Ilkay Hatun was sitting in her chambers in Constantinople when a messenger arrived, bearing a letter from a distant frontier. The scroll, sealed with the symbol of the Tengri and Uluç's personal emblem, had been sent from Adrianople, where Uluç had first met Kılıç's son Batun. The message had finally reached her hands after many weeks, and as Ilkay unfurled the scroll, her eyes scanned the familiar script with a mix of apprehension and duty.
The message was clear and precise, as Uluç's orders always were. He had written to Ilkay, acknowledging the strength of her position in Constantinople and reminding her that it was he who had entrusted her with the command of 2,000 elite soldiers to defend the city. The words carried both weight and expectation, as Uluç, despite being far from the capital, had full confidence in her ability to hold the city.
"I know that Kılıç has stationed you in Constantinople with 2,000 soldiers at your command," Uluç wrote. "But make no mistake—this command is my own order, given to Kılıç. Your role is to defend the city and safeguard its people, its culture, and its legacy. As the guardian of Tengri's will, you are to ensure that our culture thrives. You are not just a warrior, but a Shaman, and it is through you that our Tengri traditions will continue to grow within these walls."
Ilkay sat back in her chair, contemplating the enormity of the task. She had known that her role in Constantinople was not just about defense. She was there to cultivate the spiritual and cultural heart of the empire in a city that had long been a crossroads of civilizations. Constantinople was not just a stronghold; it was a symbol of the empire's power and a beacon of its diverse cultural influence.
The letter continued with a detailed strategy for the empire's broader goals in the Balkans. Isaakios, Uluç's trusted advisor, had already familiarized Ilkay with the Balkan policies, but seeing them laid out in Uluç's own hand gave the strategy new weight.
"Isaakios," the letter read, "will be your key ally in maintaining the balance of power in the Balkans. You will use his influence to manage the Turkish presence in the region, ensuring that our rule remains strong. Thessaloniki will become our second capital in the West, standing alongside Constantinople as a pillar of our empire. These two cities will be the heart of both our military and cultural life."
Ilkay nodded, understanding the importance of these twin capitals. Thessaloniki had always been a vibrant city, a hub of trade and culture, and now it was set to rise as a second stronghold of the empire's influence. The festivals, the celebrations of Tengri, would continue unabated. Even in times of war, Uluç demanded that the rhythm of life go on. Education would not cease, and the marketplaces would remain open. Life, with all its complexities—both war and celebration—would continue to flow through these cities.
"Soon," Uluç wrote, "the focus will turn to Togay, who is stationed in Bukhara with an army of 40,000 Tharkans. Baybars, my most trusted general and the strongest of my warriors, leads them. Baybars is not just a warrior; he is the very heart of my strategy in Bukhara. His loyalty is unmatched, and his strength is beyond question."
Ilkay knew of Baybars' reputation. The man was a legend in his own right, known for his strategic brilliance and unwavering loyalty to Uluç. Baybars had been charged with overseeing the protection of the eastern trade routes—the vital arteries that connected the empire to its allies and to the wealth of the East.
"The lands of the Caliphate, now under our influence, must remain stable," Uluç continued. "Our hold over these territories will ensure the security of the trade routes leading to China. Togay and Baybars will be tasked with protecting these routes from bandits and insurgents, safeguarding the flow of goods and wealth between East and West. The prosperity of our realm depends on it."
The letter was a testament to Uluç's genius. He understood that war was not just fought with swords and shields. It was fought with gold, trade, and alliances. As long as the empire's trade routes remained secure, the people would remain loyal. The local populations would see the benefits of stability and wealth, and they would stay under the empire's control.
"The Chinese," Uluç wrote, "are our allies. We must maintain strong relations with them, ensuring that their trade continues to prosper. Our empire is the gatekeeper of the Silk Road. We protect their lands from the eastern raiders, and in return, the wealth of China flows into our coffers. The trade routes are the lifeblood of our economy, and they must remain open."
Ilkay could see the brilliance of the strategy unfolding before her eyes. This was not just a military plan; it was an intricate web of politics, economy, and cultural integration. Uluç understood that for the empire to survive, it needed more than just warriors—it needed merchants, diplomats, and a strong cultural foundation.
As she finished reading, she was struck by the clarity of Uluç's vision. He was preparing them for a future where war was constant, but life continued despite it. The festivals, the markets, the schools—everything had a role to play in keeping the empire stable. His final words in the letter echoed in her mind.
"War is an economic and logistical endeavor. Keep the flow of gold and trade steady, and the people will remain loyal. If the people feel stability, they will support our rule. That is your task, Ilkay. Guard the empire, protect our culture, and ensure that the spirit of Tengri lives on."
Ilkay stood from her seat, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her. The city of Constantinople, its towering walls and grand palaces, stretched out before her, and beyond those walls, the empire Uluç had built with his wisdom and strength. It was now up to her to ensure that his vision became a reality.