Horselords

9

Yamun Khahan paced along the bottom of the dusty gully, kicking at stones and scraping little patterns in the dirt with his toe. Occasionally he stopped and marched up the slope and stood at the edge of the tree line to gaze across the plain. To his left and right, sheltered in the gully, were two thousand horsemen, huddled below the level of the plain.

In preparation for the coming conflict, Yamun wore his battledress-a glittering steel breastplate engraved and chased with flowers, a leather skirt sewn with metal plates, and a golden pointed warhelm. A coif of chain mail hung from the back of the helmet, covering his neck. The metal draped on Yamun's body clinked as he walked.

For the last three hours or more, the khahan, Afrasib, Koja, and a host of troopers had waited, more or less patiently, in the gully. The dry wash ran a jagged course, coming down out of the hills to the north and then angling to the southwest, where the mouth of the valley opened into the broader fringes of steppe. A thin stand of willows and tamarisk lined the banks, giving shade to the weary men. Koja, tired of watching Yamun pace and tired of waiting, sat against the base of a tree. Sechen stood nearby, never letting the priest get far from him.

Even in the shade, Koja was sweating. The big wrestler had found a suit of armor for the priest, a heavy thing of metal plates stitched to leather, in the style common to the Tuigan. The armor was ill-fitting, with absurdly big shoulders and long, droopy sleeves, but Sechen had insisted that he wear it. "You might be hit by an arrow," the guard warned. The helmet Sechen had produced fit little better than the armor.

Koja watched as the khahan turned from the plain and came back down the embankment. Yamun fretted back and forth, impatient for something to happen.

"Why do we wait here, Khahan?" Koja asked as Yamun ventured close.

Yamun, stopped short by Koja's question, scowled at the priest and almost snapped a sharp reply. Then he relented. "We wait here to capture Manass, historian. At least that is the plan."

"Manass?" Koja asked, amazed. He struggled to his feet, the armor scraping against the tree trunk. "Here? But how?"

"They're going to enter the trap," Yamun answered, marching back to the gully's edge. Koja noticed that the khahan spoke with less than his usual absolute conviction. The warlord looked to where Koja stood. "Come here, priest."

Koja joined the khahan, walking awkwardly in the heavy armor. Yamun pointed toward the upper end of the valley, where the land rose to a low pass nestled between the mountains to the east. The trail to Manass crawled over the pass.

"Look there," Yamun instructed, pointing to a spur that ran down into the valley floor from the north. "See the dark line? That's Jad and his men." Koja squinted, barely able to see the line Yamun indicated. Years scanning the emptiness of the steppe had sharpened the khahan's eyesight far beyond Koja's.

"Goyuk's men are across the valley, near those trees," Yamun continued as he swept his hand across the plain, stopping on a wooded slope.

"If you say so, Khahan," Koja responded, unable to see any sign of troops there. "But, you are here and Manass is far away. I do not understand how you plan to conquer the city by fleeing from it."

"Manass will come here, if all goes as planned," the khahan murmured, his head sank to his chest. Lifting his chin, he continued in a stronger voice, "We will bring Manass here, historian."

"How?"

"You told me how the lord of Manass acted. He calls us bandits," Yamun answered, turning away from the plain. "So I act like a bandit." He looked at Koja. The lama's expression showed he was still confused.

"Yesterday I attacked and lost-on purpose." Yamun held up his hand, stopping the startled outburst Koja was about to make. "Not many men died. Their orders were to make it look good and then flee. This morning I left one troop near Manass, to lure the garrison out, make them pursue. I just hope Shahin Khan can do the task. If Chanar were here, I know they'd follow. There's nobody better for baiting the enemy." He gave the lama a wan smile.

"But why should the garrison leave the city walls?" Koja asked. He shrugged the oversized armor back into place.

"Their commander is foolish. Yesterday, when Shahin retreated, the Khazari left their walls and chased our men. They did not have to, so last night I made a feint. My 'bandits' attacked Manass and failed." Yamun pointed toward the ridge. "This morning the Khazari see a retreating enemy. They will chase Shahin, hoping to destroy him." Yamun stopped and look off his helmet. Sweat ran down the back of his neck. "If that's not enough, Shahin has orders to burn whatever he comes across near the city, "That will force the lord of Manass to come out. He must protect his herds and his people." Yamun wiped the sweat from his forehead. "He would be disgraced if he hid behind walls of stone. From what I've seen, he'll want to fight. After all, we're only bandits." Yamun set his helmet firmly back in place.

"And then?" probed Koja.

"Then Shahin lures the Khazari here," Yamun stated calmly. "Shahin will ride past us, and we will stay hidden. On the signal, my men strike the Khazari on the flank while Jad and Goyuk close in from behind."

"And if no one chases Shahin?" Koja asked.

"Then I've guessed wrong about the lord of Manass," Yamun answered. "He would be wise to stay home, but he will come." The khahan scanned the horizon as he spoke.

Koja waited for Yamun to dismiss him. Finally, the khahan turned to other details. Koja went back to his tree and tried to settle in for a nap. Although the lama was tired, sleep wouldn't come.

Flies buzzed lazily overhead. Another hour went by without Shahin's arrival. The morning was slowly becoming a hot spring day. There was nothing for the priest to do but wait and pray.

"They come, Yamun Khahan," panted a messenger who ran up and knelt at the great lord's feet. "The scouts signal that Shahin is coming."

Yamun turned from the man, waving forward another messenger. "Go to Prince Jad. Tell the prince his father reminds him not to move until the signal is given." The messenger hurried to his task.

At the announcement, Koja scrambled to his feet. "Things are almost ready," Yamun eagerly explained. "Shahin's done it. Now all we need to do is close the trap." The khahan strode up the gully's side and watched the pass.

"Khahan, will this be dangerous?" the priest asked, joining Yamun. So far, Koja had only seen battles, never been in one.

"Of course," Yamun replied. "All battles are dangerous." The khahan shaded his eyes and continued to watch, ignoring his historian.

"May I cast some spells-purely for protection? I am not a warrior-"

"No!" Sechen growled, stepping forward to guard Yamun. "No spells." The muscular wrestler glowered down at the priest. Koja lurched back in surprise.

Realizing what he had done, Sechen suddenly stepped back and knelt at Yamun's feet. "Forgive my anger, Great Lord. I was only trying to guard you."

Yamun studied the man carefully. "You mean well, Sechen," he said, reassuring the fretting giant. Turning to Koja, Yamun said, "You'll take your chances with the rest of us. No spells."

The decision made, Yamun climbed a small rise of crumbling rock, Koja and his guards in tow, to get a better view. Koja reached the top with sweat running down the sides of his glistening, stubbly scalp.

"There's Shahin," Yamun abruptly said. He pointed to the far ridge. Shielding his eyes, Koja could barely make out a thin sliver of moving gray. The khahan scrambled down the slope and headed for his standard, waving his arm to bring the army to attention. Koja, panting and sweating even more, stumbled down behind him.

By the time the khahan reached his standard, messengers were already starting to arrive. Yamun pushed his way through the crowded gully, past the expectant troopers. As he did so, a messenger ran forward and dropped to one knee. "Jad reports that his men are in position," the man called out.

"Good. Standard-bearer, use the white banner for the right," Yamun commanded without breaking his stride. The trooper bowed quickly to show his understanding.

"Scouts say Goyuk is ready," added one of the khahan's aides. He was little more than a boy, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old. His face was still round with baby fat.

"Why hasn't Goyuk reported this?" Yamun snapped, the aide falling in beside him. They squeezed past a knot of horses eagerly pawing at the ground. The troopers stroked the animal's muzzles, trying to calm them.

"I don't know, Lord," answered the aide apologetically.

"Then find out!" the gruff warlord growled.

"Shahin has reached the valley floor, Great Lord," yelped a messenger who galloped up to the top of the gully. Yamun stopped and scrutinized the man as the courier swung from the saddle.

"Who's your commander?" the khahan queried.

"Buzun. One of Shahin Khan's men, Great Lord," the man hastily answered, falling to one knee. Streaks of sweat colored the dust on his clothes. One braid of the man's hair had come undone, and the other was caked with grease and dirt. His eyes were staring and hollow from lack of rest.

"What of the enemy?" the khahan demanded as he walked up the slope to question the man. "Does Shahin have anything else to report?"

"The garrison is chasing him, half a mile behind, maybe a little more, Great Lord. No more than a mile," the messenger said. Koja climbed up to where the warlord stood.

"How many men chase Shahin?" pressed Yamun.

"Three minghans of riders. Two of men on foot-but they are farther behind."

"Damn!" Yamun grumbled. "They can't be allowed to escape." He wheeled to his aides. "Send riders to Jad and Goyuk. Tell them not to attack until after the footmen pass by. They're to give a signal, the war drums, when the infantry is in the trap. We'll hold our attack until they signal. You-" Yamun turned back to the messenger. "Go back to Shahin and tell him to harry the riders, slow them up. I want the enemy pushed tight together. Tell Shahin his losses are not important."

The messenger bowed quickly, fired by the khahan's urgency. "Get this man a fresh horse!" Yamun bellowed down to his aides in the gully. "You-give him your horse!" He jabbed his finger at the nearest trooper. Startled and flustered, the man dropped to his knee.

"By your word it so-um-so shall it be!" he shouted. The man led the horse out of the gully, bowing to the khahan at every step.

Yamun turned back to the messenger. "Go! I want those Khazari chasing Shahin in full pursuit! Understand?"

"Yes, Khahan," the man shouted, scrambling to his feet.

Yamun didn't even wait for the courier to leave before he turned his attention to the lines of troops filling the gully.

"Give the word," he told the aide still at his side. "It's time to prepare."

Those simple words had an electrifying effect on the army. There was a murmur of voices as the order was passed along, then a chorus of creaking leather and metal. Men hustled up off the ground, where they had been lounging. Saddle cinches got a final tug. Honing stones were dragged in one last scrape along already sharp swords. Heavy, stifling armor was pulled on. Kumiss bags gurgled as veterans poured themselves a drink; there was no telling when they would have another chance. Horses pawed at the ground, shifting unsteadily under the sudden load of metal-clad men. A whisper of chanted prayers drifted on the wind. Like a wave on the ocean, men mounted their horses, the action flowing outward from the khahan's word.

Then they waited, waited for the nine-tailed banner of the khahan to be raised high and the war drum to be sounded. These were their signals, and not a man would move until they were given. Those that rode forward too early would be beaten. Those that fled, beheaded.

Koja climbed into the saddle of his own horse, a cumbersome task in the oversized armor that he wore. The scale mail bagged out around his chest giving him the appearance of a large metal-plated balloon, or, with his pointed helmet, an upside-down top. The helmet promptly slid forward and smacked against the bridge of Koja's nose. The weight of the armor on his shoulders was crushing. Koja uncomfortably shifted in the saddle. He knew a warrior's life was not for him.

Yamun rode to Koja's side, unable to suppress a devilish grin at the priest's comical appearance. "There's going to be a battle-more than I planned. Shahin will need help in holding the cavalry long enough for the infantry to be caught in our trap," the khahan explained. "You're to ride with me, where the guards can protect you. Even so, you may have to fight."

Koja pushed the helmet off his face. "I'm no warrior," he protested. "It is against the teachings my temple to harm another. I cannot risk offending my god. Khahan, I cannot fight."

"Then you can get your head smashed in. The enemy's not going to be so fussy," the warlord pointed out. "Here, take this." He held out a heavy metal-studded club. "It doesn't take much to use. Just don't bash your horse in the head." The scowling warlord grabbed Koja's wrist and slipped the weapon's thong over his hand. "Keep that on, so the mace doesn't go flying the first time you swing it."

The weight of the mace pulled Koja to one side. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into the saddle. A sharp snicker came from behind him. Koja turned in time to see a dayguard laughing at him. There was something about the look of the man that disturbed him, something not quite correct. The man's face didn't seem quite human. Koja blinked and wondered if exhaustion and sunlight were playing tricks on his eyes. Noticing the priest's stare, the dayguard quickly slipped behind a horse and disappeared from sight.

Mounted, Yamun's soldiers sat as silently as they could, trying to catch the first sight of Shahin and his men. Warriors stood in their saddles, shading their eyes to break the glare from the sunny plain.

It was a sound that first warned of Shahin's coming: the steady reverberation of galloping horses. Alerted, men strained to see their approaching companions. A plume of dust rose from the valley floor, driving fast in their direction. New sounds reached the army: garbled but piercing screams, resounding metallic rings, even an occasional shouted command.

"Up!" Yamun yelled to the standard-bearer. The nine-tailed banner rose over the gully. A ragged shout spontaneously erupted from the line as men urged their horses forward. The steeds scrambled up the bank, tearing at the soft dirt with their hooves.

"Hold!" shouted Yamun as the double line reached the edge of the trees, still hidden from sight. The standard-bearer waved the banner from side to side. The standards of the three tumens did the same. The lines drew up and came to a halt. Koja could hear the commanders of the jaguns shouting at their men to dress out their lines, evening out the ranks.

Koja swallowed what tasted like a mouthful of dust. He quickly recited sutras to Furo, trying to remember any that told of success in battle.

With growing speed the dust cloud whirled toward Yamun's position. Shapes formed out of the murk, becoming wild horsemen who whipped furiously at their mounts. The distant drone of hooves grew to a deep, rolling thunder; the cries and shouts became more distinct. As the priest sat watching, Shahin Khan's golden banner flew past. The riders continued down the valley, following the narrow angle of the dry wash. The dust of their passing roiled up and swept over Yamun's men in the tree line, hiding them from sight.

"Excellent," shouted Yamun over the fading din. "Shahin's men kicked up enough dust to cover us. Keep the men back until the signal's given."

The drumming hooves and whoops of the riders gradually died away, though the dust still hung thick in the air. Koja wrapped a scarf over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. Around him he could hear men coughing and horses prancing with excitement.

The noise of Shahin's men was replaced by sounds of the Khazari cavalry's galloping pursuit. The dust clouds had barely opened up when another wave of riders burst out of the gloom. The pounding hooves, the jingling of metal, and the shouts were all the same, but the riders charging past were wearing the yellow and blue of Manass.

Koja nervously glanced down the line of warriors to his right, a line that faded into the haze. The mounted men were grim-faced, hands tight on their reins. They, too, watched the passing riders nervously, waiting for the khahan's signal. The priest looked back to Yamun and saw him sitting, grave and impassive, only the slightest look of concern on his face. Koja pulled the scarf from his mouth and leaned sideways to ask the khahan a question.

Then, a different rumble, fainter and lower in pitch, added to the noise. It was the deep boom of war drums, rolling from the distance. Yamun suddenly sat straight and raised his hand to the signalmen beside him. "Bows and drums," the khahan commanded.

The aide next to the khahan quickly took his own bow and nocked a strange arrow with a carved, bulbous head. Instead of aiming at the enemy, the man pointed the shaft upward, as if he were shooting at the clouds. The rank of signalmen prepared similar arrows.

At a slight nod from the khahan, the archers shot their arrows skyward. A chorus of howling shrieks pierced the din. Koja, startled, yanked on the reins of his horse, almost charging his mount into the chaotic fray. Sechen seized the bridle and held the horse in. "Whistling arrows," the big guard shouted, nodding upward where the shafts still flew, mournfully wailing over the galloping riders.

The whistling signal electrified the waiting troops. Koja watched as each man eagerly pulled a bow from his case and, with precision, nocked one arrow while gripping a bundle of others in his hand.

The khahan dropped his hand. Another flight of whistling arrows flew, followed immediately by a loud twang, like a badly tuned instrument, as the ranks fired their bows. The shafts hissed through the air, stabbing into the gloom. From the plain came a ragged chorus of startled cries. Through small gaps in the swirling dust, Koja saw a field dotted with a few dead and wounded. Other horsemen milled in confusion, panicked, as they tried to find the source of the attack.

Before the enemy could recover, Yamun's warriors shot again and again, sending their arrows into the slowly lifting murk. The cries of the wounded mixed with commands shouted in lilting Khazari that only Koja could understand. Officers were desperately trying to regain control of the confused mass. Men screamed of their injuries or called for their friends and horses. The dust began to settle, revealing a battlefield filled with confusion and fear.

"Now, before they recover, charge!" the khahan ordered. The nine-tailed banner waved forward, and the war drums were sounded. Down the line Koja could see the three banners of the tumens take up the signal. Three thousand men leaped from their positions.

Koja pulled back on his reins, holding his horse from the rush. The mare pranced and bucked, champing to join the tide that rushed outward. Even with Sechen holding the bit of Koja's horse, it was hard to restrain the skittish steed.

Only after the ranks had swept past did Yamun move forward. Steadily, the khahan and those with him gained speed to keep up with the galloping warriors strung out in front of them. Soon they were abreast of the stragglers-lamed horses, fallen riders hurriedly remounting, and nags that couldn't keep up. Koja clung to the pommel as he plunged forward, straight for the thin wavering line of enemy riders.

For Koja, the battle dissolved into a chaotic collection of scenes. There was no sense of order or place. It was not like the battles Koja had imagined: organized, proper, almost stately. Instead, the charge was like opening the doorway to the realm of Li Pei, the great judge of the underworld.

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 day-guard 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.

"The khahan is better," Koja explained as he sat back in the dirt, shaking from exhaustion. "However, the poison is still in him, and he could still die. Can you take him back to camp?"

Sechen nodded. He looked at the priest in wonder.

"Are you sure? What about the battle?" the lama asked.

"You saw. This battle is over. We won. Prince Jad and Goyuk Khan will finish things here." Gently, Sechen lifted the khahan in his arms.

"Then get him to his tent. He needs rest," Koja urged.

"By your word, it shall be done," answered Sechen. "But you will come with me." Sechen nodded to the standard-bearer. "He will tell the prince what has happened." Koja struggled to his feet and helped Sechen hoist the khahan into his saddle. Yamun barely opened his eyes.

"Oh, yes," Koja said, "the wizard, Afrasib, lies over there. He helped the hu hsien and would have killed Yamun. Right now, he cannot move, but he will recover soon. You might want to do something about him." The standard-bearer looked at the oddly frozen figure on the battlefield and grinned unpleasantly. Before Koja could stop the man, the trooper ran over and neatly slit the spellcaster's throat.

"I've always wanted to do that to one of Bayalun's lackeys," he coldly proclaimed. As Koja sat, stunned with horror, the standard-bearer mounted his horse and galloped away to inform Prince Jad of the khahan's condition.

"He should have kept the wizard alive to question him!" Koja shouted.

"Priest, the wizard got what all Bayalun's kind deserve. Just consider yourself lucky not to be among them," Sechen grimly explained as he led their horses back to camp.

That night there was a council in Yamun's tent. Outside, the finest and most trusted of the nightguards ringed the yurt. Each was dressed in full armor and heavily armed. They were nervous and jumpy. Already several rabbits had died from rapidly fired arrows when they made a little noise in the bushes. The guards eyed each other as well. The rumors were already circulating through the camp-stories of treachery among Yamun's bodyguards, whole cadres of wizards, and evil monsters rising out of the ground.

Those inside the yurt were no less tense. The spacious tent was almost completely dark. A small iron pot of glowing red coals provided the only illumination, barely lighting the grim faces of the men present. Yamun lay on his bed, conscious but very weak. There was very little color in his face. Under Koja's supervision, he was covered with several layers of heavy felt blankets. Perspiration beaded on Yamun's brow as the priest tried to sweat the poison out of the khahan's system. Sitting on the rugs at the side of Yamun's bed were Jad and Goyuk, little more than dark shapes in the darker yurt.

Koja had spent the last hour carefully telling his version of the day's events. Jad sat with his head bowed to the floor. Goyuk nodded as he considered the priest's words. Koja, now finished describing how he had treated the khahan's wounds, sat silently with his hands on his knees, waiting for the others to speak.

"It is good to have gods on your side, even if they are the gods of strangers," Goyuk said in a rambling tone. It was very late and the day had been long. Fatigue was showing on the old khan's face; his eyes drooped and he slumped as if he were some exhausted vulture.

From his bed, Yamun sighed and focused on the big guard at the back of the yurt. "Sechen, did it happen as the lama said?"

The guard shambled forward, nodding. "What I saw is as the priest said, Khahan," the wrestler answered, stiffly bowing.

"I remember the guard attacking and the wound," Yamun added. He pushed himself up onto one elbow. "Historian, you saved my life. Therefore, Koja of the Khazari, I ask you to be my anda." Yamun weakly extended a hand to the priest. There was a gasp from the group.

"Great Lord! I–I am not worthy of this," Koja stammered, his face reddening with embarrassment.

"That's not for you to say. I choose who will be my anda." Yamun pushed his shaking hand out toward Koja.

"Father!" protested Jad. "You are weak and need rest. Think on this later."

Yamun growled, "Be silent, my son. Koja saved my life and that has earned him the right."

"Yes, Khahan," Jad replied, cowed.

Yamun looked toward Goyuk to see if he had any objections. The old khan only sucked on his gums, keeping his counsel to himself. The khahan shifted his gaze back to the lama.

"Well, priest?"

Koja took a breath to steady himself. "I cannot argue with your wishes. I am greatly honored. I accept." He took the khahan's hand.

"Then we are anda. From this day, you are Koja, little brother of Yamun." He gave the priest's hand a weak squeeze and then dropped his arm. "From now on you must call me Yamun."

Koja looked at the others. Goyuk was unreadable, his old, lined face barely betraying any emotions. Sechen looked stern as always, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. The prince's brow was furrowed with concern, and he avoided the gaze of the priest. Koja was not sure if he was upset or merely confused.

"The men have fought well today," Yamun continued weakly. "Jad, report on the battle." He closed his eyes and let a ragged breath escape his lungs.

The prince roused himself, putting whatever thoughts he had to the back of his mind. "Father, your plan succeeded. The foot soldiers followed the riders into the trap, and Goyuk and I were able to surround them. The khans have taken many prisoners." Jad bowed slightly toward his father, who was not watching.

"What of losses? Shahin's men?" whispered the stricken khahan.

"Goyuk and I lost few men. The foot soldiers couldn't catch us, and we simply shot arrows at them until they surrendered. Your men did not fare badly, though they lost more because they were involved in the heaviest fighting. Shahin's tumen has lost many brave warriors, Great Lord. More than half of his men are killed or wounded." The youth waited for some word from his father.

"Not too bad," Yamun commented with a sigh. "Give the prisoners the choice of service or death. Those that join us are assigned to Shahin's command." He coughed a little and then wheezed out the rest. "What about Manass? The governor?"

"He was cowardly and did not come out, Father. Our messengers have already delivered the heads of his generals. I thought you would want this done," Jad answered, sliding closer to the bed. "He sends back messages of peace and friendship. Manass will be ours."

"And soon all of Khazari," added Goyuk, glancing at Koja to see how the priest reacted.

"Indeed, all of Khazari," agreed Yamun.

"Were the assassins from Manass?" Jad asked.

"It makes sense," Goyuk concurred.

"No, it doesn't," Yamun disagreed with a weak sigh. The two khans looked at him in surprise. "Why would the governor send his army if he had assassins? Besides, Afrasib is one of Bayalun's people." The khahan let the point sink in for a moment while he recovered his strength. "What was this creature called, the one that attacked me?"

"A hu hsien, Khahan," Koja explained as he fixed Yamun's covers. "They are evil spirits who often do men harm. I heard tales of them at my temple. They appear as foxes normally, but can disguise themselves as people. It is said the emperor of Shou Lung uses them as spies because they can change their shape."

"It could have been this emperor," Jad offered.

"The emperor of Shou," Yamun mused. "Perhaps."

"You have many enemies, Yamun," Goyuk pointed out. "Why would this emperor attack you now?"

"Why, indeed?" Yamun slowly pulled one arm out from under the sheets and began to stroke his chin. "Perhaps he fears me. Perhaps he knows that I can conquer his land." Yamun's eyes glazed slightly. Koja quickly wiped the khahan's sweaty brow with a warm cloth. Yamun closed his eyes and then spoke again. "So, one of Bayalun's wizards was involved."

Koja nodded. "Yes, Khahan-er-Yamun."

"You shouldn't have let them die," Jad pointed out. "We could have made him talk."

"Your father's guards were most incensed and did not heed my suggestions," Koja answered defensively.

"Still, they should not have died," Jad snapped, his jaw stubbornly set. "Perhaps we'd now know who was responsible for the attack on the khahan."

"Do you have their bodies?" the priest suddenly asked, turning to Jad and Goyuk.

The prince was taken aback by the lama's question. "Yes. Yes, we do," he answered, flustered.

"Perhaps you can have your answer," Koja offered mysteriously. "See that their bodies are not burned. If mighty Furo is willing, I will speak to them." Confused, the prince looked into the gloom at the priest.

"Afrasib is Bayalun's man. Then she's suspect, unless the wizard acted on his own. Bayalun. The emperor of Shou. Perhaps one, perhaps none," the khahan murmured feebly from his bed. "I do have many enemies." Yamun paused, his strength temporarily exhausted. The others sat silently, considering his words.

"How long can I be dead?" the khahan asked suddenly.

"What?" Jad blurted out.

"I want everyone to think I'm dead. How long can you keep the army together?" Yamun turned toward Jad.

The prince thought for a little bit. "Without you, two, maybe three days. There are already rumors."

"I say four or five days. The men are good men. They listen to your son," contradicted Goyuk, punctuating his comment by sucking on his lip.

"Jad, you'll keep them together as long as you must. No one must know what's happened me," Yamun said in the best commanding tone his weak voice could manage.

"But, why?" Koja asked. "Don't you want to reassure your men?"

"Someone-Bayalun, the Shou emperor, or someone else-wants me dead. They're sure to have more plans in mind. If I'm dead they'll reveal themselves by their actions," Yamun explained as if he were talking to a child. His speech was stopped by a fit of coughing. Jad and Goyuk looked away, politely ignoring the khahan's weakness.

The priest helped Yamun sit up to clear his throat. "You need rest." Yamun, still wheezing, tried to wave Koja off, but the priest refused to take his seat. He pulled the blankets up to wrap them over the khahan's shoulders. "You need rest now, unless you want to die."

Yamun was wracked by another fit of coughing. "All right," he gasped out. "Go to your tents, all of you. Jad, I'm depending on you. Listen to Goyuk and the priest. Now, leave me." He sank back onto the cushions, breathing noisily between the intermittent coughing fits.

Jad and Goyuk exchanged worried glances and then bowed to the floor. Silently the two took their leave. As they went out the door, Koja took a blanket from a pile at the foot of Yamun's bed and wrapped himself up in it. He curled up on the floor beside the Illustrious Emperor of All People and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. Tonight he would stay in Yamun's yurt, to watch over his patient-his anda.