Authors: John Koetsier
After Hermes was gone we finished our meal in silence, ten warriors in a vast, echoing hall built for a hundred times that number, which was just one room a massive training facility with huge space, entire terraria even, for training almost a thousand warriors who might never fight again. The knowledge that the unseen warriors were left in s.Leep, perhaps never to return, never to wake, eat, speak, or fight weighed heavily upon is. Worse was the knowledge that each of us had a direct hand in banishing them to their fate.
Livia rose. Raising a cup, she said in a clear voice, “We will remember.” Her voice did not tremble, but her cup quivered, just a millimeter. And a single tear slid down her cheek.
All of us stood. We raised a cup; we drank. And we remembered.
The rest of the afternoon we told stories. We told stories of our brothers and sisters — the favorite moments, the battles to remember, the jokes and the laughter. And we remembered.
At the end, Livia rose again.
“As long as there is memory, there is hope,” she said. “Perhaps one day our friends will rise again and walk these halls with us.”
As we clashed mugs again, I wondered. And while I did not know their fate, I knew something about ours. We would be fighting. And, perhaps dying. I did not know where we would go and who we would fight, or if a death on a mission to come would be a real and final death, or simply a sleep from which we would awaken the next morning. But I knew that we would be in strange places and times, as the gods put us wherever and whenever they wished.
It said much of my relationship to the gods at that time that I did not even question their ability to do such a thing. Such a fool, I.
Truth makes you strong, but knowledge reveals the true value of power.
- Chinese proverb
When I woke I knew many things.
I knew I was in what historians would later call Central Asia. I knew that the date was something like the year of our Lord 750. I knew that nearby was a small town by the name of Talas, in a country full of nomadic herders that would eventually be known as the land of the free.
In other words, Kazakhstan.
But that was just the beginning. I had also been loaded with local geographical knowledge that the gods imagined might be useful. Talas was a small, almost rural town in a long, winding river valley. It was enveloped by agricultural plains — steppe prairie, essentially — reaching towards mountains perhaps fifteen klicks away on both the north and south sides of the river. And those ragged outcroppings were the northernmost fragment of the Tian Shan mountain range that extended south all the way down to China.
Literally, “mountains of heaven.”
I knew that I and the nine members of my cadre had woken in the lower reaches of the northern mountains — a day’s march from Talas. Thankfully, the most heavenly — and therefore most impassible — parts of the Tian Shan were well south of our location. And I knew that the battle would be fought south of the city, on the plain, in less than ten days. We did not have much time.
The Chinese empire of the 700s was perhaps the largest, most powerful, most sophisticated empire in the world. Simultaneously, the Arab empire of the 700s, ruled by the Abbasid Caliphate, was perhaps the largest, most powerful, most sophisticated empire in the world. Tang dynasty China ruled or held tributary over much of eastern Asia: heavily populated, rich, arable. The Abbasid Caliphate held sway over northern Africa, the middle east, parts of the east, and even reaching north into what would eventually be called Spain and Portugal. The two had never fought before: different spheres of influence, diverging interests. But it was here in central Asia that the outermost tendrils of empires would finally taste and touch … and erupt in battle.
All this I knew without thinking as I woke, plus the languages of the Arabs, the Tang, and the Karluk. Possibly with barbaric accents, but good enough to get along.
Around me Livia and Sama and German and Kin were waking, along with the others. It was time to move out.
The sun was in our eyes as we cantered along on our smallish steppe horses. We wore a bastard mix of armor: I was in full
shan wen kai
, a sort of Chinese scale armor, while the rest of the troupe wore enough elements of scale to be similar, with a few pieces of plate armor thrown in here and there, demonstrating flashes of affluence. We were ostensibly unemployed caravan guards, which would allow us some freedom of motion through the area, and though we were all taller than the local average, our clothing and coffee-colored skin would blend to a degree.
Hermes’ words lingered in my brain as I surveyed the path ahead. It still seemed like a dream, though I knew it was not.
“Paper. It’s paper, Geno. Paper is the key.”
“The key to what, Lord Hermes?” I had asked. At my question he smiled oddly, and I did not like it.
“The key to power, of course.”
I had not understood, so Hermes endeavored to explain. I felt as he did that he was both annoyed at the necessity and pleased to display his cleverness. Either way, I was in for a lecture. Hermes curled his lips as he spoke.
“The Chinese invented paper in the first century. They use it for wrapping, for wiping, and for writing … but it scarcely changes their world. It has not resulted in anything but exquisite gifts and sappy poetry. To achieve its full potential, the invention must come west.”
“And what will the west do with it?” I wondered aloud.
“They will make more of it. They will print on it with machines. And they will let loose the floodgates of knowledge.”
I had only the vaguest idea what Hermes was talking about. But I wasn’t yet sure I needed to understand everything.
“So we will steal this invention and deliver it to some philosopher or wise man in the west?”
“No,” Hermes laughed. “You will ensure the Arabs win. They will do the rest.”
Then, as he often did, Hermes appeared to lapse into thought, and he began to muse aloud, almost as if he had forgotten I was present. And somehow, like before, I had the feeling that I was not intended to remember these reminiscences …
“They will take it home,” he mumbled. “They will make their own paper. The secret will come west, the Europeans will learn it. They will mass produce it, and then they will use it to transform their little backwater mini-continent. And then they will dominate …”
He paused for a long time in thought, head bowed.
“Dominate who, Lord Hermes?” I asked.
He started a little, as if he had forgotten me or his stream of thought, and I was an unwelcome reminder of both.
“Not for you to worry about, Geno. Beyond your pay grade, so to speak,” he said with a little smile at one of his private jokes that I did not understand. “Just make sure the Arabs win.”
That’s when I had known I was dismissed, and my next memory was waking on the northernmost outcroppings of the mountains of heaven. Now as we continued to canter towards Talas, I turned over my thoughts in my mind. Unusually, I had two problems to solve. One was the mission. But the other was an annoying novelty: what were we really doing here? Why was I doing what I was doing? These questions were new to me and as uncomfortable as they were atypical. I pushed them from my brain to focus on the immediate issues.
On the one side, we had Tang dynasty Chinese troops: well trained, intelligently led, and heavily armored. Not many — some 15,000, according to whatever data the gods had placed in my mind — but veteran, skilled, and unquestioningly loyal. These would form the core of the Chinese battle order. Allied with them were local troops from a nomadic tribal people, rough but tough, the Karluks. Perhaps another 20,000 of them. They could be counted on to know the region and fight well, but would lack the discipline and training of the Tang divisions. Also, almost certainly, they would not have heavy armor.
On the other, we had Arab forces. Fresh off victories back home consolidating the Abbasid dominion over northern Africa, Palestine, and parts of southern Europe, they were 20,000 strong. While skilled, the numerical difference between them and the Chinese alliance was a major concern. I guessed that these desert people raised in an expansionary and warlike empire might have a better fighting spirit than Tang born in relative peace. And, more importantly, they possessed cavalry in decent numbers, which the Chinese did not have. But the fact that they had fewer men worried me. Two to one odds were not good.
I and my team were superb fighting instruments at all levels of technology, but we could not defeat thousands single-handedly. There would have to be a better way.
As I thought, possibilities started to suggest themselves …
After jogging and walking the horses fairly easily most of the day while encountering none but terrified villagers loaded with possessions and fleeing the coming violence, we neared the river valley a few kilometers from the village of Talas. There was a perfect vantage point over the river and surrounding plain just northwest of the city, so I avoided it like the plague, choosing a smaller, less obvious rise. The view was not quite as comprehensive, but there was good cover and multiple safe exits from the brow of the hill. With two armies and who knows how many assorted noncombatants and other groups roaming this valley, good lookout points were going to be busy.
And therefore, potentially unhealthy.
From our viewpoint we could see what I judged to be the Tang and the Karluks. They were across the river, but on our side of the village: west of Talas. So they were not going to defend the town and people. Hence the fleeing villagers we had spied on the ride in. That made sense for the Chinese, in a sense ... Talas was insignificant in just about every way: militarily, economically, politically. And the plain offered a good battleground. We could see their tents dimly in the growing dark, lined up end-to-end in straight lines widely spaced with long lanes. And we could see their cookfires: hundreds of them. Of the Arabs, we could see nothing.
We settled in for the night, pulling cold rations from our packs and finding branches and grass to pile under our blankets. The downside of fighting in a historical milieu, I had already decided, was being forced to avoid overt anachronisms. As such, a modern insta-tent with heating, sanitary facilities, and reasonably comfortable accommodations was out of the question. We picketed and hobbled the horses well to the rear in a small hollow, then I set a watch and we snuggled up with the roots and stones and insects of the night, drifting off to sleep. It would be only temporary.
I was not on watch that night, but very early in morning I felt a touch on my shoulder. It was Livia.
She saw that my eyes were open, and gestured. Then she returned to her post while I shook myself awake, checked the stars, and saw that it was halfway between midnight and dawn. Thirty seconds later, I joined her.
“Look,” she breathed, pointing down the valley.
The moon was not full, but even the sickle moon, combined with the full starry sky of a cloudless pre-electricity night revealed movement from the plain below. From the west an armed force was streaming toward the Tang encampment. We could see shadowy shapes with occasional betraying gleams from metal weapons and armor scurrying along the lower, darker portions of the prairie. No doubt they were almost invisible for any viewers on the plain, but from our vantage point the movement was almost obvious. In the gloom and at our distance it was impossible to make out any numbers, but it did not look like the full Arab complement. This was probably a raid in strength, undertaken under cover of night, in an attempt to spook, possibly stampede, and at minimum unsettle the Chinese and their subjects.
Even as we watched, we heard some faint noises, hoof beats and muffled screams, from the lookout point we had avoided.
“This Arab commander is no idiot,” Livia said, as we strained to see across to the taller hill. “He must have spied out this land earlier and noted the vantage points, then sent small, quiet forces ahead to neutralize any lookouts or sentries.”
Just then a figure on a horse broke from the cover at the crest of the opposite hill, galloping down the hill at reckless speed in the night.
“They’ve been flushed from their hideout,” I said to Livia. “The Arabs must have curled around and approached from the direction of the Tang camp so any sentries they missed would be driven away from their own army.
The rider had almost made it to the bottom of the small valley between the two vantage points when he jerked and fell awkwardly to the ground. The horse, now riderless, slowed to a walk. The fallen man did not rise, and three dark figures rose from the base of the hill and walked up to join their compatriots at the top of the hill. Bowmen, they had prevented early detection of the night raid by shooting the last guard from the saddle.
This was getting better and better. Our task here was to ensure the Arabs won … and every passing minute suggested that they knew what they were doing and had a good chance of winning at least this preliminary battle before the Tang commander even knew it was begun. But we had better be sharp and alert.
“Get everyone awake,” I whispered to Livia. “These Arabs are disciplined and smart. They may decide to check this hill for any unwanted eyes as well. I would.”
She scurried back and quietly woke the others, who slowly and silently filtered forward.
“We’ve cleaned up the camp,” whispered Jaca. “In the dark they won’t be able to tell that we slept here.”
A thought tickled, and I made a snap decision.
“If they come here, I want them. Captured and unharmed!”
At my signal we all climbed trees, automatically choosing trunks spread in a semicircle around the vantage point. They were not tall but leafy, and we melted to the larger branches two or three meters off the ground, becoming all but invisible from the ground.
Our caution was not misplaced — ten minutes passed and we heard stealthy footsteps coming closer. Walking silently at night with any speed at all is not easy, and the approaching scouts, though quiet, were not silent. As they came near, the shapes resolved into three blobs, which split in order to search the vantage point. In the dark, unable to make noise, I had no means to communicate with my people. I had to hope they would do the right thing at the right time.
One toe-to-heeled right under my tree, and even as dropped, I hissed “Now!”
I dropped like the world’s biggest coconut on the Arab’s back, knocking the wind out of him and crushing him to the ground instantly. I scrabbled around for a second, found his face, and covered his mouth just in case he was going to let out a cry. Then found there was no need — he was out cold. I hoped so at least — praying that his neck wasn’t broken. These scouts were my ticket into the Arab camp … and a ticket with a broken neck was not going to win us any friends at all.
A few muffled sounds to my left and right indicated that similar struggles were taking place around me. No loud shout of warning to any other Arab scouts who might be around signaled success. We gathered again slightly down from the top of the hill, in the thicket where we had slept. By this time our night vision was extremely good, and a faint brightening of the pre-morning sky helped us see fairly well. We had three Arab scouts, a little worse for the wear, but not seriously injured.
“Bind them loosely,” I instructed. “Treat them well, we’ll need them in good health and humor.”
I left them in the care of three, then rejoined Livia in the vantage point. Now we had an excellent view of the impending battle. It was not daylight — not even dawn — but in the light of the moon and the stars we saw more and more Arab forces streaming up — at least several thousand. No alarm sounded, so any outlying Chinese sentries must have been stealthily silenced, much like the ones we had just witnessed. A few minutes later, we saw an unshielded light on that same hilltop. It was a signal.
Immediately the plain below was studded with lights as hundreds of bowmen readied fire arrows. They held for a moment, then with amazing synchronicity released as one and a thousand flaming arrows rose into the night sky and plummeted like miniature falling stars onto the Chinese camp. Tents immediately started going up in flames, and the dark valley became bright, the dancing fire reflecting off the still cold waters of the river. The bowmen kept up their barrage, aiming farther and farther into the camp, only ceasing when the dark figures of the attacking Arab line reached the nearest tents.
It looked like complete surprise. Not a single Chinese soldier clawed his way out of a burning tent clad in underclothes with a sword in hand to fight the invaders. The Arabs scrambled through the camp from tent to tent, collapsing it and firing any that were untouched by the flames. It looked like complete domination — an easy victory.
As usual in battle, looks were deceiving.
And deception was precisely the name of the game. Just as the Arab fighters were starting to drift a bit aimlessly from tent to tent, searching for human targets with which to quench their battle lust, a roar went up from the south end of the flaming tents. The Chinese soldiers laughed and shouted, then charged down the long wide lanes, the flaming tents lighting the way.
It did not last long.
They were prepared, heavily armored, and well disciplined. They charged in perfect formation, and the uncertain Arabs, divided by burning rows, seemingly leaderless, died. We could see little detail from high above the Tang camp, now a battlefield. But the sounds were enough: above the roaring fires we could hear the screams of the dying and wounded men. The Chinese advanced swiftly through the rows, killing all in front of them. At the edge of the camp they halted.
“Smart commander,” I said. “He fights on land he knows. He fights when and where he holds all the cards. And he lays irresistible traps for his enemies.”
It was clear to all of us now what he had done: at dusk, his soldiers had cut holes in the tent walls and slipped out of camp, unseen, passing from tent to tent to tent, all the way down the long rows. The wide lanes between the tents: perfect for quick advances. He had it all figured out.
“He also sacrifices his soldiers — sentries and lookouts — when convenient,” noticed Livia musingly. “Ruthless.”
Jaca was almost beside himself. He knew our mission, knew our goals.
“What now?” he asked. “The forces we’ve been sent to help … they’ve been defeated.” Greater issues hung behind his words. “And Hermes, the gods. What will they do now?” To us, was his unspoken addition.
“It’s a defeat,” I said. I needed to calm this down right away, before the concern became infectious. “Not the end.”
I had a few ideas. No details, yet, but an idea was better than nothing. And I thought that the seeds of our victory were already in our grasp. But one thing bothered me: how had the Chinese commander known that the Arabs were attacking at night?
We rose and returned to our lower hideout.