David Cook - Horselords

"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.