David Cook - Horselords

"I do not know. What you saw, if I'm right, was the work of a powerful spirit creature." The priest spoke softly, not wanting to commit himself without knowing more.

"You're saying this.. creature protects the Shou and won't let us attack the Dragonwall?" Yamun asked incredulously, trying to understand the power he had just seen. His rage and frustration were growing.

"Perhaps. I do not know." Koja looked toward the carnage on the plain.

"Can I defeat it, anda?"

"I do not know," Koja sighed. "I have never seen anything like this. I do not know what to do."

"Then think of something!" Yamun shouted, slashing his knout against the ground.

Koja swallowed nervously. "I have had dreams. I think the spirit spoke to me. It called on you, and me, to free it from the wall. It seemed to think that we had some power."

"That's all you know?" Yamun asked, disappointed when the lama stopped talking. "Your plan is to wait for it to visit you in your sleep?"

"If I must, Yamun. Spirits are not easy things to command." Koja was tired and almost lost his temper with the khahan. He took a long, slow breath, then added, "I must seek guidance from Furo."

"Talk to your god then. And when you are done, tell me how to defeat that thing." Yamun thrust his finger toward the furrowed plain. "The servants will bring you anything you need. I must attend to other things." Yamun stood to go. "Teylas's blessing on you, anda," he said just before he left.

"And Furo's on you, Yamun," the lama offered. Koja watched the khahan descend once more onto the plain.

"Paper and brush," the priest ordered of a quiverbearer. The man hurriedly brought the material and set it before Koja. Taking up the brush, the priest carefully wrote an elegy for the dead on the field below. The poem was not composed out of artistic desire, however; the priest needed the verse for the spell he wished to cast. Finished with the poem, he read it through, then set it aside.

"See that no one disturbs me," Koja ordered the servant. The man nodded in understanding. The lama closed his eyes and began to recite prayers. For ten minutes he droned on, never raising his voice. Then he stopped, opened his eyes, and touched the paper to flame. The thin sheet quickly burned, the ashes drifting into the air. The lama closed his eyes again and waited.

Abruptly he opened his eyes and stood up. The spell was over; he had communed with his god. With one foot, he scattered the remaining ashes. A small group of quiver-bearers had gathered to watch his strange behavior. Now, they hurriedly went back to their tasks, afraid Koja would put a curse on them.

"Where is Yamun?" the lama demanded. One of the servants nervously pointed toward the west. "At his yurt, great historian." Not wasting any time, Koja found his horse and rode to Yamun's tent.

When the lama was announced, Yamun quickly cleared the yurt and had his anda ushered in. "Sit and tell me what you've learned," the khahan said as soon as Koja stepped through the door.

"Mighty Furo saw fit to hear my prayers," Koja said as he took his seat. Yamun got off his throne and sat on the floor closer to his anda.

"And?"

"It was a spirit that attacked today, a spirit that is trapped in the Dragonwall," Koja eagerly explained. "The same spirit spoke to me in dreams, although Furo did not say why it chose to."

"But can it be destroyed?" Yamun demanded, holding up a fist.

Koja shook his head. "No, not destroyed. Furo said it craves release. There is some way to free it."

"How, anda, how?" Yamun stared at Koja, awaiting his answer.

The lama took a deep breath. "For that, I must consult the spirit of the Dragonwall."

"Then do it," Yamun said as he headed for the door.

"I cannot," said Koja, bringing the khahan to a stop. "I cannot until I rest. These spells are very tiring. I will be ready tonight, before the dawn. And I will need an offering, one suitable to something as powerful as this spirit must be. Is this possible, Yamun?"

"It will be arranged," Yamun assured the lama as he slowly walked back to his throne. "What happens after you talk to this spirit?"

"I do not know," Koja admitted. "I have never done this type of thing before."

A Kashik slowly appeared at the door, making sure that the khahan knew of his presence. Behind him came one of Yamun's couriers. "A message from Sechen the Wrestler, Great Lord," explained the Kashik, stepping aside to let the messenger speak.

"Speak your message," Yamun ordered.

"Sechen sends me to report that Goyuk Khan is dead." The messenger bowed his head and stood quietly.

Yamun walked to the door and looked out over the plain, the pain clear in his face. Slowly and deliberately he spoke, "Shou Lung will pay." His voice implied no threat, no promise, only a certainty that he would break the Dragonwall and gain his vengeance on the emperor who cowered behind it.

That night was a somber one in the Tuigan camp. The yurtchis, following Yamun's instructions, had moved the tents forward so that by late evening the yurts were in position. Campfires covered the ridge and the near side of the plain before the Dragonwall. Yamun ordered the men to build extra fires to make the army seem even larger. Still, no fire was closer than what Koja, Bayalun, and her wizards determined was safe. The distant tumble of rocks served as a reminder of what could happen to any who ventured too close to the Shou fortification.

The fires of the Tuigan were matched by sparks of flame along the length of the Dragonwall. The Shou troops had withdrawn behind the wall and now lined its ramparts. In the darkness between the two forces, jackals growled and fought over the carrion.

In the royal yurt, Yamun sat, searching for a way to break the stalemate. The khahan had to be prepared, in case Koja failed. Sechen, his duties among the troops finished, stood at his usual place by the door. Bayalun and Chanar sat at the khahan's feet. Though her mood was dark, Bayalun sat calmly. Chanar was openly agitated, distressed by the actions of the Shou. It was not according to the plan. Yamun assumed the general's nervousness was caused by frustration at the day's failure.

From the corner, the scribe read aloud the reports from the scouts. The news was not encouraging. There was no hope of flanking the wall, nor had the riders been able to find any weak spots along its length. Some reported troop movements atop the wall, but the numbers given were not large enough to alarm the khahan. Other scouts screened the army's flanks, watching for enemy repositioning. So far these riders had seen nothing.

Other couriers carried dispatches from Prince Tomke. The khahan's third son was marching with his army to join Yamun. Unlike his brothers, Jad and Hubadai, however, Tomke was cautious and advanced with care. The message claimed it would be several days before his men would arrive. This last piece of news prompted Yamun to send his son an angry rebuke about his troops' slowness.

Finally, the scribe reached a sheet that arrived only a few hours before, a scroll delivered from the Shou. Carefully and slowly, the ancient scholar read the crabbed characters, holding the sheet close to his eyes to see it clearly in the dim light.

Khahan, the note began. The emperor of the Jade Throne is pleased to call you an equal to his sons.

You have seen the futility of attacking the unbreakable Dragonwall. It is a truth that if you continue, your greatness will only be dimmed by failure. Let there be no quarrel between the Tuigan and the emperor of all Shou Lung. Depart and go in peace.

As the scribe finished reading the note aloud, Yamun looked at both Chanar and Bayalun. "They want us to surrender."

"So it would seem, Khahan," Bayalun said. Chanar only grunted in agreement.