira is a little warrior. She adores watching the soldiers train
-When she is two, her family travels out to the plains of the horse-people to visit Kashin's new son, Kiran
-After taking one ride on a horse, Akira never wants to leave
-Of course, she must, but there are a lot of tears that day
-All the kids grow up in a palace full of aunties, uncles, and cousins everywhere
-They are adored by the people, and by their parents
-And every time she looks at them, Nesryn can hardly believe how far she's come
-A lowly guard patrolling Adarlan's slums, and suddenly she's in line to be the empress of the strongest empire in the world, with an incredible husband she loves with her whole heart and five amazing children
-Nesryn has found her place
-In the story Worlds of Fire and Darkness, Kasem is 18, Dara is 16, Dhyana is 9, Ronin is 8, and Akira is 5. There are so many other kids but know they range from 22 to 3.
from /r/vexillology
Top comment: Khaganates are basically federated empires of khanates, led by a khan. They mostly comprised of Turkic and Mongolic people. This flag combines central Turkic elements from Kazakhstan and Kirghizistan and the Soyombo symbol of Mongolia
I do not suggest reading this unless you have read Tower of Dawn
This fic is in the tog universe but it is different from Aelin’s plot line. Nesryn grew up in Balruhn, her mother is a descendant of the rukhin, and the valg started in an eastern continent instead of the northern or Wendlyn.
My new fic series! It will be at least ten chapters so I hope you like it!
Nesryn Faliq adjusts the bow string across her chest, annoyed. She is deeply grateful for the cool breeze wafting through the warehouse’s shattered windows or she’s not sure she would be able to move in this stifling heat. The rest of the attendees wear slightly grimy shortened skirts with sleeveless tops, or combat trousers that wick away sweat. Her competitor has even forgone a shirt altogether, presenting his scars and battle-trained muscles for the whole warehouse to see.
Nesryn, on the other hand, is close to heat stroke in her knee-high boots, men’s tunic, and wool cape. Next time someone challenges her in the summer, she must find a way to let air in through the hood, as it allows no breeze whatsoever to grace her sweat-slicked neck. The disguise is a necessity, but that doesn’t mean that she finds it any less infuriating.
The person who arranged this archery competition in the slums – a guard she has noticed several times roaming the streets and a usually respectable man – is going through the rules. She’s heard them plenty times before: stay behind the designated line, shoot only when the whistle sounds, use only three arrows, and walk away from this place in peace, no matter the outcome. The last one is a precaution that is often ignored or forgotten. Luckily, Nesryn always finds her way out of the vicinity before any real brawling begins.
When they have both nodded their agreement to the rules, her competitor steps up to the first white line. The warehouse is large, at least two hundred meters long, and with the spectators lined up against the back wall, it allows for three varying lengths of shot. Three targets are positioned along the opposite side, each with five rings of colors leading to the black dot in the center of the yellow bullseye.
Nesryn watches the shirtless man as he readies his stance and draws one of three arrows from his quiver. He’s her sixth competitor in three months since one of the guard commanders caught her practicing in the woods this spring and spread the word that the best archer in the city has surfaced out of nowhere. Immediately, three guards under his jurisdiction rose to challenge the claim. It took them a while to find her, as she was laying low, but eventually one of them did, and set up the meeting between the strange man and the guards to test who was the better archer.
It is now common knowledge around Balruhn that no one has been able to best the stranger, and that he always disappears before they get a chance to see his face or hear his name. It’s been a month since her last competition, and Nesryn thought that her ten seconds of fame was over, only a sliver of the adventure she truly craved, when she received a note asking for this match.
The man, whose name she does not even know, nocks his arrow and pulls the string back, waiting for the overseeing guard to blow the whistle. Nesryn has to admit that his form is good – his weight evenly distributed on his feet and a natural posture to his torso. When the whistle sounds, he releases the arrow and it hits the first yellow ring fifty meters away, only an inch from the black dot.
Nesryn turns slightly to the woman next to her during the light applause. “Excuse me, do you have the time?” she asks, lowering her voice to a man’s rumble. The woman blushes faintly in the warehouse’s dim lighting, and produces a pocket watch from her skirt. Nesryn merely glances at the hands before turning her attention back to the man – now watching her with narrowed eyes – and tries not to smirk under her hood.
She truly needed to know the time – she has to be back at the bakery before her sister and father return from the market – but it is also endlessly amusing to watch the guards’ face whenever it seems that she is bored of a trial such as this. She has fifteen minutes to get back home; this better hurry along. Motioning a gloved hand for him to continue, Nesryn watches as he grunts and pulls another arrow, now positioned behind the second white line a hundred meters back from the next target. The whistle blows as soon as the fletchings tickle his jaw and he releases.
This time, Nesryn does not watch the target but the man, seeing his mouth tighten almost imperceptibly in disappointment. She flicks her eyes to the bullseye where the arrow sticks neatly from the second red ring. Her attention returns to the man and sees that he is simply walking to the next line amidst the clapping. Not a man with a temper, then, as some of the others she competed against. Perhaps there will be no fight at all once she’s won.
He steps up to the next line, nocks his arrow, and draws back. Nesryn takes the pause to admire the tensed muscles of his abdomen and arms, the way his sweat glistens when he stands in the shaft of sunlight shining through the broken window. She is so caught up in marveling that Nesryn jumps slightly when she hears the whistle, whirling her head to see the arrow fly one hundred and fifty yards before sticking right into the black dot.
A blink is the only surprise she shows, not that anyone can see it under the shadow of her hood. Nesryn curses herself for becoming momentarily distracted. She is impressed by his skill, but she will not let what is probably the luck of a beginner to ruin her reputation.
With a slight head incline of respect towards the now beaming man, Nesryn walks to the fifty meter line. She only has seven minutes left to get all the way across the city. She’s not even to the line when her arrow is already drawn and nocked, and her feet are only just positioned when the string is back and her fingers itch to release. The instant her ears recognize the sound of the whistle, the arrow is flying – straight through the black dot.
Not even acknowledging the applause, Nesryn makes her way to the second line. Through the thick fabric of her hood, she hears one woman whisper, “That man is extraordinary, I wonder where he leaned to shoot like that.” And another whisper back, “I wonder if he has a wife.”
Nesryn Faliq grits her teeth to refrain from pushing back her hood and ruining everything she has worked for the past three months. People respect her now – or at least the idea of her – and even if they think she is a man, that is enough for her. For now at least.
At the one hundred meter line, she prepares to fire, falling into the easy rhythm of the bow and the string and the wood between her fingers. She makes the second shot with as much ease as the first, gasps and exclamations of the spectators sounding behind her. Still, her competitor remains grinning, sure that she will not be able to make the third shot, especially as his own arrow is already taking up the bullseye position.
Nesryn has done it once before, in the forest with her makeshift target. Only once, but she knows it’s possible. Centering herself and her resolve, Nesryn Faliq lets her surroundings fade. All there is in her world is the bow, the arrow, and the target. She takes the slight breeze into account and adjusts for it, and pushes her hood slightly out of the way so she can see better.
She takes a deep breath in. The whistle blows and as she opens her fingers, she exhales and allows her released energy to flow through the arrow as it soars through the open hundred and fifty meters of space. The satisfying crack of the man’s arrow seems to echo through the warehouse – Nesryn’s own arrow goes straight through it.
The resounding silence is what finally makes her smile. Three bullseyes and only the second time she’s made a shot like that. A good day all in all.
However, she’s about to be late.
Slinging her bow over her torso, Nesryn readjusts her hood and dodges the dozen people about to converge on her, words of congratulations already on their lips – along with many questions. The guard who oversaw the match has a small bag of coins in his hand – the prize – and Nesryn scoops it up on her way. She somehow avoids them all and makes it out onto the street without even shaking the hand of her competitor afterwards, or even looking at him to see his reaction. She cannot be late.
She runs a block before realizing that the cape will only slow her down. Nesryn quickly turns a corner, ripping the heavy fabric from her body, when she collides with another. The woman is dirty and her clothing is slightly ripped as she falls backwards onto her bottom. Nesryn lets out a curse and bends to help the woman up, letting the cloak fall to the ground as she does. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” she exclaims and grasps the woman’s wrist to hoist her to her feet.
The lady meets her eyes and they widen slightly. Nesryn cringes at the cut on the woman’s arm and reaches for the pouch of money on her hip. She hands her two silver pieces – more than enough to get the scratch patched up but also enough to keep the woman quiet if she finds out where Nesryn is going to and from where she came. She is going to be so late.
“I’m sorry!” She yells again as she dashes off towards the inner city of Balruhn, where her father’s bakery lies. It’s only when she is four blocks away that Nesryn realizes that she forgot her cloak. But she can’t go back. She glimpses the clock tower between the buildings and sees she has just two minutes before her father and sister are expected home. Nesryn runs faster.
Taking back alleys smelling of vomit and other unsavory substances, she makes it there with one minute to spare. Practically diving through the dutch door of the bakery’s kitchen, Nesryn counts it a small blessing that no one is there at the moment as she shoves her bow, quiver, and pouch of coins into the cupboard, wrenches off the tunic and kicks the boots into the corner. Left in a tank top and men’s pants, Nesryn decides that it is good enough and quickly ties an apron around her waist.
She dusts a little flour on her face and hands, hoping that they might cover up the smell of refuse, and grabs the lump of dough she had set out before she left this morning and begins rolling – just as Sayed Faliq and his eldest daughter, Delara, march through the door with arms full of groceries. Delara’s children scurry in behind them.
Nesryn lets out a relieved breath, trying to steady her racing heart, and thanks Neith that she was able to beat them here. However, as soon as Delara spies Nesryn from over the bags of fruit, the younger sister realizes what she forgot to prepare for.
Delara lets out a disappointed sigh. “Nesryn, why do you keep your hair up like that?” Indeed, she had forgotten to take down the knot from atop her head, the hairdo of a married woman. “It will give men the wrong impression.”
Nesryn bites her tongue from replying how she will give men the impression she wants to give them, and just reaches up to let her long hair loose down her back as she keeps rolling the dough.
...
Exhausted from the two day ride from Eridun, Prince Sartaq collapses at his desk in the Antica palace and tries not to fall asleep. His father had summoned the five of siblings from their various corners of the continent for a reason he would not entrust to the messengers. The note only said “Come immediately.” And so – like the faithful lapdogs he and his siblings were to their father’s will – they came.
Now, Sartaq sits, poring over the dull paperwork piled on his desk while he waits for the meeting to start, still with no clue about what the urgent matter could be. His chin resting on his hand, Sartaq’s eyes may just close for five seconds, or five minutes, when there is a knock on his door. Jumping in his seat, he takes a few moments to recover before calling, “Come in.”
He expects to see his father’s messenger but, instead, Kadja stands in the doorway, ever silent and complacent, with a satchel over one shoulder. It’d been a few weeks since he sent her off to Balruhn to spy on someone for him. Sartaq motions her inside and she closes the door behind her.
“What have you found?” He asks, coming around the desk to lean on the other side, mostly to keep himself standing and awake.
“I sighted Neith’s Arrow again in Balruhn last week.” That catches Sartaq’s attention. He hadn’t heard anything about the mysterious archer in over a month and had expected that Kadja would be here with bad news. He’s about to urge her to continue when she speaks again. “She is a girl.”
One of the things Sartaq likes most about Kadja is that she never dances around the subject, although at this moment, he probably would have liked some warning. “Neith’s Arrow is female?” He echoes, needing a moment to absorb the new information. The fantastic archer he’s heard so much about, who makes impossible shots and proven to be better than each challenger over and over again – a woman.
Sartaq reprimands himself for assuming that it was a man, but from the description his other spies have given him, it definitely did not sound like a lady. Kadja only nods. “She disguises herself as a man during her challenges for some reason, which is why we did not know until now.” The servant then explains what happened barely seven days ago.
An arrow splitting another straight through to a bullseye one hundred and fifty meters away. Sartaq can not believe it. An impossible shot, witnessed by only a handful of people in the Balruhn slums of all places. The prince is glad that he is already leaning against the desk or he may have fallen in shock.
“She ran from the place like Hellas was on her heels, and ran into me only a couple blocks later,” Kadja continues, “She had taken off her cloak so I could see her face. She is definitely a woman, sir.”
Sartaq can not wrap his head around it. “But why? Why would she masquerade as a man?” He stares at the carpet of the small office, as if trying to find the answers in the embroidery.
A slight shrug from the spy. “I’m not entirely sure. She is kind though,” the prince’s eyes flick up in interest. “When she bumped into me on the street, I was unprepared and fell, scraping my arm. She gave me two silver pieces to apologize and most likely keep me quiet.” She opens the satchel at her waist and produces the two coins and a black wool cloak. “She also dropped her cape.”
Sartaq takes the cloak but motions for her to keep the silver. He examines the coarse, thick fabric that would undoubtedly be unbearably hot in the height of summer. Sartaq gives her a wry smile, “Good thing I pay you better than that.” Kadja offers him a slight up tilt of her lips in response. Setting the piece of clothing down on the desk for later, Sartaq sighs, his mind attempting to sort through all the new information. “Did you find out anything else?”
Kadja slips the silver back into the pouch. “I tracked her back to her family’s bakery. Her name is Nesryn Faliq.”
“Nesryn Faliq,” Sartaq echoes. Finally a name to the person he has wondered about for months. The prince is about to say more when there is another knock at the door, summoning Sartaq to his father’s side. “Stay here,” he instructs his employee. “I’ll be back and we can figure out what to do with this,” he pauses and a small smile lights up his face, “Nesryn Faliq.”
...
“War surges for our borders,” is the khagan’s greeting to his children when they are all seated at the table. Except one. Duva is missing. Why his father would call the meeting without everyone here, Sartaq is not sure.
Hasar exchanges a glance with him. Neither of them had heard a word of this beforehand, it seems. Arghun on the other hand, is smiling. Unwilling to admit that they are being caught unawares, both of them decide to wait for the khagan to finish. “The Valg sail towards the Kyzultum Desert, aiming to take over the continent.”
A blink is the only surprise Sartaq allows to show. They’d heard of the Valg, but only in passing, as they have slowly conquered the continent to the east. The khagan had forbidden any of them from sailing there to provide assistance. It seems that now the Valg wish to take over the khaganate as well.
“What will you have us do, father?” Kashin asks from across Hasar, his face carefully neutral. The fourth born prince had been the one trying to convince his father to help the Eastern Continent while they had the chance, fearing exactly this outcome. However, Kashin voicing any of this would not help anything now.
The khagan motions to a servant in the corner to bring out a map of the continent and splay it across the table. “We prepare for attack, and we will not fail like our brothers to the east did.” Sartaq withholds a snort. Now, they are brothers, when just last year they were ‘none of our concern’.
Sartaq had a couple friends from the Eastern Continent, dignitaries and emissaries he found bearable to spend time with. They had either been inducted into the Valg armies or drained of life, if the rumors were to be believed. Still, ever the obedient son, Sartaq remains silent.
“Hasar,” the only princess of original three straightens at the mention of her name. “I want you sailing to your armadas in the north, training them for battle at sea if possible,” the khagan instructs. “Sartaq, you will fly back to your aerie and prepare your ruk riders. Kashin, you travel to the Northern Desert and ready your ground forces. Arghun will stay here and prepare with me, keep the peace among the viziers, and plan our defense.”
The eldest son’s eyes glimmer at the chance he sees to work at his father’s side. Sartaq grits his teeth at the prospect. At his side, Hasar clenches her fist under the table. “How much time do we have, sir?” The princess asks evenly, controlling her frustration.
“My intelligence estimates we have about a month before they march on our land. We need to be ready by then.” Sartaq already starts mentally figuring out how much time he will have and how hard he will have to train. It’s too easy. He can get his riders ready in three days, a month is excessive. “I want you all to send out patrols throughout the country to draft new recruits to increase your numbers. Allow the recruits to choose who they sail, stand, or fly with.”
Sartaq’s eyes widen. It will take at least a week to recruit from across the continent. That leaves three weeks to train completely new people, to teach them to fly and battle and fight for the khaganate. He would almost say it’s impossible – except Sartaq was just proven half an hour ago that apparently nothing is impossible. His younger sister and brother, however, look like they might be sick.
“And where is Duva?” Arghun asks finally, knowing that all four of them are itching to know the answer, especially after the death of their youngest sister only a couple years ago.
Their father hesitates for a moment, as if he isn’t sure he wants to disclose the information. “I have not summoned Duva from her husband’s country.” He doesn’t say more, and he doesn’t need to. Duva will not participate in this war not only because Urus does not want her hurt, but also because this is not Duva’s war to fight. This is to be a war of species as well as a war of siblings, and Duva is not in the running.
All four of the khagan’s possible Heirs bow their heads in understanding; whoever proves themselves in the coming months, will be proclaimed Heir to their father’s throne.
Urus nods back and continues as if life shattering information has not been dropped onto the table in front of them. As if the tension in the room is not palpable. As if each sibling is not already secretly planning the demise of one or more of the others, now that the board has been set. As if they are not about to start a game that will be the most dangerous they will ever play.
“I am taking up the Ebony Sulde,” the khagan says at last. “We go to war.”
When Sartaq gets back to his office multiple hours later, Kadja is still waiting there. He marches right up to her and says what he’s been thinking since the moment his father mentioned the draft. “I need you to get me Nesryn Faliq.”
...
Nesryn is in the market with her sister when the news comes that the khagan is issuing a draft, and that all able-bodied people should sign up to fight against an impending army from the east. Instantly, Nesryn knows that this is her chance. Her chance to find the adventure she’s been yearning for and earn the honor and respect for her family that she believes it is her duty to procure.
Somehow, she escapes her sister and ventures towards where the sign ups are for the three possible armies: Princess Hasar’s naval armada, Prince Sartaq’s aerial cavalry, or Prince Kashin’s ground army.
Nesryn has always wanted to fly on a ruk, to train in the Tavan Mountains with the people of her mother and fight beside her hearth brothers and sisters. But she knows next to nothing about the prince that would be leading them. Of course, she’s heard the stories of the Winged Prince and his adventures and victories, but she does not know his attitude towards women or what position he will allow her to have in his army of ruk riders.
Perhaps the safer choice will be Princess Hasar, who will surely ally with the women who want to fight, and perhaps even allow her on the front lines. That would surely create a good story. Nesryn is convinced and she marches up to the three lines forming for the draft to wait in Hasar’s long queue.
However, as she waits, she listens to the others. The women in the line are talking of cooking, cleaning, caring for the soldiers, instead of being a soldier. Nesryn becomes so confused, she asks one of the women walking past who has already signed up, “Will they allow us to fight?”
The woman raises her eyebrows, “No, the man said that Princess Hasar wishes for women to remain on the sidelines, that the men of our country should be the ones to fight for it.” She walks away with a confused look on her face, as if she can’t believe that Nesryn would even want to fight with the other men.
Nesryn wants to rip her hair out. She has proven again and again that she is just as skilled if not more than any guard in this city, why does everyone insist on doubting her? She knows the answer, of course, because she has not been proving herself again and again as Nesryn Faliq, but as Neith’s Arrow – as they have taken to calling her.
And it is at that moment that Nesryn knows what she has to do. Racing home, she dons her disguise, pulling on the men’s trousers, knee-high boots, and heavy tunic. She binds her breasts and puts her long hair up in the usual top knot. But her cloak is missing. Nesryn searches her entire room for the article but it is simply gone. And then she remembers – she dropped it when helping the woman up a week ago and forgot to pick it up. She has no way of concealing her face or her hair.
A set of shears sits on the rain barrel outside her window. Carefully, and for the last time, Nesryn lets her hair down and picks up the shears. Her sister was the only reason she kept her hair long anyway. When it’s cut to her chin, she finds it easy enough to tie back in a much more masculine hold, braiding one or two pieces to resemble that of a rukhin male she will be pretending to be. She supposes it’s better that her cloak is gone, as she would not have been able to wear it constantly during training and combat.
Nesryn wipes all remnants of kohl and powder from her face, making it infinitely plainer and neutral. She has never been terribly beautiful, and as she examines herself in the mirror, with the men’s attire and hairstyle, she finds she could definitely pass for a slightly feminine male. Satisfied with the look, Nesryn grabs her bow, arrow, and prize money from under her bed and writes a quick note to her family telling them that she is joining Princess Hasar’s armada to help in any way she can with the war cause, and hopefully bring home a loyal soldier with her. She sets it on the counter where she knows that they will see it and takes one last look around her home.
With a sigh and a prayer, she sets out to the market once more. The final test.
Shockingly, no one recognizes her as she walks through the frantic crowd. She adjusts her posture, gait, and expression to that of a man marching off to war, and no one looks twice. When met with the three lines again, Nesryn picks the second one – Prince Sartaq’s. She has never been overly fond of boats, and if she is going as a man, she might as well go to a place she wants to be.
The man holding the sheet asks for her name and Nesryn hesitates for a moment too long. He looks up from the parchment and asks again. Nesryn prays he does not see her for what she is already. She’s so close. Quickly, she thinks of a name, “Derrin Setir.” Good enough. The man writes it down on his paper and gives her a draft sheet.
“Report to the eastern edge of the Tavan Mountains within the week, I recommend that you take The Scholars’ Road.” The man says, then motions the next person forward. That’s it apparently. Nesryn can’t find it in herself to worry, she’ll figure everything else out later. Right now, she is holding a draft paper for Prince Sartaq’s army, and there is honestly no other emotion she could be feeling right now than excitement. She is heading off to war. She is going to have an adventure
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