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They could hear the horn from afar.

They recognized who it was immediately. Every winter, they rode across the desert looking for blood, and this was no exception.

The women were gathering their children, some grabbing bows and mounting their husband’s horses if they had the chance. The men did the same, except for one, who was wailing about a lost son.

That didn’t matter. A few were ready in time to look for the tribe’s elder and lead general, Erasyl. They found him sleeping in his hut, located far from the others.

Inzhu, his daughter, took charge. She had been given many of Erasyl’s duties as his health deteriorated, and all of a sudden she was forced to add chief to the list.

A small mountain sat to the camp’s west, but the horn was heard from the east. Inzhu brought her small force around the mountain, hoping to find a shallow slope up it to rain arrows down on the enemy.

However, she fell right into the enemy’s trap. They burst from behind the mountain, slaughtering her horses and her contingent. Inzhu was knocked from her horse, and was killed upon impact with the ground.

Everything broke down from there. Only one man and one boy managed to escape from the ambush, while the rest of the village was caught off-guard by the attack from behind.

The enemy made do with their promise. They killed the men on the spot, gathered up the women and children, then forced the mothers to watch their offspring be put to the torch. They were then thrown onto the pyre, one by one, burning to death on top of the charred bodies of their young.

Word spread across the desert as fast as two amateur horsemen could take it. All across the land, Basmyls were readying their troops, constructing new weapons, and preparing for the enemy, the greatest, deadliest, most ruthless enemy to ever to cross the Dzungar Gate.

The Uyɣur.