"What a surprise, it's not snowing!" Karachar's companion Kitbuga whispered to the rider next to him, "But last time, five of our horses died in a blizzard while we were still two and a half miles below."

"The world is changing like a galloping horse. I have been coming here for the last twenty years, but I have never seen so little snow." The experienced guide Karachar answered from the side. He looked around in awe. Karachar was the most skilled tracker in Baisungar Mirza's party. He knew every grain of grass in the vast steppe. He drank in every tribe from the border of Seleonia in the west to the mountains of Azov in the far east. He also visited the major trading cities of Emiriya. He could tell what was going on the steppe by smelling the air.

But that day, the ever familiar Orkhan mountain seemed to be a stranger to him. There was no snow even at twelve thousand feet. As the evening approached, there was no sound of any elk or a wolf. They rode for eight days. All that time, everything seemed to be overwhelmed by a strange silence. All the mountains were asleep like a hibernating mountain bear in winter.

"We should camp here like today, Mirza!" the rider in front of Kitbuga dared to suggest. "Our horses are tired. The weakest horses will soon die if they don't rest."

"We have enough horses. Mayhap one or two will fall, I don’t care." Mirza replied. He was riding a stallion, black as the darkest cloud in front of the column. The black cloak made of wolf fur on the armour seemed to blend him with the darkness of the evening. The inexperienced Mirza just had passed his boyhood in terms of age. He inherited the title Mirza, the title of a tribal warlord himself after his father Mirza Sanjar was perished in a battle with the Juchins at Oratepa somedays ago. But his position was not secure. His father's Nahdi concubine, Hafsa, and her bastard son, Akhmad, were plotting from the harem how to wrest power. Next moon Hafsa was taking her son to meet the Khan. Perhaps that wretched wench would want to deceive the lustful old Khan by the magic of her black eyes and her impuding beauty.

Among the nomadic tribes of the great steppe, after a Mirza's death, his heir could only be him who received the firman from the Khan, the overlord of all the tribes or to whomever the elders of the tribe sworn allegiance deeming him worthy. The old Khan did not reply to Mirza Baisungar's letter urging him for the firman. And although the elders of the tribe did not gather under anyone else's flag, very few chieftains came to swore their allegiance to Mirza Baisungar. So, before Hafsa could go to the Khan, Mirza wanted to prove himself worthy in front of the tribe by offering sacrifice in the sacred cave of the great serpent, Azdaha, and collecting runes from the sacred cave. A perilous journey it was though, as no one in the known past ever found the way of that holy cave. Having the support of the elders of the tribe, Mirza would have little need of the firman of the weak Khan. Karachar knew that. That’s the thing that brought this proud Mirza to seek help from a veteran like him, forgetting his caste pride.

Mirza had very little time in his hands as he was urging the rest of the party. At any cost, he would have to return to the Urdu before two weeks. But many of his companions were dissatisfied with this relentless journey. Their horses were tired due to lack of rest. As they climbed higher, the number of animals that could be hunted, surprisingly decreased. But this Orkhan mountain, the abode of the great serpent Azdaha, was no more than a paradise for the mountain elks and yaks. "If anyone wants to go back out of fear, he can go," said Mirza, getting wind of rebellion on his companions' faces. "When I’ll go back after this expedition, I will open him from the guts to the balls."

Almost every eyes in the group lit up in anger. Before anyone could say anything, Karachar said handling the situation, "Mirza, let us go a little further. Let the rest of the group feed the horses and get some rest. By that time, we will be able to find a place to make our camp at night."

Mirza moved ahead riding his stallion without another word. Karachar and Mirza’s sworn sword Gassan followed him, leaving their horses with the rest of the group. It was by then dark all around. The leaves were purple in colour. In the far distant horizon, the moon was peeking through the clouds and gazing at the vast emptiness of the great steppe below. The three of them moved ahead into the darkness.

"Do you remember your first foray?" Mirza asked to break the silence.

"Aye, Mirza. I was then only twelve, accompanied my father on my first expedition, the invasion of the city of Sarai. The Khan was then the father of the present Khan, Khan Tughlaq, Sly and opportunistic like a fox. He himself led our army. We deceived half of the Tsar's army and drowned them in the Dniep River."

"How many people have you killed that day?"

"Five. I can’t remember all of them. But I can recall the first one I killed. He was a monster of a Knight, riding a grey mare, but huge and wild as a stallion. We surrounded the Tsar's army on the bank of the Dniep. He charged on us with his horse to break the encirclement. One of my father's hands was blown off by his blow. As his entire body was covered with mail and plate armor nothing happened to him. I shot an arrow from very close with my bow which pierced through the eye slit of his visor. As I was parrying his last blow with my shield, he fell from his horse to the ground cursing me. Hearing of his courage, Khan Tughlaq arranged for his body to be returned to Sarai as a mark of respect."

"Didn't your hands tremble at the moment of firing?"

"Did your heart tremble in fear, Mirza, when you decided to venture into the great Azdaha’s cave on this impassable route to Orkhan mountain?" Karachar questioned.

"If you had been in my tent at that time, you would have heard my heart thumping." Mirza shook his head. "But there was no other way."

"That's it, sire. Life and war sometimes bring us to a place where we have to act decisively without thinking much. Where there is no room for doubt, fear, apprehension or hesitation." Like a wise village elder, Karachar replied, "It was the same for me at that time. My blood froze like ice in my veins. But in front of that six-and-a-half-foot monster, shooting an arrow was the only way to save life, instead of running away in fear."

"Bugger your wisdom!" Ghassan's muttering and cursing on him and Mirza did not escape Karachar's eyes. "For the sake of that obstinate fool Mirza and his wise elders, they had to come to the Orkhan mountain, so far away from their own Urdu. If Mirza had killed his half-brothers, neither Khan's firman would have been needed, nor they would have to come to the Azdaha’s mountain. Bloody fools like Karachar and Kitbuga could go to the seven hells with the offering to Azdaha and bugger themselves as much as they liked."

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But Karachar didn’t react on that. Poor guy! Being Mirza's bodyguard, he couldn’t help go with Mirza despite his reluctance. Gassan proceeded with cursing Mirza and his campaign.

The air was icy cold in the mountains. It was like a frozen knife through the whole sheepskin cloak and pierced through their bones. Snowflakes were hanging from the branches of the pine trees. The faint moonlight was glittering on it. It seemed like the pine trees were studded with diamond pendants. However, no sign of any animal was seen so far. The deer or birds call out to others about any ferocious animal or human movement on the way of the forest. Or packs of ferocious wolves sniffing the scent of a human howl together in excitement for the coming feast. But that forest was completely deserted. Karachar shook his head. There was something wrong here, due to which the ferocious wolves were also silent. Some of the pine trees were bent abnormally. Someone pushed them with great force. An unknown made his body shiver. Still he followed Mirza without saying a word.

Gasan at last started to whine again, "Mirza, can you feel it? There seems to be something near us."

Mirza looked back, "Your brain is frozen in the cold, nothing else. Drink some wine."

"Gassan is right, Mirza!" Karachar agreed with Gasan's words. "I found some bone marks. The bones are those of an animal that has been burnt and eaten. Not long ago but Just a few hours."

"Surely any group of the Juchins came before us." Mirza shrugged.

"The Juchins actually used to signal in advance. War is prohibited on Mount Orkhan. They have no reason to hide. Besides, if someone came before us, there would be footprints."

"Do you think a dragon has come from the lost lands of Azov?" Mirza sneered.

"I heard from my granny that the last dragon in the world was lost thousands of years ago during the time of Babek Biyamuz."

"You can rest assured then. Dragons don't live a thousand years." Mirza laughed.

"I don't know what is around us. But I sense the existence of something." Karachar expressed his apprehension, "We should stop here like today, Mirza! We could start again tomorrow after the rest of our party arrives."

"Don't talk nonsense! We do not stop before the second watch of the night." A glimpse of warmth was seen in Mirza's voice.

Karachar remained silent. He has seen many such green boys. Many such boys have died in the battles before his eyes. So he went on silently, watching around Mirza's horse. He kept his ears watchful like a worried rabbit.  He clutched the dagger in his right hand tightly. At that moment, the moon was completely covered by the clouds. Darkness was closing in on them. In the dim light of the torches, the path of the mountain forest was evoking an unearthly feeling in their minds. The breathing of Mirza’s horse, the crisp sound of their shoes on the snow and the rhythm of the mountain air seemed to raise the wild tone of the steppe.

But he could see nothing but determination in Mirza's eyes. In a dreamy voice, Mirza said, "When I return with the runes of the Great Azdaha, all the warriors of the Black Sheep Barlas tribe will kneel before me and swear allegiance. Then it will be me, who will give the reply with a sword to that Khan. The debt of silence will be paid by blood."

"The swords of the rest of the Barlas tribes will stand against you." Karachar warned. "Khan's ancestors have been ruling us for three hundred years."

"You, the elders yourselves told me that the rule of the steppe is that the warriors follow the one who is the strongest or the bravest. Do you think that the Khan is any of this two?"

"A weak craven he is." Karachar agreed. As his blood was freezing in the cold, icy air. He drank a long sip of fermented horse milk to relieve his nerves.

"And when I return, the Barlas tribes will know my courage and strength. I will unite them and the Juchins with them under one banner. Then I will lead them to conquer not only the barren steppe, but also the kingdoms of Emiriya and Seleonia to the west. To plunder the port cities of Tarumanagar across the mountains of the moon in the east." Mirza's voice was startling like a dream like the glitters of the moonlight on the snowflakes hanging from the pine trees.

"No one could ever unite the clans of the Barlas and Juchins, Honorable Mirza." Gassan commented. "Many a man had dreamt like you but couldn’t."

"I will have the means to unite them. I will present before them the runes of the great Azdaha. What do you think unites people more than faith or legends?"

"Fear." Before Gassan could answer, Karachar replied in a rough voice as the leaves of the pine trees whispered to one another and the surroundings of the wood became hazy with his strange voice. A shadow appeared close by before them and hid again in the darkness.

"Who's there?" Mirza shouted in a voice mixed with anger and fear. Not getting any response, Mirza unsheathed his sword and galloped his horse towards it. They crossed a short ridgeway and stepped on a flat piece of land. Mirza's horse jumped over the high snow pile ahead. Karachar and Gassan slowly climbed up behind. When they looked at Mirza, they saw his face frozen in fear. His eyes were bursting out. Countless bones, half-burnt animal bodies were scattered around on the ice. Coagulated patches of blood were spread around. Screaming Mirza's horse reared. Unable to keep his balance, Mirza fell from the horseback. Karachar felt that the surrounding forest had suddenly come alive. The cedar, willow and pine branches were getting mad with the wind. Everything around them became dark. Only the sound of an unknown metal clashing with the of Mirza's steel was being heard.

A gust of hot wind blew from the right side towards Karachar. He tried to protect himself by kneeling down in lightning speed. The dagger of his right hand was raised above the head. He felt the scorching touch even from a few yards below. He looked ahead. Mirza's frozen body sank into the darkness of the forest before his eyes. Gassan turned and ran by then. Karachar followed Gasan with all of his strength. His torch was dropped from his hand. Still, he ran like a blind man through the impenetrable darkness. Suddenly he stumbled on a rock and fell. As he tumbled down the mountain slope, he caught hold of a pine branch and lost consciousness.

He couldn’t remember how long he was senseless. When he woke, the moon came out completely from behind the clouds. The darkness was gone as the wood was flooded by the moonlight. His head seemed to be empty. He laid unmoved under that tree for a while. But when the forgotten fear ceased his thoughts again, he stood up and ran to find the rest of the party. Fatigued, his body was breaking down. It seemed like he was running for an eternity.

A little further forward, he saw the frozen body of Gassan lying in the gorge below. It was not clear whether he was alive or dead. Ignoring him, Karachar continued to run. And arrived where the rest of the party had been left. But there was no sign of anyone. The fire they lit had just gone out. But there were no footprints of a single horse or man anywhere. The whole party was vanished away. Stunned as he contemplated the fate of his companions, he felt the touch of warm blood on his cheek. He reached the extreme of his panic when he looked up and saw the mangled bodies of all his companions and horses hanging from the branches of the tree above. With brutally sharp claws, someone cut them into strips and arranged them on the branches of a tree like pieces of meat from a butcher's shop. All of a sudden all of his stamina was exhausted. His two knees dropped due to extreme exhaustion. Just then, in the forest ahead, he saw a pair of eyes staring at him, burning with eternal hunger.