Текст книги "Horselords"

Автор книги: David Cook

Соавторы: David Cook
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Jad wasted little time with ceremony. "Father, your death's gone on long enough," he began, almost as soon as everyone was seated. "The khans are talking, demanding a couralitai. They're stirring up the men. I cannot hold the army together any longer."

Yamun looked surprised by the news. "A couralitai takes many months to prepare. My time of mourning isn't even over."

"They want one now," Goyuk explained, his wrinkled face lined even more deeply with concern. "They say the army needs a leader." His gums smacked together as if to accentuate the point.

"It's worse, Father," added Jad, bowing his head. "The envoys from Manass have come and are impatient to begin negotiations. That's given the khans more to complain about. Already Chagadai and Tanjin have threatened to return to their pastures. That's four minghans, four thousand men, Father."

Yamun considered the situation, absentmindedly twisting the sheets. "Anda, is my mother still in camp?"

"Yes, Yamun," answered Koja.

"Could this be Bayalun's doing?" the khahan feebly growled as he slapped the bed with a resounding thud. "Or is it spies from Shou Lung?"

There was silence from the group as they mulled over the possibilities. No one offered any answers.

"Yamun, you cannot sit here waiting for something to happen. You should make a plan," Koja suggested, speaking hesitantly.

"My anda is right. Tell them to call a couralitai," the khahan announced. He choked back a small cough.

"What?" sputtered Jad. "Why not just appear? Show you're alive?"

"Someone is manipulating all this," Yamun declared with certainty. "I'll show myself, but only after they make their move. Let's give our mysterious enemy what he wants, then see what happens. Call it for tomorrow."

"Lord Yamun, if there is a couralitai, you must appear—to prove you are not dead. Otherwise they will pick a new khahan," Koja pointed out.

"I know this. Don't worry, anda. I'll rest. Now go." With a tired wave, Koja and the others were dismissed from the khahan's presence.

As he stepped into the afternoon sunlight, Koja realized that it had been days since he'd last made any notes for Yamun's chronicle. He wondered how much he could remember. As a historian, he was doing a poor job. Wearily, the lama wandered to his tent to fulfill his duty as grand historian.

12

The Couralitai

By the earliest light of the next dawn, word of the couralitai had spread throughout the camp. Already the khans were gathering for the meeting, moving from yurt to yurt to share the rumors and gossip that would affect the day's business.

Standing near the Great Yurt, Koja could almost hear the chorus of speculation and rumors. With keen, patient interest, the priest watched the ebb and flow of the khans. General Chanar emerged from the yurt of Tanjin Khan and exchanged friendly banter with the minghan commander. Koja watched him next cross the camp to another tent, that of Unyaid, a minor commander in the Kashik. Even earlier, Bayalun had been moving about, her staff echoing with its distinctive thunk on the hard ground. The priest had not seen her for some time.

As Koja watched, Jad and Goyuk came his way. They had been out that morning, probing the khans and listening to the rumors. The three shared their information. Koja described Bayalun's movements and noted Chanar's with curiosity. Goyuk and Jad outlined the mood of the khans, who would side with them and who would not. After making new plans, Jad and Goyuk returned to their rounds, sounding out the khans. Koja maintained his watch of Bayalun's movements.

As the lama waited, the quiverbearers began preparing for the grand meeting. The gathering was to take place inside Yamun's compound, about one hundred feet from the khahan's yurt, in a large open area surrounded by the tents of the Kashik khans. A bonfire, mounded with valuable pieces of wood, was built at the far side of the clearing. The khahan's death banner was moved from Yamun's yurt and staked on the side of the circle opposite the bonfire. Young boys carefully swept the ground with broad brushes, and others rolled out rugs in two arcs to provide seating. Beyond the circle of the couralitai, servants were brewing tea at small fires, preparing for the arrival of the khans. Leather bags, fashioned from the skins of horses' heads, were filled with kumiss and set out along with ladles. Special seats for Bayalun and Jad were put up beneath the black yak-tail standard. Between these was a special, vacant seat for the departed khahan.

A horn blew a wheezing, off-key note. It sounded easily over the subdued clatter of the quiverbearers. They quickly finished their tasks and faded to the edges of the circle. The khans began to arrive and take seats. Those khans friendly to Bayalun sat on the left of the banner, near her seat, while Jad's supporters filled the places to the right. Most of the khans took places far from both the prince and the khadun, declaring their current neutrality.

The spaces on the rugs began to get crowded. Deciding there was no more he could do where he was, Koja hurried to find a spot with a good view of the action, before it was too late. The priest squeezed in, finding a space among the densely packed Tuigan. As a foreigner, he had no vote in the the proceedings, but even being allowed to watch was a great privilege.

The horn blew again. From the far side of the assembly entered Mother Bayalun, Chanar following a few paces behind. The khadun was dressed in white robes, her long, loose hair half-hidden by a white shawl. A broad sash, woven with stripes of blue and red, hung around her neck. She walked slowly but firmly across the circle to take her seat at the head of the assembly. Chanar took a position among the khans sitting on the left.

The horn blew for a third time. Koja, sitting between a stiff-backed, black-robed commander of the Kashik and a belching, greasy-haired khan whose name he did not know, tensed in anticipation. Instead of the surprise he expected, however, Koja was disappointed to see only Jad and Goyuk venture out to join the couralitai. The prince took his seat, barely acknowledging his stepmother. Goyuk stood quietly behind him, ready to advise the khahan's son.

The khans fell silent, expecting the first words of the session. By tradition, these were spoken by the son of the departed. Jad raised his hand and waited for the last murmuring khans to fall quiet. Satisfied that he had their attention, the prince stood up before the assembled nobles.

"Jadaran of the Hoekun welcomes you. As khan of the Tuigan, he welcomes you. Let this council begin."

With these words, the council was open. Custom gave the honor of the next speech to the commander of the Kashik.

A strong, clear voice suddenly rang out. "Illustrious youth, son of our beloved khahan, commander of forty thousand, this one requests that he may be heard." There was a buzz of excitement at these words. The speaker had made the request in most respectful language, using all the proper forms and inflections—but it was not the commander of the Kashik. At the far side of the council, the wolf-faced Chagadai, dressed in a ragged and filthy kalat, stood to address the prince. He wore a dirty white turban in the style of the western clans. Without waiting to be recognized, he pushed his way to the center of the circle.

The Kashik commander, sitting near Jad, glared at the speaker. The upstart had deliberately insulted him. The commander looked to Jad for guidance, but the prince was in as much consternation as he. Goyuk leaned forward and whispered in the prince's ear. Jad spoke a few words in response, obviously debating with the old man about what could be done. Next to him, Bayalun sat, unmoved by the startling turn. A faint smile played across her lips. Finally, Jadaran looked toward the upstart khan. Throwing a resigned look the commander's way, the prince conceded, reciting the formula required of him. "As lord of this couralitai, I will hear Chagadai speak."

"May the thanks of Teylas be upon the noble prince," answered the renegade khan. Now that he was recognized, he turned to his fellow nobles in the audience. "Hear me, khans. Know that I am Chagadai of the Uesgir.

"I will not waste time retelling the deeds of my family or all the greatness of the khahan. These things we know. Instead, I ask a question we have all been wondering—where is the khahan? Where is the one who has led our people to greatness? They," he shouted, turning toward Jad, "say he has fallen. Yet they do nothing!" Jad tensed and prepared to interrupt, when Goyuk once again whispered in his ear. The prince bit his lip and nodded curtly, waiting for Chagadai to continue.

"What is the duty of a son?" Chagadai quietly asked, stepping closer to the prince. "When the father is killed, the son should not hide in his tent. He should find the murderers."

There was a grumble among the nobles. Prince Jadaran squirmed, angered by the accusation. Chanar watched coolly from his seat, his tented fingers touched against his lips. Bayalun's smile had vanished, leaving her face a blank.

Chagadai turned back to the assembled nobles. "There are ambassadors from Khazari in our camp. They arrived only yesterday. Now, why do ambassadors from our enemy come just when we are in our mourning? Do they come to share our sorrow?" The khan stopped to mop the nervous sweat from his neck. "They come to negotiate, to negotiate with Jadaran Khan in our hour of victory! He is taking our victory from us. Your warriors died in this battle." Chagadai stopped, pacing down the length of the couralitai. There was a growing undertone of discontent among Bayalun's allies.

Theatrically turning to them, Chagadai asked, "Is this who should be khahan? Let us choose another."

Jad moved to stand, only to be stopped by Goyuk's hand on his shoulder. "Let him speak," the old advisor whispered. "This is what we want." The prince sank back down, his eyes smoldering with hatred.

"Let Chanar Ong Kho be khahan," shouted a voice from the ranks of the seated khans.

Several of the younger nobles on Bayalun's side clapped their hands, showing their support. The priest glanced around. Jad's supporters, at least those willing to show their loyalty, were few in number. It seemed that the prince faced a serious challenge to his authority.

"Chanar Ong Kho must be khahan!" cried the voice again. To everyone's surprise, Chanar shook his head, refusing to accept the offer. The general rose to address the assembly. "I thank the wise khans, but these words are disrespectful to the memory of the khahan. I am not worthy of this honor. Let the nomination go to another." There was a sigh of disappointment from Bayalun's side of the group.

Chagadai, still standing in the center of the council, refused to relent. He pressed the offer again. "Let Chanar be khahan!" The man stopped his pace near Jad. Again, the prince made to stand, only to be restrained by the gentle touch from Goyuk. The clapping for Chanar was louder this time.

Chagadai glanced toward Bayalun. She gave a quick smile of approval. The khan was doing well, acting just as she had instructed him this morning.

Slowly, Chagadai faced all the assembly once more. "Chanar will not be khahan," he said with disappointment in his voice. "Still, Jad must show his worth. Perhaps the khahan's killers have been found and perhaps his body is in his yurt. But we have not seen the body. Jad tells us what happened, but shows us no proof. Are we sure the khahan was slain in battle? Perhaps someone else killed him. Someone who does not want us to know the truth. Let us see Yamun's body and learn the truth for ourselves." With those words, Chagadai strode out of the clearing toward the door of Yamun's yurt.

Just as he reached it, Sechen stepped forward and blocked the entrance with his sword.

"Why is Jad afraid?" shouted Chagadai, turning his back to the door so he could address the couralitai. Caught up in the excitement and straining to see, the nobles were on their feet. "Let us see the khahan's body!" shouted many from the crowd.

"Then see it you will," said a voice behind Chagadai, echoing from the doorway of the tent.

The khans in the crowd stopped their cries and froze in disbelief. Standing in the doorway was Yamun Khahan. He was dressed in coarse robes of blue serge cinched with a belt of leather and gold. His hair was undone, shaped in a halo around his shaven pate. He leaned against the door-jamb to steady himself.

"The khahan!" whispered the big, crude khan next to Koja. The assembly echoed the man's words like the breath of a wind spirit. Several of the men abruptly knelt, bowing their heads toward their risen leader. Chagadai turned slowly toward his lord, his eyes wide with shock and fear.

Yamun ignored the wolfish khan. Pushing past Chagadai, he slowly but steadily walked into the center of the couralitai. Yamun's color was still pale, and it was clear that every step drained away a little of his strength. His brow glistened with sweat from the effort of each footstep. Nevertheless, the khahan never flinched. At last, Yamun reached the center of the circle, swaying slightly on his feet. He turned and scanned the faces of the khans in attendance. "Now, who will be khahan?" he demanded, as if he were some vengeful apparition.

No one answered. No one, it seemed, could tear his eyes from the khahan.

Koja looked toward Bayalun. She was once again smiling the same faintly triumphant smile that had crossed her face earlier. Next to her, Jad was watching the khans, his smile equally triumphant as he searched out the slightest sign of opposition.

"None shall be khahan but you, dear husband," Bayalun said diplomatically. "But some, believing you dead, were eager for a new khahan." All eyes turned toward Chagadai. His thin face grew pale. "They forgot what is proper and called for Chanar to be khahan, ignoring your own sons. They did not even wait the thirty days of mourning that tradition demands." Bayalun tapped the ground with her staff for emphasis.

Chagadai nervously walked down the path, trying to discreetly return to his place. Those khans who had applauded his words sat very quietly in their seats, doing nothing to attract attention to themselves. Yamun turned toward the trembling Chagadai, fixing the man to the spot with his fierce stare. Those between the two men slid out of the way. "These words are true," the khahan growled.

"Great Lord," Chagadai sputtered, falling to one knee and bowing his head. "I did these things for the good of your people. Hubadai attacks Semphar, while we fight the Khazari. We need guidance."

"And my son isn't fit to rule. This is treason."

The nobles whispered in fearful concern. None, however, dared raise his voice in protest.

"Husband and son," Bayalun interjected, "he acted for the good of the Tuigan. If Chagadai knew you lived, he would not have spoken so."

" 'Only a foolish man holds the pecking hawk close to his eyes,'" Yamun angrily retorted, using an old proverb to make his point. "Like the hawk, Chagadai attacks me. He has betrayed me." Yamun strode to where the khan cowered.

Before anyone could object, Yamun drew his sword and thrust it forward. The sword pierced the khan's chest. There was a choked gasp of surprise from Chagadai, then he flopped to the ground, blood spurting from his wound. The dying man twitched and jerked, but finally lay still. Yamun, exhausted by the effort, leaned on the sword, its tip in the dirt, blood running down the blade.

For a moment, no one spoke. The khans, so vocal before, were unwilling to draw Yamun's ire. The khahan, as he regained his breath, grimly scanned the assembly, looking for anyone who might challenge his actions. Servants hurried forward and dragged the body away, sweeping dirt over the dark stain of blood on the ground.

"You have been told I died in battle," Yamun finally said to his apprehensive audience. "This was a lie, you say: the khahan did not die." Yamun wiped the bloody sword on his robe. "I remained hidden by my own command. I wanted you, my faithful khans, to think me dead."

"Why, Great Khan, why?" one of khans sitting on Jad's side asked hesitantly.

"I was attacked by assassins. I was wounded, but I live. Teylas protected me from this evil attack." He stopped to recover his strength. Suddenly everyone could see his weakness.

"Who did this to our khahan?" Bayalun called out. She looked around, waiting for an answer.

"The Khazari!" answered one from Jad's side of the couralitai. Koja suddenly felt uncomfortable, exposed. The commander next to the priest swiveled slightly, one hand on his sword. On the other side, the belching khan slid back, not wanting to sit too close to the lama.

"No, not the Khazari," Yamun snapped. "It was a Khazari who saved me from the assassins. The lama, Koja, fought to protect me from my attackers. For this I've made him my anda." The khans on either side of Koja eyed him with surprised respect.

"Who then?" asked a khan.

"Do you want to see my assassins?" Yamun asked, feigning reluctance. Weakened by the effort of speaking, the khahan closed his eyes. The wave of shouted approval from the khans rocked him slightly. Slowly, he took the empty seat between Jad and Bayalun.

"The bodies! Yes, we will see the bodies," the commander next to Koja shouted, urging the khans around him to add their voices to the cry. It quickly swelled and grew as khans from both sides expressed their outrage. Yamun settled back, confident that the khans still followed him.

"The bodies, bring the bodies!" went up the chant.

Yamun raised his hand, commanding silence. "Loyal khans," he shouted over the dying rumble, drawing deeper on his reserves of strength. "You shall see them. Sechen, bring the assassins here."

In the brief moments it took to fetch the grim bundle, Yamun sagged back in his seat. The khahan, Jad, and Goyuk conferred quickly amongst themselves.

Sechen returned, carrying the bloodstained rug, and dropped it with a thud at Yamun's feet. A wave of anticipation rippled through the nobles.

"Now, see who attacked your khahan," Yamun solemnly announced. "An unclean creature and a man!" With the tip of his boot, the khahan carefully pushed a fold of the rug aside. A visible wave of pollution and decay, marked by a cloud of flies, rose up from the rotting bodies. A gasp of astonishment came spontaneously from the assembled group. "A beast!" hissed a voice filled with disgust. "They send beasts to kill our khahan!"

There were two bodies in the rug: the hu hsien and the wizard. The once-bright fur of the fox creature was stiff and dull-colored. Its wounds, more fearsome in death, were sunken, the edges soft and black. Dark patches of decay spread from these, mottling the skin beneath the bristling fur. The eyes were gone, pecked out by birds. A purplish tongue, dry and cracked, lolled out of its mouth. The human next to it was equally decayed, the slashed throat gray and crusted.

Bayalun choked, "Afrasib!" She quickly clamped her mouth shut and avoided Yamun's gaze. Her face was pale. Leaning over, she whispered a word to one of the khans beside her. He nodded and slid back out of sight.

"Who are they?" cried out a thin, pock-marked khan, pushing his way through his fellows to get a closer look at the corpses. The other khans surged forward behind him.

"The beast is a hu hsien, a creature of Shou Lung," Jad explained. "The other is the wizard, Afrasib." The prince stopped, letting the khans form their own conclusions.

Eyes, suspicious and hard, started to turn toward Bayalun. She met their gaze firmly, not showing any fear. Slowly and regally, the khadun stood and walked to the dead bodies. She studied the corpses, poking at them with her staff. The khans stepped back, creating a circle around her. She rolled Afrasib's head to the side. "Traitor!" she hissed. Leaning over, she spat onto the dead wizard's face.

"He has betrayed the khahan. The Shou emperor must have bought his loyalty," Bayalun announced, turning back to her seat.

"But who sent these killers?" the pock-faced khan asked, his questions still not satisfied.

"Who, indeed?" Jad asked, looking toward Bayalun.

"The emperor of Shou uses things like the hu hsien as spies," Bayalun countered as she stiffly sat down. "Ask Yamun's priest if this is not so."

"It is true," Yamun said. In the crowd, Koja started at the statement. He didn't see why the khahan was siding with the khadun. He must be must be planning something, the lama decided.

"This is what Shou Lung thinks of us," sneered Yamun, still talking. "Their emperor fears us, so he sends evil spirits to kill me. Do we fear the dogs of Shou?"

"No!" came the cry. Even Chanar seemed roused by the khahan's passionate boast.

"Shall we sit here while they send killers—like this—" Yamun jabbed a finger toward the dead hu hsien. "He sends beasts to stalk us. Are we deer before the hunter?"

"No!" came the shout again. The khans were gripped by rage. Koja was amazed; Yamun showed no sign of the wounds that weakened him only a few minutes before. The khahan stood tall, his legs spread and set solidly.

"Do we wait for them to destroy us all or do we act?" Yamun demanded, raising his arms to the sky. His eyes were fiery, energetic, and powerful, filled with a blaze of blood-lust. Koja gaped. He'd seen the khahan like this only once before, during the great storm at Quaraband.

The khans responded with an inarticulate roar, too many voices trying to shout out their answer all at once. There were those who dissented, but their words were drowned out by the furious outrage of their fellows.

The flood of rage and anger seemed to invigorate Yamun even further. He surveyed the khans with pride, reveling in their fire and adulation. He let the warriors have their way for a while, then raised his hands for silence. Reluctantly, they hushed to hear his words.

Yamun pushed the khans back from the bodies, clearing himself some space. "This Shou emperor has declared war on us. What shall we do?"

"We must teach them a lesson!" roared out one of the khans, Mongke by name—a thin, bony man with a powerful voice that belied his meager frame.

"How?" demanded Koja, boldly stepping into the circle. "What about the Dragonwall, the great fortification that protects their border? It has never been broken. How will you get through that?" Irritated at the priest's outburst, some of the khans began to shout down his concerns.

"We will conquer Shou because the emperor fears us," Yamun stated with utter conviction. "If this Dragonwall was invincible, the emperor would not fear me. Teylas must have spared me to become a scourge on the emperor, to break his unbreakable wall!"

"A raid!" suggested one of the Kashik khans.

"No, not a raid," Yamun answered coolly. "More than a raid. We'll teach this emperor to fear. We will conquer Shou Lung! I, Yamun Khahan, will be the Illustrious Emperor of All People!" The khahan roared out the last words to the sky, threatening as much as promising. "It is our destiny."

Yamun's eyes blazed. He panted, lustful for the challenge. His heart longed for the fury of battle and the greatness conquest would bring to him.

The excitement of the khans formed into a chant. It was as if Yamun's vision of conquest spread from him to them. It leaped to the khans, took possession of their spirit. Even Koja felt the wild passion, the lust to act that flowed from Yamun.

The khahan stepped back to his seat and surveyed the khans. They looked to him in anticipation: some eager, a few fearful. "Who will go to war with me? Who will share in the riches of Shou Lung?" he shouted to the masses.

The response came in a tumult of yells and clapping from the khans. Koja, in their midst, was almost deafened by the warriors' frantic shouts. Yamun stood before his seat, clearly enjoying the frenzy. His eyes were wild, and his face was flushed and pulsing with energy. It seemed to the priest that the khahan had found his own cure, Here again was the man who could withstand the might of a god's thunderbolts.

"By the will of Teylas, my khans, we will ride to victory!" proclaimed the khahan. "The Dragonwall must fall!"

13

Plots

Yamun growled at his bodyguards, ten Kashik warriors who circled him at a respectful distance. One of them had clumsily bumped into an armor stand, sending Yamun's gilt mail sprawling. Fumbling to correct his error, man made still more noise. Yamun snarled impatiently for the mortified soldier to stop fussing.

It was one thing to have a bodyguard of ten thousand men who would make camp, patrol at night, and charge boldly into battle; it was quite another thing to have an arban of soldiers hovering around you wherever you went. The Kashik, however, upon learning that morning that their khahan still lived, were determined to protect him at all times. It was a great honor for the men chosen to guard the khahan, but it was going to take time for Yamun to get adjusted. Still, the khahan knew better than to argue with the devotion and loyalty of his own men.

The guard finally finished straightening the gear and quietly took his place along the wall of the Great Yurt. The other guards stood silently in their positions. Satisfied that there would be no more disturbances, Yamun resumed his conversation.

Sitting at the foot of Yamun's throne was his anda, the grand historian, Koja. "Well, anda," Yamun said to him, "soon there'll be more to write in your histories, if you have the time. There's much to be done before we march on Shou Lung."

The priest looked at Yamun sharply, still puzzled by the events of the couralitai. "Why have you done this?" he finally asked. "You attack Shou Lung and ignore Bayalun. Is this wise?"

Yamun scowled. "Anda, I did what I must." He held out his fists. "Someone seeks to kill me: Bayalun—" He closed one fist. "And Shou Lung." He closed the other. "I will not ignore this insult."

"But Shou Lung is the mightiest of nations!" protested Koja. "Why them and not Bayalun?"

"Bayalun is one of my people. If I strike at her, there will be dissension among the khans. They will demand proof and the wizards will turn against me," the khahan predicted. "Then my empire would be nothing." He lowered his fists. "But, if I attack Shou Lung, my people will stand united in battle, and I will be rid of one enemy. Better one foe than two. That is ruling, is it not?"

Koja swallowed, hearing the determination in Yamun's voice. "But Shou Lung is huge!"

"And their emperor is afraid of me. Scared men can be beaten," Yamun confidently predicted.

Koja resigned himself to Yamun's decision. "What of Bayalun?" he asked as an afterthought.

Yamun dismissed her name with casual wave. "Now that I know her tricks, she will be watched. We will keep her here with us so she can't cause problems. We will keep the snake under our heel.

"I have decided," Yamun noted idly, abruptly changing the subject, "you'll meet with these envoys from Khazari and handle the details of their surrender. I've got to make plans for our conquest of Shou Lung."

"Me, Yamun? Have you forgotten that I am a Khazari? I can't negotiate the surrender," Koja protested.

"Who said negotiate?" the khahan replied sharply. "Just accept their surrender."

"But, there must be terms. I can't just tell them to give up."

"Why not?" Yamun asked, stroking the fine point of his mustache. "They've got no army to protect Manass. I can destroy anything they send. You tell them that. There are too many things for me to do here. There are orders to give, and reports have just arrived from Hubadai in Semphar." He pointed to the royal scribe, next to whom sat a bundle of papers tied with yellow silk ribbons.

"But, they want my head!" the little lama sputtered, nervously rubbing his scalp.

An ironic smile twisted the khahan's scarred lips. "You will do this because I have ordered it. They want your head, so they no longer consider you a countryman. You see, you are no longer a Khazari."

Koja swallowed at Yamun's words. "What can I do?" Although he did not want this task at all, it was clear that he had to accept the khahan's will.

"I want them to surrender," Yamun repeated, knowing that Koja expected more. "Very well, I want goods equal to ten thousand bars of silver to be paid on the first moon of every new year. Then, they must turn over this governor, his wizard, and the Shou officials you described. They escaped the battlefield and I want them—or their heads and hands."

Koja waited for Yamun to outline more, but the khahan had finished his demands. "That is not all," the priest enjoined.

Yamun counted out his terms on his fingers. "Surrender, goods, and prisoners. What else is there?"

Exasperated, Koja took paper and pen from the scribe, spreading the sheet between himself and Yamun. Koja quickly drew Khazari's borders.

"Yamun, these are not wandering tribesmen you have conquered. The Khazari will not surrender and obey you just because you are khahan—"

"Then I'll destroy their homes and scatter the people among my khans. Tell them that," Yamun threatened.

"No, Yamun, that will not do. The Khazari are not like the tribes." Koja dotted the map with the towns and cities of Khazari. "They have stone towns and fields. They do not travel from camp to camp. You must set someone to rule them, pass laws, and make judgments."

Yamun leaned forward to study Koja's map. "This is not our way," he grumbled. "But because you say it must be done, I will consider it. For now, tell the envoys they must give me Manass as my own. Then, they must tear down the walls around all their other ordus." The khahan pushed the crude map away with his toe. "Make me a good map of Khazari, anda."

Koja sighed and thought through the list of demands that Yamun had made. "And what can you negotiate on?"

"My anda, there will be no negotiation." Yamun loomed over the priest to add emphasis to his words.

"And if they refuse?" Koja asked softly.

Yamun casually sipped from a cup of kumiss. "As I said: I will destroy every ordu in Khazari. Every male taller than the yoke of an oxcart will be put to the sword, and all their wives and little children will be scattered as slaves among my people. Their nation will be no more. That I can do, anda." The khahan settled back into his seat. "Scribe, write out my demands. I'll put my seal to it. Anda, you can take that with you as proof."