Horselords

by David Cook

  Yamun’s mare squealed in pain from the dayguard’s blow and lurched forward, crashing through the two enemy riders. One man’s horse staggered, knocked sideways by the charging mare. The rider clutched at the mane to keep his balance, forgetting his attack. He quickly lost his balance and fell to the ground.

  Still acting with fearful speed, Yamun recovered from his backswing and thrust his sword forward, sweeping the point up. The tip of his saber slid under the bottom of the other Khazari’s breastplate. With a quick twist and pull, Yamun gutted the trooper. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and pain, his hand automatically reaching to his belly. The lance dropped from his dead fingers, and his body slowly fell forward. The khahan’s sword, still half-entangled in the body, was twisted from his grasp.

  The khahan suddenly sagged back in his saddle, too exhausted to recover his weapon. Dark red blood, his blood, soaked the back of his armor and stained the silver fittings of his saddle.

  Koja realized there was no one else around to aid Yamun. Instinctively, Koja jammed his heels into the belly of his horse, driving it forward. The dayguard assassin, clinging to his saddle, was about to strike the defenseless Yamun from the rear.

  Urgency drove Koja to form a mystic shield of deflection around the khahan. With one hand wrapped in the reins and his legs clamped around the chest of his mount, the priest tried to trace the arcane symbols in the air and chant the necessary sutras. Only the grace of Furo could save Yamun now.

  The assassin’s sword lunged straight and true for Yamun’s neck just as Koja’s spell was completed. An unseen force seized the khahan and moved him away from the attack. It was not enough. The tip of the assassin’s blade struck Yamun’s shoulder, splintering through the armor and drawing new blood.

  The swing pulled the assassin forward, toward the khahan. Just as the man reached the limit of his lunge, Yamun reached out and grabbed the assassin’s arm. Fiercely the old warrior yanked, dragging the treacherous dayguard off his saddle. A long-bladed dagger appeared in Yamun’s other hand. Without letting go, he punched the blade into the killer’s side. The man gave out a horrible, inhuman scream, then writhed and twisted in the khahan’s grip. Even injured, the warlord refused to let go.

  At that instant, the dismounted Khazari ran forward, his blade swung high. Yamun saw it coming out of the corner of his eye. An agonized grunt escaped his lips as he heaved the squirming assassin, still spitted on his dagger, into the air. The body crashed headfirst into the Khazari, and the two of them slammed to the ground.

  A thunderous yet screeching roar reeled Koja’s senses. Waves of sound hammered at his eardrums. Just in front of him, Yamun clutched at his skull, rocking in agony. The khahan crumpled and fell off his horse, hitting the ground like a slab of meat.

  Tears of pain welled up in the holy man’s eyes, blocking his vision. The howling scream ended as quickly as it had started. Gasping against the pain, Koja clutched at his horse’s mane and wiped the tears from his eyes. Looking back, the priest saw Afrasib, a look of smug victory on his face. As the wizard rode forward, he pointed the bone rod, the wand of fire, at Yamun’s motionless body. Koja could see the wizard’s thin shoulders heave with laughter, even though all sound was blocked by the roaring pain in the priest’s ears.

  Koja knew he must do something, for the protection he’d already cast on Yamun was useless against the wizard’s magical attack. Fortunately, Afrasib seemed to pay the lama no mind. Desperately, Koja looked around for someone to come to the khahan’s aid. The Tuigan attack had done its job too well; Yamun’s troopers were caught up in chasing the fleeing enemy. Ahead, the lama could see the big form of Sechen, but the man was too far away to do any good now.

  Koja thought of the spells he knew. He needed one that would stop Afrasib completely, not just hurt him. So long as the wizard was alive and able to move, he was dangerous. The only chance, Koja realized, was to freeze the wizard in place. The lama fumbled through the small bag hanging from the pommel of his saddle, searching for the right ingredient to work the spell. Under his breath he mumbled praises to Furo and the Enlightened One. Now, more than ever, he needed their assistance.

  Quickly, Koja’s fingers closed on the small iron ball he needed for the spell. Tearing his hand from the sack, the lama flung the pellet at Afrasib, while shouting out the words of the spell. Still unable to hear, Koja could only assume that he said the words correctly.

  Instinctively, Afrasib recoiled from Koja’s throw. His body rocked back in the saddle and, as the iron ball struck, froze in an oddly tilted pose—one arm upraised to ward off the pellet and his body arched backward. His face was twisted with surprise and anger. The wizard stayed in the saddle for just a moment, and then tipped sideways, body still locked in his comical pose. Afrasib hit the ground, still stiff and unbending.

  Koja collapsed against his mare’s neck, breathing the sweet saltiness of its sweat in relief. Then he remembered Yamun. Awkwardly, the lama slid off his horse and stumblingly ran to where the khahan lay, faceup in the dust.

  Before examining the body, Koja was certain that Yamun was dead. Then, unexpectedly, Yamun’s eyes fluttered. Koja stopped, disbelieving. Quickly he rolled Yamun over to examine his wounds. One sword stroke had laid open the back of the khahan’s left shoulder. Blood still flowed from it, soaking into the khahan’s armor.

  Using a dagger, the priest slashed away the leather straps of the armor, peeling away the heavy shirt. The floppy sleeves of his own oversized suit of armor got in the way. Frustrated, he hurriedly struggled out of the heavy scale mail. Tearing away a piece of his own robe, Koja packed the cloth against Yamun’s wound and continued his examination. Farther down Yamun’s back was a hole where the lance had struck. Again Koja hacked with his knife to see the wound. It was small compared to the cut on the shoulder, but it had driven deeper. Blood and bile seeped out of it. The edges were purple and swollen. Koja pressed at the wound gently. Yellow-green pus oozed out under his fingertips.

  “Poison,” he said aloud. Koja went back to his examination, then suddenly realized that he could hear. The knowledge reminded him where he was and, fearfully, he looked around in case an enemy was creeping up on him. There were no Khazari nearby, but Koja saw Sechen and the standard-bearer headed his way.

  “Over here!” he shouted as he leaped to his feet. “Here! Yamun is here!” His words had an electrifying effect as the two Tuigan whipped their exhausted horses into motion. Sechen didn’t even bother to slow down as he approached. The big warrior leaped from his saddle, sword drawn.

  “Back, Khazari demon!” Sechen snarled as he sprang forward, pushing the little priest away. “You’ll die for this!”

  “He is dying! Look at them! Look at the wizard!” Koja shouted in frustrated anger. He pointed at Afrasib’s frozen form. “I might keep him alive! Just let me work.”

  At that moment the standard-bearer shouted, “Sechen, come here! Look at this!” He was standing where the dayguard assassin and the Khazari had fallen. The trooper was underneath, apparently killed by the fall. The dayguard lay sprawled, facedown on top of him.

  “Look,” said the man. With the toe of his boot he gingerly rolled the dayguard over.

  Sechen sucked in his breath in surprise. The man that lay there was not a man at all. His face had been replaced by that of a large fox. The soft brown fur of its muzzle was thick with blood. Its hands were long, slender paws, but with human fingers, not like an animal’s.

  “By mighty Furo,” Koja breathed, looking up from Yamun’s side. “That’s a hu hsien.”

  “What’s that?” Sechen demanded.

  “An evil spirit,” Koja answered hastily. “It attacked the khahan. Now let me help!”

  The Tuigan warriors looked at each other, each hoping the other had an answer.

  “Very well,” Sechen decided, “but if he dies, you die.” He squatted near the lama to watch his every move.

  Koja quickly set to work. “Get the bag off my horse,” he ordered. The standar
d-bearer hurriedly fetched the bag, passing it to Sechen.

  The first problem was the poison. Taking an herb from his bag, the lama pressed his hands on the lance wound and uttered a prayer. There was a heat beneath his palms as the spell began to take effect. “The khahan’s been poisoned. I cannot stop the venom right now, but I have slowed the poison to keep it from killing him out here. This may give me time to pray for a cure.” Koja carefully explained everything he did to defuse Sechen’s suspicions.

  That finished, he examined the wounds again. They were bad, but probably not serious enough to kill the khahan. Still, if Furo allowed, it was best to heal them now. Bowing his head in prayer, the priest counted out a rosary on his beads. When he completed the plea to Furo, Koja’s hands itched and trembled with the power coursing in them. Gently he placed a palm on each wound, then pressed them down firmly. Yamun stirred and groaned under the pain. Blood seeped through the lama’s fingers. The heat once again grew under Koja’s hands, this time stronger and lasting longer.

  Sechen sucked in his breath through his teeth. “Look. His wounds are closing,” he whispered. Pinkish-white skin grew before Sechen’s eyes, knitting the wounds shut and leaving only a slight scar. At last, Koja took a deep breath of relief and took his hands away. He tore off another shred of his robe, spit into it, and daubed away the blood and fluid to check his handiwork. Koja watched the khahan’s chest rise and fall until he was satisfied the man slept quietly.

  “The khahan is better,” Koja explained as he sat back in the dirt, shaking from exhaustion. “However, the poison is still in him, and he could still die. Can you take him back to camp?”

  Sechen nodded. He looked at the priest in wonder.

  “Are you sure? What about the battle?” the lama asked.

  “You saw. This battle is over. We won. Prince Jad and Goyuk Khan will finish things here.” Gently, Sechen lifted the khahan in his arms.

  “Then get him to his tent. He needs rest,” Koja urged.

  “By your word, it shall be done,” answered Sechen. “But you will come with me.” Sechen nodded to the standard-bearer. “He will tell the prince what has happened.” Koja struggled to his feet and helped Sechen hoist the khahan into his saddle. Yamun barely opened his eyes.

  “Oh, yes,” Koja said, “the wizard, Afrasib, lies over there. He helped the hu hsien and would have killed Yamun. Right now, he cannot move, but he will recover soon. You might want to do something about him.” The standard-bearer looked at the oddly frozen figure on the battlefield and grinned unpleasantly. Before Koja could stop the man, the trooper ran over and neatly slit the spellcaster’s throat.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that to one of Bayalun’s lackeys,” he coldly proclaimed. As Koja sat, stunned with horror, the standard-bearer mounted his horse and galloped away to inform Prince Jad of the khahan’s condition.

  “He should have kept the wizard alive to question him!” Koja shouted.

  “Priest, the wizard got what all Bayalun’s kind deserve. Just consider yourself lucky not to be among them,” Sechen grimly explained as he led their horses back to camp.

  That night there was a council in Yamun’s tent. Outside, the finest and most trusted of the nightguards ringed the yurt. Each was dressed in full armor and heavily armed. They were nervous and jumpy. Already several rabbits had died from rapidly fired arrows when they made a little noise in the bushes. The guards eyed each other as well. The rumors were already circulating through the camp-stories of treachery among Yamun’s bodyguards, whole cadres of wizards, and evil monsters rising out of the ground.

  Those inside the yurt were no less tense. The spacious tent was almost completely dark. A small iron pot of glowing red coals provided the only illumination, barely lighting the grim faces of the men present. Yamun lay on his bed, conscious but very weak. There was very little color in his face. Under Koja’s supervision, he was covered with several layers of heavy felt blankets. Perspiration beaded on Yamun’s brow as the priest tried to sweat the poison out of the khahan’s system. Sitting on the rugs at the side of Yamun’s bed were Jad and Goyuk, little more than dark shapes in the darker yurt.

  Koja had spent the last hour carefully telling his version of the day’s events. Jad sat with his head bowed to the floor. Goyuk nodded as he considered the priest’s words. Koja, now finished describing how he had treated the khahan’s wounds, sat silently with his hands on his knees, waiting for the others to speak.

  “It is good to have gods on your side, even if they are the gods of strangers,” Goyuk said in a rambling tone. It was very late and the day had been long. Fatigue was showing on the old khan’s face; his eyes drooped and he slumped as if he were some exhausted vulture.

  From his bed, Yamun sighed and focused on the big guard at the back of the yurt. “Sechen, did it happen as the lama said?”

  The guard shambled forward, nodding. “What I saw is as the priest said, Khahan,” the wrestler answered, stiffly bowing.

  “I remember the guard attacking and the wound,” Yamun added. He pushed himself up onto one elbow. “Historian, you saved my life. Therefore, Koja of the Khazari, I ask you to be my anda.” Yamun weakly extended a hand to the priest. There was a gasp from the group.

  “Great Lord! I—I am not worthy of this,” Koja stammered, his face reddening with embarrassment.

  “That’s not for you to say. I choose who will be my anda.” Yamun pushed his shaking hand out toward Koja.

  “Father!” protested Jad. “You are weak and need rest. Think on this later.”

  Yamun growled, “Be silent, my son. Koja saved my life and that has earned him the right.”

  “Yes, Khahan,” Jad replied, cowed.

  Yamun looked toward Goyuk to see if he had any objections. The old khan only sucked on his gums, keeping his counsel to himself. The khahan shifted his gaze back to the lama.

  “Well, priest?”

  Koja took a breath to steady himself. “I cannot argue with your wishes. I am greatly honored. I accept.” He took the khahan’s hand.

  “Then we are anda. From this day, you are Koja, little brother of Yamun.” He gave the priest’s hand a weak squeeze and then dropped his arm. “From now on you must call me Yamun.”

  Koja looked at the others. Goyuk was unreadable, his old, lined face barely betraying any emotions. Sechen looked stern as always, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. The prince’s brow was furrowed with concern, and he avoided the gaze of the priest. Koja was not sure if he was upset or merely confused.

  “The men have fought well today,” Yamun continued weakly. “Jad, report on the battle.” He closed his eyes and let a ragged breath escape his lungs.

  The prince roused himself, putting whatever thoughts he had to the back of his mind. “Father, your plan succeeded. The foot soldiers followed the riders into the trap, and Goyuk and I were able to surround them. The khans have taken many prisoners.” Jad bowed slightly toward his father, who was not watching.

  “What of losses? Shahin’s men?” whispered the stricken khahan.

  “Goyuk and I lost few men. The foot soldiers couldn’t catch us, and we simply shot arrows at them until they surrendered. Your men did not fare badly, though they lost more because they were involved in the heaviest fighting. Shahin’s tumen has lost many brave warriors, Great Lord. More than half of his men are killed or wounded.” The youth waited for some word from his father.

  “Not too bad,” Yamun commented with a sigh. “Give the prisoners the choice of service or death. Those that join us are assigned to Shahin’s command.” He coughed a little and then wheezed out the rest. “What about Manass? The governor?”

  “He was cowardly and did not come out, Father. Our messengers have already delivered the heads of his generals. I thought you would want this done,” Jad answered, sliding closer to the bed. “He sends back messages of peace and friendship. Manass will be ours.”

  “And soon all of Khazari,” added Goyuk, glancing at Koja to see how the p
riest reacted.

  “Indeed, all of Khazari,” agreed Yamun.

  “Were the assassins from Manass?” Jad asked.

  “It makes sense,” Goyuk concurred.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Yamun disagreed with a weak sigh. The two khans looked at him in surprise. “Why would the governor send his army if he had assassins? Besides, Afrasib is one of Bayalun’s people.” The khahan let the point sink in for a moment while he recovered his strength. “What was this creature called, the one that attacked me?”

  “A hu hsien, Khahan,” Koja explained as he fixed Yamun’s covers. “They are evil spirits who often do men harm. I heard tales of them at my temple. They appear as foxes normally, but can disguise themselves as people. It is said the emperor of Shou Lung uses them as spies because they can change their shape.”

  “It could have been this emperor,” Jad offered.

  “The emperor of Shou,” Yamun mused. “Perhaps.”

  “You have many enemies, Yamun,” Goyuk pointed out. “Why would this emperor attack you now?”

  “Why, indeed?” Yamun slowly pulled one arm out from under the sheets and began to stroke his chin. “Perhaps he fears me. Perhaps he knows that I can conquer his land.” Yamun’s eyes glazed slightly. Koja quickly wiped the khahan’s sweaty brow with a warm cloth. Yamun closed his eyes and then spoke again. “So, one of Bayalun’s wizards was involved.”

  Koja nodded. “Yes, Khahan—er—Yamun.”

  “You shouldn’t have let them die,” Jad pointed out. “We could have made him talk.”

  “Your father’s guards were most incensed and did not heed my suggestions,” Koja answered defensively.

  “Still, they should not have died,” Jad snapped, his jaw stubbornly set. “Perhaps we’d now know who was responsible for the attack on the khahan.”