David Cook - Horselords
The Kashik commander, sitting near Jad, glared at the speaker. The upstart had deliberately insulted him. The commander looked to Jad for guidance, but the prince was in as much consternation as he. Goyuk leaned forward and whispered in the prince's ear. Jad spoke a few words in response, obviously debating with the old man about what could be done. Next to him, Bayalun sat, unmoved by the startling turn. A faint smile played across her lips. Finally, Jadaran looked toward the upstart khan. Throwing a resigned look the commander's way, the prince conceded, reciting the formula required of him. "As lord of this couralitai, I will hear Chagadai speak."
"May the thanks of Teylas be upon the noble prince," answered the renegade khan. Now that he was recognized, he turned to his fellow nobles in the audience. "Hear me, khans. Know that I am Chagadai of the Uesgir.
"I will not waste time retelling the deeds of my family or all the greatness of the khahan. These things we know. Instead, I ask a question we have all been wondering—where is the khahan? Where is the one who has led our people to greatness? They," he shouted, turning toward Jad, "say he has fallen. Yet they do nothing!" Jad tensed and prepared to interrupt, when Goyuk once again whispered in his ear. The prince bit his lip and nodded curtly, waiting for Chagadai to continue.
"What is the duty of a son?" Chagadai quietly asked, stepping closer to the prince. "When the father is killed, the son should not hide in his tent. He should find the murderers."
There was a grumble among the nobles. Prince Jadaran squirmed, angered by the accusation. Chanar watched coolly from his seat, his tented fingers touched against his lips. Bayalun's smile had vanished, leaving her face a blank.
Chagadai turned back to the assembled nobles. "There are ambassadors from Khazari in our camp. They arrived only yesterday. Now, why do ambassadors from our enemy come just when we are in our mourning? Do they come to share our sorrow?" The khan stopped to mop the nervous sweat from his neck. "They come to negotiate, to negotiate with Jadaran Khan in our hour of victory! He is taking our victory from us. Your warriors died in this battle." Chagadai stopped, pacing down the length of the couralitai. There was a growing undertone of discontent among Bayalun's allies.
Theatrically turning to them, Chagadai asked, "Is this who should be khahan? Let us choose another."
Jad moved to stand, only to be stopped by Goyuk's hand on his shoulder. "Let him speak," the old advisor whispered. "This is what we want." The prince sank back down, his eyes smoldering with hatred.
"Let Chanar Ong Kho be khahan," shouted a voice from the ranks of the seated khans.
Several of the younger nobles on Bayalun's side clapped their hands, showing their support. The priest glanced around. Jad's supporters, at least those willing to show their loyalty, were few in number. It seemed that the prince faced a serious challenge to his authority.
"Chanar Ong Kho must be khahan!" cried the voice again. To everyone's surprise, Chanar shook his head, refusing to accept the offer. The general rose to address the assembly. "I thank the wise khans, but these words are disrespectful to the memory of the khahan. I am not worthy of this honor. Let the nomination go to another." There was a sigh of disappointment from Bayalun's side of the group.
Chagadai, still standing in the center of the council, refused to relent. He pressed the offer again. "Let Chanar be khahan!" The man stopped his pace near Jad. Again, the prince made to stand, only to be restrained by the gentle touch from Goyuk. The clapping for Chanar was louder this time.
Chagadai glanced toward Bayalun. She gave a quick smile of approval. The khan was doing well, acting just as she had instructed him this morning.
Slowly, Chagadai faced all the assembly once more. "Chanar will not be khahan," he said with disappointment in his voice. "Still, Jad must show his worth. Perhaps the khahan's killers have been found and perhaps his body is in his yurt. But we have not seen the body. Jad tells us what happened, but shows us no proof. Are we sure the khahan was slain in battle? Perhaps someone else killed him. Someone who does not want us to know the truth. Let us see Yamun's body and learn the truth for ourselves." With those words, Chagadai strode out of the clearing toward the door of Yamun's yurt.
Just as he reached it, Sechen stepped forward and blocked the entrance with his sword.
"Why is Jad afraid?" shouted Chagadai, turning his back to the door so he could address the couralitai. Caught up in the excitement and straining to see, the nobles were on their feet. "Let us see the khahan's body!" shouted many from the crowd.
"Then see it you will," said a voice behind Chagadai, echoing from the doorway of the tent.
The khans in the crowd stopped their cries and froze in disbelief. Standing in the doorway was Yamun Khahan. He was dressed in coarse robes of blue serge cinched with a belt of leather and gold. His hair was undone, shaped in a halo around his shaven pate. He leaned against the door-jamb to steady himself.
"The khahan!" whispered the big, crude khan next to Koja. The assembly echoed the man's words like the breath of a wind spirit. Several of the men abruptly knelt, bowing their heads toward their risen leader. Chagadai turned slowly toward his lord, his eyes wide with shock and fear.
Yamun ignored the wolfish khan. Pushing past Chagadai, he slowly but steadily walked into the center of the couralitai. Yamun's color was still pale, and it was clear that every step drained away a little of his strength. His brow glistened with sweat from the effort of each footstep. Nevertheless, the khahan never flinched. At last, Yamun reached the center of the circle, swaying slightly on his feet. He turned and scanned the faces of the khans in attendance. "Now, who will be khahan?" he demanded, as if he were some vengeful apparition.
No one answered. No one, it seemed, could tear his eyes from the khahan.
Koja looked toward Bayalun. She was once again smiling the same faintly triumphant smile that had crossed her face earlier. Next to her, Jad was watching the khans, his smile equally triumphant as he searched out the slightest sign of opposition.
"None shall be khahan but you, dear husband," Bayalun said diplomatically. "But some, believing you dead, were eager for a new khahan." All eyes turned toward Chagadai. His thin face grew pale. "They forgot what is proper and called for Chanar to be khahan, ignoring your own sons. They did not even wait the thirty days of mourning that tradition demands." Bayalun tapped the ground with her staff for emphasis.
Chagadai nervously walked down the path, trying to discreetly return to his place. Those khans who had applauded his words sat very quietly in their seats, doing nothing to attract attention to themselves. Yamun turned toward the trembling Chagadai, fixing the man to the spot with his fierce stare. Those between the two men slid out of the way. "These words are true," the khahan growled.
"Great Lord," Chagadai sputtered, falling to one knee and bowing his head. "I did these things for the good of your people. Hubadai attacks Semphar, while we fight the Khazari. We need guidance."
"And my son isn't fit to rule. This is treason."
The nobles whispered in fearful concern. None, however, dared raise his voice in protest.
"Husband and son," Bayalun interjected, "he acted for the good of the Tuigan. If Chagadai knew you lived, he would not have spoken so."
" 'Only a foolish man holds the pecking hawk close to his eyes,'" Yamun angrily retorted, using an old proverb to make his point. "Like the hawk, Chagadai attacks me. He has betrayed me." Yamun strode to where the khan cowered.
Before anyone could object, Yamun drew his sword and thrust it forward. The sword pierced the khan's chest. There was a choked gasp of surprise from Chagadai, then he flopped to the ground, blood spurting from his wound. The dying man twitched and jerked, but finally lay still. Yamun, exhausted by the effort, leaned on the sword, its tip in the dirt, blood running down the blade.
For a moment, no one spoke. The khans, so vocal before, were unwilling to draw Yamun's ire. The khahan, as he regained his breath, grimly scanned the assembly, looking for anyone who might challenge his actions. Servants hurried forward and dragged the body away, sweeping dirt over the dark stain of blood on the ground.
"You have been told I died in battle," Yamun finally said to his apprehensive audience. "This was a lie, you say: the khahan did not die." Yamun wiped the bloody sword on his robe. "I remained hidden by my own command. I wanted you, my faithful khans, to think me dead."
"Why, Great Khan, why?" one of khans sitting on Jad's side asked hesitantly.
"I was attacked by assassins. I was wounded, but I live. Teylas protected me from this evil attack." He stopped to recover his strength. Suddenly everyone could see his weakness.
"Who did this to our khahan?" Bayalun called out. She looked around, waiting for an answer.
"The Khazari!" answered one from Jad's side of the couralitai. Koja suddenly felt uncomfortable, exposed. The commander next to the priest swiveled slightly, one hand on his sword. On the other side, the belching khan slid back, not wanting to sit too close to the lama.
"No, not the Khazari," Yamun snapped. "It was a Khazari who saved me from the assassins. The lama, Koja, fought to protect me from my attackers. For this I've made him my anda." The khans on either side of Koja eyed him with surprised respect.
"Who then?" asked a khan.
"Do you want to see my assassins?" Yamun asked, feigning reluctance. Weakened by the effort of speaking, the khahan closed his eyes. The wave of shouted approval from the khans rocked him slightly. Slowly, he took the empty seat between Jad and Bayalun.
"The bodies! Yes, we will see the bodies," the commander next to Koja shouted, urging the khans around him to add their voices to the cry. It quickly swelled and grew as khans from both sides expressed their outrage. Yamun settled back, confident that the khans still followed him.
"The bodies, bring the bodies!" went up the chant.
Yamun raised his hand, commanding silence. "Loyal khans," he shouted over the dying rumble, drawing deeper on his reserves of strength. "You shall see them. Sechen, bring the assassins here."
In the brief moments it took to fetch the grim bundle, Yamun sagged back in his seat. The khahan, Jad, and Goyuk conferred quickly amongst themselves.
Sechen returned, carrying the bloodstained rug, and dropped it with a thud at Yamun's feet. A wave of anticipation rippled through the nobles.
"Now, see who attacked your khahan," Yamun solemnly announced. "An unclean creature and a man!" With the tip of his boot, the khahan carefully pushed a fold of the rug aside. A visible wave of pollution and decay, marked by a cloud of flies, rose up from the rotting bodies. A gasp of astonishment came spontaneously from the assembled group. "A beast!" hissed a voice filled with disgust. "They send beasts to kill our khahan!"
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.
