Текст книги "Horselords"

Автор книги: David Cook

Соавторы: David Cook
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Yamun, his aides, and the army's commanders were clustered around the banner, debating strategies for the impending attack. In addition to the khahan there were a few others Koja recognized: Goyuk, Chanar, and the big brute, Sechen. The priest looked about for Bayalun, but she was nowhere in sight. There were others he only knew by passing acquaintance: minor commanders of the Kashik, Yamun's standard-bearer, and even his old, withered scribe. They formed an impressive group, dressed in their battle armor.

Yamun wore his finest armor in anticipation of his victory. The suit was made up of small metal plates, each fashioned like the scale of a dragon, gleaming gold. Silks of bright yellow, blue, and red hung from the armor, and a gorget of hammered steel circled Yamun's neck and upper shoulders. The khahan's red braids dangled from beneath the conical helm hung with silver chain mail and trimmed with the white fur of a winter wolf. Long metal bracers of polished steel, tooled with tigers and dragons locked in combat, were strapped over the chain mail that covered his forearms. In one hand, the khahan held a silver-handled knout of three thongs. A bowcase of green-dyed wyvern leather hung at his side, along with a gem-encrusted scabbard. The hilt that thrust out from the scabbard was plain and businesslike. A round shield of hammered gold and silver hung on his back.

Yamun's horse, a fine pure-white mare, was as lavishly decorated, fitted with half-barding that matched the khahan's armor. The saddle had high arches at the front and back, covered with plates of tooled silver, patterned with coiling and twisting vines. The saddle frame was covered with a cushion of thick red felt, trimmed with bits of silver mirrors and golden tassels. The bridle, rein, and straps across the horse's croup and withers were completely covered by bosses of gold set with turquoise. In the eastern sunlight, both Yamun and his horse were dazzling.

Those around the khahan, though not as lavishly dressed, were no less splendid. Each commander wore his best armor. Horses were carefully groomed and prepared. Koja was amazed; he'd never realized the khans brought such finery with them. It was likely, too, that this was the first time he had seen them in clothing so clean.

"Welcome, Koja," Yamun said to the priest. "Today we'll test the strength of this Dragonwall." The khahan let his horsewhip dangle from his wrist as he pointed toward the squadrons of mounted men forming up on the slope below them.

The riders were advancing in separate columns lined out abreast of each other instead of the continuous stream they used when on the march. The war standards of the minghans and tumens were unfurled to flutter in the breeze—streamers of silk, horsetails, tinkling bells, and flashing mirrors hung from cords.

The troopers carried their full war gear with them: a long, springy lance; curved sword; two powerful, compact bows; and a pair of quivers packed with arrows. There were whole blocks of armored men, but the majority wore the same clothes they had every day, a heavily-padded kalat being their sole protection. A few carried shields, but most of the riders disdained these, for the shields interfered with their ability to shoot a bow.

Finally, the khahan joined the line of advance, the khans following him. Today was the final march on Shou Lung, several hours out from the Dragonwall. All through the ride, the khans were strangely quiet. Most rode in silence, gathering their thoughts, or held huddled conferences on horseback with their lieutenants. Gradually, as the group drew closer to the Dragonwall, the khahan gave the commanders their final orders and dispatched them to their units.

By the time the Tuigan reached the last ridge before entering onto the plain, there were only three warriors remaining among the messengers who surrounded Yamun: Chanar in his brilliant silver armor, who was to command the left; toothless old Goyuk, commander of the right; and Sechen, who was in charge of Yamun's personal bodyguards. The khahan himself decided to command the center this day. Koja sat on his horse slightly behind this group, not wishing to interfere.

A messenger, barely more than a boy, wearing the white robes of the empress's guard, rode up on a panting mare and made his obeisance to Yamun. The khahan waved him to speak.

"The shining daughter of heaven, the second empress, has sent me to tell you that she has summoned her sorcerers from across the land and they have taken their positions throughout the army." The youth sniffed and wiped his runny nose on a dirty sleeve.

"This is good. Tell her to put the wizards under the command of the khans," Yamun ordered.

The messenger nervously sat straight in his saddle. "The second empress has ordered me to say that she will keep them under her command. The khans do not know the powers of the mages and will use them badly." The boy sat terrified in his saddle, ready to flinch at the slightest move from anyone.

Yamun, who had already gone on to other business, suddenly turned his attention back to the messenger. "She will do what I command!" he snapped. The boy swallowed in terror, even though his mouth was dry.

Chanar rode forward, apparently trying to soothe the situation. "Lord Yamun," he began formally, "perhaps Eke Bayalun is right. Many of the khans do not like the wizards. They would not use them well. Perhaps we should let her command."

Yamun refused to consider the suggestion. "I don't trust her. She's filled with treachery."

"We may need her wizards today," Chanar warned, nodding toward the Dragonwall. "You can always assign someone to see she carries out your orders correctly."

"Is very late to argue," Goyuk added, trying to defuse this crisis before the real battle started.

Reluctantly, Yamun let himself be persuaded. There was no time left for debate, and he believed that the wizards would not be important in the battle anyway. "Assign one arban of the Kashik to each wizard," the khahan decided.

"Send a jagun of the Kashik to Bayalun. Go, boy, and tell her the men are for her protection."

After the courier had ridden off, Yamun continued his instructions. "Tell the Kashik to kill any wizard, even Bayalun, if any treachery is attempted." Turning to the priest, Yamun then surprised Koja by asking, "Anda, can your god let you see the future?"

Initially flustered, Koja quickly replied. "Sometimes Furo can grant such insight."

"Then can he tell us the outcome of today's battle?" Yamun inquired, tugging at his mustache. "Bayalun has not seen fit to bring any of her shamans along to provide the service."

Koja thought for a moment, reviewing the spells Furo had granted him this day. "Perhaps not a perfect answer," he finally ventured, "but Furo might grant some hint of the fortunes of this place. I cannot promise any more."

"Whatever, just do it." The khahan was not particularly interested in the technical aspects of Koja's spells. He was only interested in the results.

"I will need to be closer to the Dragonwall."

"Just ahead, over that ridge," Yamun said with a nod. "Sechen, escort him there and see that he is unharmed."

"By your word, it shall be done," said the big man. Sechen guided Koja and a band of his guards up the last yards of the broken slope until they reached an outcropping of brush. There they found a shaded spot where Koja had a clear view of the wall.

They were less than a mile away from the great Shou fortification. The Dragonwall stretched in a long unbroken line, greater and more massive than it had appeared from the top of the pass. The brick used to build it gave the wall a dull yellow-brown color. Koja guessed it stood thirty feet high. The top was toothed with crenellations. A roadway ran the length of the top, broad enough for a chariot to ride down. At regular intervals, about one mile apart, stood square towers, taller than the surrounding wall. These were obviously watchtowers.

The trail from First Pass Under Heaven wound down from the heights to a massive gate set in the wall. The doors themselves were fully as high as the wall, while the towers were even higher. These gatehouses, smooth-surfaced and rectangular, tapered toward the top. Arrow loops, barely visible on the lower levels, were replaced by balconies as archers' positions higher up. An arching bridge stretched between the towers, over the heavy wooden gate.

Briefly, Koja considered telling Yamun that his spell revealed their situation was hopeless. If the trick worked, he could save untold lives. Morally though, he knew he must work the spell. He could not presume to speak for Furo; such an act would be blasphemy. Besides, he doubted his prediction could sway Yamun's resolve.

Bright flashes of light sparkled on the plain. "They've deployed outside the gate," observed Sechen, whose eyesight was much better than Koja's. Now that it was pointed out, the priest could see the men arranged in a long line. The flashes must have been from their armor and weapons. "They know we're here. Work quickly, historian."

Koja began a breathing exercise to calm his mind. It took a long time, but Sechen was too busy counting the standards of the enemy to notice. Finally, the priest produced a scroll he had made that morning. It was covered with special prayers. Holding it up to the east, he read it aloud, then carefully repeated this process to the other points of the compass. Finished, he closed his eyes and stood quite still, his body unconsciously going completely rigid. Sechen and the guards waited, all afraid to say anything lest they disturb the spell.

At last his overtensed muscles sagged and relaxed, and the priest staggered backward. Blinking, he opened his eyes and stared at the Dragonwall. Furo's power was filling his sight, letting him see the great balance of all nature. All things, living and dead, animal and mineral, were filled with the force of the Enlightened One. Some, such as an ordinary rock, contained only a little, while others—men of powerful will, in particular—glowed brightly with inner power. By seeing these auras through the divine inspiration of Furo, Koja hoped to "read" the harmony of the land, and, perhaps, predict the battle's outcome.

At that moment, Koja saw that a prediction would not be difficult to make.

Before the priest's eyes blazed the aura of the Dragonwall itself, as blinding as the sun. Its brilliance blotted out all other auras, even that of the Shou army deployed on the plain. The intensity was beyond anything Koja had experienced. The priest was dumbstruck. The aura shone from all the way underneath the foundations of the fortification to the topmost towers. The burning fire stretched all along the length of the wall, and in it Koja could barely make out a form, a shape struggling, as if against invisible bonds.

Painfully, Koja forced himself to stare into the heart of this magical fire, to discern what lay hidden in the wall. A claw dug deep into the earth. A ridge of spines reached to the topmost battlements. A pattern of scales blended with the brick and stone. Through it all, Koja felt a power watching him, wrathful and tortured at the same time.

"Furo protect me!" he blurted in astonishment, shattering the enchantment. Suddenly, the scene was gone. Blinded, Koja stumbled back, groping his way down the slope. Sechen leaped after him, convinced the lama had gone mad. The priest eluded his grasp. Undaunted or unaware of the danger, Koja increased his speed and excitement at the same time. By the time he reached the bottom of the ridge, his breath came in ragged gasps. Eyesight returning, the priest hobbled and bounded back to the khahan's party.

"Well, what is it?" Yamun shouted. The lama's obvious excitement was contagious, infecting the khahan with a feeling of hope. "What've you learned?"

Koja finally caught his breath. How could he describe what he saw? A power, a spirit greater than anything he had ever imagined, lay beneath—no, was part of—the Dragonwall.

"Great khahan," Koja began, his chest heaving, "the omens are not favorable. A powerful spirit protects the wall. I am certain it will not let you break through."

Yamun was taken back by the priest's words. Not having a reply, he turned to Sechen, who came running up behind. "What did you see?"

"Lord Yamun," the wrestler said as he stumbled forward, "I saw the Shou army. They know we are coming and have lined up to meet us."

"How many?" Yamun probed, leaning forward in his saddle.

"Twenty, maybe twenty-five standards. I'd guess one thousand men to a banner, like our minghans."

Yamun settled back into his saddle. "I've got sixty standards. We'll leave—"

"But Yamun! You cannot break through!" Koja stepped up to the khahan's horse. Soaked in sweat, the priest was frantic, trying to get Yamun to understand. "You will—"

"Quiet!" Yamun roared. "We won't have to." He pointed to a spur of the ridge that Koja had just crossed. "Chanar, take your men to that ridge and hold them there. Goyuk, take one tumen and advance; set the rest of your men to protect the northern flank. I'll hold the center." The two khans nodded in understanding.

"Goyuk, you must draw them out. Charge them once, then break and run. Chanar, your men must be ready to close the rear behind them ... separate them from their wall. I'll be the anvil and you two will be the hammers. Together we will break them." Neither khan had any questions. Their aides would settle on signals to be given with banner and drum, signals that would allow them to attack in unison.

Goyuk and Chanar left to deploy their men. It would be several hours before the troops were in position. That was good, Yamun thought, since it would keep the Shou soldiers standing motionless in the sun for most of the day. Heat and thirst would weaken them. His own men would hardly notice such conditions.

Yamun turned to Koja, who stood nearby, dispirited and dejected. "Priest, I want you to learn more about what you saw." With that the khahan turned away to find some shade. For him, there was nothing more to do now but take a nap.

Leaving the khahan, Chanar galloped down the valley to rejoin his command. Purposefully, he took a long route, one that carried him past Bayalun's camp. Arriving there, he was greeted by a motley collection of wizards—tall and lean, fat and sweaty, some clothed in finery, others scabrous and filthy. The khahan's guards had yet to arrive. Contemptuously, Chanar made his way past Bayalun's lackeys to seek out the khadun herself.

He found her sitting in the warm sun, disdaining the cooling shade. She looked asleep, but without opening her eyes, she dismissed her servants. "Welcome, Chanar. Why do you visit me?"

The general swung down from his saddle and squatted beside the khadun. Quickly, he explained Yamun's plans.

"He's giving us the chance!" Chanar urged, knotting his hands into fists. "Tell the Shou we've changed the plan. They must ride forward and then we will all attack Yamun. We can pin him between us and destroy him today!"

"No. We will do nothing of the kind," Mother Bayalun answered coolly. She pulled the red and blue shawl off her head, letting her graying hair fall naturally to her shoulders. "Think, Chanar, think! If you were the Shou general would you trust us?" She rose from her seat and walked to the door of her yurt. "Don't forget, Yamun will have his guards all around me. We will keep to the plan. For now, let us prove to Yamun we are loyal."

Chanar knew perfectly well that the khahan would never fully trust Bayalun. She was right, however; Yamun could not maintain his vigilance forever. Still, it rankled him to see such an opportunity slip by.

Bayalun sensed his dissatisfaction. "These Shou warriors are no match for the Tuigan," she suggested, appealing to Chanar's pride. "We would be foolish to trust them to defeat the khahan. Today, Chanar, do what the khahan expects. Tomorrow we will crush him, and you will be khahan."

Four hours passed while the khahan's forces moved into position. During that time Yamun slept under a thorny tamarisk tree. Koja sat in the shade of a rock, meditating and seeking guidance from his god. He hoped that Furo would grant him more knowledge of the spirit he had seen today. As the last of the troops moved into position on the plain below, a servant roused the khahan from his nap. Yamun insisted Koja accompany him, so the priest stopped his exercises and followed him back to the top of the ridge. There they found a comfortable position where they could watch Goyuk's attack. Sechen stood nearby, ready with their horses.

Below, on the plain, was the one tumen Goyuk had chosen to make the initial charge. The old khan had divided the ten thousand men into three large blocks. Each block was ten riders deep and about three hundred men wide. The right wing was deployed along the base of the ridge where Koja and Yamun sat. The rest of Goyuk's force stretched off to the left. The priest spotted the old khan's banner, a pole with streamers of blue silk topped by a silver crescent, in the gap between the nearest wing and the center. Across the plain stood the soldiers of Shou Lung, waiting in the broiling afternoon sun.

A rapid roll of drums signaled that all was ready on the plain. Lance tips wavered, creating a sparkling sea of lights. Yamun waved his hand, and his standard-bearer dipped the yak-tail banner to the ground. The signal had been given. The war began.

Koja watched, fearful and expectant, waiting for Goyuk to act. The crescent moon banner trembled, then dipped. In a wave spreading out from that one point, the banners of the minghans dropped, transmitting the signal down the length of the front. The ranks of horsemen trembled, but did not move.

A sound rose up from the plain, at first like the breeze through aspens. The sound grew stronger until it echoed like the roar of a thunderstorm. Ten thousand voices were raised in a harsh, piercing war cry. It reverberated until it seemed that the hills themselves were screaming for the blood of Shou Lung.

Goyuk's banner was suddenly raised. The effect was electrifying. The standards of the minghans sprang back up. The blocks of men seemed to expand, stretch, and then the entire tumen was in motion. The hoarse, echoing shouts of the war cry were replaced by a new sound: the deep rumble of forty thousand hooves hammering the ground. Even at the top of the ridge the ground seemed to tremble.

"Hai!" Yamun cried, leaping to his feet. He chafed with the desire to be at the front, leading the advance. Unable to be there, he paced impatiently back and forth, issuing orders.

Goyuk's men crossed the plain in a well-ordered charge. It was not a wild, pell-mell rush. Instead, the minghans advanced at a trot, keeping in a line abreast. Gradually, as they closed the distance to the enemy line, the horses picked up speed, first to a canter, then a full gallop. Across the plain, the spears of the Shou rippled in anticipation.

Yamun waited for the moment when the lead horsemen would suddenly slow their charge just short of the enemy, loose a flight of arrows from their bows, and gallop away, stinging the enemy into pursuit.

That moment never arrived.

From the ridge, Yamun could see the front of the rushing wave of horsemen reach the point where they were in range to fire, just inside the long shadow of the Dragonwall. Down the length of the Tuigan line, the ground rippled, then surged upward, exploding in a fountain of dust and rock. There was a shrieking grind of stone grating on stone and a rolling thunder as the earth's crust tore asunder. Another voice, higher than the roar of upthrusting earth, pierced through the din: the screaming wail of men and horses, their voices fused into a single cry.

Yamun shouted in astonishment and outrage. The front-most ranks of the Goyuk's tumen had suddenly disappeared, crushed by dirt and stone. The next ranks, unable to swerve their charging mounts, were swallowed by the curtain of dust that roiled outward. Here and there, the swirling tornado parted to reveal geysers of earth erupting amidst the panicked riders. Boulders tumbled and bounced, crashing through the remaining ranks of horsemen, leaving bloody and crushed bodies in their wake.

Under the onslaught, the tumen wavered and began to fall back. The riders farthest from the churning earth wheeled their mounts and began to flee. Their panic was infectious. Standards started to drop as more men turned to run.

Impossibly, one section of the Tuigan line held firm and pressed forward, lunging into the chaotic landscape. At the center of the mass was Goyuk's blue-streamered banner. The dust clouds reached forward, beckoning the entire block of riders into their gloomy arms.

"No! Break off, Goyuk!" Yamun shouted futilely, as if he could recall the riders from where he stood. The khahan whirled to his standard-bearer. "Signal them to withdraw!"

Suddenly, Goyuk's charge was engulfed in dust. Fountains of dirt and rock erupted in the midst of the riders, flinging men and horses like childrens' toys. A pall of clay descended on Goyuk's banner, and it disappeared from sight.

"Eke Bayalun!" Yamun howled. "Get Mother Bayalun! Where are her wizards? They must stop this!" The khahan tore through his small group, screaming out orders, demanding reports, but most of all bellowing for the presence of the second empress to explain the horror he was witnessing. Never had the priest seen the khahan in such a rage.

A rider charged through the ranks of the Kashik behind the khahan, whipping his horse furiously. Leaping off his mount, the man sprawled completely on the ground in front of the khahan, pressing his face into the dirt. "A message from the second empress, Lord Yamun!"

The khahan whirled on the man, poised to strike. "Speak!" he shouted over the rumble from the plain.

Without looking up, the messenger yelled his mistress's words. "The second empress says the magic of the Shou has taken her wizards by surprise. They are unable to do anything. She asks if the foreign priest might know what causes the earth to heave. She humbly begs forgiveness for her failure to—"

"I'll hear her excuses later," the khahan snarled, turning away from the man. The messenger sprang to his feet and backed away, groping for his horse. One of the Kashik, sympathetic to the man's fears, quickly hustled the courier out of Yamun's sight. The khahan looked toward the plain, seeing only men and horses rushing through the clouds of dust.

"My horse!" Yamun demanded. A quiverbearer ran to fetch Yamun's white mare. "Standard-bearer, we're going down there. Prepare to ride!" The guards looked to each other, then hurriedly began to find their mounts and take their positions around the khahan.

Without waiting for his guards to finish assembling, Yamun urged his horse down the steep slope toward the plain. The guards plunged after him, their mounts half-sliding toward the bottom.

Sechen, his tall, muscular body towering out of the saddle, drove his horse savagely to keep up with the khahan. His master was riding blindly into a trap, and the giant was determined to protect him. The pair reached the bottom of the slope well ahead of the rest of the bodyguards.

Small knots of riders rode out of the swirling dust and galloped for the safety of the ridge. Lone men and riderless horses fled in panic. Weapons, shields, and armor were cast aside.

Yamun charged forward and then suddenly reined in his horse before the first knot of routed men. "Form up! Make your stand here! I command you!" The routed men skidded to a halt, brought short by the wild apparition of the khahan that faced them. "Watch them," Yamun ordered Sechen as he galloped off toward another fleeing group.

From atop the ridge, Koja watched the khahan rush from point to point, working to halt the rout and organize a proper defense. The warlord was easy to spot by his banner, white horse, and the swarm of black-robed guards who followed him everywhere. His affect on the men was unmistakable as the broken ranks slowly halted their flight and began to reform into ragged lines. Finally, Yamun turned the task over to Sechen and climbed back up to his command post. As he arrived, a group of guards still clustered in his wake, Koja moved quietly to his side.

Looking very tired, Yamun sat on his stool. For a long time he said nothing, only watched the battlefield. The dust was slowly settling, leaving a clearer picture of the destruction. Across the front was a line of churned earth and shattered rock. Most of the dead or dying lay there, crushed or trapped beneath the fallen stone. On both sides of the wreckage there were still pockets of fighting. A handful of Tuigan riders, the leaders of the foremost rank, were trapped on the far side of the magical earthwork. There they fought, though hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded.

In a few other places, the Shou soldiers had foolishly scrambled forward over the broken ground, believing all the Tuigan were crushed. In pursuing the fleeing horsemen, these small units were also trapped. Battles involving these doomed Shou were brief.

Just when Koja became convinced the defeat had crushed the spirit out of Yamun, the old warlord sat up, shaking off the air of gloom and desperation that had settled upon him. "Find Goyuk, if he lives. I want to know what happened," he commanded, his old energy gradually returning to him. As one messenger left, he turned to another. "Tell Sechen to separate those who fled from the rest of the men. He is to execute those who have no weapons. Of the rest, every man must be beaten for seven blows and every tenth man for twice times seven."

"There are thousands of men down there!" Koja said in astonishment.

"They shouldn't have run" Yamun answered grimly. He continued the orders. "The wizards are to be whipped seven blows for their failure. And if Bayalun argues, tell her she can either have them whipped or give me seven to execute. It's her choice." The man nodded and left to deliver the khahan's orders.

"Tell the yurtchis to bring the camp forward. We will be staying here." With a wave, the khahan dismissed the remaining couriers. When they had withdrawn an appropriate distance, Yamun turned to the priest.

"Now, anda, why did this happen?" The khahan's voice was hard and measured.

"I do not know. What you saw, if I'm right, was the work of a powerful spirit creature." The priest spoke softly, not wanting to commit himself without knowing more.

"You're saying this . .. creature protects the Shou and won't let us attack the Dragonwall?" Yamun asked incredulously, trying to understand the power he had just seen. His rage and frustration were growing.

"Perhaps. I do not know." Koja looked toward the carnage on the plain.

"Can I defeat it, anda?"

"I do not know," Koja sighed. "I have never seen anything like this. I do not know what to do."

"Then think of something!" Yamun shouted, slashing his knout against the ground.

Koja swallowed nervously. "I have had dreams. I think the spirit spoke to me. It called on you, and me, to free it from the wall. It seemed to think that we had some power."

"That's all you know?" Yamun asked, disappointed when the lama stopped talking. "Your plan is to wait for it to visit you in your sleep?"

"If I must, Yamun. Spirits are not easy things to command." Koja was tired and almost lost his temper with the khahan. He took a long, slow breath, then added, "I must seek guidance from Furo."

"Talk to your god then. And when you are done, tell me how to defeat that thing." Yamun thrust his finger toward the furrowed plain. "The servants will bring you anything you need. I must attend to other things." Yamun stood to go. "Teylas's blessing on you, anda," he said just before he left.

"And Furo's on you, Yamun," the lama offered. Koja watched the khahan descend once more onto the plain.

"Paper and brush," the priest ordered of a quiverbearer. The man hurriedly brought the material and set it before Koja. Taking up the brush, the priest carefully wrote an elegy for the dead on the field below. The poem was not composed out of artistic desire, however; the priest needed the verse for the spell he wished to cast. Finished with the poem, he read it through, then set it aside.

"See that no one disturbs me," Koja ordered the servant. The man nodded in understanding. The lama closed his eyes and began to recite prayers. For ten minutes he droned on, never raising his voice. Then he stopped, opened his eyes, and touched the paper to flame. The thin sheet quickly burned, the ashes drifting into the air. The lama closed his eyes again and waited.

Abruptly he opened his eyes and stood up. The spell was over; he had communed with his god. With one foot, he scattered the remaining ashes. A small group of quiver-bearers had gathered to watch his strange behavior. Now, they hurriedly went back to their tasks, afraid Koja would put a curse on them.

"Where is Yamun?" the lama demanded. One of the servants nervously pointed toward the west. "At his yurt, great historian." Not wasting any time, Koja found his horse and rode to Yamun's tent.

When the lama was announced, Yamun quickly cleared the yurt and had his anda ushered in. "Sit and tell me what you've learned," the khahan said as soon as Koja stepped through the door.

"Mighty Furo saw fit to hear my prayers," Koja said as he took his seat. Yamun got off his throne and sat on the floor closer to his anda.

"And?"

"It was a spirit that attacked today, a spirit that is trapped in the Dragonwall," Koja eagerly explained. "The same spirit spoke to me in dreams, although Furo did not say why it chose to."

"But can it be destroyed?" Yamun demanded, holding up a fist.

Koja shook his head. "No, not destroyed. Furo said it craves release. There is some way to free it."

"How, anda, how?" Yamun stared at Koja, awaiting his answer.

The lama took a deep breath. "For that, I must consult the spirit of the Dragonwall."

"Then do it," Yamun said as he headed for the door.