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  There were two bodies in the rug: the hu hsien and the wizard. The once-bright fur of the fox creature was stiff and dull-colored. Its wounds, more fearsome in death, were sunken, the edges soft and black. Dark patches of decay spread from these, mottling the skin beneath the bristling fur. The eyes were gone, pecked out by birds. A purplish tongue, dry and cracked, lolled out of its mouth. The human next to it was equally decayed, the slashed throat gray and crusted.

  Bayalun choked, "Afrasib!" She quickly clamped her mouth shut and avoided Yamun's gaze. Her face was pale. Leaning over, she whispered a word to one of the khans beside her. He nodded and slid back out of sight.

  "Who are they?" cried out a thin, pock-marked khan, pushing his way through his fellows to get a closer look at the corpses. The other khans surged forward behind him.

  "The beast is a hu hsien, a creature of Shou Lung," Jad explained. "The other is the wizard, Afrasib." The prince stopped, letting the khans form their own conclusions.

  Eyes, suspicious and hard, started to turn toward Bayalun. She met their gaze firmly, not showing any fear. Slowly and regally, the khadun stood and walked to the dead bodies. She studied the corpses, poking at them with her staff. The khans stepped back, creating a circle around her. She rolled Afrasib's head to the side. "Traitor!" she hissed. Leaning over, she spat onto the dead wizard's face.

  "He has betrayed the khahan. The Shou emperor must have bought his loyalty," Bayalun announced, turning back to her seat.

  "But who sent these killers?" the pock-faced khan asked, his questions still not satisfied.

  "Who, indeed?" Jad asked, looking toward Bayalun.

  "The emperor of Shou uses things like the hu hsien as spies," Bayalun countered as she stiffly sat down. "Ask Yamun's priest if this is not so."

  "It is true," Yamun said. In the crowd, Koja started at the statement. He didn't see why the khahan was siding with the khadun. He must be must be planning something, the lama decided.

  "This is what Shou Lung thinks of us," sneered Yamun, still talking. "Their emperor fears us, so he sends evil spirits to kill me. Do we fear the dogs of Shou?"

  "No!" came the cry. Even Chanar seemed roused by the khahan's passionate boast.

  "Shall we sit here while they send killers-like this-" Yamun jabbed a finger toward the dead hu hsien. "He sends beasts to stalk us. Are we deer before the hunter?"

  "No!" came the shout again. The khans were gripped by rage. Koja was amazed; Yamun showed no sign of the wounds that weakened him only a few minutes before. The khahan stood tall, his legs spread and set solidly.

  "Do we wait for them to destroy us all or do we act?" Yamun demanded, raising his arms to the sky. His eyes were fiery, energetic, and powerful, filled with a blaze of blood-lust. Koja gaped. He'd seen the khahan like this only once before, during the great storm at Quaraband.

  The khans responded with an inarticulate roar, too many voices trying to shout out their answer all at once. There were those who dissented, but their words were drowned out by the furious outrage of their fellows.

  The flood of rage and anger seemed to invigorate Yamun even further. He surveyed the khans with pride, reveling in their fire and adulation. He let the warriors have their way for a while, then raised his hands for silence. Reluctantly, they hushed to hear his words.

  Yamun pushed the khans back from the bodies, clearing himself some space. "This Shou emperor has declared war on us. What shall we do?"

  "We must teach them a lesson!" roared out one of the khans, Mongke by name-a thin, bony man with a powerful voice that belied his meager frame.

  "How?" demanded Koja, boldly stepping into the circle. "What about the Dragonwall, the great fortification that protects their border? It has never been broken. How will you get through that?" Irritated at the priest's outburst, some of the khans began to shout down his concerns.

  "We will conquer Shou because the emperor fears us," Yamun stated with utter conviction. "If this Dragonwall was invincible, the emperor would not fear me. Teylas must have spared me to become a scourge on the emperor, to break his unbreakable wall!"

  "A raid!" suggested one of the Kashik khans.

  "No, not a raid," Yamun answered coolly. "More than a raid. We'll teach this emperor to fear. We will conquer Shou Lung! I, Yamun Khahan, will be the Illustrious Emperor of All People!" The khahan roared out the last words to the sky, threatening as much as promising. "It is our destiny."

  Yamun's eyes blazed. He panted, lustful for the challenge. His heart longed for the fury of battle and the greatness conquest would bring to him.

  The excitement of the khans formed into a chant. It was as if Yamun's vision of conquest spread from him to them. It leaped to the khans, took possession of their spirit. Even Koja felt the wild passion, the lust to act that flowed from Yamun.

  The khahan stepped back to his seat and surveyed the khans. They looked to him in anticipation: some eager, a few fearful. "Who will go to war with me? Who will share in the riches of Shou Lung?" he shouted to the masses.

  The response came in a tumult of yells and clapping from the khans. Koja, in their midst, was almost deafened by the warriors' frantic shouts. Yamun stood before his seat, clearly enjoying the frenzy. His eyes were wild, and his face was flushed and pulsing with energy. It seemed to the priest that the khahan had found his own cure, Here again was the man who could withstand the might of a god's thunderbolts.

  "By the will of Teylas, my khans, we will ride to victory!" proclaimed the khahan. "The Dragonwall must fall!"

  13

  Plots

  Yamun growled at his bodyguards, ten Kashik warriors who circled him at a respectful distance. One of them had clumsily bumped into an armor stand, sending Yamun's gilt mail sprawling. Fumbling to correct his error, man made still more noise. Yamun snarled impatiently for the mortified soldier to stop fussing.

  It was one thing to have a bodyguard of ten thousand men who would make camp, patrol at night, and charge boldly into battle; it was quite another thing to have an arban of soldiers hovering around you wherever you went. The Kashik, however, upon learning that morning that their khahan still lived, were determined to protect him at all times. It was a great honor for the men chosen to guard the khahan, but it was going to take time for Yamun to get adjusted. Still, the khahan knew better than to argue with the devotion and loyalty of his own men.

  The guard finally finished straightening the gear and quietly took his place along the wall of the Great Yurt. The other guards stood silently in their positions. Satisfied that there would be no more disturbances, Yamun resumed his conversation.

  Sitting at the foot of Yamun's throne was his anda, the grand historian, Koja. "Well, anda," Yamun said to him, "soon there'll be more to write in your histories, if you have the time. There's much to be done before we march on Shou Lung."

  The priest looked at Yamun sharply, still puzzled by the events of the couralitai. "Why have you done this?" he finally asked. "You attack Shou Lung and ignore Bayalun. Is this wise?"

  Yamun scowled. "Anda, I did what I must." He held out his fists. "Someone seeks to kill me: Bayalun-" He closed one fist. "And Shou Lung." He closed the other. "I will not ignore this insult."

  "But Shou Lung is the mightiest of nations!" protested Koja. "Why them and not Bayalun?"

  "Bayalun is one of my people. If I strike at her, there will be dissension among the khans. They will demand proof and the wizards will turn against me," the khahan predicted. "Then my empire would be nothing." He lowered his fists. "But, if I attack Shou Lung, my people will stand united in battle, and I will be rid of one enemy. Better one foe than two. That is ruling, is it not?"

  Koja swallowed, hearing the determination in Yamun's voice. "But Shou Lung is huge!"

  "And their emperor is afraid of me. Scared men can be beaten," Yamun confidently predicted.

  Koja resigned himself to Yamun's decision. "What of Bayalun?" he asked as an afterthought.

  Yamun dismissed her name with casual wave
. "Now that I know her tricks, she will be watched. We will keep her here with us so she can't cause problems. We will keep the snake under our heel.

  "I have decided," Yamun noted idly, abruptly changing the subject, "you'll meet with these envoys from Khazari and handle the details of their surrender. I've got to make plans for our conquest of Shou Lung."

  "Me, Yamun? Have you forgotten that I am a Khazari? I can't negotiate the surrender," Koja protested.

  "Who said negotiate?" the khahan replied sharply. "Just accept their surrender."

  "But, there must be terms. I can't just tell them to give up."

  "Why not?" Yamun asked, stroking the fine point of his mustache. "They've got no army to protect Manass. I can destroy anything they send. You tell them that. There are too many things for me to do here. There are orders to give, and reports have just arrived from Hubadai in Semphar." He pointed to the royal scribe, next to whom sat a bundle of papers tied with yellow silk ribbons.

  "But, they want my head!" the little lama sputtered, nervously rubbing his scalp.

  An ironic smile twisted the khahan's scarred lips. "You will do this because I have ordered it. They want your head, so they no longer consider you a countryman. You see, you are no longer a Khazari."

  Koja swallowed at Yamun's words. "What can I do?" Although he did not want this task at all, it was clear that he had to accept the khahan's will.

  "I want them to surrender," Yamun repeated, knowing that Koja expected more. "Very well, I want goods equal to ten thousand bars of silver to be paid on the first moon of every new year. Then, they must turn over this governor, his wizard, and the Shou officials you described. They escaped the battlefield and I want them-or their heads and hands."

  Koja waited for Yamun to outline more, but the khahan had finished his demands. "That is not all," the priest enjoined.

  Yamun counted out his terms on his fingers. "Surrender, goods, and prisoners. What else is there?"

  Exasperated, Koja took paper and pen from the scribe, spreading the sheet between himself and Yamun. Koja quickly drew Khazari's borders.

  "Yamun, these are not wandering tribesmen you have conquered. The Khazari will not surrender and obey you just because you are khahan-"

  "Then I'll destroy their homes and scatter the people among my khans. Tell them that," Yamun threatened.

  "No, Yamun, that will not do. The Khazari are not like the tribes." Koja dotted the map with the towns and cities of Khazari. "They have stone towns and fields. They do not travel from camp to camp. You must set someone to rule them, pass laws, and make judgments."

  Yamun leaned forward to study Koja's map. "This is not our way," he grumbled. "But because you say it must be done, I will consider it. For now, tell the envoys they must give me Manass as my own. Then, they must tear down the walls around all their other ordus." The khahan pushed the crude map away with his toe. "Make me a good map of Khazari, anda."

  Koja sighed and thought through the list of demands that Yamun had made. "And what can you negotiate on?"

  "My anda, there will be no negotiation." Yamun loomed over the priest to add emphasis to his words.

  "And if they refuse?" Koja asked softly.

  Yamun casually sipped from a cup of kumiss. "As I said: I will destroy every ordu in Khazari. Every male taller than the yoke of an oxcart will be put to the sword, and all their wives and little children will be scattered as slaves among my people. Their nation will be no more. That I can do, anda." The khahan settled back into his seat. "Scribe, write out my demands. I'll put my seal to it. Anda, you can take that with you as proof."

  The demands written, Yamun turned to his scribe and ordered him to begin reading the stack of reports that sat beside him. Koja rose to one knee and made a brief bow to the khahan before slowly backing out of his presence. Rapt in Hubadai's account of the fall of Semphar, Yamun didn't even notice his departure.

  * * * * *

  In her commandeered yurt, Mother Bayalun worked alone, preparing to cast her magical spells. The door to the yurt was carefully fastened, sealing out all light, and her guard had instructions not to let anyone disturb her, not even Chanar, her current paramour. Her hands moving quickly, the khadun set out the materials she needed: a brazier containing a small glowing coal and a small pouch of powdered incense. Softly, in case anyone might be listening, she muttered the incantation, passing her hands over the brazier.

  The words finished, Bayalun flung a pinch of incense into the coals. There was a brilliant puff, and smoke coiled thickly into the air, writhing and turning, forming into the face of a Shou mandarin. The smoke made the man's forehead appear soft and puffy, like bread dough, but his dark eyes shone clearly. The smoky face blinked a few times in surprise, as if the mandarin had been awoken by the spell.

  "Khadun of the Tuigan," it rumbled in surprise with a hollow-sounding voice, "you called me?"

  "Indeed. We must speak." Her breath caused the outlines of the wraith to waver and shift.

  "Now is not the best time, Eke Bayalun Khadun," the face said, the puffy features forming into something that looked like a scowl. "The emperor is giving a poetry reading. It is difficult for me to concentrate on both." As if to illustrate the point, the cloud-face's eyes rolled back into its head. The outlines started to spread and rise, breaking up as the contact was momentarily lost. Then the head began to reform as the speaker refocused his thoughts toward Bayalun and the barren steppes. "Speak quickly, Khadun. My time is short."

  "Do not order me, Ju-Hai Chou. I am not one of your dog-people," the second empress snapped. She reached for a small fan, a gift from the Shou emperor, to dispel the smoky form.

  "Most humble apologies, wise one," said the face with an expression of diplomatic regret. The head tilted a little to bow toward her. "Please inform this simple servant why you have summoned him. You did summon me."

  Bayalun was accustomed to the mandarin's impatience and paid it no attention. Slowly, the khadun smoothed her robes, adjusting the jupon, the overrobe, so that it hung straight from her shoulders. "The Tuigan army is in Khazari."

  "This we know through our spies. Is that all?" There was a trace of annoyance in the mandarin's voice at being disturbed over such petty news.

  "The khahan lives. The creature you sent failed." Although the assassination attempt had been a near disaster, she relished telling the Shou minister of state the news. The image's eyes widened in surprise, then quickly became blank.

  "Is it alive or dead?" His words were quick and clipped.

  "Dead."

  "Do they suspect?"

  "Me?" Eke Bayalun asked, knowing full well that was not what the mandarin meant. He couldn't care less about her troubles. "Of course they suspect."

  The vaporous brows furrowed. "By that you mean your khahan suspects Shou Lung."

  "He does not just suspect," Bayalun gloated. "He blames the emperor of the Jade Throne himself. Your little assassin was too obvious and easy to identify-once he was dead. A priest of the Khazari knew quite a bit about your hu hsien."

  "A Khazari priest?" the image ruminated, the words echoing around the small yurt. "Who-"

  "An envoy of Prince Ogandi. But that does not matter." Bayalun knew perfectly well the mandarin was eager to know more. She relished goading the Shou bureaucrat with these petty secrets. It kept him off-balance.

  "Know this," she continued before the mandarin could protest or probe further. "The khahan blames your Son of Heaven and is marching with his army to conquer all of Shou."

  The face smiled, parts of its cheeks drifting away. The smoky shape was slowly becoming smaller, leaner. "He is more foolish than we thought. We will easily brush him away like a small insect. He cannot break the Dragonwall." The trace of panic and puzzlement that had been in the voice was gone, replaced by confidence.

  "Perhaps," countered Bayalun. "By the time he reaches the Dragonwall, he will have two hundred thousand warriors."

  The cloud snorted a puff of smoke in contempt.

/>   "He might also have magical aid," Mother Bayalun stated slowly. She deliberately picked up the fan and gently waved it to cool her face. The image wavered and spread, pushed back by the gentle breeze.

  A smoky eyebrow raised. "Unless?" it hissed, picking up the beat of her words.

  "I have kept you too long from your duties," the crafty woman said. "Perhaps you should return to your emperor."

  The face barely repressed a grimace of frustration. "Perhaps I should have the Gorath come speak with you!" Bayalun blanched slightly at the mention of the Gorath, a creature of great power rumored to be the emperor's personal assassin. The smoke of the mandarin's face swirled and distorted, breaking up in several different directions.

  "Threaten me, Ju-Hai Chou, and I will end this alliance in blood!" Bayalun spat.

  "Threaten us," the mandarin answered in a cooler, but no more friendly tone, "and we will expose you. There will always be another willing to aid us." The image restored itself to form and glared down from the top of the tent. Bayalun matched stare for stare, stiffly getting to her feet so she didn't have to look so far upward. One hand still clutched the fan.

  "Then we must work together," she finally said. Although a powerful sorceress, Bayalun knew that the mandarin's threat was real, just as he knew her threat was no idle boast.

  "Indeed," agreed the voice. "What is it you now seek?"

  "Your feeble assassin is what brought us to this disaster. Now, you must be ready to give more. Yamun's throne you have already promised-but now he goes to war with you. You'll have to buy your peace. First, you'll have to pay a tribute to get the khans to go home."

  "A bribe, you mean."

  "Call it what you will."

  "And how do we get rid of your troublesome son?" the face asked. Bayalun's magic was fading; the back of the smoke-formed head was trailing off into a cloud of winding tendrils. Suddenly form's eyes rolled back again as the mandarin's concentration weakened.