by David Cook
The moon was waning, casting a faint light over the camp. With the brilliance of Anjar dimmed, the sparkling points of the Nine Old Men, the stars that trailed behind the moon, showed brightly. Chanar and Bayalun carefully picked their way through the small cluster of tents in the royal compound. They stopped short once, narrowly avoiding the notice of a Kashik guard who was relieving himself just beyond the confines of the khahan's ground.
Once outside Yamun's camp, the two moved much more quickly. Hosts of men lay stretched out on the ground, wrapped in thick blankets, sound asleep. Horses on long tethers wandered among the dozing soldiers. A few men hastened to and fro, since the business of the camp never really stopped. Picking their way past the clumps of sleeping men, the conspirators took an hour to reach the edge of the camp, but no sentry challenged them along the way.
Bayalun softly released a sigh of tension, thankful for avoiding discovery. "Quickly. This way," she whispered, pulling Chanar toward a ravine that cut across a nearby slope. Bayalun set off at a brisk pace, adroitly avoiding stones and clumps Chanar could barely see. Behind her, Chanar cursed under his breath as he stumbled to keep up.
Bayalun was even more surprised than Chanar when a shadowy shape rose in front of them. At first she thought it was a Shou soldier sent to escort them. Then the figure spoke. "Stop!" the shape commanded, speaking perfect Tuigan.
Bayalun jolted to a halt, Chanar almost crashing into her.
"A sentry!" she hissed under her breath. "Quickly, speak to him." She pulled Chanar ahead of her.
"I'm Chanar Khan. Do you challenge me?" the general demanded. "Advance and name yourself." Behind the general, Bayalun slipped off to the left, disappearing into the darkness.
The sentry came forward cautiously, his sword drawn, until he was close enough to recognize Chanar's clothes. The man was only a common trooper. Flustered and nervous in the presence of a khan, the sentry finally remembered his place and dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "Do not be angry, Chanar Khan," he stammered. "I was only following the instructions of my commander."
"Good work, soldier … What lies beyond?" Chanar was at a loss for what he was supposed to do now. Bayalun left him stranded there, and he was beginning to think that she'd used him for a fool.
"General, this leads-" Suddenly a black shape sprang out of the darkness onto the sentry's back. The attacker struck with a knife. The guard gave a muffled, bubbling gasp. The two bodies crashed to the ground. Chanar sprang back, drawing his saber, ready to strike. The bodies thrashed about, and then the guard stopped moving.
"Help me up," commanded Bayalun from on top of the sentry. Chanar started, then recognized the black shape as the second empress. He was amazed she could move so quickly and with such strength.
Chanar pulled her up. Her hands were warm and slippery. Panting from the exertion, the khadun leaned against the general to catch her breath. The sentry's blood dripped from her fingers onto Chanar's gleaming mail.
"Help me find my staff," she said weakly.
"You killed him," Chanar said, still disbelieving the speed with which she had struck. He found Bayalun's staff and handed it to her.
"He saw us. Now drag his body into that ravine, out of sight," Bayalun commanded, pointing ahead into the darkness.
Startled into motion, the general grabbed the dead man's heels and pulled the body, facedown, through the dirt, leaving a trail of blood behind. There was a thud and then a clatter of rocks as the body slid down the slope into the gully. Rubbing the blood off his hands with a fistful of dust, Chanar stood at the top of the gully. He was looking into the thick shadows when Bayalun joined him.
"This is a bad omen," Chanar cursed as they wound their way along the bottom of the gully. He fumed quietly. "The guard's death'll be noticed. It's certain to betray us."
"Listen," Bayalun said, her fiery spirit rising, "they'll think the Shou did it. No one knows we are here."
Chanar's tension eased, seeing the wisdom of her words. "It's too bad that man had to die," he finally allowed, "but it was his fate."
Bayalun said nothing, carefully picking her way through the stones. The tumbled slopes of the ravine widened, creating a small, level circle of ground, free of broken rocks. The weak moonlight cast a dim radiance at the center of the clearing, leaving heavy, dark shadows along the edges. Bayalun stopped in one of these shadows, holding Chanar close alongside her. He could tell the second empress was excited; she trembled slightly and her breath came in rapid gasps.
They stood still, waiting. The air was chill, threatening to leave a heavy frost. Chanar thrust his hands into the wide sleeves of his robes to keep them warm and shifted uneasily, trying to maintain his patience.
A whispery voice sounded from the deep shadow on the other side of the clearing. "Welcome, Second Empress Eke Bayalun of the-"
"Enough greetings," the widow interrupted with a sharp thump of her staff. "I've come. Is Ju-Hai Chou here?"
"I speak for the Minister of State," answered the shadow, speaking with the shaky voice of an old man.
"Then know that if Ju-Hai Chou seeks our help to destroy the khahan of the Tuigan he must come himself. We do not deal with kharachu," Bayalun noted angrily. Chanar doubted the speaker on the other side knew he'd just been called a slave by the khadun.
"The second empress and her general seek our help to gain the throne of the Tuigan. She will talk to whomever Ju-Hai Chou sends," the voice whispered back in icy tones. Although softly spoken, the words were clear. Bayalun's first demand had failed, and she now considered her next course of action.
"Ju-Hai Chou's representative is acceptable," she conceded, abruptly changing to a gentler tone. "We will stay."
"Ju-Hai Chou will be greatly honored," the voice said politely.
"Listen then," Bayalun began once more, seizing the initiative. "Soon the khahan will ride against the Dragonwall. Perhaps your wall is strong, but he might break through."
"Unthinkable," the old man's voice replied in utter confidence.
"Perhaps, but he is wily and has many men. The unthinkable might happen-especially if the wizards were to help him."
"Their help will make no difference. No one can break the might of the Dragonwall; it is made of more than simple brick and mortar," the voice boasted. "Do you think your khahan is the first to crash himself against it? Other armies have tried and failed."
Bayalun raised her eyebrow in interest as she listened. The Shou hinted at secrets concerning the wall she did not know. Choosing her words carefully, she tried to goad him into revealing more. "Secrets can always be discovered," the khadun suggested ominously, thumping her staff again for emphasis.
There was a sharp hiss from the other side of the ravine. The meaning of her words was not lost on the speaker. "You know?" the Shou snarled.
"I have many sources, kharachu," Bayalun lied. She knew nothing of the wall, except what the Shou had let slip. Still, she paused to let the man worry. "Even if the khahan cannot break through, he will forever raid your caravans and strangle your trade with the western lands. All you can do is hide behind your wall until he goes away. You must get rid of him."
"The second empress has some plan?" whispered the voice, somewhat rankled by her observations.
"Indeed. The armies of Shou Lung will destroy the khahan and his bodyguards."
"What will you do while we risk all?" the speaker snapped.
"We will aid you, but we cannot act so directly. We cannot be suspected, or the throne will fall to one of the khahan's sons. If that happens, nothing will be gained," Bayalun explained patiently. "You must attack the khahan."
"Very well. I will," the hidden speaker across the clearing agreed. "What is your plan?"
"You will bring your army out of the Dragonwall and defeat the khahan. In the battle, he will be killed."
"That is all?" the voice asked sarcastically. "And how are we to defeat him?"
"Chanar, explain the khahan's plans," Bayalun commanded, seating herself on
a rock.
Chanar stepped forward, standing on the edge of the light. "Yamun Khahan will bring part of his army in front of the Dragonwall. He will attack with this group and then seem to retreat in great confusion. We've done this many times," explained the general. "You must not pursue him. It's a trap. When you don't follow he'll return to attack again. That's when you must be ready to charge."
"He outnumbers the troops we'll have available. To attack then will be suicide," whispered the Shou speaker.
"Only if you attack alone," countered Chanar, "and you won't. Send your army out onto the plain in front of the wall. The khahan won't be able to resist. He will charge. When he does, break to your flanks and let him pass through toward the wall. My men will fall upon him from the rear, and you can strike from the sides. Trapped between the wall and our men, he'll be destroyed."
"And you will become khahan," the voice concluded with a trace of sarcasm.
"And, if the tribute is paid to the khans, there will be peace between the Tuigan and Shou Lung," Bayalun pointed out.
"The bribe will be paid. I will tell Ju-Hai Chou of your plan. You will not hear from us again until after the battle," the voice said flatly. There was a scraping noise from the shadows as the stranger prepared to leave.
Bayalun called out, "Hold one moment, speaker for Ju-Hai Chou. A request."
"What?"
"Send us one of your men to be a runner in case we need to communicate."
"Can't you use spells?" inquired the Shou.
"The runner will be an extra precaution, should I be unable to use my spells. Give us a man. We have clothes ready for him at the edge of our camp." Chanar looked at Bayalun, knowing full well they'd made no such preparations. She met his gaze sharply, warning him to keep quiet.
"It is agreed." There was a pause, then a small man stepped out of the shadows. He wore the dress of a common soldier of Shou-a long padded coat stitched with quilted squares, slipperlike shoes, and a simple metal cap. The runner carried a spear, and a sword hung in a scabbard at his side. In the darkness the colors of his clothes were impossible to see. Nervously, the man, barely more than a youth, moved across the clearing.
"Success to the second empress and the illustrious general," said the shadowed figure across the ravine.
"Indeed. Chanar," Bayalun whispered very softly, "be watchful and ready to use your sword on my signal." She tilted her head slightly toward the Shou soldier. "Quickly now, we must be back before it grows too light," she said in broken Shou, her voice loud enough that the warrior could hear her.
The three set out, following the trail back to the camp.
Bayalun took the lead, then came the Shou warrior, while Chanar brought up the rear. They wound their way along the ravine until they reached the spot where Chanar had hidden the sentry's body.
"Now," said Mother Bayalun without turning around. Chanar instantly took the cue and, before the unfortunate soldier could react, the general's sword bit into the man's neck just below the ear. There was a soft snap as the blade sheared bone. The guard's severed head went tumbling down the slope. There was a quick jet of blood, then, legs and arms still flailing, the body toppled to the ground.
Chanar wiped his blade on the dead man's sleeve, then tore off a piece of the cloth to wipe his mail shirt clean. He retrieved the head and set it closer to the sentry Bayalun had killed earlier.
"Good. Leave the body where it is," the khadun said from the top of the ravine. "When the guards find the bodies in the morning, they'll decide the sentry was attacked by Shou enemies. No one will suspect us. Now, we must get back into camp."
15
The Dragonwall
The excited jabber of men's voices echoed throughout the royal compound just before sunrise, even before dawn marked the horizon. The noise interrupted Koja's bath. What was normally a luxury, though unappreciated by Hodj, was today an icy ordeal. The air was cold and the water was melted from the snows outside. The commotion in the camp was a welcome excuse to get dressed.
Shivering, Koja quickly pulled on his new black robes, foregoing his normal careful inspection for vermin. He couldn't see how the Tuigan could stand it, lice-ridden as their clothes so often were. Putting the thought aside, he hastily pulled on the soft boots Hodj had found to replace his worn-out slippers. The priest made an incongruous figure-a bald, gaunt man, hardly a warrior, dressed in the rich black kalat of Yamun's elite bodyguard.
While Koja dressed, the clamor outside continued. Still fastening the toggles on his kalat, the lama scrambled through the door into the predawn darkness. A fire blazed nearby, casting shadows of the men standing around it. Two bodies lay on the ground next to the flames. Koja hurried over to the group-several common troopers, a few more of the Kashik, and stooped, old Goyuk. "What is it, Goyuk Khan?" the priest asked.
"Come and look," the ancient warrior answered, his wrinkled face marked by a grim frown. Scowling, Goyuk pointed at the bodies on the ground. Pushing past the troopers, Koja stopped in horror.
Spread on the ground were the corpses of two men. One was a Tuigan trooper with the front of his kalat soaked in blood from a gaping slit in his throat. The other was a strange warrior wearing a heavy quilted robe emblazoned with a single Shou character, the word for virtue. He wore the armor of a simple foot soldier. The warrior's head was carefully set next to the body.
Koja turned away. "Who is it?" he gasped to Goyuk.
The old man deferred to the Kashik commander standing beside him.
"Master lama," the Kashik explained politely, although his voice was cold with anger. "This man was a soldier of the Naican ordu stationed on guard duty last night. They found him this morning, along with this other one. He must have met a Shou patrol, and they killed him. At least he killed one of the enemy before he died. It happened over there." The commander pointed toward the northeast, where the ground fell away toward the plain below.
"Does Yamun know?" Koja asked of Goyuk.
The old man nodded, sucking on his lower lip. "He sent me."
Koja looked at the bodies again. There was something here that didn't seem right. "Why?" he finally asked, almost to himself.
"Why did Yamun send me? Beca-"
"No, no," Koja quickly corrected. "Why were the Shou so close to the camp? Did anything else happen?" Koja asked the officer.
"Nothing was reported, master lama," the commander replied.
"They were scouting us, and this man found them," Goyuk said with finality. "It is clear. Hang the body of the Shou up. Now there is work to be done." Having voiced his opinion on the subject, the old khan stomped away, his armor jingling as he went. The Kashik followed after him.
Still unsatisfied with this simple answer, Koja knelt beside the dead trooper and gingerly examined the wound. "How often does a warrior in battle have his throat cut so neatly?" Koja asked, turning to one of the guards who remained nearby.
The guard looked at him, puzzled. "It is rare," he admitted, "but one of the Shou might have attacked him from behind."
"And he still chopped the head off another?" Koja asked skeptically.
"It could happen," insisted the man.
"Perhaps," Koja said, though he was far from convinced. The priest stood, and the guards took the body of the dead enemy to hang out for display as Goyuk had instructed. As they were dragging the corpse off, Koja suddenly had an idea. "Leave the head and this man," he ordered, pointing to the trooper. "Wrap the bodies and keep them safe." There were some questions Koja wanted to ask the dead men, but first he had to rest and pray to Furo for guidance.
The men looked at him with horrified eyes, shocked by his grotesque request. Fearful of what they imagined were the priest's awesome powers, the guards gulped and carried out his orders.
His mind racing with speculation, Koja went back to his tent to have his morning tea and say his daily prayers to Furo. Hodj had already cleared away the bath and set out a pot of hot tea. The drink warmed the priest, driving away the predawn chill.
His tent provided only a brief haven from the commotion of the camp. Outside, the army was already beginning to array itself. Eventually coming out of his yurt, Koja took the horse his bodyguards held for him and rode to where Yamun's standard waved. The dark line of the Dragonwall was clearly visible on the plain below.
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.
