The Mountain Pass of Hisar The Camp of House Mangit's Army
"My Bey, we have gathered three thousand men—all equipped and fed," reported the officer in shining silver armor.
"Ready all men," replied Bey Enver. "We march at dawn to reinforce the fort."
"But my Bey, why? The stronghold has 500 men, well-armed and battle-tested veterans. They've survived tens of battles. Those 500 are more than enough to protect the fort against 10,000 men for years, if not defeat them outright," the young officer protested, then continued without waiting for an answer. "Even we, with our 3,000 men, lack their experience."
"That's precisely why we're going to the fort. And since the newly appointed Yuzbashi (commander of 100 men) is questioning me, a Mingbashi (Commander of 1,000 men)..." Bey Enver replied coldly. "You have your orders. Execute them without question."
Many might think that gathering huge armies is a simple task to manage, but reality shatters such stereotypes against the wall of truth. I am living proof of this fact.
I am Bey Enver of this Dunya, Lord and Vassal of the Mangit family, rulers of Mount Hisar. I serve House Kungrad, one of the largest vassals of House Mangit. House Kungrad can muster up to 6,000 men, equip them, and provide supplies for one summer and one fall (approximately 180 days).
"Bey, Commander Liu commands your immediate presence at his tent," a soldier announced.
"And why," Enver asked coldly, "would my brother be interested in that?"
"My lord," the soldier hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to another, "Commander Liu said it concerns the message from the Eastern Holdings. The one carried by... by Lord Timur."
Enver's eyes narrowed. News traveled fast in an army camp, but not this fast. Timur's return had been mere hours ago, and the mountain paths between the main fortress and their camp were treacherous at night. Someone had risked their life to deliver this information.
"Who else knows about this message?" Enver asked, studying the soldier's face.
"I don't know, my lord. I just—"
"Don't lie to me," Enver cut him off. "Your boots are dry."
The soldier's face paled. Indeed, his boots showed no signs of the muddy mountain trails. He hadn't come from the main fortress at all.
"The quartermaster's son," the soldier admitted finally. "He works in the kitchens at the fortress. He used the merchant's signal mirrors to flash the news down the mountain."
Enver nodded slowly. "Clever. And dangerous." He stepped closer to the soldier. "If I find out this information has spread beyond Commander Liu's tent, both you and the quartermaster's son will wish you'd never learned to read signal mirrors. Understood?"
The soldier nodded vigorously and hurried away.
Enver took his time walking to his brother's tent, his mind racing. Liu wasn't just his brother – he was his rival within House Kungrad. Their father had named Enver as his heir five years ago, passing over the older Liu. Since then, every interaction between them had become a careful dance of hidden meanings and subtle threats.
The camp was alive with activity despite the late hour. Men sharpened weapons, sergeants called out orders, and supply wagons creaked through the narrow paths between tents. But Enver noticed something else: whispered conversations that stopped as he passed, furtive glances, an undercurrent of tension.
Outside Liu's tent, two guards stood at attention. Not Liu's usual men – these wore the insignia of House Mangit. Interesting.
Inside, Liu wasn't alone. Three other commanders sat around a map-strewn table, and in the corner stood a figure Enver knew well: Malik, their father's spymaster.
"Brother," Liu smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you for joining us."
"I wasn't aware we were holding a war council," Enver replied, noting the positions of everyone in the tent. Four armed men, not counting the guards outside. Liu was taking no chances.
"Not a war council," Liu corrected. "A... family discussion. We've received some disturbing news from the Eastern Holdings."
"Lord Timur's return has everyone talking," Enver said carefully. "Though I wonder how such news traveled so quickly to our camp."
Malik stepped forward. "My birds are faster than signal mirrors, my lord. And more discrete."
Enver kept his face neutral, but inwardly he cursed. Of course Malik had his own network of spies. The question was: whose side was he really on?
"The Eastern Holdings have fallen," Liu announced. "Not to armies or shadows, but to something worse. And now Lord Timur speaks of alliances with Jins." He spat the last word like a curse.
"Our father will never agree to that," one of the commanders said.
"Our father isn't here," Liu replied. "We have three thousand men ready to march, and a choice to make."
Enver saw it then – the trap being laid. "You want to use this news to justify seizing control of our forces."
Liu smiled again, wider this time. "Think, brother. The world is changing. Old loyalties are dying. Why should we march to reinforce a fortress that may already be compromised? Why not secure our own territories first?"
"You mean secure your own power," Enver corrected.
"Someone must lead," Liu spread his hands. "Someone must make the hard choices. Father named you heir, yes, but in times like these, experience matters more than birth order."
The tent fell silent. Everyone watched the two brothers, waiting to see who would break first.
Finally, Enver spoke. "You're right about one thing, brother. Experience does matter." He turned to leave, then stopped at the tent's entrance. "That's why I took the precaution of placing my most loyal men around your tent before I entered. One hundred arrows, all aimed at this position. Experience taught me never to trust a brother who smiles too much."
Liu's face darkened. "You're bluffing."
"Would you bet your life on that?" Enver asked softly. "More importantly, would you bet the lives of every man in this tent?"
A long moment passed. Then Liu laughed, and this time it seemed genuine. "Well played, brother. Well played indeed. Stand down, everyone. It seems our... family discussion will have to wait for another time."
Enver nodded to each man in turn, saving Malik for last. The spymaster's face was unreadable as ever.
Outside, the night had grown colder. Enver waited until he was well away from Liu's tent before allowing himself to shake. He had bluffed, of course – there were no archers surrounding the tent. But now he knew where everyone stood, and more importantly, he knew there was a traitor in their father's fortress, someone with access to Timur's information.
The game had begun. And the stakes were higher than mere succession now.
He had preparations to make before dawn.
As Enver walked through the camp, the night wind carried the scent of pine and smoke from countless cooking fires. He paused near a group of soldiers huddled around their evening meal, listening to their quiet conversations.
"Did you hear about the Eastern Holdings?" one whispered.
"Quiet," another hissed. "The commanders don't want us talking about that."
Enver moved on, his mind working. Information spread through an army camp like disease through a crowded city. He needed to control the narrative before panic took root.
"My lord," a voice called softly. It was Karim, his personal secretary, a thin man with ink-stained fingers and knowing eyes. "The supply reports you requested."
Enver gestured for Karim to follow him to his tent. Inside, maps and documents covered a heavy wooden table. A single oil lamp cast dancing shadows on the canvas walls.
"Tell me what you've learned," Enver said, pouring two cups of strong tea.
Karim pulled out a small notebook. "The quartermaster's son isn't working alone. He's part of a network – at least twelve people in the fortress and seven in our camp. They've been passing information for months."
"To my brother?"
"No, my lord. To someone in the fortress itself. Someone high-ranking enough to have access to Lord Hudayar's private meetings."
Enver sipped his tea thoughtfully. "The fortress steward?"
"A possibility. But there's something else." Karim lowered his voice. "Three days ago, before Lord Timur's return, a merchant caravan arrived at the fortress. They sold grain and winter supplies at prices well below market value."
"Who would sell cheap grain with winter approaching?"
"Exactly, my lord. And here's the interesting part – the merchant's guards. They wore mismatched armor, but their weapons..." Karim consulted his notebook. "All identical. New. Professional."
Enver stood and walked to the map table. "Show me their route."
Karim traced a line across the parchment. "They claimed to come from the Western Holdings, but our scouts reported they approached from the south."
"The Central Valley," Enver murmured. "Someone's playing a deeper game."
A commotion outside interrupted them. Raised voices, the sound of running feet. Enver's hand went to his sword.
"My lord!" A guard burst into the tent. "Fight broke out at the north perimeter. Three dead."
Enver was already moving. "Gather my personal guard. Quietly."
The north perimeter was chaos. Two dozen men squared off against each other, weapons drawn. Bodies lay in the mud. Above them, the stars seemed dimmer than usual.
"STAND DOWN!" Enver's voice cut through the noise. His personal guard, twenty elite warriors, spread out behind him.
The soldiers lowered their weapons, but the tension remained thick in the air.
"Who started this?" Enver demanded.
A grizzled sergeant stepped forward. "Argument about supplies, my lord. These men," he gestured to one group, "claimed they saw others hoarding extra rations. Said they were preparing to desert."
"Is this true?" Enver asked the accused group.
Their leader, a young soldier with a fresh cut above his eye, spoke up. "We were following orders, my lord. Commander Liu said—"
"Liar!" someone shouted. Steel rasped against leather as swords started to clear sheaths again.
"The next man who draws steel dies," Enver said quietly. His guards nocked arrows to their bows.
Slowly, weapons lowered again.
Enver studied the faces before him. Fear. Uncertainty. These weren't the hardened veterans of the fortress – these were farmers' sons, craftsmen, merchants' guards. Men who'd never faced real war.
"Sergeant," Enver called. "How many men do you have under your direct command?"
"Fifty-seven, my lord."
"Good. You're now responsible for the north perimeter. Post double guards. Any man caught stealing supplies or spreading rumors about desertion answers to me personally." He turned to the rest. "The dead will be buried with honor at dawn. Their families will receive double compensation."
The crowd began to disperse, but Enver raised his voice again. "One more thing. In the morning, I will inspect every unit's supplies personally. If I find anyone with more than their allotted share..." He let the threat hang in the air.
As he walked back to his tent, Karim fell in step beside him.
"That was well handled, my lord."
"Was it?" Enver stopped, looking back at the soldiers returning to their posts. "Three men are dead because my brother is stockpiling supplies and sowing discord. How long before it happens again?"
"What are your orders?"
Enver was quiet for a long moment. "Double the guard rotations. Mix the units – don't let any single commander's men group together. And find me everything you can about that merchant caravan. I want to know who's really pulling the strings in the Central Valley."
Back in his tent, Enver studied the maps again. His brother's attempted power play, the mysterious merchants, the information leaks, the dead soldiers – all pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Dawn was only a few hours away. Soon they would march to reinforce the fortress, but now Enver wondered: would they be strengthening their defenses, or walking into a trap?