Текст книги "Horselords"

Автор книги: David Cook

Соавторы: David Cook
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

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.

10

Dead Voices

The only glow that lit the darkness came from a rough crystal, the size of a large egg, nested on a tripod of wrought iron. The stand's small legs ended in finely chiselled rams' heads covered in gilt. Small, facetted garnets decorated the curling horns of the beasts, tapering back into the black iron of the supports.

The crystal shown dimly with the warm colors of sunlight. Chanar marveled at it. Staring into the stone was like looking out on a sunny morning through a small hole in the tent wall. Warmth and light danced in front of his eyes, just beyond his reach. When he stared into the stone closely, he thought he saw shapes flicker and fade deep in its heart. He wondered what Bayalun, sitting across from him, saw as she hunched over the orb.

The khadun chanted. Her nose was practically pressed against the crystal, and her hands were carefully cupped around the base of the tripod.

Chanar squirmed. His legs were going to sleep, but he didn't want to move for fear of disturbing Bayalun. She had been sitting in the same position for the last half-hour, repeating the same chant over and over again. Chanar wondered how she managed it. The chant was mind-numbing. At first he thought it was Tuigan, badly distorted, but that quickly proved to be wrong. Whatever she was saying, it was in no language Chanar had ever heard. The general was sure of that. He'd had thirty minutes to listen and be certain.

Abruptly Mother Bayalun ended the chant with a huffing sigh of exhaustion. She sat up straight, arching her back, and rubbed her temples hard with her fingertips. The crystal still glowed between them.

"Look," she commanded as she lightly touched the stone. The stone's glow shimmered and then expanded, filling the air between them. Bayalun spread her hands open and the light spread, too.

A scene formed and grew within the light. It was a yurt in the bright morning sun. Guards stood rigidly outside, ringing it. A tall standard set near the doorway flapped in the breeze.

"That's Yamun's yurt!" Chanar exclaimed.

Mother Bayalun laughed. "General Chanar, you are so charming," she said. "Yes, that is the khahan's tent." She stood up, leaning heavily on her staff, and stiffly walked to his side. "Look," she commanded again.

Chanar peered closely at the scene. "There's old Goyuk ... and Jad," he whispered, pointing at the image.

"There is no need to be quiet," Bayalun croaked out. She stopped to clear her throat. "They cannot hear us."

Chanar nodded, still watching the scene. He stepped back to give the image space. The general wasn't about to let it touch him.

"Look!" Bayalun suddenly hissed. "Look at the banner! It's just as they said." She pointed at the pole standing in front of the yurt. From it, gently swinging in the breeze they couldn't feel, were nine black yak tails.