Horselords (32 page)

Finally, Koja stopped, exhausted. Looking up, he saw the crack was unchanged, unbroken. It was no wider than it was when he started. There were no chips or scratches in its surface. Frustrated, he slumped down at the foot of the wall, the spirit drained out of him.

“You alone cannot free me, Koja of Khazari, any more than these others who have tried and failed.” Lit by a faint glow, the warlords returned to their task.

“Who are you?” Koja gasped to the mysterious voice.

“I am Lord Chien, master of the ocean,” the voice said haughtily. “I am the Dragonwall.”

“Why can’t I free you?” Koja asked as he clambered to his feet.

“I await your lord. Together you will have the might to humble my captors.” Dark scales slid past the crack in the wall, then a baleful eye, yellow and catlike, came into view.

“Guide him,” the strange voice continued. “Bring your lord to me and together you will free me.”

“Why do you call me?” Koja demanded as he stared at the huge eye.

“You are his man. He listens to you. The others, here, know the price of failure. They are doomed to stay, tormenting me, until the wall is no more.” Koja looked at the toiling lords and shuddered.

“And if I do these things?” the lama asked, backing away from the crack.

“Then I will have my revenge!” roared the voice. The ground shook with the spirit’s words, then the eye disappeared from view.

Shaking, Koja turned. There was his master again, strong and healthy once more. The old man gently took the maul from Koja’s grasp. The lama knew it was time for him to leave. Instinctively, he headed back the way he had come, past the conquerors and over the lands of the dead. Just as he reached the hill’s top, his master called out faintly. “Everything is in balance, apprentice. Change one thing and you will destroy something else. There are walls all around you. Choose carefully the ones you will destroy.” The words echoing around him, Koja walked back into his yurt, into his bed.

Blinking, Koja sat up in the near-darkness of his yurt. The events of his dream remained clear in his mind. Without knowing quite why, the lama hastily dug out his writing supplies. Huddled close to the light of a glowing brazier, Koja began to set down every detail.

On the next few days, the army’s energies were consumed in its preparations to once again go on the march. When the khahan had attacked Khazari, Koja had marveled at the flow of orders given; now he was absolutely stunned. Forty thousand, perhaps even fifty thousand men had taken part in the trek to Manass, and even then only ten thousand had actually attacked the city. The rest were stationed at points along the border, partly to provide a threat to the Khazari, but more to ease the problems of finding food and water for tens of thousands of men and horses.

Now arrangements were being made for an even grander campaign. As historian, Koja discharged his duty conscientiously; he listened all he could and noted everything carefully in a growing pile of papers.

Yamun, for his part, organized his troops while waiting for the arrival of more men. Messengers were coming with greater frequency from Hubadai in Semphar. These reports were taken directly to the khahan. Other riders, wearing the stained yellow robes of Tomke’s men, also arrived with their letter pouches bulging.

From different sources, Koja knew that there were one hundred and fifty thousand troopers converging on Yamun’s camp. The priest guessed that there would be about two hundred thousand men in the army by the time it reached Shou Lung.

Fifty thousand men were already a burden on the land; two hundred thousand men would break it. Already the stocks of grain and grass in this region were low, because the army had not moved for so many days. In his tent, the khahan drew up plans to move the horsemen to new pastures and lay in supplies for the coming campaign.

To do this, Yamun appointed more yurtchis and charged them with the responsibility of gathering supplies. These officials set about their task with swift efficiency. Each day the priest watched another group of blue-robed horsemen, their faces caked in brown dust, return with a herd of lowing cattle, adding the beasts to the growing pastures of cattle and sheep. Other jaguns triumphantly galloped past the tents, leading in fine stallions and mares. These prizes would become the extra steeds that would be needed for the upcoming battles. Trains of oxcarts lumbered in with more goods—bags of millet and barley, sacks of flour, bales of rice, barrels of wine, urns of soy, and bricks of tea, salt, and sugar. The yurtchis, sitting at a makeshift table, diligently counted in all these provisions, making tally marks on long strips of paper.

All these things Koja noted in his papers as he sat in the doorway to his tent, sipping a cup of tea Hodj had prepared. There were so many details that he could only note them briefly. Finally he had to stop, before he ran out of paper. Carefully Koja packed away his writing materials and stood to leave. He still had to inform Yamun of that day’s negotiations with the Khazari.

The lama carefully dusted off and adjusted the skirts of his black kalat, the uniform of a nightguard. It was a gift the Kashik insisted he wear; though he was uncomfortable in the dress of a warrior, the priest was not about to insult the generosity and honor of a few thousand tough soldiers. The story of how the priest had saved Yamun’s life came out after the couralitai and spread to the guards. In recognition of his deed, they more or less adopted him into their ranks. He was now an honorary Kashik and so had to dress the part.

As the lama left the tent, the arban assigned to be his bodyguard hurried to catch up. What had normally been a lonely hike to the khahan’s tent was now quickly becoming a minor procession.

Today the khahan was holding his court outside. He wore a light shirt of overlapping metal scales that covered his chest, and a pair of heavy, blue woolen trousers that disappeared into the loose tops of his boots. Seeing Koja coming, Yamun dismissed his aides and messengers. Rising, the warlord strode forward and grabbed the little man in a mighty hug.

“Anda,” he said warmly, stepping back to view Koja’s new garb. “I’m glad to see you. The clothes fit you well. Come and sit.”

Koja could see that the khahan was in a particularly fine mood. The priest waited for tea and kumiss to be served before speaking, as was proper.

Finally, the drinks were passed. Setting his cup down, Koja began. “Your tea is excellent, Yamun.”

The khahan did not acknowledge the compliment. “Have the Khazari surrendered, anda?” he asked casually.

“They have agreed to all your terms, including the dong chang and the Shou ambassadors. There is only one question they ask,” Koja guardedly said. “The envoys wish to know who will rule Manass once they surrender. Will Prince Ogandi still have command?”

Yamun clapped his hands in satisfaction. “I’ve considered your words about ruling the country, priest. I’ve decided to put Jad in charge of Khazari. He’ll make sure they keep the peace. Besides, he is my son. He should rule.”

“This is a wise choice, Yamun.” Koja was pleased. Apparently he was having some effect on Yamun’s policies.

The two drank their kumiss and tea for a little while longer. Finally, Koja spoke again. “Yamun, what do you know of Shou Lung?”

“Many things, anda. You don’t think I’m ignorant, do you?” Yamun reached out and refilled his ladle while watching the priest’s reaction. “Shou Lung has an emperor, and it is a large country with much wealth, so much that this emperor sends me gifts of great value and princesses of his own blood.”

“But what of their army, their defenses, their land?” Koja pressed. “Do you really know how big Shou Lung is?”

“Their army is mostly foot soldiers. They carry machines that shoot arrows—”

“Crossbows,” Koja explained.

“Their soldiers are slow and can’t keep up with riders. They have some horsemen, but Shou cavalry has never been very good. Even in my father’s time, they rode beyond their borders to punish us for raiding. They never had much luck on these trips. So, to protect themselves they keep a wall around their land. These things every khan knows.” Yamun presented it all rather matter-of-factly, as if none of it affected him at all.

“Yamun, the Shou are a numerous people, with warriors many times what the Tuigan have. They have many cities much larger than Manass.”

“Cities are traps for soldiers, easy to capture.” Yamun stretched lazily.

“But there is the Dragonwall,” countered Koja.

“Ah, yes, this is the wall they built around their lands,” Yamun commented.

“Not all their lands, Great Lord,” Koja corrected. “Only along the border with what they call the Plain of Horses—your lands, the steppe.”

“Then they are afraid of us.” The thought made Yamun even more confident.

“Do you know how long the Dragonwall is?” the priest asked in exasperation. “It runs for hundreds of miles—thousands of miles.” The khahan was unimpressed.

“There is a story that tells how it was built,” Koja went on. Perhaps if the khahan knew how the wall was made, he would understand the power of Shou Lung.

“So now you are a storyteller, too,” the khahan said indulgently. He poured out another ladleful of kumiss. “Very well, tell your tale.”

Koja sighed, sensing that Yamun was not going to be swayed. Nonetheless, the priest untucked his legs and began.

“The Dragonwall is very old, but it has not been there forever. They say that long ago warriors used to ride out of the Plain of Horses and raid the lands of Shou Lung. In those days, the Shou army could not stop these riders. Each year the raiders took many horses and cattle.” Koja paused to sip at his tea.

“At that time a wise emperor ruled Shou Lung. When he saw what the riders did and that his army could not stop them, he went to his advisor, a powerful wizard, and asked him, ‘How can I stop these riders?’”

Yamun yawned and waved for the lama to hurry along. The priest spoke more quickly.

“The wizard told the emperor of a dragon khan who lived beneath the ocean—a lake so wide you could not see across it. The wizard said, ‘Trick the dragon out of the ocean and tell him to go to the west. There I will meet him, and we will stop the invaders.’”

“Wizards,” Yamun snorted. “What am I supposed to learn from this, anda?”

“Please, Lord Yamun, let me finish.” Koja sighed and then took up the story again. “So the emperor went out in a boat and rowed to the center of the ocean. He stirred up the water with a big stick, churning the mud up from the bottom. Then the dragon khan came out of the water.

‘“Who has disturbed me?’ cried the dragon.” Koja resisted giving the dragon a deep, booming voice, though that is how he imagined the creature would sound.

“The emperor pointed to the west. ‘The one who disturbed you ran far away, to a land where there is no ocean. If you hurry, you can catch him.’ So the dragon flew into the sky to chase the offender.” Koja paused to catch his breath.

“A pretty story, anda, but what’s the point?” Yamun asked impatiently.

“Well, the dragon flew to the edge of the Plain of Horses. There it saw the wizard, standing on the top of a mountain. ‘Are you the man-thing who disturbed my peace?’ it shouted out.

“The wizard did not answer. Instead, he uttered a word. The dragon fell from the sky. It’s huge coils crashed for hundreds of miles across the ridges of the land. The ground shook, and the body of the dragon turned into the brick and stone of the Dragonwall. All from the power of a single word of a wizard and, ever since, no one has broken through the Dragonwall.” Koja waited for Yamun’s reaction.

The khahan rose from his seat and stretched. He looked to the sky. In the distance, the mountains were dull blue-gray, fading up to shimmering white peaks. A few storm clouds hung low on the far horizon. Turning back to Koja, Yamun said evenly but forcefully, “You claim that the Dragonwall is more powerful than me. You forget I am the khahan. I can stand in the heart of Teylas’s lightning and not get hurt. I’ll break the Dragonwall. It is the will of Teylas.”

Yamun’s words reminded Koja of the most fanatical priests of the Red Mountain Temple, men who could not be reasoned with at all. The lama sat silent while Yamun paced back and forth. The sunlight glinted off the khahan’s metal shirt, sending sparkling rays in myriad directions. Finally Koja asked, “What will you do when you get to the Dragonwall?”

“I will smash it like a giant hammer,” Yamun boasted, without a trace of doubt in his voice.

A day later, the Khazari accepted the khahan’s terms of surrender. Yamun met with the ambassadors for the first time and swore an oath to Teylas with them and formally set forth the terms of their capitulation. All through the brief ceremony, the representatives of Prince Ogandi shot hateful glares at the Khazari priest who sat among their enemies.

The wizard Yamun had demanded be handed over presented a problem; someone had warned him of his fate and he managed to escape. Although he was displeased, the khahan modified the terms so that the sorcerer was named as an outlaw, and the oath-taking continued. At the end of the ceremony, after the ex-governor of Manass was surrendered to the Kashik, Yamun summoned his son, Jad, and gave him command over the Khazari. The prince was presented as the new governor of Manass. From that point on, all judgments concerning Khazari were to pass through his hands. A single tumen, more than enough warriors to keep the peace, the khahan pointed out, was detached and placed under Jad’s command.

The next morning, Yamun’s army broke camp and began the march to Shou Lung. For six days, the troopers rode northeast, heading for the First Pass Under Heaven, the gateway to the broad lands of Shou Lung. Even in early spring, the ground here was dry; the land they traveled marked the very fringe of a cold desert. Compared to their previous trek, Koja found the pace of this journey almost casual, leisurely. As the army moved, it collected more tumens: first the forces strung along the Khazari frontier and then a huge contingent that rode in from the west. The slow march was intentional, giving the army time to swell in size. At the start of the march there were about fifty thousand warriors. By the dawn of the sixth day, Koja estimated there were two hundred thousand men, snaking along the trail toward the Dragonwall.