by David Cook
“I call you in the name of the Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan, Yamun Khahan,” answered Koja as bravely as he could. His voice was barely a whisper, though this did not matter to the spirit.
Then he has come, came the voice, suddenly keen with interest. A claw, transparent to everyone but Koja, carved furrows in the earth in front of the priest.
“Are you the spirit that lives beneath the Dragonwall?”
I am the spirit of the Dragonwall! roared the dragon, now using the voice of the khahan in Koja’s mind.
“Do you serve Shou Lung?” Koja asked, trembling before the might of the spirit.
I do not serve the Shou oxen! crashed the khahan’s voice. The dragon twitched and thrashed, as if lashing out at some invisible foe. There was no mistaking the bitterness and hatred in its voice. Koja wished he could flee.
“Are you bound to serve them?” the priest timorously asked.
They are my captors! The priest cringed before the fury-laden voice that assaulted his mind. I must do as they bid.
“Did you speak to me—ask me to free you?”
I called to you in hope that you would bring your lord. Together you must free me. This time the dragon adopted the soft voice of Koja’s mother.
“Why me?” Koja asked softly. “Why not another in the Tuigan camp?”
There was one other amongst the barbarians I considered, little priest. While she had the magical ability necessary, she cannot be trusted. The dragon growled ominously. No. Not trusted at all.
“Who do you mean, great spirit?” Koja said, a little desperation creeping into his voice. “Do you speak of the second empress, Mother Bayalun?”
I will not say whom, but I know that you should look to the bodies of the dead for answers.
“But—”
That is all I will say on that matter, the spirit roared.
“Why have you not sought freedom before?” Koja asked after a short pause. “There must have been others.”
Of course there were, little priest. I showed them to you. Or have you forgotten your dream? The spirit had resumed using the voice of Koja’s old master. Many have tried to break through my bonds, but all have failed. You saw them there. That was the price of their failure.
The dragon paused, fading slightly before Koja’s eyes. And their failures have added to my pain. The Shou devil who tricked me and cast me into the wall placed a condition on my curse. I can contact anyone I think might help me to escape. However, everyone that fails to release me and exact suitable revenge for me against the Shou is allowed to punish me throughout eternity In the spirit world they stand at my side and hammer away.
The dragon quivered with anger. So you see, little priest, I only contact those who have a good chance to succeed in crushing Shou Lung. Otherwise, they add to my torment.
“How can you be freed?” Koja asked.
I need a sacrifice. This time the spirit chose to answer with Goyuk’s voice.
“A sacrifice?”
What does your lord offer his god? That is what I must have, the spirit demanded in Yamun’s voice. Its tail lashed at the wall, its prison. No less, little priest.
Suddenly, the dragon flowed back into the wall, molding its body to the shape of the stone. But the spirit didn’t fade. Instead it expanded, stretching along the length of the wall, past the watchtowers and through the gates. The twinkling of the watch fires played off its scales as its body rippled and grew, until the head and tail disappeared from sight. Slowly, the scales blended into the stone. The iridescent colors faded, the patterns of scale and stone blending together. I am the Dragonwall, the spirit whispered as it faded from sight.
Slowly the world returned to normal for Koja. The darkness of the night closed over the priest, driving away the unearthly glow that had surrounded the spirit. From above, Koja could hear the faint voices of the Shou sentries and the flapping of their robes as a cold wind blew across the battlements.
“Lama!” whispered the Kashik guide, seeing Koja stir for the first time in a half-hour. Nervously the man stepped up to Koja’s side. “Are you well?”
Numbly, Koja nodded his head. He made ready to go, automatically reaching for the sword Yamun had given as an offering. It was gone. Several long scars marked the ground where it had been.
As slowly as before, the group moved away from the Dragonwall. To Koja their pace seemed agonizingly slow. He was in a hurry to tell Yamun what he had learned. If the khahan intended to free the spirit tomorrow, there was much to prepare.
It took almost two hours for Koja and his men to return to Yamun’s camp. By now, it was early in the morning. Dawn would come in a few more hours. Still, the camp was not quiet. Riders were leaving for the mountains to cut timber for tomorrow’s assault. The burial details were organizing for the task of burning yesterday’s dead.
Koja arrived at Yamun’s yurt dog-tired. The khahan was still awake. As soon as the lama arrived, Yamun had the weary priest ushered in.
“Sechen, see that we are not disturbed by anyone.” The big man bowed and herded the guards out the door. With everyone out, Yamun sat beside the priest.
“Now, anda,” the khahan asked earnestly, “what did you learn?” His voice automatically dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. His weatherbeaten face was flushed with excitement, making his scars stand out clearly.
“More than I expected, I think,” Koja managed to answer. “There was a spirit there, and I talked to it. At least I think I talked to it.” He rubbed his head to massage away a building headache. Fatigue was making it hard for him to think.
“Anyway,” Koja continued, “we communicated. I was right, we can free it—or maybe just a little part of it. I don’t know for sure. It was very big.” The more Koja spoke, the more enthused he became.
“What? Explain yourself, priest. I’ve no time for puzzles. The army must attack soon.” The khahan got up and paced, occasionally slapping his hand against his side.
“I am not sure I can, Yamun,” Koja apologized before he began. “Do you remember the story I told you about the making of the Dragonwall?”
Yamun grunted.
“I’m not sure it was just a story. The dragon spirit I spoke to is the Dragonwall. The Shou did not build the wall from ordinary earth and stone. The Dragonwall was built with the body of an earth spirit.” Koja swiveled as he spoke, trying to face the khahan as the warlord stalked about the yurt.
“But what’s the point?” Yamun snapped.
“The power of the wall comes from the dragon spirit. Somehow the builders bound the spirit to the wall so it cannot leave, even though it wants to. It is trapped inside the wall.”
“So?”
“So, it seems to think that you—and I—are special. In particular, it expects you to obtain its vengeance by crushing Shou Lung.”
“This spirit is wise. After all, I will conquer Shou Lung.” Yamun rubbed at his chin, considering the spirit’s words.
Yamun’s boastfulness didn’t phase the lama. He knew the khahan was unshakable in his conviction. “Yamun,” he continued, “we might be able to free it, at least in this area. Once the spirit leaves, the Dragonwall becomes nothing but an ordinary wall, perhaps even less. Remember, the spirit’s power is part of what the builders used to hold the wall together—like mortar for stone.”
“You’re saying that if the spirit goes the Dragonwall could be torn down?” Yamun considered the information, trying to make sure he understood everything.
“There will need to be a sacrifice,” Koja added.
“Of what?”
Koja thought back to the night in the thunderstorm. “Horses, I think. Fine ones. Isn’t that the offering you make to Teylas?” Koja shivered at the thought, uncomfortable at being part of such a rite. Such sacrifices were not the way of the Enlightened One.
“Horses will be no problem,” Yamun stated flatly.
“There was something else,” Koja added, his voice calmer. “The spirit hinted something about a woman of
great magical power. Perhaps he meant the second empress. The spirit said that she was … not to be trusted.” He looked at the floor, partially out of respect to the khahan and partially out of fear.
“She’s never to be trusted,” Yamun said, dismissing the lama’s concerns.
Koja would not be put off. “No, it was more than that. It was how the spirit said it. I’m worried that someone—probably Bayalun—is planning something.”
Yamun continued his pacing, showing no sign of surprise. “If I ask her, she’ll only deny this.”
Koja looked at the khahan. “I may have a way to check,” he offered hesitantly. “You remember the guard and the Shou who were found dead before the battle?”
“What of them?” the khahan asked from across the yurt.
Koja stood up. “The spirit said something about looking to the dead for answers.” The priest paused, then added, “Something didn’t seem right about those bodies. The guard had his throat cut as if someone had surprised him. If that happened, who killed the Shou?” Koja found himself pacing in time with the khahan.
“Odder things have happened, priest,” the khahan cautioned, stopping his stride. He set a hand against the tent post, examining the wood.
“Perhaps, Lord Yamun, but I had the bodies hidden away. I think it would be wise to speak with them.”
“Do you really think these two have anything to do with Bayalun?” Yamun asked skeptically.
Koja scratched his head. “I don’t know. Spirits often mislead people,” he admitted, “but it is all I can think to do. I am ready. We could find out right now.”
The khahan looked at the priest without really seeing him, his eyes focused on something intangible. One hand unconsciously played with the tips of his mustache. “Very well. Try. But you must be quick.”
“Certainly, Yamun,” Koja answered with a bow. Going to the tent door, the lama gave instructions to Sechen. The wrestler again stood watch, having arranged for Bayalun’s guard.
It didn’t take long for Koja and Sechen to set everything up in a secluded yurt where their activities would not be noticed. The bodies had been stored carefully, packed in snow to slow their decay. Working quickly, Koja stayed alone in the tent. While Sechen stood guard outside, the lama cast his spells. When he emerged, Koja looked drained. The night’s activities were taking their toll on him.
“Remove the Tuigan warrior, but bring the Shou’s head to Yamun’s yurt,” the priest ordered as he hurried past Sechen. “I must see the khahan.”
Arriving back at Yamun’s yurt, Koja wasted no time in describing what he had learned.
Grimly, the khahan looked toward the priest. “Chanar, too?” he asked, his amazement coloring his words.
“I am sorry, Yamun,” the priest automatically mumbled.
“Sorrow is for the weak,” Yamun suddenly growled.
Koja only nodded. “What will you do now?”
“Confront them,” the khahan said. His face was set in a grim scowl. He called for a quiverbearer to summon Chanar and Bayalun. The servant hurried away with the message.
Neither Koja nor Yamun spoke while they waited. The khahan sat brooding, chin on hand. Koja tried to imagine the dark thoughts passing through Yamun’s mind. He couldn’t. Yamun’s grim mood was beyond him. With a tired yawn, the lama resigned himself to waiting
The servant returned and pulled back the door flap. “Khahan, they are here.”
Yamun lifted his head. “Enter.” Bayalun and Chanar came into the yurt. “Sit.”
Leading the way, the second empress, leaning heavily on her staff, took her place. Chanar followed behind, then Sechen. The two plotters seated themselves on the respective sides of the tent, Bayalun alone at the head of the women’s row, Chanar opposite her. Koja moved from his seat, out of Chanar’s way. The general eyed the lama warily, then sat down at Yamun’s feet. Quietly, Koja slid to the back of the yurt to stand alongside the impassive Sechen. The wrestler quietly opened the door, motioning an arban of soldiers to enter.
When all had taken their place, Yamun ordered a basin of black kumiss brought forward. Taking the ladle from the bowl, he held it high, presenting it to the four points of the compass. “Teylas grant us victory today.”
The offering finished, Yamun took his seat. “Today we go to conquer a great enemy. Let the men be ready.”
“May Teylas grant us victory!” Chanar said in response.
“He will, General,” Yamun promised, glaring down at Chanar.
Slowly, Yamun extended the ladle to the last of the seven valiant men. Just as the general reached for it, Yamun tipped it, pouring the black kumiss onto the rugs.
“You were my anda,” the khahan snarled, flinging the ladle out of reach.
Chanar was white-faced, and his mouth hung open in shock. “But, Yamun. I—”
“Quiet! I know of your treachery. You meet with the Shou. You plot with them.”
“This is a lie, Khahan!” Chanar shouted, trembling where he stood. Yamun stepped forward on his dais, his broad frame towering over the ashen general. The khahan’s eyes smoldered with fury.
Koja realized that Yamun, enraged with Chanar’s deception, had momentarily forgotten Bayalun’s presence. The priest looked her way. She had stepped back from the confrontation. The khadun’s face was pale, but no fear showed in her eyes, only hatred and fury.
Bayalun took another step back, as if trying to distance herself from Chanar. Her hands reached into the sleeves of her robe. She withdrew a small stone and began to trace small figures into the air.
Koja realized that Bayalun was casting a spell. There was no one close enough to stop her in time.
The lama felt his pockets for some kind of weapon, something he could throw. He hit something hard at his chest, the paitza, his symbol of authority. Frantically, he yanked at the cord, pulling the heavy metal plate free.
“Bayalun!” the priest shouted, trying to warn the khahan. Yamun stopped his tirade, astonished by the lama’s cry, just as Koja hurled the paitza across the yurt. The silver plaque thudded against the khadun’s arm, jarring the stone from her grasp. Bayalun screeched with rage and pain, clutching at her side.
“Guards, seize the khadun! Bind her hands. Kill her if she attempts to speak!” Yamun pointed at the second empress. Bayalun’s eyes narrowed to slits even as she froze where she stood. The guards were already around her, their sabers drawn. They grabbed the khadun’s arms and pinned them to her side. She struggled weakly, but knowing Yamun was serious, said nothing. The guards quickly began lashing her wrists together.
Chanar, seizing the distraction, reached for his sword, determined to fight his way free. Before his sword cleared its scabbard, Yamun drew his own blade and laid the edge against the general’s breast. Chanar turned slowly to face the khahan.
“Do not draw it, General, or I’ll kill you.” Yamun spoke coldly, his eyes steely. “Take the khadun out.”
Chanar swallowed. “Why, Yamun?” he asked weakly. The remaining guards closed slowly around him. The general unbuckled his swordbelt and laid it on the ground.
Yamun stepped back and spat at Chanar’s feet. “Tomorrow, you and my stepmother—” He turned his glare on the departing Bayalun. “You planned to destroy me.”
“This is a lie! Who says this?” Chanar blustered, glaring at everyone around him.
Yamun sheathed his own sword and reached into a leather bag that sat beside his throne. From it he lifted the head of the Shou warrior Chanar had killed.
“This is your accuser,” Yamun replied, tossing the head at Chanar. It fell with a thump at the general’s feet. Chanar wavered then kicked the head aside with a snarl.
“A dead thing—nothing more. You are a fool, Yamun!” Chanar sneered, no longer trying to hide his contempt.
“Though spirits may trick us, the dead cannot lie,” Koja said softly from the back of the yurt.
Chanar wheeled on the lama. “You—this is your doing!”
“No, Chanar. You did th
is to yourself,” Yamun said behind him. “You were my anda—the last of my valiant men. I gave you honors and trust, and this is how you have repaid me.” Yamun sank back onto his throne, chin sunk to his chest.
“You gave me nothing!” Chanar snarled. “I saved you from your enemies. I fought your battles. My father took you in when your own people drove you out. My warriors made you khan of the Hoekun. I have stood by you, and now you spend your time with a foreign priest while I ride as your errand boy! You will betray us all, send us to death against this Shou wall to satisfy your own ambitions.” Chanar’s chest heaved with emotion.
Yamun shifted onto the balls of his toes, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. “I should kill you—” The general braced himself for the blow. “But I won’t.”
Chanar stepped back, intimidated and confused.
“Hear this,” Yamun announced loudly, although only Koja, Sechen, and the guards were there to hear. “For his courage and bravery, I have chosen General Chanar to stand at my side in battle today. Chanar will be the bravest khan in the center. Make sure that’s known throughout the army.”
Chanar started in surprise, caught off-guard by the khahan’s sudden declaration.
Yamun continued. “Tell them also, that today I’ve made Sechen one of the khans. Sechen, you will command Chanar’s men.”
“They are not yours to give,” Chanar protested, an edge of panic creeping into his voice.
Yamun whirled on the general. “You are nothing anymore! Have you forgotten? You will stand where I tell you, you will fight where I tell you.” The khahan kicked Chanar’s sword and scabbard off to the side and stormed closer to his old companion. “You live only because you were once my anda, and that cannot be undone. Tomorrow, you will ride as a hero in battle. If you die there, your name will be forever remembered as one of my valiant men,” Yamun said slowly.
Chanar sagged. His plans had collapsed, and the fight went out of him.
“Take him away and keep a guard on him,” Yamun shouted irritably to the Kashik. Turning to Chanar as he prepared to leave, Yamun said, “You will ride with me one last time. If you live, you will be banished from my sight. Go and prepare for battle. Teylas will take us to victory!”
