Horselords (36 page)

Without looking up, the messenger yelled his mistress’s words. “The second empress says the magic of the Shou has taken her wizards by surprise. They are unable to do anything. She asks if the foreign priest might know what causes the earth to heave. She humbly begs forgiveness for her failure to—”

“I’ll hear her excuses later,” the khahan snarled, turning away from the man. The messenger sprang to his feet and backed away, groping for his horse. One of the Kashik, sympathetic to the man’s fears, quickly hustled the courier out of Yamun’s sight. The khahan looked toward the plain, seeing only men and horses rushing through the clouds of dust.

“My horse!” Yamun demanded. A quiverbearer ran to fetch Yamun’s white mare. “Standard-bearer, we’re going down there. Prepare to ride!” The guards looked to each other, then hurriedly began to find their mounts and take their positions around the khahan.

Without waiting for his guards to finish assembling, Yamun urged his horse down the steep slope toward the plain. The guards plunged after him, their mounts half-sliding toward the bottom.

Sechen, his tall, muscular body towering out of the saddle, drove his horse savagely to keep up with the khahan. His master was riding blindly into a trap, and the giant was determined to protect him. The pair reached the bottom of the slope well ahead of the rest of the bodyguards.

Small knots of riders rode out of the swirling dust and galloped for the safety of the ridge. Lone men and riderless horses fled in panic. Weapons, shields, and armor were cast aside.

Yamun charged forward and then suddenly reined in his horse before the first knot of routed men. “Form up! Make your stand here! I command you!” The routed men skidded to a halt, brought short by the wild apparition of the khahan that faced them. “Watch them,” Yamun ordered Sechen as he galloped off toward another fleeing group.

From atop the ridge, Koja watched the khahan rush from point to point, working to halt the rout and organize a proper defense. The warlord was easy to spot by his banner, white horse, and the swarm of black-robed guards who followed him everywhere. His affect on the men was unmistakable as the broken ranks slowly halted their flight and began to reform into ragged lines. Finally, Yamun turned the task over to Sechen and climbed back up to his command post. As he arrived, a group of guards still clustered in his wake, Koja moved quietly to his side.

Looking very tired, Yamun sat on his stool. For a long time he said nothing, only watched the battlefield. The dust was slowly settling, leaving a clearer picture of the destruction. Across the front was a line of churned earth and shattered rock. Most of the dead or dying lay there, crushed or trapped beneath the fallen stone. On both sides of the wreckage there were still pockets of fighting. A handful of Tuigan riders, the leaders of the foremost rank, were trapped on the far side of the magical earthwork. There they fought, though hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded.

In a few other places, the Shou soldiers had foolishly scrambled forward over the broken ground, believing all the Tuigan were crushed. In pursuing the fleeing horsemen, these small units were also trapped. Battles involving these doomed Shou were brief.

Just when Koja became convinced the defeat had crushed the spirit out of Yamun, the old warlord sat up, shaking off the air of gloom and desperation that had settled upon him. “Find Goyuk, if he lives. I want to know what happened,” he commanded, his old energy gradually returning to him. As one messenger left, he turned to another. “Tell Sechen to separate those who fled from the rest of the men. He is to execute those who have no weapons. Of the rest, every man must be beaten for seven blows and every tenth man for twice times seven.”

“There are thousands of men down there!” Koja said in astonishment.

“They shouldn’t have run” Yamun answered grimly. He continued the orders. “The wizards are to be whipped seven blows for their failure. And if Bayalun argues, tell her she can either have them whipped or give me seven to execute. It’s her choice.” The man nodded and left to deliver the khahan’s orders.

“Tell the yurtchis to bring the camp forward. We will be staying here.” With a wave, the khahan dismissed the remaining couriers. When they had withdrawn an appropriate distance, Yamun turned to the priest.

“Now, anda, why did this happen?” The khahan’s voice was hard and measured.

“I do not know. What you saw, if I’m right, was the work of a powerful spirit creature.” The priest spoke softly, not wanting to commit himself without knowing more.

“You’re saying this… creature protects the Shou and won’t let us attack the Dragonwall?” Yamun asked incredulously, trying to understand the power he had just seen. His rage and frustration were growing.

“Perhaps. I do not know.” Koja looked toward the carnage on the plain.

“Can I defeat it, anda?”

“I do not know,” Koja sighed. “I have never seen anything like this. I do not know what to do.”

“Then think of something!” Yamun shouted, slashing his knout against the ground.

Koja swallowed nervously. “I have had dreams. I think the spirit spoke to me. It called on you, and me, to free it from the wall. It seemed to think that we had some power.”

“That’s all you know?” Yamun asked, disappointed when the lama stopped talking. “Your plan is to wait for it to visit you in your sleep?”

“If I must, Yamun. Spirits are not easy things to command.” Koja was tired and almost lost his temper with the khahan. He took a long, slow breath, then added, “I must seek guidance from Furo.”

“Talk to your god then. And when you are done, tell me how to defeat that thing.” Yamun thrust his finger toward the furrowed plain. “The servants will bring you anything you need. I must attend to other things.” Yamun stood to go. “Teylas’s blessing on you, anda,” he said just before he left.

“And Furo’s on you, Yamun,” the lama offered. Koja watched the khahan descend once more onto the plain.

“Paper and brush,” the priest ordered of a quiverbearer. The man hurriedly brought the material and set it before Koja. Taking up the brush, the priest carefully wrote an elegy for the dead on the field below. The poem was not composed out of artistic desire, however; the priest needed the verse for the spell he wished to cast. Finished with the poem, he read it through, then set it aside.

“See that no one disturbs me,” Koja ordered the servant. The man nodded in understanding. The lama closed his eyes and began to recite prayers. For ten minutes he droned on, never raising his voice. Then he stopped, opened his eyes, and touched the paper to flame. The thin sheet quickly burned, the ashes drifting into the air. The lama closed his eyes again and waited.

Abruptly he opened his eyes and stood up. The spell was over; he had communed with his god. With one foot, he scattered the remaining ashes. A small group of quiverbearers had gathered to watch his strange behavior. Now, they hurriedly went back to their tasks, afraid Koja would put a curse on them.

“Where is Yamun?” the lama demanded. One of the servants nervously pointed toward the west. “At his yurt, great historian.” Not wasting any time, Koja found his horse and rode to Yamun’s tent.

When the lama was announced, Yamun quickly cleared the yurt and had his anda ushered in. “Sit and tell me what you’ve learned,” the khahan said as soon as Koja stepped through the door.

“Mighty Furo saw fit to hear my prayers,” Koja said as he took his seat. Yamun got off his throne and sat on the floor closer to his anda.

“And?”

“It was a spirit that attacked today, a spirit that is trapped in the Dragonwall,” Koja eagerly explained. “The same spirit spoke to me in dreams, although Furo did not say why it chose to.”

“But can it be destroyed?” Yamun demanded, holding up a fist.

Koja shook his head. “No, not destroyed. Furo said it craves release. There is some way to free it.”

“How, anda, how?” Yamun stared at Koja, awaiting his answer.

The lama took a deep breath. “For that, I must consult the spirit of the Dragonwall.”

“Then do it,” Yamun said as he headed for the door.

“I cannot,” said Koja, bringing the khahan to a stop. “I cannot until I rest. These spells are very tiring. I will be ready tonight, before the dawn. And I will need an offering, one suitable to something as powerful as this spirit must be. Is this possible, Yamun?”

“It will be arranged,” Yamun assured the lama as he slowly walked back to his throne. “What happens after you talk to this spirit?”

“I do not know,” Koja admitted. “I have never done this type of thing before.”

A Kashik slowly appeared at the door, making sure that the khahan knew of his presence. Behind him came one of Yamun’s couriers. “A message from Sechen the Wrestler, Great Lord,” explained the Kashik, stepping aside to let the messenger speak.

“Speak your message,” Yamun ordered.

“Sechen sends me to report that Goyuk Khan is dead.” The messenger bowed his head and stood quietly.

Yamun walked to the door and looked out over the plain, the pain clear in his face. Slowly and deliberately he spoke, “Shou Lung will pay.” His voice implied no threat, no promise, only a certainty that he would break the Dragonwall and gain his vengeance on the emperor who cowered behind it.

That night was a somber one in the Tuigan camp. The yurtchis, following Yamun’s instructions, had moved the tents forward so that by late evening the yurts were in position. Campfires covered the ridge and the near side of the plain before the Dragonwall. Yamun ordered the men to build extra fires to make the army seem even larger. Still, no fire was closer than what Koja, Bayalun, and her wizards determined was safe. The distant tumble of rocks served as a reminder of what could happen to any who ventured too close to the Shou fortification.

The fires of the Tuigan were matched by sparks of flame along the length of the Dragonwall. The Shou troops had withdrawn behind the wall and now lined its ramparts. In the darkness between the two forces, jackals growled and fought over the carrion.

In the royal yurt, Yamun sat, searching for a way to break the stalemate. The khahan had to be prepared, in case Koja failed. Sechen, his duties among the troops finished, stood at his usual place by the door. Bayalun and Chanar sat at the khahan’s feet. Though her mood was dark, Bayalun sat calmly. Chanar was openly agitated, distressed by the actions of the Shou. It was not according to the plan. Yamun assumed the general’s nervousness was caused by frustration at the day’s failure.

From the corner, the scribe read aloud the reports from the scouts. The news was not encouraging. There was no hope of flanking the wall, nor had the riders been able to find any weak spots along its length. Some reported troop movements atop the wall, but the numbers given were not large enough to alarm the khahan. Other scouts screened the army’s flanks, watching for enemy repositioning. So far these riders had seen nothing.

Other couriers carried dispatches from Prince Tomke. The khahan’s third son was marching with his army to join Yamun. Unlike his brothers, Jad and Hubadai, however, Tomke was cautious and advanced with care. The message claimed it would be several days before his men would arrive. This last piece of news prompted Yamun to send his son an angry rebuke about his troops’ slowness.

Finally, the scribe reached a sheet that arrived only a few hours before, a scroll delivered from the Shou. Carefully and slowly, the ancient scholar read the crabbed characters, holding the sheet close to his eyes to see it clearly in the dim light.

Khahan, the note began. The emperor of the Jade Throne is pleased to call you an equal to his sons.

You have seen the futility of attacking the unbreakable Dragonwall. It is a truth that if you continue, your greatness will only be dimmed by failure. Let there be no quarrel between the Tuigan and the emperor of all Shou Lung. Depart and go in peace.

As the scribe finished reading the note aloud, Yamun looked at both Chanar and Bayalun. “They want us to surrender.”

“So it would seem, Khahan,” Bayalun said. Chanar only grunted in agreement.

Yamun picked at his teeth. “Mother Bayalun, why did your wizards fail me today?” The accusation in the khahan’s voice was clear.

Unfazed by her stepson’s obvious distrust, Bayalun sat proud and stiff-backed as she gave her explanation. “The wizards failed you no more than your own men. They were unprepared for what happened.”

“And why did it happen?” Yamun pressed.

“It is a mystery,” Bayalun admitted. She lowered her eyes to the floor, abashed at being forced to admit her ignorance.

“When will your wizards know? Tomorrow? That is when they must be ready,” Yamun insisted, nodding to the scribe to write the order.

“If my son, my husband, were to rescind his orders to have the wizards beaten, I am certain they will be able to help tomorrow.” Bayalun kept looking to the floor, seeking Yamun’s favor with mock humility.

“They deserve to be beaten,” Yamun snapped.

“Perhaps,” the second empress allowed. “But if they are beaten, they will be too weak to fight tomorrow.”

“Then give me seven of them, to make an example to the others.”

Bayalun stiffened. “No. Their numbers are few and you will need them all tomorrow.” She realized her defiance had backed Yamun into a corner with no way to save face. “Tomorrow, if they fail, you may do as you wish with all of them,” the khadun offered.

Yamun bristled at her disobedience, knowing he could not force her to comply with the conflict looming before his army. “Very well,” he said, his voice tinged by his ill-temper. “Make certain they’re ready. There will be no more failures.” He pointed at her to accent his words. Her face a mask, Bayalun nodded in understanding.

Finished with the question of wizards, Yamun turned his attention to Chanar. “My general, with Goyuk slain, I’m giving you command of the Ciejan, Ormusk, and Ulu tumens. I’ll take the rest.” Chanar bowed his head in gratitude. “Will your men be ready for battle tomorrow?” the khahan asked.

“Of course, Yamun. But how will we cross the plain?” Chanar gestured in the general direction of the wall. “Their magic will destroy us.”