Horselords (22 page)

The first seconds of the attack were the clearest. As the leading men of the Tuigan tore into the flank of the Khazari cavalry, Koja could see the looks of utter astonishment and fear on the enemy’s faces. The Khazari were still confounded by the torrent of Tuigan arrows and didn’t seem to expect a charge.

The two armies met. A sound, like a peal of thunder, tore through the milling crowd. Koja had never experienced that instant when two lines met. The shock of first impact-horses, men, lances, and armor driving together—staggered him.

Almost instantly the two forces swirled into a mass. The Tuigan rode straight into the enemy, using their momentum to cut deep into the heart of their foes. The Khazari wheeled in confusion, and they lashed out in all directions. Commanders shouted orders to their men, desperately trying to regroup their units.

Before Koja could fully grasp the situation, Yamun and his command were among the enemy. An unshaven warrior with a gaunt face, dressed in a dirty silk robe with gilt trim, thrust a lance at the priest. Instinctively, Koja swung his mace up, batting at the oncoming shaft. The lance head ricocheted off the mace’s shaft and skittered past his arm, bouncing off the metal plates of his armor. As the man swept past, a big fist shot out from the right, cracking the Khazari on the chin. The warrior toppled and thudded off the flank of Koja’s mare. Sechen pulled close to the lama and grinned, holding up his fist in pride. The priest twisted back, horrified at what was happening. The fallen Khazari was nowhere in sight; he had vanished beneath the surging horses’ hooves.

After that, Koja could no longer tell who was winning or even who was friend or foe. His horse leaped over a mortally wounded stallion that flailed madly on its back. Wild screams rattled around the terrified priest. A warrior stood, tottering. His body was braced against the end of a broken lance, which had been driven completely through his chest. Another soldier swayed weakly in his saddle, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist. His eyes were glazed and almost rolled completely back. He babbled prayers to some god. Two troopers grappled with a third, trying to throw him from his saddle.

Abruptly the fighting seemed to stop. The charge had carried Yamun’s men through the enemy. The effect was dramatic. The sudden appearance of the warriors had set the Khazari cavalry into panicked flight. The broken lines streamed back the way they had come, ignoring their officers, leaving their wounded behind.

“Signal the pursuit,” Yamun bellowed to the standard-bearer. Already the commanders of the jaguns were gathering their men. The standard waved, and the war drums quickly picked up the signal. Not allowing the Khazari troops a moment to regroup, Yamun hurled his riders after them. The lines of Tuigan cavalry quickly fanned out.

A rider wearing the armor of a Tuigan dayguard furiously whipped his horse, overtaking Koja. Some headstrong young warrior out to impress his khahan, the lama thought. He looked to see who it was, on the faint chance he knew the man. To his amazement, it was the dayguard he had seen earlier, the man who had aroused his suspicion. Hard behind the man came Afrasib, the wizard. He held no weapon but a slender bone wand. A flashing spark shot from the end, then a sudden gout of flame exploded far to the right. A wavering line of smoke hung for a second in the air. The wizard laughed aloud, deriving some maniacal pleasure from the destruction.

Suddenly, Yamun’s group ran into another cluster Khazari, men who had no intention of turning their horses and running. There must have been twelve or more of them grouped under a commander. Sechen’s momentum carried him through the defenders. His charge scattered the group. Some of the Khazari lancers veered off toward Yamun’s standard-bearer, forcing the man away from the khahan. Two charged toward Koja, only to be met by the priest’s guards. The suspicious-looking dayguard continued to whip his horse mercilessly, driving it toward the khahan. Koja wanted to call the man back, then realized the guard’s job was to protect the khahan, not him.

Koja saw the dayguard, his foxlike face gloating, move close behind Yamun. The priest assumed the fellow was only coming to the support of his ruler, but he suddenly lunged forward, thrusting his lance into Yamun’s back.

The khahan howled in rage and pain. Twisting in his saddle, he swung his saber in a blurring backhand swing. There was a brief, dull sound as Yamun’s blade sheered through the man’s collarbone and cut into his chest. The would-be assassin dropped his lance in surprise. Blood flowed freely from the rent in his armor. He fumblingly drew his sword and weakly jabbed at the khahan. The thrust missed, but pierced Yamun’s white mare in the rump. At the same time, the Khazari lunged forward, sensing an opportunity to strike.

Yamun’s mare squealed in pain from the dayguard’s blow and lurched forward, crashing through the two enemy riders. One man’s horse staggered, knocked sideways by the charging mare. The rider clutched at the mane to keep his balance, forgetting his attack. He quickly lost his balance and fell to the ground.

Still acting with fearful speed, Yamun recovered from his backswing and thrust his sword forward, sweeping the point up. The tip of his saber slid under the bottom of the other Khazari’s breastplate. With a quick twist and pull, Yamun gutted the trooper. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and pain, his hand automatically reaching to his belly. The lance dropped from his dead fingers, and his body slowly fell forward. The khahan’s sword, still half-entangled in the body, was twisted from his grasp.

The khahan suddenly sagged back in his saddle, too exhausted to recover his weapon. Dark red blood, his blood, soaked the back of his armor and stained the silver fittings of his saddle.

Koja realized there was no one else around to aid Yamun. Instinctively, Koja jammed his heels into the belly of his horse, driving it forward. The dayguard assassin, clinging to his saddle, was about to strike the defenseless Yamun from the rear.

Urgency drove Koja to form a mystic shield of deflection around the khahan. With one hand wrapped in the reins and his legs clamped around the chest of his mount, the priest tried to trace the arcane symbols in the air and chant the necessary sutras. Only the grace of Furo could save Yamun now.

The assassin’s sword lunged straight and true for Yamun’s neck just as Koja’s spell was completed. An unseen force seized the khahan and moved him away from the attack. It was not enough. The tip of the assassin’s blade struck Yamun’s shoulder, splintering through the armor and drawing new blood.

The swing pulled the assassin forward, toward the khahan. Just as the man reached the limit of his lunge, Yamun reached out and grabbed the assassin’s arm. Fiercely the old warrior yanked, dragging the treacherous dayguard off his saddle. A long-bladed dagger appeared in Yamun’s other hand. Without letting go, he punched the blade into the killer’s side. The man gave out a horrible, inhuman scream, then writhed and twisted in the khahan’s grip. Even injured, the warlord refused to let go.

At that instant, the dismounted Khazari ran forward, his blade swung high. Yamun saw it coming out of the corner of his eye. An agonized grunt escaped his lips as he heaved the squirming assassin, still spitted on his dagger, into the air. The body crashed headfirst into the Khazari, and the two of them slammed to the ground.

A thunderous yet screeching roar reeled Koja’s senses. Waves of sound hammered at his eardrums. Just in front of him, Yamun clutched at his skull, rocking in agony. The khahan crumpled and fell off his horse, hitting the ground like a slab of meat.

Tears of pain welled up in the holy man’s eyes, blocking his vision. The howling scream ended as quickly as it had started. Gasping against the pain, Koja clutched at his horse’s mane and wiped the tears from his eyes. Looking back, the priest saw Afrasib, a look of smug victory on his face. As the wizard rode forward, he pointed the bone rod, the wand of fire, at Yamun’s motionless body. Koja could see the wizard’s thin shoulders heave with laughter, even though all sound was blocked by the roaring pain in the priest’s ears.

Koja knew he must do something, for the protection he’d already cast on Yamun was useless against the wizard’s magical attack. Fortunately, Afrasib seemed to pay the lama no mind. Desperately, Koja looked around for someone to come to the khahan’s aid. The Tuigan attack had done its job too well; Yamun’s troopers were caught up in chasing the fleeing enemy. Ahead, the lama could see the big form of Sechen, but the man was too far away to do any good now.

Koja thought of the spells he knew. He needed one that would stop Afrasib completely, not just hurt him. So long as the wizard was alive and able to move, he was dangerous. The only chance, Koja realized, was to freeze the wizard in place. The lama fumbled through the small bag hanging from the pommel of his saddle, searching for the right ingredient to work the spell. Under his breath he mumbled praises to Furo and the Enlightened One. Now, more than ever, he needed their assistance.

Quickly, Koja’s fingers closed on the small iron ball he needed for the spell. Tearing his hand from the sack, the lama flung the pellet at Afrasib, while shouting out the words of the spell. Still unable to hear, Koja could only assume that he said the words correctly.

Instinctively, Afrasib recoiled from Koja’s throw. His body rocked back in the saddle and, as the iron ball struck, froze in an oddly tilted pose—one arm upraised to ward off the pellet and his body arched backward. His face was twisted with surprise and anger. The wizard stayed in the saddle for just a moment, and then tipped sideways, body still locked in his comical pose. Afrasib hit the ground, still stiff and unbending.

Koja collapsed against his mare’s neck, breathing the sweet saltiness of its sweat in relief. Then he remembered Yamun. Awkwardly, the lama slid off his horse and stumblingly ran to where the khahan lay, faceup in the dust.

Before examining the body, Koja was certain that Yamun was dead. Then, unexpectedly, Yamun’s eyes fluttered. Koja stopped, disbelieving. Quickly he rolled Yamun over to examine his wounds. One sword stroke had laid open the back of the khahan’s left shoulder. Blood still flowed from it, soaking into the khahan’s armor.

Using a dagger, the priest slashed away the leather straps of the armor, peeling away the heavy shirt. The floppy sleeves of his own oversized suit of armor got in the way. Frustrated, he hurriedly struggled out of the heavy scale mail. Tearing away a piece of his own robe, Koja packed the cloth against Yamun’s wound and continued his examination. Farther down Yamun’s back was a hole where the lance had struck. Again Koja hacked with his knife to see the wound. It was small compared to the cut on the shoulder, but it had driven deeper. Blood and bile seeped out of it. The edges were purple and swollen. Koja pressed at the wound gently. Yellow-green pus oozed out under his fingertips.

“Poison,” he said aloud. Koja went back to his examination, then suddenly realized that he could hear. The knowledge reminded him where he was and, fearfully, he looked around in case an enemy was creeping up on him. There were no Khazari nearby, but Koja saw Sechen and the standard-bearer headed his way.

“Over here!” he shouted as he leaped to his feet. “Here! Yamun is here!” His words had an electrifying effect as the two Tuigan whipped their exhausted horses into motion. Sechen didn’t even bother to slow down as he approached. The big warrior leaped from his saddle, sword drawn.

“Back, Khazari demon!” Sechen snarled as he sprang forward, pushing the little priest away. “You’ll die for this!”

“He is dying! Look at them! Look at the wizard!” Koja shouted in frustrated anger. He pointed at Afrasib’s frozen form. “I might keep him alive! Just let me work.”

At that moment the standard-bearer shouted, “Sechen, come here! Look at this!” He was standing where the dayguard assassin and the Khazari had fallen. The trooper was underneath, apparently killed by the fall. The dayguard lay sprawled, facedown on top of him.

“Look,” said the man. With the toe of his boot he gingerly rolled the dayguard over.

Sechen sucked in his breath in surprise. The man that lay there was not a man at all. His face had been replaced by that of a large fox. The soft brown fur of its muzzle was thick with blood. Its hands were long, slender paws, but with human fingers, not like an animal’s.

“By mighty Furo,” Koja breathed, looking up from Yamun’s aide. “That’s a hu hsien.”

“What’s that?” Sechen demanded.

“An evil spirit,” Koja answered hastily. “It attacked the khahan. Now let me help!”

The Tuigan warriors looked at each other, each hoping the other had an answer.

“Very well,” Sechen decided, “but if he dies, you die.” He squatted near the lama to watch his every move.

Koja quickly set to work. “Get the bag off my horse,” he ordered. The standard-bearer hurriedly fetched the bag, passing it to Sechen.

The first problem was the poison. Taking an herb from his bag, the lama pressed his hands on the lance wound and uttered a prayer. There was a heat beneath his palms as the spell began to take effect. “The khahan’s been poisoned. I cannot stop the venom right now, but I have slowed the poison to keep it from killing him out here. This may give me time to pray for a cure.” Koja carefully explained everything he did to defuse Sechen’s suspicions.

That finished, he examined the wounds again. They were bad, but probably not serious enough to kill the khahan. Still, if Furo allowed, it was best to heal them now. Bowing his head in prayer, the priest counted out a rosary on his beads. When he completed the plea to Furo, Koja’s hands itched and trembled with the power coursing in them. Gently he placed a palm on each wound, then pressed them down firmly. Yamun stirred and groaned under the pain. Blood seeped through the lama’s fingers. The heat once again grew under Koja’s hands, this time stronger and lasting longer.

Sechen sucked in his breath through his teeth. “Look. His wounds are closing,” he whispered. Pinkish-white skin grew before Sechen’s eyes, knitting the wounds shut and leaving only a slight scar. At last, Koja took a deep breath of relief and took his hands away. He tore off another shred of his robe, spit into it, and daubed away the blood and fluid to check his handiwork. Koja watched the khahan’s chest rise and fall until he was satisfied the man slept quietly.