Chapter 8:The Tributes
When Choibalsan entered the yurt, the Great Khan stood up and welcomed him warmly.
"Uncle, welcome."
But Choibalsan wasn't pleased. The moment his eyes fell on his cousin's head, he frowned and said sternly:
"Batu, you prefer to herd your mother's horses and leave me in charge from the first year to the last. Yet, I take just a few days' leave, and I return to find my maternal tribe wiped out!"
He paused, then added bitterly,
"She's too powerful to remain a daughter. If she truly were one, she would've remembered that was my cousin."
The elder man's anger burned in his eyes, heavy and unhidden.
The Great Khan bowed his head humbly.
"Uncle, I do not rule as I wish, but as I must. I am not free—I carry the burden of the Khanate."
The Great Khan was a man of few words. But when he spoke, it was with weight and wisdom. No wonder the elders found comfort in his presence.
Then the Wolfborn Horde tribe was welcomed—a tribe known for their warrior legacy. Their courage was unmatched; they never asked how many enemies there were, only where they were. They were also famed for their war howls and bone armor.
Khan Baatar Zuun entered proudly, his men bearing tributes with arrogance before the Great Khan.
The Great Khan's voice thundered:
"How dare you, Baatar Zuun, send me an empty letter?"
Khan Baatar Zuun replied calmly,
"Watch it, boy."
He paused, as if remembering something that stung.
"I am a warrior Khan from a warrior tribe. I don't tolerate disrespect—not under this roof. And besides... I cannot read or write."
His voice hardened.
"We warriors live by a code—untouchable. If it's broken, we live dishonored, disgraced, and unworthy."
The Great Khan stepped forward.
"How dare you play the victim?"
Baatar Zuun said, stamping his foot. "I, a warrior, cannot even speak to my daughter face to face. I shouldn't have to remind anyone what my girl has..."
Just then, Khishigjargal entered the court—tall, modest, and graceful. Her gentleness spoke through her humanitarian work. Her robes whispered dignity and elegance, her heart shone with virtue and kindness.
She said gently,
"Please, do not take my grandfather's words to heart. He is just an old warrior."
Immediately, Elder Dzhambul at the door snapped:
"And you are not a warrior—what makes you think you can stand before us?"
The yurt murmured. Elbeg whispered to Dzhambul,
"She is the granddaughter of our comrade and sister-in-arms, Naidvar the old worrier."
Dzhambul nearly rose to greet her, but Tarkhan interrupted:
"She may have skill with the sword, but she is not a warrior."
Dzhambul sighed.
"What a shame."
Khishigjargal bowed and said humbly,
"Indeed, I am not a warrior. I come today in filial piety—out of respect and devotion to my grandfather."
She held her grandfather's hand and the two walked out together.
The Great Khan nodded.
"It seems Soyolma taught you well the virtues of the Central plains."
Dzhambul turned to Elbeg.
"What happened to this young talent?"
Elbeg explained,
"She had prepared her cloak for the warrior initiation. But after the Great Khan returned from the Serpent Wreath tribe—at the incident with my son—she canceled the ceremony herself. Even brother Orlok was there."
Orlok added,
"This young warrior could have fought the Great Khan to a draw. But she gave it all up—to serve people, not power."
Khuyag scoffed.
"I don't believe it. I knew sister Naidvar personally. No child of the Wolfborn Horde would abandon the sword for... humanitarian work—like some weak lady from the Middle Kingdom."
Tarkhan added,
"Didn't her mother broke the warrior code? "
Elbeg replied,
"Yet the blood of the Wolfborn Horde still runs through her."
Dzhambul shook his head.
"What a waste of talent."
Then entered the Khan of Stone Banners—a warrior tribe known for their massive builds and blunt nature. Khan Tömörjin came proudly, bearing no tribute.
Choibalsan asked,
"Where is your tribute?"
Khan Tömörjin replied,
"I already wrote: I cannot pay what I don't have."
Dorvod shouted,
"Warmonger! How dare you speak so boldly?"
Tömörjin answered firmly,
"I only lit fires where there were tensions. It was Elder Dzhambul's son—Khan Alagh of the Ember Veil—who built a fortress blocking trade routes, sparking conflict with their neighbours the Khan Ebegei of the Sky Dwellers(merchant)"
Dzhambul retorted,
"And how do you justify your actions?"
Tömörjin said plainly,
"I don't. Unlike your son, whose actions were excused and whose tributes were waived."
The Great Khan rose.
"I hate words—I believe in action. Others speak of ethnic cleansing. I can carry it out by decree. So be warned. The more you fuel war, the more I will cleanse you, your ancestors, and your memory from this earth. The Great Sky shall witness your fall."
Tömörjin trembled.
Then the Khan added calmly,
"I admire honesty and the ethos of a true warrior—not snakes hiding in the grass. I've read your letter many times, and I respect your honesty. In truth, I am partly to blame for tribe's suffering but this will not be the last winter for your people. They will not suffer famine again.
. "If my fire burns brighter than yours, I have failed as your Khangan . A ruler must warm his people before he warms himself."
At hearing those words, Tömörjin, humbled, bowed deeply and exited.
The Great Khan reminded him:
" And another thing, I do not wait to be invited to war—nor does the Tiger of Liang. We invite ourselves."
Tömörjin smiled as he left.
Next came the Iron Herd—a tribe of bandits and black-market merchants loyal only to gold.
Choibalsan advised the Great Khan,
"Since they are not of our blood, let my nephew deal with them. Besides, their Khan is dead."
The Great Khan agreed—to comfort his uncle.
Then entered the Dune Widows.
The Great Khan said,
"I do not recall you being a tribe."
Matriarch Suren Zaya knelt.
"We are widows who lost our husbands in the wars. But we are ready to submit, make peace with the past, and pay tribute."
The Great Khan said nothing, just watched.
Suren Zaya, stoic and weary, said:
"I chose peace. My sisters chose blood. But both roads bowed to her will. Perhaps the sky favors fire after all."
Before the Khan could reply, Choibalsan said,
"Your tribute is accepted."
The Khan had no choice but to nod.
"Let no man fear me unless he fears injustice. Let no man praise me unless he praises mercy."
She bowed and exited.
Then the Serpent Wreath tribe arrived. Khaness Erkhbayar rushed in, pouring golden Arkhi into everyone's cup—a rare herb-infused drink for khans and weddings.
Elbeg warned,
"If I were you, I wouldn't touch that. The Serpent Wreath tribe is famed for poisons—especially from the Khaness herself."
The Great Khan asked sternly,
"Is the princess born of the Serpent Wreath—or of Oghuz?"
Silence filled the yurt.
Then he added,
"Do not use my daughter for your politics... unless you wish to end like your husband."
Ashamed and humiliated, Khaness Erkhbayar quietly left, her plans shattered.
That evening, in the Great Yurt, the Khan spoke to Dulgun:
"Dul, your journey is long. Remember—strength is not how many kneel before you, but how many rise because of you."
Then he stepped outside, holding his daughter's hand high before the people. This victory was worth celebration.
He gave his speech:
"Today, we return not as conquerors, but as servants of peace.
Let no village fear our banners—for they are raised not in pride, but in promise.
I love peace, as my father did.
I do not care if Khans kill each other in seclusion—so long as your wars don't spill upon my people.
The greatest victories are not carved in stone, but in the forgiveness we give when we could destroy."