David Cook - Horselords
"Why do we wait here, Khahan?" Koja asked as Yamun ventured close.
Yamun, stopped short by Koja's question, scowled at the priest and almost snapped a sharp reply. Then he relented. "We wait here to capture Manass, historian. At least that is the plan."
"Manass?" Koja asked, amazed. He struggled to his feet, the armor scraping against the tree trunk. "Here? But how?"
"They're going to enter the trap," Yamun answered, marching back to the gully's edge. Koja noticed that the khahan spoke with less than his usual absolute conviction. The warlord looked to where Koja stood. "Come here, priest."
Koja joined the khahan, walking awkwardly in the heavy armor. Yamun pointed toward the upper end of the valley, where the land rose to a low pass nestled between the mountains to the east. The trail to Manass crawled over the pass.
"Look there," Yamun instructed, pointing to a spur that ran down into the valley floor from the north. "See the dark line? That's Jad and his men." Koja squinted, barely able to see the line Yamun indicated. Years scanning the emptiness of the steppe had sharpened the khahan's eyesight far beyond Koja's.
"Goyuk's men are across the valley, near those trees," Yamun continued as he swept his hand across the plain, stopping on a wooded slope.
"If you say so, Khahan," Koja responded, unable to see any sign of troops there. "But, you are here and Manass is far away. I do not understand how you plan to conquer the city by fleeing from it."
"Manass will come here, if all goes as planned," the khahan murmured, his head sank to his chest. Lifting his chin, he continued in a stronger voice, "We will bring Manass here, historian."
"How?"
"You told me how the lord of Manass acted. He calls us bandits," Yamun answered, turning away from the plain. "So I act like a bandit." He looked at Koja. The lama's expression showed he was still confused.
"Yesterday I attacked and lost—on purpose." Yamun held up his hand, stopping the startled outburst Koja was about to make. "Not many men died. Their orders were to make it look good and then flee. This morning I left one troop near Manass, to lure the garrison out, make them pursue. I just hope Shahin Khan can do the task. If Chanar were here, I know they'd follow. There's nobody better for baiting the enemy." He gave the lama a wan smile.
"But why should the garrison leave the city walls?" Koja asked. He shrugged the oversized armor back into place.
"Their commander is foolish. Yesterday, when Shahin retreated, the Khazari left their walls and chased our men. They did not have to, so last night I made a feint. My 'bandits' attacked Manass and failed." Yamun pointed toward the ridge. "This morning the Khazari see a retreating enemy. They will chase Shahin, hoping to destroy him." Yamun stopped and look off his helmet. Sweat ran down the back of his neck. "If that's not enough, Shahin has orders to burn whatever he comes across near the city, "That will force the lord of Manass to come out. He must protect his herds and his people." Yamun wiped the sweat from his forehead. "He would be disgraced if he hid behind walls of stone. From what I've seen, he'll want to fight. After all, we're only bandits." Yamun set his helmet firmly back in place.
"And then?" probed Koja.
"Then Shahin lures the Khazari here," Yamun stated calmly. "Shahin will ride past us, and we will stay hidden. On the signal, my men strike the Khazari on the flank while Jad and Goyuk close in from behind."
"And if no one chases Shahin?" Koja asked.
"Then I've guessed wrong about the lord of Manass," Yamun answered. "He would be wise to stay home, but he will come." The khahan scanned the horizon as he spoke.
Koja waited for Yamun to dismiss him. Finally, the khahan turned to other details. Koja went back to his tree and tried to settle in for a nap. Although the lama was tired, sleep wouldn't come.
Flies buzzed lazily overhead. Another hour went by without Shahin's arrival. The morning was slowly becoming a hot spring day. There was nothing for the priest to do but wait and pray.
"They come, Yamun Khahan," panted a messenger who ran up and knelt at the great lord's feet. "The scouts signal that Shahin is coming."
Yamun turned from the man, waving forward another messenger. "Go to Prince Jad. Tell the prince his father reminds him not to move until the signal is given." The messenger hurried to his task.
At the announcement, Koja scrambled to his feet. "Things are almost ready," Yamun eagerly explained. "Shahin's done it. Now all we need to do is close the trap." The khahan strode up the gully's side and watched the pass.
"Khahan, will this be dangerous?" the priest asked, joining Yamun. So far, Koja had only seen battles, never been in one.
"Of course," Yamun replied. "All battles are dangerous." The khahan shaded his eyes and continued to watch, ignoring his historian.
"May I cast some spells—purely for protection? I am not a warrior—"
"No!" Sechen growled, stepping forward to guard Yamun. "No spells." The muscular wrestler glowered down at the priest. Koja lurched back in surprise.
Realizing what he had done, Sechen suddenly stepped back and knelt at Yamun's feet. "Forgive my anger, Great Lord. I was only trying to guard you."
Yamun studied the man carefully. "You mean well, Sechen," he said, reassuring the fretting giant. Turning to Koja, Yamun said, "You'll take your chances with the rest of us. No spells."
The decision made, Yamun climbed a small rise of crumbling rock, Koja and his guards in tow, to get a better view. Koja reached the top with sweat running down the sides of his glistening, stubbly scalp.
"There's Shahin," Yamun abruptly said. He pointed to the far ridge. Shielding his eyes, Koja could barely make out a thin sliver of moving gray. The khahan scrambled down the slope and headed for his standard, waving his arm to bring the army to attention. Koja, panting and sweating even more, stumbled down behind him.
By the time the khahan reached his standard, messengers were already starting to arrive. Yamun pushed his way through the crowded gully, past the expectant troopers. As he did so, a messenger ran forward and dropped to one knee. "Jad reports that his men are in position," the man called out.
"Good. Standard-bearer, use the white banner for the right," Yamun commanded without breaking his stride. The trooper bowed quickly to show his understanding.
"Scouts say Goyuk is ready," added one of the khahan's aides. He was little more than a boy, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old. His face was still round with baby fat.
"Why hasn't Goyuk reported this?" Yamun snapped, the aide falling in beside him. They squeezed past a knot of horses eagerly pawing at the ground. The troopers stroked the animal's muzzles, trying to calm them.
"I don't know, Lord," answered the aide apologetically.
"Then find out!" the gruff warlord growled.
"Shahin has reached the valley floor, Great Lord," yelped a messenger who galloped up to the top of the gully. Yamun stopped and scrutinized the man as the courier swung from the saddle.
"Who's your commander?" the khahan queried.
"Buzun. One of Shahin Khan's men, Great Lord," the man hastily answered, falling to one knee. Streaks of sweat colored the dust on his clothes. One braid of the man's hair had come undone, and the other was caked with grease and dirt. His eyes were staring and hollow from lack of rest.
"What of the enemy?" the khahan demanded as he walked up the slope to question the man. "Does Shahin have anything else to report?"
"The garrison is chasing him, half a mile behind, maybe a little more, Great Lord. No more than a mile," the messenger said. Koja climbed up to where the warlord stood.
"How many men chase Shahin?" pressed Yamun.
"Three minghans of riders. Two of men on foot—but they are farther behind."
"Damn!" Yamun grumbled. "They can't be allowed to escape." He wheeled to his aides. "Send riders to Jad and Goyuk. Tell them not to attack until after the footmen pass by. They're to give a signal, the war drums, when the infantry is in the trap. We'll hold our attack until they signal. You—" Yamun turned back to the messenger. "Go back to Shahin and tell him to harry the riders, slow them up. I want the enemy pushed tight together. Tell Shahin his losses are not important."
The messenger bowed quickly, fired by the khahan's urgency. "Get this man a fresh horse!" Yamun bellowed down to his aides in the gully. "You—give him your horse!" He jabbed his finger at the nearest trooper. Startled and flustered, the man dropped to his knee.
"By your word it so—um—so shall it be!" he shouted. The man led the horse out of the gully, bowing to the khahan at every step.
Yamun turned back to the messenger. "Go! I want those Khazari chasing Shahin in full pursuit! Understand?"
"Yes, Khahan," the man shouted, scrambling to his feet.
Yamun didn't even wait for the courier to leave before he turned his attention to the lines of troops filling the gully.
"Give the word," he told the aide still at his side. "It's time to prepare."
Those simple words had an electrifying effect on the army. There was a murmur of voices as the order was passed along, then a chorus of creaking leather and metal. Men hustled up off the ground, where they had been lounging. Saddle cinches got a final tug. Honing stones were dragged in one last scrape along already sharp swords. Heavy, stifling armor was pulled on. Kumiss bags gurgled as veterans poured themselves a drink; there was no telling when they would have another chance. Horses pawed at the ground, shifting unsteadily under the sudden load of metal-clad men. A whisper of chanted prayers drifted on the wind. Like a wave on the ocean, men mounted their horses, the action flowing outward from the khahan's word.
Then they waited, waited for the nine-tailed banner of the khahan to be raised high and the war drum to be sounded. These were their signals, and not a man would move until they were given. Those that rode forward too early would be beaten. Those that fled, beheaded.
Koja climbed into the saddle of his own horse, a cumbersome task in the oversized armor that he wore. The scale mail bagged out around his chest giving him the appearance of a large metal-plated balloon, or, with his pointed helmet, an upside-down top. The helmet promptly slid forward and smacked against the bridge of Koja's nose. The weight of the armor on his shoulders was crushing. Koja uncomfortably shifted in the saddle. He knew a warrior's life was not for him.
Yamun rode to Koja's side, unable to suppress a devilish grin at the priest's comical appearance. "There's going to be a battle—more than I planned. Shahin will need help in holding the cavalry long enough for the infantry to be caught in our trap," the khahan explained. "You're to ride with me, where the guards can protect you. Even so, you may have to fight."
Koja pushed the helmet off his face. "I'm no warrior," he protested. "It is against the teachings my temple to harm another. I cannot risk offending my god. Khahan, I cannot fight."
"Then you can get your head smashed in. The enemy's not going to be so fussy," the warlord pointed out. "Here, take this." He held out a heavy metal-studded club. "It doesn't take much to use. Just don't bash your horse in the head." The scowling warlord grabbed Koja's wrist and slipped the weapon's thong over his hand. "Keep that on, so the mace doesn't go flying the first time you swing it."
