Horselords (38 page)

“But what’s the point?” Yamun snapped.

“The power of the wall comes from the dragon spirit. Somehow the builders bound the spirit to the wall so it cannot leave, even though it wants to. It is trapped inside the wall.”

“So?”

“So, it seems to think that you—and I—are special. In particular, it expects you to obtain its vengeance by crushing Shou Lung.”

“This spirit is wise. After all, I will conquer Shou Lung.” Yamun rubbed at his chin, considering the spirit’s words.

Yamun’s boastfulness didn’t phase the lama. He knew the khahan was unshakable in his conviction. “Yamun,” he continued, “we might be able to free it, at least in this area. Once the spirit leaves, the Dragonwall becomes nothing but an ordinary wall, perhaps even less. Remember, the spirit’s power is part of what the builders used to hold the wall together—like mortar for stone.”

“You’re saying that if the spirit goes the Dragonwall could be torn down?” Yamun considered the information, trying to make sure he understood everything.

“There will need to be a sacrifice,” Koja added.

“Of what?”

Koja thought back to the night in the thunderstorm. “Horses, I think. Fine ones. Isn’t that the offering you make to Teylas?” Koja shivered at the thought, uncomfortable at being part of such a rite. Such sacrifices were not the way of the Enlightened One.

“Horses will be no problem,” Yamun stated flatly.

“There was something else,” Koja added, his voice calmer. “The spirit hinted something about a woman of great magical power. Perhaps he meant the second empress. The spirit said that she was … not to be trusted.” He looked at the floor, partially out of respect to the khahan and partially out of fear.

“She’s never to be trusted,” Yamun said, dismissing the lama’s concerns.

Koja would not be put off. “No, it was more than that. It was how the spirit said it. I’m worried that someone—probably Bayalun—is planning something.”

Yamun continued his pacing, showing no sign of surprise. “If I ask her, she’ll only deny this.”

Koja looked at the khahan. “I may have a way to check,” he offered hesitantly. “You remember the guard and the Shou who were found dead before the battle?”

“What of them?” the khahan asked from across the yurt.

Koja stood up. “The spirit said something about looking to the dead for answers.” The priest paused, then added, “Something didn’t seem right about those bodies. The guard had his throat cut as if someone had surprised him. If that happened, who killed the Shou?” Koja found himself pacing in time with the khahan.

“Odder things have happened, priest,” the khahan cautioned, stopping his stride. He set a hand against the tent post, examining the wood.

“Perhaps, Lord Yamun, but I had the bodies hidden away. I think it would be wise to speak with them.”

“Do you really think these two have anything to do with Bayalun?” Yamun asked skeptically.

Koja scratched his head. “I don’t know. Spirits often mislead people,” he admitted, “but it is all I can think to do. I am ready. We could find out right now.”

The khahan looked at the priest without really seeing him, his eyes focused on something intangible. One hand unconsciously played with the tips of his mustache. “Very well. Try. But you must be quick.”

“Certainly, Yamun,” Koja answered with a bow. Going to the tent door, the lama gave instructions to Sechen. The wrestler again stood watch, having arranged for Bayalun’s guard.

It didn’t take long for Koja and Sechen to set everything up in a secluded yurt where their activities would not be noticed. The bodies had been stored carefully, packed in snow to slow their decay. Working quickly, Koja stayed alone in the tent. While Sechen stood guard outside, the lama cast his spells. When he emerged, Koja looked drained. The night’s activities were taking their toll on him.

“Remove the Tuigan warrior, but bring the Shou’s head to Yamun’s yurt,” the priest ordered as he hurried past Sechen. “I must see the khahan.”

Arriving back at Yamun’s yurt, Koja wasted no time in describing what he had learned.

Grimly, the khahan looked toward the priest. “Chanar, too?” he asked, his amazement coloring his words.

“I am sorry, Yamun,” the priest automatically mumbled.

“Sorrow is for the weak,” Yamun suddenly growled.

Koja only nodded. “What will you do now?”

“Confront them,” the khahan said. His face was set in a grim scowl. He called for a quiverbearer to summon Chanar and Bayalun. The servant hurried away with the message.

Neither Koja nor Yamun spoke while they waited. The khahan sat brooding, chin on hand. Koja tried to imagine the dark thoughts passing through Yamun’s mind. He couldn’t. Yamun’s grim mood was beyond him. With a tired yawn, the lama resigned himself to waiting.

The servant returned and pulled back the door flap. “Khahan, they are here.”

Yamun lifted his head. “Enter.” Bayalun and Chanar came into the yurt. “Sit.”

Leading the way, the second empress, leaning heavily on her staff, took her place. Chanar followed behind, then Sechen. The two plotters seated themselves on the respective sides of the tent, Bayalun alone at the head of the women’s row, Chanar opposite her. Koja moved from his seat, out of Chanar’s way. The general eyed the lama warily, then sat down at Yamun’s feet. Quietly, Koja slid to the back of the yurt to stand alongside the impassive Sechen. The wrestler quietly opened the door, motioning an arban of soldiers to enter.

When all had taken their place, Yamun ordered a basin of black kumiss brought forward. Taking the ladle from the bowl, he held it high, presenting it to the four points of the compass, “Teylas grant us victory today.”

The offering finished, Yamun took his seat. “Today we go to conquer a great enemy. Let the men be ready.”

“May Teylas grant us victory!” Chanar said in response.

“He will, General,” Yamun promised, glaring down at Chanar.

Slowly, Yamun extended the ladle to the last of the seven valiant men. Just as the general reached for it, Yamun tipped it, pouring the black kumiss onto the rugs.

“You were my anda,” the khahan snarled, flinging the ladle out of reach.

Chanar was white-faced, and his mouth hung open in shock. “But, Yamun. I—”

“Quiet! I know of your treachery. You meet with the Shou. You plot with them.”

“This is a lie, Khahan!” Chanar shouted, trembling where he stood. Yamun stepped forward on his dais, his broad frame towering over the ashen general. The khahan’s eyes smoldered with fury.

Koja realized that Yamun, enraged with Chanar’s deception, had momentarily forgotten Bayalun’s presence. The priest looked her way. She had stepped back from the confrontation. The khadun’s face was pale, but no fear showed in her eyes, only hatred and fury.

Bayalun took another step back, as if trying to distance herself from Chanar. Her hands reached into the sleeves of her robe. She withdrew a small stone and began to trace small figures into the air.

Koja realized that Bayalun was casting a spell. There was no one close enough to stop her in time.

The lama felt his pockets for some kind of weapon, something he could throw. He hit something hard at his chest, the paitza, his symbol of authority. Frantically, he yanked at the cord, pulling the heavy metal plate free.

“Bayalun!” the priest shouted, trying to warn the khahan. Yamun stopped his tirade, astonished by the lama’s cry, just as Koja hurled the paitza across the yurt. The silver plaque thudded against the khadun’s arm, jarring the stone from her grasp. Bayalun screeched with rage and pain, clutching at her side.

“Guards, seize the khadun! Bind her hands. Kill her if she attempts to speak!” Yamun pointed at the second empress. Bayalun’s eyes narrowed to slits even as she froze where she stood. The guards were already around her, their sabers drawn. They grabbed the khadun’s arms and pinned them to her side. She struggled weakly, but knowing Yamun was serious, said nothing. The guards quickly began lashing her wrists together.

Chanar, seizing the distraction, reached for his sword, determined to fight his way free. Before his sword cleared its scabbard, Yamun drew his own blade and laid the edge against the general’s breast. Chanar turned slowly to face the khahan.

“Do not draw it, General, or I’ll kill you.” Yamun spoke coldly, his eyes steely. “Take the khadun out.”

Chanar swallowed. “Why, Yamun?” he asked weakly. The remaining guards closed slowly around him. The general unbuckled his swordbelt and laid it on the ground.

Yamun stepped back and spat at Chanar’s feet. “Tomorrow, you and my stepmother—” He turned his glare on the departing Bayalun. “You planned to destroy me.”

“This is a lie! Who says this?” Chanar blustered, glaring at everyone around him.

Yamun sheathed his own sword and reached into a leather bag that sat beside his throne. From it he lifted the head of the Shou warrior Chanar had killed.

“This is your accuser,” Yamun replied, tossing the head at Chanar. It fell with a thump at the general’s feet. Chanar wavered then kicked the head aside with a snarl.

“A dead thing—nothing more. You are a fool, Yamun!” Chanar sneered, no longer trying to hide his contempt.

“Though spirits may trick us, the dead cannot lie,” Koja said softly from the back of the yurt.

Chanar wheeled on the lama. “You—this is your doing!”

“No, Chanar. You did this to yourself,” Yamun said behind him. “You were my anda—the last of my valiant men. I gave you honors and trust, and this is how you have repaid me.” Yamun sank back onto his throne, chin sunk to his chest.

“You gave me nothing!” Chanar snarled. “I saved you from your enemies. I fought your battles. My father took you in when your own people drove you out. My warriors made you khan of the Hoekun. I have stood by you, and now you spend your time with a foreign priest while I ride as your errand boy! You will betray us all, send us to death against this Shou wall to satisfy your own ambitions.” Chanar’s chest heaved with emotion.

Yamun shifted onto the balls of his toes, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. “I should kill you—” The general braced himself for the blow. “But I won’t.”

Chanar stepped back, intimidated and confused.

“Hear this” Yamun announced loudly, although only Koja, Sechen, and the guards were there to hear. “For his courage and bravery, I have chosen General Chanar to stand at my side in battle today. Chanar will be the bravest khan in the center. Make sure that’s known throughout the army.”

Chanar started in surprise, caught off-guard by the khahan’s sudden declaration.

Yamun continued. “Tell them also, that today I’ve made Sechen one of the khans. Sechen, you will command Chanar’s men.”

“They are not yours to give,” Chanar protested, an edge of panic creeping into his voice.

Yamun whirled on the general. “You are nothing anymore! Have you forgotten? You will stand where I tell you, you will fight where I tell you.” The khahan kicked Chanar’s sword and scabbard off to the side and stormed closer to his old companion. “You live only because you were once my anda, and that cannot be undone. Tomorrow, you will ride as a hero in battle. If you die there, your name will be forever remembered as one of my valiant men,” Yamun said slowly.

Chanar sagged. His plans had collapsed, and the fight went out of him.

“Take him away and keep a guard on him,” Yamun shouted irritably to the Kashik. Turning to Chanar as he prepared to leave, Yamun said, “You will ride with me one last time. If you live, you will be banished from my sight. Go and prepare for battle. Teylas will take us to victory!”

“Ai!” The guards hailed the benediction to the khahan’s words. Yamun turned his back as the guards led Chanar out.

“My anda, my true anda,” the khahan called to Koja. “You will stay.” Arms nervously crossed, the priest stood quietly by the door.

Yamun turned to face the lama. The khahan looked very tired. “Koja, once again you have acted wisely and well. It pains me that I cannot honor you for what you have done, but it is not a custom for outsiders to become khans.”

“I do not seek honors, Yamun,” Koja said sincerely. “But what are you going to do with Bayalun? You need her wizards to clear the battlefield.”

The khahan joined Koja at the doorway, pulling aside the tent flap to look out on the camp. “For now, we keep her arrest a secret. Guards will visit her wizards. We’ll tell the wizards she’s ill. Perhaps you can to tend her,” Yamun suggested with a mirthless smile. “After we break the Dragonwall, there will be time to decide.”

If we all survive, Koja thought to himself.

It was the largest array of warriors Koja had seen yet. The sun was just rising over the eastern horizon. From the top of the ridge, the priest watched as the creeping rays of morning struck the outermost edge of the right flank. The golden light touched the mass of lance tips, breastplates, shields, bridles, swords, every bit of metal the warriors had. It looked as if some god were pouring gems from the heavens over the Tuigan horde.

Koja guessed that there were two hundred thousand men, perhaps more, gathered on the edge of the plain. They were lined up as far from the Dragonwall as their commanders could manage. After yesterday’s disaster, no one wanted his men too far out in the open. The valleys leading onto the plain were choked with columns of horsemen, backed up behind the leading tumens. The men were organized into dense blocks, each unit separated from its neighbors. Yamun supervised the disposition of the units from his vantage point on the ridge. Chanar was nearby, ostensibly part of the khahan’s honored command. A group of well-armed Kashik accompanied the general wherever he went. Bayalun was being held secretly in a yurt, far from her own guards.

Their mistress’s fate kept from them, Bayalun’s wizards had done their job well. While the army moved into position, the spellcasters had used their powers to disintegrate boulders and move mounds of earth out of the way. By daybreak, they had cleared several wide, level breaks through the rubble. Surveying the openings from the hill, Yamun decided these were more than adequate for the attack.