Horselords (37 page)

Yamun smiled enigmatically. “Perhaps not. Now, Chanar, my valiant man, we must make a plan. Since we cannot get the Shou to chase us, how do we attack their wall?”

Stepping down from his throne, Yamun sat on the rugs across from his general. The scribe quickly unrolled a long, narrow scroll between the two men. Along one edge was a diagram of the Dragonwall, showing the gates and the towers. Opposite the wall were little circles, denoting the camps of the Tuigan.

Chanar risked a glance toward Bayalun, to see if she knew what the khahan intended. Noting the general’s perplexed look, she gave a small, quick shrug to show that she knew no more than he. Chanar looked back to the map, studying it briefly. “First, Yamun, we must find a way to reach the wall. The broken dirt blocks our horses.”

“I agree. Mother Bayalun,” the khahan called out without looking up from the map, “your wizards must clear a path through the broken earth.”

“Yes, my husband,” the khadun answered quietly as she looked over their shoulders. “But the men will fear being crushed if the earth moves again.”

“Just do what you are ordered. I will worry about the men. How long will it take?” Yamun demanded impatiently.

Bayalun looked to the ceiling, calculating the spells needed to do the task. “By morning, I think.”

“Go then and see that it is done,” Yamun ordered. “Sechen, lead a guard to protect the khadun. Send me reports on her progress.”

“By your word, it shall be done,” the soldier and the khadun both said at once. As the pair left, Bayalun eyed the big wrestler venomously. She knew that the man was being sent to spy on her.

Yamun turned his attention back to the map. “If the paths were clear, Chanar, where would you make the attack?”

Chanar studied the map, stalling to conceal his discomfort. The khahan did not suspect that tomorrow the general planned to overthrow him. The khahan was, in fact, giving the traitor an opportunity to personally plan his downfall. His intentions set, Chanar studied the map in earnest.

“I would strike here and here,” the general answered, his hand sweeping over the map. He tackled the problem with enthusiasm. Things were almost like earlier times, in the days when he and Yamun made plans to conquer the Dalats and Quirish. Only now, the stakes were much higher and the game subtler.

Quickly Chanar sketched out his ideas to Yamun. The khahan listened, then added these to his own plans, never realizing that Chanar was planning treachery. Together they argued and discussed, working well into the night. It was a slow process, but gradually the two warriors created a plan of battle for the morning.

“I’ll have arbans sent into the mountains to cut trees for rams and ladders immediately,” Chanar promised. “The men will be ready to attack at dawn.”

“Excellent, my anda,” Yamun said. “Tomorrow we will avenge Goyuk. Go and rest. There will be much to do when the sun rises.” With a wave he dismissed the general.

As the warrior left the tent, Yamun settled back with satisfaction. Chanar at times might be ambitious, but Yamun thought that he could depend on the general. The plan they had worked out was dangerous, but sound.

Outside the tent, Chanar sought out Bayalun at her yurt. Telling the guards Yamun had posted there that he carried orders from the khahan, the general was admitted with only the briefest announcement. Chanar was not surprised to find Bayalun still awake, meditating over her brazier. Once safely out of earshot of the guard, Chanar told her what had happened. “Why is he planning this? Does he expect your wizards to keep the ground from tearing open again?” Chanar asked in bewilderment.

“I do not know,” Bayalun confessed. “I have sat here and pondered on it. The Shou have built some secret into their wall. Of that I am certain. But why Yamun is confident he can overcome their magic is another mystery.” She shrugged off these concerns. “Whatever he does, it will not matter. If the Shou kill him with their magic or we catch him in the trap, our plans will succeed.”

“Then he will fall,” Chanar observed.

“Of course—just as long as he makes the attack.” Bayalun glanced toward the vain general with a knowing smile. “Tomorrow, my stepson will be dead. Then we can see about making you the khahan of the Tuigan—as you should be.”

Chanar returned the smile, though his heart was pained. Tonight, for a short time, he and Yamun were anda once more. Tomorrow that bond would be severed forever.

While Chanar and Bayalun plotted in her yurt, Koja and a small group of guardsmen picked their way between the Tuigan camp and the Dragonwall. Quietly, the company moved through the ruins of the battlefield toward the line of tumbled dirt and stone that marked the limit of that day’s charge. Several times the men came across bands of jackals or viler creatures—gigantic centipedes and carrion worms—feasting on the bodies of the dead. The sight sickened the priest, but there was little he could do for the dead now. He said a few quick prayers for the fallen warriors.

The corpses reminded Koja that he should attempt to speak to the dead guard discovered that morning, providing he ever got the chance. There was something about the way the bodies were found that nagged at his brain. It’s probably nothing, the lama assured himself so he could keep his mind on the business at hand. However, this was a war, and you can’t be too careful.

The band finally reached the churned, rocky ground that marked the beginning of the destruction. “Here, priest?” asked the guide, a grizzled Kashik with long, gray braids.

Koja shook his head and whispered with exaggerated caution. “On the other side, as close to the Dragonwall as possible.”

The Kashik looked ahead apprehensively, then began carefully picking a path through the rubble. Strict orders were given down the line not to talk or make any unnecessary noise.

Slowly, the men walked over the top of the mound and started down the loose slope on the other side. Each time a stone skittered down the slope, the men froze, waiting for a challenge. It was a painful hour before they reached the bottom.

The dark shadow of the Dragonwall stood out distinctly ahead of them. Koja and the men were close enough to make out individual soldiers at the top of the wall, outlined against the fires they had built to keep them warm. “Now?” hissed the Kashik at Koja. The lama only shook his head.

Stealthily the group moved forward from shadow to shadow, toward a nearly deserted section of the wall. At last, they were at the base of the fortification. Now, no one spoke. The guards watched warily as Koja sat, preparing his spell.

Alone, the priest carefully unwrapped the offering he brought—the khahan’s sword and jewel-encrusted scabbard. He hoped this would be sufficient to contact the spirit. Very softly, he began to murmur sutras similar to those he had used earlier in the day. The lama spoke with exaggerated clarity and care.

At the closing words of the prayer, the priest fell into a trance. Quickly, something writhed out of the wall near Koja. At first it only seemed to be a small tendril of smoke, then it grew, expanding and swelling. Finally it coalesced into the transparent outline of a huge dragon. The long serpentine coils of its body lazily circled the priest. The flowing, fanged face stopped directly in front of him.

The dragon’s body seemed to glimmer from reflected light, even though there was no light to reflect: The creature’s scales shone with iridescent colors. The spirit was massive and yet moved with an ethereal grace. It looked solid, yet floated lightly. It was a spirit, unreal, yet appeared real before Koja’s eyes.

Why have you summoned me? the spirit bellowed inside the priest’s mind. Its voice was the voice of Koja’s old master, and it triggered the priest’s memories of lectures given in the great hall of the temple. The words made the stubble on the back of the lama’s shaven head prickle.

“I call you in the name of the Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan, Yamun Khahan,” answered Koja as bravely as he could. His voice was barely a whisper, though this did not matter to the spirit.

Then he has come, came the voice, suddenly keen with interest. A claw, transparent to everyone but Koja, carved furrows in the earth in front of the priest.

“Are you the spirit that lives beneath the Dragonwall?”

I am the spirit of the Dragonwall! roared the dragon, now using the voice of the khahan in Koja’s mind.

“Do you serve Shou Lung?” Koja asked, trembling before the might of the spirit.

I do not serve the Shou oxen! crashed the khahan’s voice. The dragon twitched and thrashed, as if lashing out at some invisible foe. There was no mistaking the bitterness and hatred in its voice. Koja wished he could flee.

“Are you bound to serve them?” the priest timorously asked.

They are my captors! The priest cringed before the fury-laden voice that assaulted his mind. I must do as they bid.

“Did you speak to me—ask me to free you?”

I called to you in hope that you would bring your lord. Together you must free me. This time the dragon adopted the soft voice of Koja’s mother.

“Why me?” Koja asked softly. “Why not another in the Tuigan camp?”

There was one other amongst the barbarians I considered, little priest. While she had the magical ability necessary, she cannot be trusted. The dragon growled ominously. No. Not trusted at all.

“Who do you mean, great spirit?” Koja said, a little desperation creeping into his voice. “Do you speak of the second empress, Mother Bayalun?”

I will not say whom, but I know that you should look to the bodies of the dead for answers.

“But—”

That is all I will say on that matter, the spirit roared.

“Why have you not sought freedom before?” Koja asked after a short pause. “There must have been others.”

Of course there were, little priest. I showed them to you. Or have you forgotten your dream? The spirit had resumed using the voice of Koja’s old master. Many have tried to break through my bonds, but all have failed. You saw them there. That was the price of their failure.

The dragon paused, fading slightly before Koja’s eyes. And their failures have added to my pain. The Shou devil who tricked me and cast me into the wall placed a condition on my curse. I can contact anyone I think might help me to escape. However, everyone that fails to release me and exact suitable revenge for me against the Shou is allowed to punish me throughout eternity. In the spirit world they stand at my side and hammer away.

The dragon quivered with anger. So you see, little priest, I only contact those who have a good chance to succeed in crushing Shou Lung. Otherwise, they add to my torment.

“How can you be freed?” Koja asked.

I need a sacrifice. This time the spirit chose to answer with Goyuk’s voice.

“A sacrifice?”

What does your lord offer his god? That is what I must have, the spirit demanded in Yamun’s voice. Its tail lashed at the wall, its prison. No less, little priest.

Suddenly, the dragon flowed back into the wall, molding its body to the shape of the stone. But the spirit didn’t fade. Instead it expanded, stretching along the length of the wall, past the watchtowers and through the gates. The twinkling of the watch fires played off its scales as its body rippled and grew, until the head and tail disappeared from sight. Slowly, the scales blended into the stone. The iridescent colors faded, the patterns of scale and stone blending together. I am the Dragonwall, the spirit whispered as it faded from sight.

Slowly the world returned to normal for Koja. The darkness of the night closed over the priest, driving away the unearthly glow that had surrounded the spirit. From above, Koja could hear the faint voices of the Shou sentries and the flapping of their robes as a cold wind blew across the battlements.

“Lama!” whispered the Kashik guide, seeing Koja stir for the first time in a half-hour. Nervously the man stepped up to Koja’s side. “Are you well?”

Numbly, Koja nodded his head. He made ready to go, automatically reaching for the sword Yamun had given as an offering. It was gone. Several long scars marked the ground where it had been.

As slowly as before, the group moved away from the Dragonwall. To Koja their pace seemed agonizingly slow. He was in a hurry to tell Yamun what he had learned. If the khahan intended to free the spirit tomorrow, there was much to prepare.

It took almost two hours for Koja and his men to return to Yamun’s camp. By now, it was early in the morning. Dawn would come in a few more hours. Still, the camp was not quiet. Riders were leaving for the mountains to cut timber for tomorrow’s assault. The burial details were organizing for the task of burning yesterday’s dead.

Koja arrived at Yamun’s yurt dog-tired. The khahan was still awake. As soon as the lama arrived, Yamun had the weary priest ushered in.

“Sechen, see that we are not disturbed by anyone.” The big man bowed and herded the guards out the door. With everyone out, Yamun sat beside the priest.

“Now, anda,” the khahan asked earnestly, “what did you learn?” His voice automatically dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. His weatherbeaten face was flushed with excitement, making his scars stand out clearly.

“More than I expected, I think,” Koja managed to answer. “There was a spirit there, and I talked to it. At least I think I talked to it.” He rubbed his head to massage away a building headache. Fatigue was making it hard for him to think.

“Anyway,” Koja continued, “we communicated. I was right, we can free it—or maybe just a little part of it. I don’t know for sure. It was very big.” The more Koja spoke, the more enthused he became.

“What? Explain yourself, priest. I’ve no time for puzzles. The army must attack soon.” The khahan got up and paced, occasionally slapping his hand against his side.

“I am not sure I can, Yamun,” Koja apologized before he began. “Do you remember the story I told you about the making of the Dragonwall?”

Yamun grunted.

“I’m not sure it was just a story. The dragon spirit I spoke to is the Dragonwall. The Shou did not build the wall from ordinary earth and stone. The Dragonwall was built with the body of an earth spirit.” Koja swiveled as he spoke, trying to face the khahan as the warlord stalked about the yurt.