Chapter 7: Return of the Storm
Night fell heavy across the steppe. The fire crackled softly in Enkmaa's yurt, casting long shadows on walls draped with wolf pelts and tribal banners. She sat low on a stool, her face drawn with exhaustion and thought.
The door creaked. Khishigjargal stepped in, mask lowered, revealing her noble yet fierce features.
Enkmaa looked up, her eyes softening. "You've been gone long, my daughter."
Khishigjargal knelt beside her mother. "The sick needed me. So did the battlefield. The wolves never rest."
Enkmaa reached forward, brushing a loose strand from her daughter's face. "You carry the wolf's blood well. I heard of how they look at you—respect, fear… awe."
Khishigjargal's eyes hardened. "And yet the Great Khan remains blind. Does he see the daughter who bears his blood, or only the shadow cast by his throne?"
Enkmaa's voice softened, laced with pride and sorrow. "He may never truly see you. But I do. You are the wolf beneath the silk—fierce, unyielding. Your strength is the tribe's future."
Khishigjargal nodded, her voice low with quiet resolve. "Then we live for the tribe, Mother. Not the throne."
A faint smile played at Enkmaa's lips. "I've made a decision. After the naming ceremony, I will divorce the Great Khan."
Khishigjargal responded without hesitation. "Always the warrior, Mother. There's no path more honorable than that of the Wolfborn Horde."
They embraced—two souls, fierce and scarred, bound by blood, love, and firelight.
---
Dawn
Light spilled over the vast plains. Outside the Great Yurt, the nine Khans stood arrayed, tributes in hand, silent before the throne.
Inside, six aged warriors—the last surviving subordinates of the late Khorloo Khagan, grandfather of the current Great Khan—sat cross-legged, laughing gently, their eyes still sharp beneath gray brows. Though time had bent their backs and dulled their blades, their names still commanded reverence. The Great Khan, equal to emperors, listened to them like a dutiful son.
The first elder, sipping airag, asked with stubborn curiosity, "Why isn't Dulgun back? Even Khishigjargal returned days ago from nursing the Wolfborn wounded."
Kul Tigin replied, "She may have taken the long route."
The third elder, toothless but loud, shouted, "I don't believe it! My sources say Khaness Erkhbayar of the Serpent Wreath tribe's been boasting that this victory won't let anyone forget whose blood Dulgun carries!"
The others murmured: "Is that so?"
The toothless elder stood, raising a trembling hand. "Brothers, would I lie to you? Look at this gray hair—it tells no lies!"
The Great Khan chuckled. "Dorvod, I didn't know you had sources."
Dorvod shuffled closer, his bent back leaning on dignity. "Brothers," he said slyly, dodging the question, "If I'm lying, look outside. All nine tribes are here with tribute—except the Serpent Wreath."
He turned to Batu. "What do you think?"
Before Batu could speak, Dorvod answered himself, "I'm sure she took Dulgun to her tribe to boost morale and boast. Isn't that right?"
Batu raised an eyebrow. "And who was your source?"
Cornered, Dorvod sighed. "The Iron Herd. I paid one of their lads."
The second elder nodded. "What Dorvod says rings true."
The Great Khan muttered under his breath, "Not again, Khuyag…"
Khuyag leaned forward. "My wife once bought fine Persian silk. You know what she did?"
All the elders leaned in like curious children. "No?"
"She showed it off to her entire family!"
The Khan sighed. "Yes, yes. We all know this story."
Kul Tigin groaned. "Everyone except your comrades in battle forget it!"
Tonyukuk, the quiet adviser, added, "And like the wife, Khaness Erkhbayar seeks to show off. She brought Dulgun to prove her strength."
Orlok nodded. "Go on, child."
Tonyukuk continued, "Since her husband's death, Erkhbayar's power hasn't solidified. This move is a show of force."
Another elder, Elbeg, barked, "She's no warrior—just a snake! What makes her think she can take her husband's throne?"
Kul Tigin snapped, "Elder Elbeg, please. Every time she's mentioned, you slander her."
Tarkhan, fifth in line, stood. "Great Khan, forgive Elbeg. He raised that man like his son."
The Khan nodded. "I understand. Please, sit. Tonyukuk, continue."
Tonyukuk nodded. "She's showing Dulgun off. A granddaughter's loyalty is a powerful weapon."
The Great Khan rose and embraced Khuyag. "Forgive me. I won't interrupt you again."
Khuyag chuckled, "You're kind—just like your grandfather."
Batu teased, "Which grandfather? Wulan?"
The elders scoffed, "That fox?"
"Khorloo, then?"
"Even worse."
"Then the Khagan of the Western Göktürks?"
Dorvod interrupted, "He's not even your real grandfather—just your mother's friend's husband!"
The last elder, Dzhambul, snorted, "This family tree is a bush."
Orlok added, "If he met the Khagan before the queen, he's a grandfather."
Tarkhan declared, "Khorloo was Subutai's uncle, so all those Khagans are just uncles."
Tarkhan turned to Khuyag. "So which of the two—Wulan the central plains rat, or the Tibetan King?"
Khuyag replied proudly, "Of course, the Tibetan King. No one's kinder."
Kul Tigin joked, "And yet, here is the Great Khan."
Khuyag growled, "Orlok, tell your son not to interrupt again, or I'll show him madness!"
Kul Tigin retorted, "Now you have madness?"
Khuyag huffed, "Batu is filial. You're just trouble!"
Batu walked over and embraced Elbeg. "I took your son's life, yet you've never stopped guiding me. I'm grateful."
Elbeg became emotional. "He died a warrior's death. I'm honored to serve."
He turned to the Khan. "Don't pity my son. He died well—by your blade."
The Great Khan said, "Then punish me, Elder Elbeg. Batu hasn't been filial!"
Elbeg laughed. "Then let Khorloo's ghost haunt this old fool!"
---
Outside, sounds of Hooves Thundered.
Everyone turned.
The Great Khan raised a hand. "Stay seated. Let the strong one check it. Kul Tigin—fill their cups."
"Why me?" he protested.
"Be good," the Khan smiled, and stepped out.
Dorvod leaned over. "I don't want airag( fermented mare's milk)—I want arkhi( a distilled airag)"
Kul Tigin muttered, "Your bones don't match your thirst…"
The sound of hooves made everyone inside the yurts rush to their doors.
Dulgun rode in first—her armor battered, her blade still wet. Behind her, silence. No cheering. No singing. Not out of grief, but out of awe. Only the weight of what she had done.
Strapped to her saddle was the severed banner of the Night Blades, and on a spike beside it hung the head of Khan Köködei.
Tomorbatar rode beside her, blood still fresh on his hands, his face carved in stone. They stopped at the center of the square.
The other Khans watched her descend like a storm that had just passed. Some stood frozen. Others stepped back. A few bowed—some from fear, others from respect. But all understood: a new power had risen, born not of title, but of action.
Khan Baatar Zuun whispered like a ripple through still water:
"She's not just the daughter of the Great Khan. She is the storm itself... a disciple of my daughter," he added, his voice swelling with pride.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
At the door of the Great Yurt stood the Great Khan—silent, watching. His eyes glinted with something rare: pride. He didn't smile. He only nodded once. And that was enough.
When they reached the center of Ordu-Baliq, the horses halted, and the warriors dismounted.
Khaness Erkhbayar, who had ridden with them, clenched her jaw—her pride brimming, yet uneasy, as if the eyes of the nation now looked to her for answers.
Dulgun took the flag of honor and began walking—not to the Great Khan, as everyone expected, but to her mother, Bolorma, who stood silently, tears of joy in her eyes.
The crowd murmured, confused. Why was she heading to Bolorma?
But Dulgun wasn't walking to her mother. She moved past her—toward the woman standing behind.
Enkmaa.
Without a word, Dulgun knelt and presented the Flag of Terror.
"Master," she said, her voice steady, "I have brought this to you. You are more worthy of it than I... O warrior of the Wolfborn Horde."
Enkmaa, who had long forgotten the taste of honor, tasted it once more today. She stood proud and spoke aloud:
"Let the clans write this day in steel: the girl you doubted is now the measure of your fear."
The courtyard froze.
Her grandmother, Khaness Erkhbayar, stood still—her face mixed with pride... and fear. She knew now that Dulgun's strength might one day eclipse her own.
Then Tomorbatar stepped forward. In his hands, the bloodied head of Khan Köködei. He approached the Great Khan and, without a word, offered it.
The Great Khan's voice rang with joy. "Let all know—this is my son, the one who raised the enemy's head."
The other Khans now looked upon Tomorbatar with new eyes—seeing in him a future Khan.
Tomor replied, "Father, it was my sister who cleansed your empire of its evil."
The Great Khan smiled and took the head, then turned toward the yurt.
Dulgun embraced her brother. "You held truth in your hands, little brother. One day, they will hold yours."
The court erupted as the Great Khan entered the yurt holding Köködei's head.
Elder Dorvod immediately proclaimed her, "The Flame of the East."
Tarkhan whispered, "She is the blade of the Khanate's future."
Then a man entered the yurt.
It was Choibalsan.
He looked at her and said, "She's too powerful to remain a daughter."
That day, Dulgun became more than a warrior.
She became fear.
She became legend.