Horselords

by David Cook

  “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.

&nbs
p; 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.

  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.”