With Zarir officially joining the Altin, the alliance was strengthened, and she seemed content with her position within the Tagh Boru. For nomadic tribes, marriage is often more about survival, political alliances, and the tribe's continuation. Despite not particularly liking Temurcin, she acknowledged his status as an elite warrior from the Tagh Boru's main bloodline. Furthermore, her family had received many sheep and horses, and trade routes between our peoples were now established.
The alliance between two wing leaders will shift the balance of power within the Confederation. Sometimes, they need approval from all the tribes. Normally, the Confederation Leader, such as a Tumen, would attend to bless this alliance wedding between the two tribes. However, given the sudden circumstances, there was no opportunity to invite him. Tumen will surely understand the situation, but for other tribes, this might be a serious issue. Some would even call this a treason.
This alliance made the Mountain Tribes more secure than before. Unlike the Western Tribes with their advanced metalwork or the Huna with their raided and traded goods from the Wall People, but from combining the Zaravani's blacksmithing skills with the Tagh Boru's mountain knowledge, a new power center was forming in the north. I doubted Temurel truly sought this, especially while the Confederation remained.
The early light painted the grassland. A gentle breeze rustled through the tall grasses as the warriors gathered at the edge of the encampment, ready for departure. Beside their sturdy steppe mounts stood wives, children clutching at fathers' legs, and elders offering quiet blessings, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
Mounted on Barsa, I watched Aycecek approach. Her eyes, reflecting the color of a clear mountain sky, held a mixture of pride and a hint of worry. She reached up and placed her hand on mine where it rested on the saddle.
"The journey will be long, the mountain passages can be treacherous," she said, her voice steady. "Ride with wisdom, my husband."
I squeezed her hand. "And you, keep our home safe until my return, my Moon Flower."
My gaze fell upon Kara Yulduz. With a hand pressed to her chest above her heart, she offered a bow to me.
Nearby, Temurcin stood with Zarir. Their farewell was quieter, a brief touch of hands and a lingering look. Temurel, already mounted on his sturdy steed, exchanged a final nod with Aylaqun. Azhdar gave a final nod to Arvaya and Atashan, who stood a little apart, bearing their responsibility to protect the Zaravani while Azhdar was away.
A horn sounded, Its clear note cutting through the morning calm, the signal for the Left Wing to move east. Temurel raised his hand, his gaze sweeping over us.
"For the alliance! For our future!" he called out, his voice carrying across the assembly.
One by one, the warriors of the Left Wing urged our horses forward, moving east. Temurcin rode ahead on his white horse, "Akkanat" the White Wing. I gave Aycecek one last look, her image imprinted in my mind, before turning Barsa to follow Temurel and the others into the embrace of the mountains. To the south, the warriors of the Right Wing, under Azhdar's command, were beginning to gather for their own journey.
The Left Wing rode steadily eastward, the rising sun casting long shadows ahead of them. The initial open grasslands gradually gave way to rolling hills, the air growing cooler as they ascended into the foothills of the mountain range. Temurel riding at the forefront, his gaze fixed on the winding paths ahead. Beside him, Temurcin guided Akkanat with a practiced hand, the white horse a striking contrast against the increasingly rugged terrain. I followed closely, with Barsa's steady steps.
The mountain passages were indeed treacherous, as Aycecek had warned. Sharp, uneven rocks stuck out along the narrow trails, and steep drops fell away to the valleys below. The only sounds were the rhythmic beat of hooves on stone, the creak of leather, and the occasional call of a mountain bird echoing through the crisp air. The warriors rode with a focused silence, their movements economical, their eyes constantly scanning the path and the surrounding heights.
As the day wore on, the landscape transformed. The rocky paths gave way to dense pine forests, the air thick with the scent of needles and earth. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns, illuminating patches of moss and wildflowers. The climb grew steeper, and the pace slowed to a careful walk.
Temurel would occasionally raise a hand, signaling a brief halt to allow the horses to rest and drink from clear, gurgling streams that cascaded down the mountainside. During these pauses, the warriors would stretch their limbs, check their gear, and exchange brief, quiet words. Temurcin often spoke of the Great Lake, his descriptions painting a picture of a vast expanse of shimmering water, ringed by towering peaks – a place of powerful and ancient spirits.
We rode through the northern passes without pausing at the Sacred Mountain. We stopped and waited for various clans to join us along the way. Then our trek continued eastward on the flatlands before navigating the challenging high passages and finally descending towards the territory of the elder clans of the Tagh Boru, nestled in the mountains near the Great Lake.
After several days of winding through the mountain's embrace, a change became palpable in the air. The dense forests began to thin, giving way to more open, high-altitude meadows dotted with hardy grasses and wildflowers of vibrant hues. The terrain leveled out somewhat, and a sense of anticipation began to ripple through the riders.
Then, as they crested a final ridge, it appeared. Sprawling before them, vast and shimmering under the clear summer sky, lay the Great Lake. Its waters, a deep, breathtaking blue, stretched to the horizon, reflecting the snow-capped peaks that ringed its distant shores. It was even more immense than Temurcin had described, a seemingly endless expanse of water that held a profound stillness.
A collective gasp escaped the lips of some of the younger warriors. Even the seasoned riders, like Temurel, paused, their eyes taking in the majestic sight.
"The Great Lake," Temurcin mumbled, a hint of awe in his voice as he sat tall on Akkanat. "Our first step."
It was immense, its surface shimmering like polished jade under the summer sky, stretching far beyond what the eye could see. Towering mountains, the ancient home of the elder clans of the Tagh Boru, ringed its shores. A sense of ancient power emanated from the landscape.
Temurcin pointed towards the settlements nestled along the lower slopes of the mountains that met the lake. "The strongholds of our ancestors," he said, a note of respect in his voice.
The journey had been long and arduous, finally leading us to this powerful and historically important location for the Tagh Boru. The sight of the Great Lake, vast and serene, offered a moment of profound beauty and a renewed sense of purpose. After resting for a couple of days, other elder clans joined us before we continued on. Our path now lay along its shores, leading us further east before we eventual turn south towards the Huna lands.
We turned south, leaving the majestic Great Lake behind us. The terrain gradually shifted. The towering, pine-clad mountains that had defined our eastward trek began to recede, giving way to more rolling hills and vast, open valleys. The forests thinned, replaced by seemingly endless grasslands stretching under the immense dome of the sky.
The air, still crisp from the higher altitudes, carried the scent of wild thyme and other steppe grasses. Herds of wild horses, their coats the color of sand and shadow, dotted the horizon, their movements like wind rippling across the land. Occasionally, we would spot the yurts of nomadic families, their white felt glowing in the distance, smoke curling lazily upwards – fleeting glimpses of the life we were fighting to protect.
Days blurred into a rhythm of riding, setting camp by clear rivers that snaked across the plains, and sharing stories around crackling fires under a sky ablaze with stars. Temurel, ever watchful, kept our pace steady, guiding us through this immense landscape. Temurcin often scouted ahead with a few others, his keen eyes searching the horizon.
As we journeyed further south, The deep greens of mid-summer were now beginning to take on a sun-baked hue, with hints of gold appearing in the tall grasses. The air still held the warmth of the season, shimmering slightly under the intense midday sun, though the evenings offered a welcome coolness.
The feel of the land under our horses' hooves changed from soft grass to firmer, drier earth. We began to see more evidence of human presence – ancient burial mounds silhouetted against the sky, hinting at the long history of peoples who had roamed these vast expanses.
There was a sense of reaching the heart of the steppe, a feeling that this open, powerful land held echoes of the past. The vastness could feel both liberating and exposed, a reminder of the distances we had to cover and the potential for encountering others on these boundless plains.
Temurel led us at a steady pace across the expansive plains while we passed nomadic encampments, their yurts providing temporary shade against the heat. The sounds of summer – the buzzing of insects, the bleating of sheep, and the laughter of children – carried on the warm breeze. Herds of horses grazed lazily on the open grasslands, their coats sleek from the summer months.
As we rode further south, the air grew heavier, the heat radiating from the sun-drenched earth. We crossed dry riverbeds, evidence of the less frequent summer rains in this region. The vegetation became slightly sparser, tougher, adapted to the drier conditions.
There was a sense of moving towards a different kind of territory. The vast openness, while still present, felt like it could easily conceal dangers. The late summer heat added a layer of anticipation to our journey towards the Huna base, a feeling that the season itself was ripe for action.
After weeks of riding south across the vast late-summer steppes, the terrain began to change once more. The endless horizon started to break with the appearance of low, rolling hills in the distance. The heat intensified, radiating from the rocky ground under the pale sky, and the air carried a different scent – a hint of dust and perhaps the faint smell of wood smoke.
Temurel raised a hand, slowing the pace of the Left Wing. Temurcin, scouting ahead on Akkanat, returned, his expression serious.
"The Huna presence is growing stronger," he reported, his voice low. "We've seen their riders, and what look like their outposts."
As we crested a gentle rise, the Huna base came into view. It wasn't a single, fortified structure, but rather a sprawling network of more permanent dwellings than the nomadic yurts we were accustomed to – rough wooden buildings, some surrounded by low earthworks or palisades. A sense of greater organization and permanence hung in the air.
Dust rose in the distance, indicating movement – likely patrols or activity within the base. The atmosphere shifted from the open freedom of the steppes to a more tense anticipation. This was the territory of our Confederation Leader.
Temurel surveyed the scene, his eyes narrowed. "We've reached the center of their domain. Now comes the true task."
He turned to us, his gaze resolute. "We observe, we assess, and then we act. Be vigilant."
The long journey south was over. Before us lay the Huna base, the destination of our ride, and the beginning of the next, more dangerous phase of our endeavor. The late summer sun beat down on the scene, casting harsh shadows across the land, a silent witness to the impending confrontation.