“Those yellow-skinned demons came to kill us and we only have twenty fighters and no warriors. What do we do? How do we push them back?” The sapless grand elder was the first to balk under pressure and give in to despair.
“Stop panicking. Since they’re here we’ll just have all capable grab a weapon, even the women and children. We’ll die together if we have to. Then they’ll see that the Monla tribe is not one to mess with!” Second elder was outraged by his cowardice, barking at him.
“You’re arguing at a time like this? Anji, how many are there and how do they look?” The shaman grew irate at their squabble, questioning the guard.
“Shaman, from a rough guess I find them to be more than 300 men. The vanguard all wore armor with 100 riding some unknown armored magic beast. It’s as if they came from the pits of hell, ruthless and demonic.” Anji replied after calming down.
“Three hundred and magic beast riders on top with armor. Did they have such force? Why then did the survivor say the chieftain wiped most of their men? Did the deserters lie to cover their shame? Or is it that the yellow-skinns didn’t reveal their entire hand last time?” The shaman muttered, turning the information every which side to get to the truth.
The grand elder was positively shaking now, “They have so many soldiers? That’s more than our and Anderson’s tribes put together. We are doomed! We should just surrender rather than have everyone die for nothing.”
“You dare mention surrender? I’ll kill you here and now, then offer your head to our ancestral spirit.” The ever loyal second elder to Denel was outraged.
“Silence you fools. You fight now, when death comes knocking? The shaman raised his voice.”
Then in a calm tone he said, “Let’s all see the situation. If it’s as hopeless as Anji said, we stand no chance and we will surrender for survival. We can’t let those innocent tribesmen die for our outrage.” The shaman seemed to age ten years, needing Anji to support him on his way outside.
Second elder’s never talked back, not after seeing shaman’s crestfallen look, opting to follow along.
While the grand elder was wild with glee, skipping after them and nagging, “That’s our shaman, brilliant and compassionate, always putting the tribe first. We admire you for your strong will to endure such humiliation.”
Reaching the tribe’s gates, they saw rows upon rows of yellow-skins.
They all wore armor and military attire, with the last ones riding some unknown magical beasts, roaming around the tribe.
Among the cavalry escorts there was one man wearing black armor. The sun reflected off him, giving the illusion he was a god, filled with dignity and daunting.
The shaman looked hesitant seeing the unmoving soldiers. They looked disorderly but covered every gap so no savage escaped.
The cavalry patrolled around, on alert for anything that got through.
The display plunged the shaman into the pits of hopelessness, howling in grief, ‘Had the ancestral spirit forsaken us? Has the great Everlasting Sky abandoned us?’
The Grand Elder behind him was a quivering mess, wrought with fear from the intimidating sight.
Even the ever tough second elder was lost for words at the recruits in armor. All he could do was defer to shaman.
“We surrender. We can’t oppose such forces, we can’t fight them. For the sake of those innocent tribesmen, we must surrender. Someone has to go and ask them if they accept the Monla tribe’s surrender without bloodshed.” The shaman spoke towards the elders.
“Who will go out?” The Grand Elder saw how everyone lowered their heads.
The Grand Elder was too scared to step forth and face that demonic army. Second elder never said anything because of his pride, unable to lower himself in front of an enemy. While the third elder, a simple and unreasonable man, how could he accept such an impossible task?
‘It’s all up to these poor bones then.’ The shaman swayed as he walked, making the other three elders feel guilty, yet no one stepped in, letting him go face the enemy alone.
The gates creaked open a crack and an aged man walked out, his gait unsteady under the protection of a frail guard as he made his way to Zhong Yu’s army. The guard held a white flag, the symbol of surrender among tribes.
Stopping a few steps away from the army, the shaman spoke in a language somewhat different from his tribe.
“I seek an audience with your leader. Please inform him as I have important matters to discuss with him!”
The soldiers were lost. As men from the Han Dynasty they had no clue what that gibberish meant. But Zhong Yu standing ten feet behind did.
As the guard shivered in fear, Zhong Yu spoke like their savior.
“Let them come, I want to hear their piece. But only the old man.”
Note: Everlasting Sky is the common deity for all barbarians, analogous to ancient China’s belief of Heaven.
The custom of the white flag is prevalent throughout the lands, not just Lost Plains. It is unknown from where and when it all began.
