Chapter 1

The man woke up with a probably what was considered the worst headache he had ever experienced in his life.  He could barely open his eyes without his head hurting worse than it did.  He tried to move, but as he lifted his arms they felt heavy.  When he was able to open eyes completely he saw why.  He had been chained to the wall.  He also noticed that his legs were also chained as well.

He didn’t have to have his eyes open completely to know that he was in a dungeon.  The place was lit with only a single torch come from the cell room door window from the outside and there was an obnoxious smell from with the cell.  The man looked around and then saw a rotting corpse in the corner, being chewed on by rats.  The smell would not have bothered him as much if he didn’t have such a fucking headache.

He once again tested the chains when he noticed how much blood had stained his chest.  He also noted that his left arm had been slick with blood.  It was then he remembered who he was.

The Marmara Sea, off the coast of Constantinople, a few days earlier.

“Pride of the Mongol Empire you are” Kasar laughed at Altan.  “Fuck you Kasar, you may have the sea legs to stand this crap, but you have the brains of a drunken mule” Altan shot back.  Kasar threw his head back and laughed “and damn proud of it you worthless whelp, back when you were just sucking your mothers teat, I was sinking ships faster than our enemies could build them.”  Atlan wiped his mouth “But then again your just a stinking half-breed, not a full bloodied Mongol, Kasar” he stabbed back.  Atlan had said the one thing no man ever dared say to Kasar.

It was true that Kasar was only half Mongolian and the other half Persian, but it still didn’t change the fact that those who mocked Kasar’s lineage wound up facing his wraith and regretting it.  His father had been one of the fiercest swordsmen of his tribe and his mother had been a merchant’s daughter from Tehran.  When Temujin conquered the Persian region of the Khwarezmian Empire, his mother’s family gave her to his father, as well as several fineries, in hopes of promoting peace.

His father had given over the fineries to his troops, but claimed the women for himself.  At first she was frightened of her experience with a warrior as fierce as his father, but she didn’t regret being with him after a while, when she realized how well he treated her.  It was only a year later that they gave birth to their son, Kasar.

“By Tengri” he said snarling as he began reaching for his sword on his left hip.  It was a large Persian Scimitar given to him by his father, who had received it as a reward for his help in capturing a Persian officer.  “The last whelp who dared call me that met his ancestors.”  “Then you should get well acquainted with them” Atlan said as he began drawing his equestrian sword “you’ll be joining them shortly.”  They both circled each other to see which one would falter first.  The crew members watched them with amusement.  Then, the two charged each other; they both swung their swords overhead with their right arms.

 Just when they thought it they would hit each other they then struck a sword that had come out from nowhere and blocked their downward strokes.  “You guys really should stick to wrestling” a friendly voice said.  They turned to see the youthful but friendly face of a comrade with dark brown eyes a fur trimmed hat and a trimmed goatee.  “Besides, how would the representatives of the Byzantine react to see two men bloodied and beaten?” he finished.  “You have a point there stripling” Kasar said as he withdrew his sword and then sheathed it.  “Saved by a whelp, you’re getting old Kasar” Atlan sneered with his sword still pointed at Kasar’s chest.  The young man stepped in front of Kasar with his sword pointed at Atlan, with the tip of it at his throat.

“Anything happens to him and it will be you that joins your ancestors” the young man’s face remained calm and cold.  Atlan lowered his sword, sheathed it and spat in disgust.  “The Khan will know of this Batzorig” Atlan said with a look of contempt.  “He will indeed” the young man known as Batzorig replied as he sheathed his sword “and then you can explain to him why you hold such a grudge against one of the Mongol Empire’s fiercest swordsmen” he finished.  Kasar gave a wolfish smile.  “Besides, haven’t you forgotten that you have fallen out of favor with the Great Khan?” Batzorig finished.

It was no secret that Atlan and Kasar hated each over there birthrights.  Kasar being the son of a Mongol Cavalry officer and his mother a Persian Merchant’s daughter and that Atlan’s family had served as the Khan’s Kheshig for generations.  However, Atlan himself had fallen out of favor with Kublai Khan when he picked a fight with another Kheshig over the matter of some stolen horses to trade for a women’s hand in marriage.  The other man had no idea what he had been talking about, but Atlan had still chosen to pursue the matter to the point where it lead to swords being drawn.

By the time it could be broken up, the other man had lost his left eye and Atlan his honor.  The Khan had made it clear to Atlan that if he ever wanted to reclaim his place of honor, he would have to be amongst those who did the most in fighting and dying long enough to know what being a real Mongol was, to not cause disputes based on just a pointed finger and not to be greedy like most of the so-called civilized folks in other parts of the world.

Kasar just simply despised of Atlan because he felt the most of the Kheshig were too civilized to be considered true Mongols.  Only being half-Mongolian made him ever more proud of his heritage.  He had known civilized folk as well as Batzorig.

“Very well then, boy” Atlan cursed as he stormed down the decks of the ship.  Batzorig sheathed his sword and turned back to Kasar.  “Showed him well there lad” Kasar grasped Batzorig’s hand in friendship.  From another person’s point of view, the two could be considered father and son, but with two differences.  The first being their choice in facial and head hair styles: where Batzorig had a trimmed goatee and long hair with four locks of braided hair that came down to his shoulders, and that Kasar had a handle bar mustache with a single lock of braided hair down the back of his otherwise shaved head.

The second being the fact that Kasar was not Batzorig’s father, but more like an uncle to him, Batzorig’s father had been killed in battle against the Song Dynasty troops.  His father had made a pledge of brotherhood to Kasar and promised that if one should fall, the other would look out for their family.  Kasar had taken in the young Batzorig, along with the lad’s grandfather, who also helped raise him in the Mongol ways. By the time Batzorig had come of age to serve the Khan, he had already been well trained in the arts of war both on and off a horse.

Sword, spear, lance and bow, it didn’t matter what part of the empire the weapons came from.  He also learned wrestling and what his Mongol brothers had called “Chinese Boxing” from Kasar and his shipmates.  Despite the fact that he had no clan to claim of his own, Batzorig was destined for greater things.  So much so that he caught the eye of the Mongol court.  Ever since then, he had been in service to the Khan as something of a one-man army.

“Kasar I have a question?” Batzorig asked as let go of his grip on Kasar.  “If we are here as emissary’s for the Khan, why are the Byzantine having us make port so far south of the other ports?”  Kasar spat in contempt “It’s because those Byzantine are a bunch of civilized curs that think us Mongols are nothing but a rabble of filthy dogs” he maintained a look of contempt “they think because they have fineries, wealth, fancy clothing and what they call religion” he said sneering “that they are better than us.”

“Then why doesn’t the great Khan just have us ride in on horseback where real Mongols belong and burn this pathetic part of the world down to the ground, right after we take all that it’s worth?” a Mongol sailor said.  Batzorig smiled “Because if the great Khan wanted us to do that, he wouldn’t be sending us out in the first place, no would he?”  The sailor shrugged “I suppose so, but when it comes to religion, don’t give me any of that crap about this God they talk so highly about."  Batzorig raised an eyebrow “I don’t follow”.  The Mongol pointed his left thumb towards a dark skinned sailor.  “That there is Abdul, best sailor I have ever shared the deck with.  He comes from Lebanon and he can’t go back.”  “Why can’t he go back?”  Batzorig asked.

“Because those servants of god” he rolled his eyes “are butchering and slaughtering people of his religion, because they think that will appease there god and the reclaiming of their so called holy lands.”  Batzorig still had a look of confusion, but Kasar gave him a slap on the back that snapped him out of it.  “Give me Tengri any day” he gave a hearty laugh “at least he doesn’t ask much from us Mongols.”

Batzorig smiled at that notion as he looked back at the sea.  He could see the docks and the Haiga Sophia was in view.  “Never in my life have I seen such a wonder” Batzorig said surprisingly.  Kasar put his hand on Batzorig’s left shoulder “That’s one thing civilized folk are good at, impressing us barbarians.”  Batzorig laughed along with Kasar.

As the sun was setting over the southern docks and the Mongol ship was in the process of docking, many of the local citizens were closing their shops, heading home or out to indulge themselves in questionable vices of the evening.  Around the docks were mostly ships from other parts of the world that wanted to trade with the Byzantine.  Most of the people around at this particular time were the merchants and sailors that had arrived from long journeys, dockhands finishing their tasks for the evenings, fishermen coming in with the latest and last catch of the day and the local sentries that were assigned to patrol the docks for any suspicious activity.

None was more suspicious than the man who was hiding in the shadows between the warehouses that were on the docks.  The man had been an assassin had been hired by a powerful family to observe the movements of the Mongol emissary’s arrival.  He didn’t know who he was looking for just yet, but he had had been informed by his informants, that it was young Mongol.

He observed the men disembarking from the ship, looking for the youngest person amongst them.  He then noticed a Mongol that looked no older than twenty-one years.  The assassin smiled coldly in the dark.  He then melted back into the shadows of the early night to report back to his master.

Batzorig once again tested his chains to see if he could break them like he had broken many chains in times past, but to no avail.  He once again looked around his cell for some that could be used to break the chains, but he couldn’t move very far within the cell without feeling the tightness of the chains or the pains from his wounds.  Just as he thought about giving up, he heard footsteps coming to his cell.

He had hoped that whatever civilized cur that came in would stupid enough to get close enough to him to grab the keys and break loose the chains.  He went back to the corner where he had originally had woken up and pretended he was still unconscious.  The strangest thing was, is that the footsteps sounded too soft for that of a man.  “These civilized folk must be as soft with their walking as they are in life” Batzorig said to himself.

The moment the cell door opened he prepared himself to launch himself at the guard.  “Almost” as the chains to arms were undone.  Then the chains to his legs were undone “Now” as he threw himself at the guard.  The person he tackled yelped as Batzorig tackled the guard.  He was about ready to kill the guard by strangling the life out of him with his bare hands, when his knee felt something funny on the guard’s chest.

“What?” he said out loud as he lifted himself off the struggled guard.  As the guard rose to his feet, he removed his helmet to see that he was a she.  She had the most beautiful sea green eyes, something Batzorig had rarely seen east of the Mongol Empire and the most luscious looking hair that was tied into a bun on the back of her head.  She had the look of someone who was civilized, but also that of wealth and nobility.

 “Sending a woman to do a man’s job, is this how you civilized dogs plan to escort a man to his execution?” Batzorig said with a sneer.  “I am not here doing a man’s job and I am not here execute unless you give me an excuse not to.  My name is Aurelia and I am here to break you out.”