Текст книги "Horselords"

Автор книги: David Cook

Соавторы: David Cook
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Koja had been told the khahan had two thousand quiverbearers in his service and another four thousand dayguards. No one had ever estimated the number of nightguards, the finest of the bodyguard, because the khahan had decreed anyone that curious would be beheaded. Koja had no doubt the khahan would carry out the sentence, too.

Yamun casually tracked mud across the carpets and took his seat on the throne. Goyuk bowed and took his leave to carry out the khahan's orders. Koja stood, waiting to be recognized, his shoes slowly filling up with cold mud.

"Bring my bird," Yamun ordered.

As a falconer walked forward, another quiverbearer ran up with Yamun's hawking gauntlet and a small dish of raw meat. Yamun pulled on the thick glove, adorned with mottled red leather cut from the belly of a giant fire lizard, one of the strange creatures that roamed the steppe. The servant stood by with the meat ready.

Yamun held out his arm and coaxed the falcon onto his hand. Even hooded, the bird spread its wings and tried to fly away. The khahan held the bird by its jesses and gripped the leash in his teeth. He whispered soft words through clamped jaws as he took off the bird's hood. The falcon blinked and flapped again, trying to get away. Yamun held out a strip of raw meat. The falcon snapped at the morsel, tossing its head back to get the piece down. When the bird settled down, Yamun spit out the leash.

"Welcome to my tent, Koja of the Khazari. Sit and enjoy the flesh of my lambs, the milk of my horses," the khahan called out, giving the traditional greeting that preceded each day's audience.

"I thank you, Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan, for your generosity," Koja responded with a slight bow. Like the invitation, his answer was repeated every day, a part of the ancient ritual that ruled the lives of the Tuigan.

"Well, then, come and sit. Quickly—there's a lot to do today. I want to go hunting later," Yamun said, dispensing with etiquette.

"Yes, Great Lord," Koja said as he hurried to his seat.

"You will come, too. You will hunt with me." Yamun handed the fierce bird to the falconer and dismissed the servant with a wave. "But first you must be my scribe for a little bit more—just for today."

Koja nodded and took his seat, laying out his papers, brushes, inking stones, and pressed cakes of powdered ink—both red and black. A servant set out a small dish of water for mixing the powder.

Yamun waved his hand to his waiting attendants. "I'll dress now," he commanded.

The quiverbearers ran forward, unfurling a long strip of white cloth. Four of them took positions in a square around the khahan, their eyes turned, holding the fabric up to form a screen. Other servants set piles of clothes inside the screen, then backed away.

"Bring my women to dress me."

After a short delay, two young girls came from the direction of the women's tents. Koja guessed they were little more than eighteen years old. They were Shou in appearance, with glossy black hair, pale skin, and narrow eyes. The girls hurried forward in quick, mincing steps, the way court ladies were trained to do. Each wore a tight silk dress and the towering headdress of an unmarried woman. Combs carved from the bones of exotic monsters held their hair in place. Giggling shyly when they saw there was an audience, the two girls stepped inside the screen and set to work.

"These are the princesses Water Flower and Spring Peony," Yamun boasted over the screen. "Gifts from the Shou emperor. He sends me more than wine. These two are princesses of the royal blood, and he has given them to me. Has he done this for your prince?" Yamun wriggled as the girls pulled his outer robes off.

Koja didn't answer, trying to discreetly keep his eyes lowered. He looked up briefly. The khahan's bare shoulders were covered with long, narrow scars.

"Dressing is not all they are good at." Yamun broadly leered. "But then, you would not know that. Is it true you priests never touch women?"

Koja flushed at the question. "Purity of mind and body is the path by which we seek Furo," he said defensively.

"So then women are impure?" Yamun asked, an incredulous tone creeping into his voice.

Koja could hear more giggling behind the screen.

"Passions cloud the mind and corrupt the spirit. We live to control our passions and purify our minds, so we can achieve perfection in thought and deed." Unconsciously, Koja settled into the cross-legged pose assumed by the priests of his temple when at their lessons.

"Hah! And what does that get you in the world?" Yamun held up his arms as the princesses undid his trousers.

"Only one with a pure spirit can enter into the presence of the Enlightened One."

"So if you avoid women you might, just might, get a chance to see your god?" Yamun had ducked from sight behind the screen.

"Something like that, yes." There was a lot more to the philosophy of the Red Mountain Temple, but Koja wasn't about to go into it now. Preparing for his work, Koja mixed his inks.

"What does your Enlightened One do? Does he reward you and strike down your enemies with lightning?" Yamun's voice was muffled as fresh clothes were pulled over his head.

"The Enlightened One fills us with perfect understanding and harmony. With that we do not have enemies."

"Phah. What if I were your enemy? Would your perfect understanding protect you?" Yamun stepped out, dressed in long, loose robes of red and yellow silk, embroidered with leaping tigers. The quiverbearers and the women gathered up the dirty clothes and carried them away.

"I have faith in Furo and the Enlightened One."

"I have faith in my bow and my sword," Yamun pronounced as he strapped on his sword. "They are the power. Teylas gave them to me, and he can strike down his enemies from the sky. Teylas is a god you can use."

Koja was astonished by this last statement. "Gods are not used."

"Teylas would take back the power if I did not use it, so he is a god to be used," Yamun snapped with a slight sneer.

Dressed and accoutered, Yamun sat in his chair, ready to hear the morning's business.

"Don't you fear offending Teylas?" Koja asked as he wetted the writing brush.

"Why?"

"Well," Koja offered hesitantly, rubbing at the back of his neck, "others might call your words presumptuous. You might be wrong in interpreting Teylas's will."

"Others have not been given the power by Teylas. That is why I sit in judgment of the khans, and we have kept them waiting long enough," he announced, pointing to the quiverbearer coming up the hill. "It is time for business."

"Yes, Great Lord," Koja said, setting out a clean sheet of paper.

"Enough 'Great Lord.' Today I permit you to call me khahan, with no other titles." Yamun looked to the quiverbearer as the man reached the courtyard. "Who waits?" the khahan asked, pointing to the gate at the bottom of the hill.

The servant knelt, bowing his head. "Glorious khahan, the khans of the Jeun and Bahkshir bring petition that you hear their cases, and one of Chanar Ong Kho's men has come saying his master has returned. The general awaits your pleasure to make his report."

"Tell Chanar to come," Yamun said, irritated. "He should have presented himself when he arrived. Jeun Khan and Bahkshir Khan will wait until this afternoon."

Koja sat up straighter and smoothed out his orange robe. "Khahan," he asked hesitantly, uncertain of the liberties of his new status as historian, "just where has General Chanar been?"

"Eh? You don't know?"

"No, Great Lord—"

"Khahan," Yamun corrected.

"No, Khahan," Koja said, biting his lip over the fumble. "I only heard that he was gone, sent away."

"Good. You weren't meant to know."

"I what?"

"You were not meant to know where he went," Yamun said slowly and clearly. "Again you thought I was simple. Koja of the Khazari, in my empire you learn what I want you to learn and nothing else. Learn that," he stated with finality.

A servant in a white kalat stepped up to the edge of the carpets and knelt down, pressing his head into the mats.

"Speak," Yamun ordered, reluctantly recognizing the man.

"The honorable second empress, Mother Bayalun, expresses relief that the khahan of all the Tuigan is once again unharmed by Teylas's wrath. She gives the greetings of a mother unto her stepson, of a wife unto her husband," the servant announced.

Yamun scowled. "Take my greetings to my stepmother and my wife, Mother Bayalun, at my pleasure."

The man stayed in his place, head to the carpets. "The second empress wishes the indulgence of her husband and wonders if she might attend on the khahan his morning."

"Mother Bayalun knows she is always welcome. Go back and tell her she can attend if she wants," Yamun lazily answered. He waved to dismiss the man.

"I thought you did not care for the second empress " Koja commented as the white-garbed man hurried out of sight.

"I don't, scribe. I married her because tribal tradition demanded it," Yamun explained.

"Then why do you let her attend?"

Yamun stretched his arms forward, working the kinks out of his shoulders. "Why not? She would learn what happens anyway. If I send her away, she becomes suspicious and makes trouble. Here, I can see what she's doing. I pick my battles better than that."

Koja nodded. "I see."

"Good. Now," Yamun said, turning to Koja, "prepare yourself. General Chanar and his aides are coming, and you will have to take down all that is said. Now you will learn where General Chanar has been."

Koja looked toward the gate of the stockade, easily spotting the stiff-backed form of the general, mounted on his horse. Unlike all others who passed through the gate, Chanar refused to dismount, remaining in his saddle as his stocky white mare pranced up the hill. Behind him trailed three aides, on foot, their horses at the gate.

As he rode forward, Chanar kicked and whipped at his pony, getting it to rear and prance. The beast was already spirited, but the general was determined to get it to perform more to make his entrance all the more exciting. The aides following him kept a good distance back, lest his horse lash out at them.

At last, Chanar reached the top of the hill. With a final spur, he reared his horse back, bringing its hooves down just short of the carpeting. A quiverbearer ran forward and took the animal's reins, holding the horse while Chanar dismounted. Swinging one leg over the horse's neck, the general easily slid from the saddle and landed on his feet in the mud with a loud plop.

"Greetings to my khahan," Chanar said loudly. He looked to all those around him. " 'Though I was far, when my khan called, quickly did I come,'" he said, quoting an old poem.

" 'Many are my enemies, but like rotten trees they fall,'" countered the khahan, quoting from the same poem.

"Greetings to my brother Chanar," Yamun continued. "May the Sky God always make your horses fat and your lambs many." A quiverbearer scooped a ladleful of kumiss. He handed it to the khahan. Yamun took a drink from the ladle. The yellow-white liquid clung to his mustache. The ladle next passed to Chanar, who noisily gulped a large swallow and handed it back. The servant walked back to Yamun, but the khahan waved him to Koja.

"Today, he also drinks from my cup."

Chanar looked in surprise from Yamun to Koja as the servant passed the ladle over. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it just as quickly.

Steeling his stomach, Koja took the ladle with both hands and gulped a swallow of the bitter drink. Suppressing a gag, he gave the silver ladle back to the servant.

The khahan turned to the east and poured a little kumiss on the carpet. Then he turned to the south and the west, doing the same at each spot. Only the north, an evil direction, was avoided. Meanwhile the servant took the horsetail banner from its stand and lowered it in front of Yamun.

"Teylas lead us on the hunt. Teylas lead us in battle. Teylas make our wives fertile," Yamun chanted in a toneless voice as he sprinkled the last of the kumiss over the banner. The servants took the cup and banner and set them back in their places. Yamun, the formalities over, sat back on his throne. "Sit, Chanar, and report," the khahan said casually.

Slowly and with noticeable reluctance, Chanar sat beside Koja, eyeing the priest venomously.

Just as the general was about to speak, a procession arrived from Bayalun's tent. The second empress led the small group, of only a few servants. Stepping onto the carpets, she bowed to the khahan. "I thank my husband for permitting me to attend." Her silver-brown hair shone richly in the morning sun.

Yamun nodded respectfully to his stepmother. "Your wisdom is always welcome to us." Mother Bayalun quickly took a seat opposite the men.

"Now, make your report, General Chanar," bade Yamun. Chanar took in his breath slowly, composing his thoughts. After a slight pause he began.

"Following your orders, I went first to Tomke's ordu. He camped all winter on Yellow Grass Steppe, but with the spring now, his pastures are almost gone—"

"He's not to move until I tell him," Yamun interrupted, addressing his comment to Koja. The priest dutifully noted it down, writing with quick strokes.

"As I said," Chanar continued, "the grass there is almost gone. He hopes to move east toward the Tsu-Tsu people, but he waits for your orders."

"How are his men?"

"Tomke let many of them go home during the winter, to reduce his grazing. He has three tumen left—Sartak's, Nogai's, and Kadan's—in addition to his own." Koja counted them off on his fingers. "They are not full. His wizards count perhaps thirty minghans."

"Minghan?" Koja softly interrupted. "What is this? Please excuse me, but I need to know for the letters."

Chanar answered him contemptuously. "A minghan is one hundred arban. An arban is ten men."

"Ah," Koja said, working out the figures on a small abacus, "Tomke has thirty thousand men."

Yamun scowled. "He's let too many men go. Order him to call them back immediately."

Koja quickly wrote the command on a fresh sheet of paper and handed it to a waiting quiverbearer. The man presented the paper on a tray, along with a stone coated with red ink. The khahan took his seal, a small silver block with a top in the shape of a bird, from under his shirt. The underside was carved in the contorted Tuigan script. Yamun dipped the seal into the ink and pressed it on the sheet. The sealbearer backed away, blowing the ink dry as he went.

"Continue," ordered the khahan.

"He has not sent many scouts," Chanar noted. "The Tsu-Tsu seem peaceful. He thinks they will come over to us without fighting. The lands behind him, to the west, have been conquered. He has recruited some soldiers from them, but they are poor warriors. He says they are too weak to rebel, and I agree with him. They are dogs."

"Dogs bite," observed Yamun. "What do you say, historian?"

Koja was startled by the question, too surprised to be diplomatic. "If they have been treated well, they will not rebel. But if Tomke has ruled them harshly, they will fight more fiercely than ever before. My own people, the Khazari, have fought so in ancient times against wicked emperors of Shou Lung."

"So, the Khazari are not just mice," commented Chanar with a faint sneer.

Koja colored at the slight and bristled to make a reply.

"Enough," Yamun firmly interrupted. "Good advice. Chanar, how was my son treating them?"

"I didn't ask," Chanar replied sullenly. He shot an evil glare at Koja.

"Someone should find out. Send Hulagu Khan. Draw up the orders to see that it's done."

Koja nodded and made a brief note.

"Was there anything else at Tomke's camp?" Yamun asked, returning to Chanar.

"He's met with the chief of the ogres from the northern mountains. They want to fight alongside us. He wants to know if he should send the chief to your ordu."

"What are they like?" Yamun tugged at his mustache, considering the offer.

"They're strong. Their chief stands twice the height of a man and likes to fight. I say we use them."

"What do you know of ogres, historian?" Yamun asked, curious to see if the priest had any insight on these beasts.

Koja thought back to the scrolls in his temple that showed ogres as hideous, blue-faced monsters locked in combat with Furo. "They are treacherous and violent beasts. I would not trust them."

"Hmmm." Yamun sat wrapping the long end of his mustache around his finger, considering the choices. "The Tuigan do not fight alongside beasts. Tell Tomke to have nothing more to do with them."

Koja scribbled out the order and passed it along to the sealbearer.

"Unless you've got more to say about Tomke, tell me how Jad's camp was," Yamun commanded after he'd struck his seal on the last order.

"Jad sets his camp at Orkhon Oasis, five hundred miles southeast of Tomke. His pasture and water are good, and he has held his men in hand."

Koja suddenly paid more careful attention. He didn't know where the Orkhon Oasis was, but southeast was the direction of Khazari.

"How many?" Yamun queried.

"Five tumen—Hamabek, Jochi—"

"Enough, I do not need their names. What does he have to report?" Yamun scratched at his brow.

Chanar paused to pick at his teeth and spit into the mud at the edge of the carpet. "His scouts said they traveled south into the mountains. The peaks were so high that snow never melted from the tops. There they found a mountain that breathed fire and spit stones at them. There was a race of little bearded men there who lived underground and prayed to the mountain. These little men were wonderful craftsmen of iron. The scouts claimed when they tried to cross it, the mountain killed many of them with magical burning stones. I think they lied and they were afraid to go on."

"Mother Bayalun, have your wizards ever told you of a mountain like this?" Yamun queried.

The second empress looked as if she were asleep. At Yamun's words, she slowly raised her head. "They have never spoken of such a place, my husband."

Koja didn't remember any fire-breathing mountains to the southeast, but Khazari was on the edge of a great range of peaks. Such a strange thing was certainly possible.

"You should send a truth-seeker to question the scouts," Chanar continued. "Jad is too lenient with them."

"How many scouts went out and how many came back?" Yamun took off his cap and set it on the ground.

"I did not ask," Chanar replied, as if it was beneath him.

"Then how do you know they lied?" countered Yamun.

Chanar sat silent, brooding over the khahan's rebuke.

"Is Jad ready to march?" Yamun finally asked.

"His men are in hand, as I have said," Chanar responded. He looked down, shielding the anger in his eyes from the khahan.

Koja made notes, both for the khahan and himself. He needed to find out more about Jad's—Prince Jadaran's—army: where it was, and what Yamun intended to do with it.

"And what of my youngest son, Hubadai? Has he heard from the caliph of Semphar?"

"No, Yamun," Chanar said, using the khahan's familiar name. "The caliph apparently didn't believe the demands I delivered at the council."

"Scribe, were my demands unclear?" Both Yamun and Chanar turned their attention to Koja.

Koja cleared his throat and took the time to answer carefully. "Khahan," he said, watching Chanar out of the corner of his eye, "General Chanar presented your demands quite clearly."

"What exactly did Chanar Ong Kho demand?" Bayalun asked suddenly.

Koja's mouth went dry as he wondered just why Bayalun was asking. "I apologize to General Chanar," he began, "if my words do not do him justice. It has been some time since I heard him speak. He said that all caravans crossing the great steppe would pay taxes to the khahan of the Tuigan." Koja paused, rubbing the stubble on his head nervously.

"Is that all?" Yamun queried. Chanar sat up straight, ready to protest.

"Oh, no," Koja said hurriedly. "He also said that all kingdoms must offer you tribute or submit themselves to your rule."

"It seemed quite clear to me, Great Lord," Chanar offered.

Yamun nodded in agreement. "So, the caliph has not responded?"

"No, Yamun," Chanar noted. "No word has come from Semphar."

"Perhaps the caliph does not believe you have the power, Khahan," suggested Koja. "After all, Semphar has a large army and many cities. Indeed the caliph is called the 'Chosen Prince of Denier' and the 'Great Conqueror.' "

"The 'Great Conqueror' will learn," Yamun said grimly. "How many men does Hubadai have at present?"

"He has kept all his tumen, five of them, ready. I, myself, advised him to await your orders," Chanar boasted.

"Did you?" Yamun commented. He smiled faintly, though any warmth in his expression was twisted by the scar across his lip. The lama could not decide if Yamun was being sarcastic or not. If he was, Chanar apparently did not notice.

"Yes, Yamun," Chanar said proudly. The general sat up straighter and puffed his chest out.

"Scribe, send this to Hubadai," Yamun ordered, settling back on his stool. "He's to divide his command into three parts. He will lead one, and I'll send commanders to lead the others. No man of his army will go hunting except for food, to save the horses. If a man breaks this law, the first time he will get three strokes of the rod. The second time, he will have three times three. The third time he will get three times times three times three. His men are to have two weeks of food ready at all times. The horses must have sufficient fodder on hand. He must be ready to go to war on the day he is ordered." Koja wrote furiously, trying to keep up with the rapid-fire pace of Yamun's order.

"His men must have their weapons ready," the khahan continued. He signaled a servant to bring him a drink. "Each man must have two lances, two bows, and four hundred arrows. Any man who doesn't will be beaten—five lashes of the rod. Any man whose horse is not ready will be beaten for the same. Any man who goes home to his family will be captured and given to his khan for punishment."

Koja finished writing with a flourish. He held his brush poised, ready to resume writing.

"The morning audience is over," Yamun abruptly announced. "Tonight there will be a feast to honor the safe return of Chanar Ong Kho. Let all who welcome his return attend."

Chanar was stunned. Although pleased about the feast, he expected a longer meeting with the khahan. Always in the past he had enjoyed Yamun's favor. Now, it seemed things had changed. Reluctantly, he stood to go, bowing to the khahan as he started to leave. Koja also got to his feet, wincing as his legs refused to unbend.

"Koja," Yamun suddenly said, using the priest's personal name for the first time, "I want you to stay. I'm curious about your prince."

The priest waited as the khahan ordered, obedient if baffled. He also sensed Chanar's dark looks behind him. The general stalked away, keeping his counsel to himself.

"I will go now, too, my husband," Mother Bayalun pronounced. Yamun didn't answer.

After Bayalun and Chanar had departed, the khahan ordered the servants to bring drinks, black kumiss for himself and hot wine for Koja. He once again lounged back on his stool. "Now, Koja of the Khazari, I've let you learn something of our plans. Perhaps now you can tell me what sort of man your Prince Ogandi is." Yamun yawned.

Koja paused, uncertain of what to say. How much could he reveal without betraying his lord? How much did he owe to the khahan?

Down the slope, Mother Bayalun caught up with Chanar as he was walking toward his white mare. She hobbled alongside him, prodding the ground with the tip of her staff.

"Greetings to our brave general," she hailed. "Will you take a little time to visit with an old woman?"

Chanar looked at her carefully. The sunlight gave her face a warm glow. It was a mature beauty, livened with self-confidence and will. Bayalun gave Chanar a smile, knowing and tempting. "Old woman" was hardly the way Chanar would describe her.

"Greetings returned, Mother Bayalun," Chanar replied. A part of him was intrigued. It was not like Bayalun to be so forward.

"I couldn't help but see you are alone today, instead of with your anda, Yamun."

Chanar slowed his pace to match hers. "You are very observant." His voice went cold. He glanced back to the khahan's yurt. Yamun and the foreign priest were sitting in close conversation.

"I have just come to apologize and say that I do not think it is proper." Her tone was soothing to his injured pride. "You have been traveling much of late, General Chanar."

Chanar turned in surprise at her concern. "I have been doing Yamun's wishes."

"The khahan has messengers to carry out duties such as these," Bayalun said as she steadied herself on the staff. "He sent you to Semphar—"

"It was an honor!" Chanar insisted.

"Naturally, though hardly taxing on your abilities," she answered, unperturbed by his outburst. "The priest you brought back is quite a prize of war." Chanar glared at her, needled by her barb.

"Of course it was an honor to go to Tomke's ordu, too," Bayalun added as she stopped walking. They were near her tent. The second empress turned and looked back toward the khahan. "Since you have been gone, Yamun has spent much time with the foreigner. He has named the priest his grand historian."

"I know" Chanar muttered sullenly. He followed the empress's gaze to where the two men sat.

"Other things have happened while you carried messages," Bayalun noted ominously. "Yamun consults the priest for advice, listens to his word. It could be the priest has enchanted Yamun."

"Bayalun, you know no spells can work here. He—" Chanar tipped his head toward Yamun's tent, "—chose this place with you in mind."

"There are ways other than spells to enchant, General," Bayalun reminded Chanar as she turned to enter her yurt. "The priest is dangerous—to both of us."

"Not to me. I am Yamun's anda," Chanar corrected. He didn't look Bayalun in the eyes.

"Chanar, things have changed. More things could change. Look up there. That should be you talking to Yamun, not the Khazari." Bayalun pulled aside the tent flap. "The khahan forgets you, forgets all the things you have done... forgets you for a lama." She paused again for effect.

Chanar let his head sink so that his chin almost rested on his chest. He watched the second empress from the corner of his half-closed eyes. The light of the morning sun highlighted her figure, the slimness showing even through the heavy clothes she wore. "You're right," Chanar conceded, "Yamun should listen to his khans, his anda—not strangers."

"Of course," Mother Bayalun agreed in a magnanimous tone. "The khahan needs good advisors, not bad ones. If he is not careful, Yamun may forget the Tuigan way. Then, General Chanar, what will happen to us? Come into my tent," Bayalun cooed as she stepped through the doorway. "I think we should talk more."

With a cold, friendless smile, Chanar stooped and stepped inside. The tent flap silently fell back into place.

5

The Valiant Men

"Come, Koja," Yamun bellowed, "sit here beside me!"

Under the night sky, Yamun sat in half-darkness, illuminated by the flickering flames of a large, foul-smelling fire. Thick smoke from the burning dung drifted lazily into the chill, star-studded sky. Koja wrapped the sheepskin coat around himself and walked into the ring of light that marked Yamun's campfire.

The feast celebrating Chanar's return had already begun by the time Koja arrived. It was now late in the evening. The sky was black, and the moon was three-quarters full. Tonight it shone with a reddish hue, dimly illuminating the landscape, casting thick sepia shadows over everything. Behind the moon trailed the string of sparkling lights. Tuigan tales said these were the nine old suitors scorned by Becal, the moon. According to the story, she in turn pursued Tengris, the sun.

The celebration was no small affair. In the walk to the top of the hill where Yamun's yurt stood, Koja passed a dozen or more fires. Around each was a circle of men, eating and drinking. At several fires the soldiers sang wailing, obscene songs. At one, two squat burly men were stripped to the waist, arms locked around each other as they wrestled in the dirt. Their companions roared and shouted out bets. More than a few troopers had already drunk themselves into a stupor and now lay around the fires, snoring in sotted bursts. Koja hurried past these fires.

During his hike, Koja noticed a change in the quality of the men. Near the base of the hill were men who carried iron paitzas, the lowest pass issued by the khahan. Koja knew because he recognized a few of the men as commanders of a jagun of one hundred soldiers. Serving as the khahan's scribe, the Khazari had seen these men in audiences before Yamun. Also around these fires were common dayguards, now off duty. The dayguard troopers were the least important of Yamun's elite bodyguard, but they still had greater status than the rest of Yamun's army.

At the next ring were lesser noyans, commanders of minghans of one thousand soldiers. Koja did not recognize most of these men, but guessed their rank by their talk. The priest acknowledged the greetings of the few he had met.

At the innermost circle, clustered around Yamun's fire, were the greater noyans, the commanders of the tumens of ten thousand men. All of these men were khans of the various tribes, important in their own right. Occasionally one would leave his fire and slowly approach the center, where the khahan sat. However, even the khans took care not to alarm the nightguards who stood around Yamun's camp.

"Come and sit, Koja," Yamun repeated to the priest, who still stood at the edge of the firelight. "You'll be my guest." He waved to an empty space on his left. A quiverbearer quickly rolled out a rug and set up a stool for Koja.

The priest glanced about furtively, looking for Chanar. This feast was in the general's honor, and Koja didn't want to accidentally insult the man. Chanar was already irritated enough as it was.

Koja couldn't spot the general among the faces around the fire. Several of Yamun's wives, old Goyuk, and another khan Koja couldn't identify sat close to the khahan. An iron pot hung from a tripod over the fire, simmering with the rich smell of cooking meat. Several leather bags, undoubtedly kumiss and wine, sat on the ground next to the revelers.