Horselords e-1

by David Cook

"You had better be right." The khadun crossed the tent and undid the door flap, a clear signal for Chanar to leave. He bowed slightly to her and stepped out through the door.

  After Chanar left, Bayalun sealed the tent flap and knelt down near the brazier. After taking one last look around, she was satisfied that she was alone. Quickly the sorceress whispered a few mystic words and sprinkled a handful of incense into the coals. The powder burned quickly, billowing into a heady puff of white smoke. The smoke rose, twisting and massing. Gradually, it formed into a face, a man of Shou features, handsome, with steady, dark eyes.

  "Greetings to the khadun of the Tuigan people," said the face in a whispery, hollow voice. The words were spoken in perfect Tuigan, though colored with a distinct Shou accent.

  "Greetings to the Minister of State," Bayalun replied. "May he live forever."

  The face smiled, the smoke drifting away at the corners of the mouth. "All is well?" it asked, puffs of smoke swirling from its mouth with each word.

  "The khahan has been struck down," Bayalun answered gloatingly. "It happened in battle. Soon there will be a new khahan." She tapped the floor decisively with her staff.

  "None suspect our involvement?" the form asked in soft words.

  "Do not worry, mandarin. No one knows your empire sent an assassin." Bayalun mocked the mandarin's fearful caution.

  The smoky face ignored her tone. "It is sad for your people. Surely none chosen as the new khahan can hope to match the illustrious glory of Yamun Khahan. The new khahan will need many advisors and learned men to help him through these difficult times." The face was growing indistinct, as smoke trailed from its nostrils and ears.

  "And, of course, Shou Lung will offer them," Bayalun noted. "Remember too, the new khahan will also need friendly, helpful neighbors-and assurances of their goodwill."

  "We have already decided the gifts that will be sent, Khadun," the minister said sternly. "Are you trying to renegotiate? Many of your people would be angry if they learned what you have done."

  Bayalun's face purpled slightly. "They might blame Shou Lung instead," she snapped back. "A khahan, any khahan, is dangerous to you if all the tribes follow him alone."

  "This is true. Then we understand each other perfectly," the face said faintly. "Now it is time for me …" The last words trailed off into silence, and the smoky face became nothing but a shapeless mass.

  Standing, Bayalun waved her staff through the vapors to break up the cloud. There was no particular reason for it, but she felt powerful doing it. Moving stiffly, her arthritis flaring up again, she crossed the tent and undid the door flap to let in the cool morning air. A beam of sunlight illuminated the room. With little else to do but wait, she sat in its pleasant warmth and rested.

  Today has been a good day, she reflected. Everything seemed to be working as she had planned. There was only one minor concern. Neither the hu hsien nor her wizard had reported. Afrasib had strict orders to keep her informed. It wasn't like him to forget her commands. He was normally so diligent and attentive.

  Still, Afrasib's failure was only a minor problem. Most likely, the wizard had not had a chance to contact her with his spells. Besides, all that really mattered was that Yamun, her stepson, was dead. Now, the khadun had to place Chanar on the throne before any rivals could challenge him. Once Chanar was khahan, she would rule the Tuigan through him.

  In Yamun's tent, the three conspirators, Koja, Jad, and Goyuk, hovered around the khahan's sickbed. The warlord was barely awake. His face was pale gray, tinged with a hint of blue. His breath came in labored sighs, wheezing in and out. A damp film of perspiration trickled across his shaven tonsure. His braids, which normally hung from his temples, were undone, spilling the graying red hair over his embroidered pillow. His eyelids wavered between almost closed and not quite open.

  Jad pulled the priest aside, away from Yamun's hearing. "You said he would get better," the prince whispered. There was a touch of danger in Jad's words, perhaps fueled by desperation.

  Koja swallowed nervously. "He has lived through the night, Lord Jadaran. That was the first struggle."

  "Then why hasn't he gotten better?" Jad demanded, pressing the priest back toward the wall.

  "I–I don't know," Koja feebly protested. He suppressed a tremor that started to come over him, brought on by fear and exhaustion. For two days the priest had slept no more than an hour. Judging from Jad's appearance-hollow-eyed and haggard-the prince had rested no better.

  "You don't know!" Jad snapped in frustration, slamming his fist into the carpeted wall beside Koja. "What do you know?"

  "Lord Jadaran," Koja said firmly, his patience gone, "I am no expert in poisons. I have closed the khahan's wounds and lessened the poison's fire. I did what I could, thank the almighty Furo. There is nothing more I can do. His life rests on the scales of Li Pei."

  "Li Pei?" Goyuk asked, just catching the end of the conversation.

  "The Strict Judge, the master of the dead who weighs the karma of men."

  "This no sound good," Goyuk commented, shaking his head.

  "So you say there's nothing you can do, priest?" Jad asked, slowly realizing that events were out of their control.

  "There is nothing I can do for the khahan," Koja said carefully, "but there is still something I can do."

  "What's that?" old Goyuk asked.

  "Speak with the dead. It is difficult and maybe a little dangerous," Koja explained, "but Furo has blessed me with this ability."

  "Wonderful. You propose to wait for my father to die and then talk to him!" Jad growled. He spun away from the priest and strode to the khahan's sickbed.

  "Not the khahan." Koja followed after Jad, trying to explain. "I meant-"

  A sigh suddenly escaped from Yamun's lips, and his eyes fluttered. "A plan?" the khahan breathed out softly. Weakly looking toward the others, he tried to speak again, only to falter and fall back upon his pillow.

  Koja wasted no time with more speech. Quickly he pulled back the covers and listened to the khahan's chest. His heart was still beating, and his breathing was slightly stronger. Still, his color was pale blue-gray, and his sweat was cold. The priest squeezed at the khahan's tough and weather-beaten hands, checking the firmness of the muscles.

  The lama waved to a servant to bring a pot of simmering herbs. It was placed carefully at his side, along with a colorful strip of woven cloth. The lama dipped the cloth in the pot and gingerly lifted the steaming fabric out, holding it up to cool. Finally, Koja laid the herb-infused cloth across Yamun's chest, folding it back and forth several times. With shaking fingers, the priest pressed it into position and then carefully covered the khahan once again with the blankets.

  The lama finally got up from his examination. "He heard us. It is a sign he is getting better." Jad's face broke into a shaky smile of relief. "But only a little better," cautioned Koja.

  "But what is this plan, lama?" Goyuk asked, breaking the tension.

  Thankful for the excuse to change the subject, Koja hurriedly launched into an explanation. "Khans, Furo has seen fit to answer my prayers and grant me the power to speak with the dead. Not with the illustrious khahan," he hastily added, "but to talk to one of his assassins."

  "What good is this?" Jad asked, looking away from his father.

  Koja shook his head. "I may learn something about the poison used on the khahan. You may learn who is to blame for the attack."

  "I know who is to blame-didn't you yourself say the creature was an agent of the Shou? And didn't you say the governor of Manass had a Shou advisor at his side? What more is there to know?" Jad said, dismissing Koja's last suggestion with a wave.

  "There was Afrasib, too," Goyuk pointed out. "How does he fit in?"

  "He was a wizard," Jad snapped, as if that explained it all.

  "The khahan, he would find out. Try what the lama say," Goyuk urged.

  Jad took a deep breath. He was young and unused to making such important decisions. "Goyuk," he said slowly, "because you ad
vise this, I'll try the priest's ideas." He pivoted to face Koja. "What do we do?"

  "Have the bodies brought to the tent, and we will perform the rite to summon their spirits. Then you can ask your questions through me."

  "You mean to bring the bodies here, to the royal yurt? I won't allow it," Jad said defiantly, his young eyes flashing. "Since my father is stricken, I'm in command. The dead bodies will pollute the yurt. That cannot be allowed."

  "But I must have the bodies. I must touch them," protested Koja.

  Jad mulled over the lama's words. "Very well, but it must be done in secret, and it cannot be done here." The prince got to his feet and paced back and forth as he gave his commands. "Goyuk, have one of the nightguards-not the dayguards-go to Sechen the Wrestler's yurt and order him to come with us. Issue a proclamation: all khans are to assemble their men this evening for a review by their prince. That will keep the curious occupied and out of our way."

  "By your will, it shall be done," Goyuk declared as he left.

  "Thank you, wise counsellor," Jad replied as the tent flap fell closed. Exhausted, the son turned back to his father. Spotting Koja, Jad stopped. "And you, priest, go and get yourself ready."

  Koja bowed and then left. There was little he needed to prepare, but he obeyed all the same. Yamun would manage without his care for a little while. As he walked back to his yurt, Koja could feel the gloom that had settled on the camp. The warriors were tense, uncertain of the future.

  Back in his tent, Koja quickly gathered the few things he would need. Hodj prepared him a hot meal, the priest's first in days. The food revived Koja, bringing him back from the edge of exhaustion. The meal finished, the priest opened his scrolls and once more reviewed the sutras he needed to know for the upcoming rite.

  He was still reading when Sechen brought horses. Packing up a small pouch, Koja joined the others. They rode silently across yesterday's battlefield. Most of the dead men were gone, taken by relatives or friends to be properly buried. A few still lay where they had fallen, their bodies looted. Still, the battlefield was far from clean. Littering the field were the bodies of horses. Nearly all the dead animals had been left to rot. The victors had taken what saddles, bridles, and tack they could carry, but the carcasses were left undisturbed. Only a few horses had been butchered for their meat. Most were puffy and bloated after many hours in the sun. Vermin were feasting on the carcasses. Vultures squawked at the riders as they went by. Jackals yipped when the men ventured too close.

  Jad worried that they were being watched as the group rode along. The prince had forgone his fine white stallion with the black and red saddle for a plain black mare and a saddle borrowed from one of the dayguards. He did not want to attract undue attention. Several of the dayguards had asked to ride along, since the prince was almost certain to be their new khahan, but he had firmly refused them.

  Ahead of the prince, Koja, too, rode quietly, thinking of what was to come. He was worried. When he'd made the offer to summon up the spirits of the assassins, he hadn't considered the possible results. What if he were wrong and the assassins were paid by Prince Ogandi? The farther they rode, the less confident Koja became.

  "Down there," said Sechen, interrupting the thoughts of both men. "We hid the bodies down there." He pointed to a small overhang that projected from the other side of the gully. "That way there would be no questions."

  "Good," Jad said. "You have served my father well. He will see that you are rewarded."

  "To serve him is my only reward," answered the wrestler. Koja had no doubts the man meant every word.

  Stopping at the edge of the gully, the group dismounted in the shade of the trees. Sechen hobbled the prince's stallion so it could not wander. The rest slipped off the bits and bridles so the mares could graze comfortably. The mares would naturally stay near Jad's stallion, so there was no need to hobble them. Leaving their mounts, the men slid and stumbled down the bank to where the bodies were hidden.

  If the battlefield hadn't already stank of death, they would have smelled the bodies some distance away. With so much death around, the smell of the corpses was only a minor thing. The heat of the day had not been kind to the dead. Drawn by the decay, flies buzzed thickly around the small shelf where the bodies were tucked. Sechen reached in, brushing the cloud of insects away, and pulled the corpses out.

  The bodies had already started to rot, and something had been gnawing at them. A noxious, poisonous wind exhaled from their inner cavities as the two corpses came tumbling out of the crack. They flopped and rolled down the slope until they jammed up on a small pile of rocks. Koja felt a quick squeeze of queasiness and resolutely choked it back. This was all his idea; he couldn't be sick now. Goyuk and Jad stepped back, well away from the bloated remains. Sechen quickly hurried away as soon as his job was done.

  Koja was not as fortunate as the others, for the spell he meant to cast required him to touch the bodies. However, he was slightly prepared. He pulled a spice-infused cloth and pressed it over his face. The heady smell made him dizzy, but at least now his nostrils weren't filled with the odor of rotten flesh.

  "Get started," Jad said impatiently.

  The priest thrust a small stick of incense into the ground, then waved to Sechen. Reluctantly, the tall fellow shambled over with a small metal cage hung from a chain. In it glowed a hot ember. Taking the chain, Koja picked out the ember with silver tongs and touched it to the incense. Within seconds, a thin stream of sweetly scented smoke rose up from the little stick. As the incense filled the air around him, Koja settled back and began chanting sutras. He had never used these prayers before, but knew they were the words needed to summon back spirits.

  The others watched him silently. Still suspicious of the priest, Jad signaled to Sechen, making like he was drawing a bow. The wrestler nodded in understanding. Quietly he took up his bow and held it ready, just in case the priest attempted to cast a spell on the prince.

  Everyone waited nervously for Koja to finish his chant. It seemed that the priest droned on forever. The words were hypnotic, seductive.

  Koja was oblivious to the strange sound of his chant. All his concentration was spent in uttering the words Furo poured into his mind. Simply saying the chant required an effort that cramped the muscles of his face. His upper lip trembled, and the back of his neck tingled. He could sense forces swirling about him, called by the musical quality of the words. His vision narrowed to a single point.

  Then, abruptly, the words stopped. Koja leaned forward and touched the cold, blue forehead of the dead wizard. A pale red light swelled out of the late Afrasib's slack mouth, winding slowly around the dead wizard's face. Gradually, the orb rose, trailing tendrils of light that continued to play over the cold face. As the orb moved, it elongated and increased in size.

  Koja sat back in surprise. Summoning up dead spirits was new to him; he had no idea what to expect. No one at the Red Mountain Temple ever mentioned a glowing light like this. As he watched, the light shimmered and expanded, slowly forming into something-a wispy, transparent form of Afrasib. The spirit opened its eyes, black voids, and stared directly at Koja. The lama shuddered as he looked into the dark pits.

  The priest spoke over his shoulder to the others, behind him. "The spirit is bound here for a short time," Koja whispered, afraid he might disturb the thing that hovered over Afrasib's body. "Quickly, what are your questions? I can only ask a few, so choose them carefully."

  "Ask who it worked for," Jad hissed, sitting stiffly upright, concealing his fear.

  Koja turned back to the spirit. "Who ordered you to kill Yamun?"

  "The one who wanted it done," the spirit answered. Its voice came from midair, somewhere in the vicinity of its former mouth. It was Afrasib's voice, but cold and monotone.

  "Ask the name," urged the prince.

  "What is the name of the person who ordered this killing?"

  "Ju-Hai Chou." The words drifted softly throughout the gully.

  "Who is Ju-Hai Chou?" Jad
wondered aloud. "No, don't ask that. Ask about Bayalun."

  "Did Eke Bayalun know of the attack?"

  The spirit languorously replied. "Mother Bayalun knows many things. Would she not know this?"

  "Now the spirit questions us," the prince muttered in disgust.

  "I cannot hold him much longer, Prince Jadaran," cautioned the lama. Sweat had broken out on his brow, and the strain of keeping the spirit bound was telling on him.

  "Who is Ju-Hai Chou?" Goyuk broke in, taking up Jad's previous question. "This may tell us more."

  "Who is Ju-Hai Chou, the one who ordered you to kill Yamun?" Koja strained to keep the spirit from slipping away. The light wavered and dimmed, then returned.

  "The hu hsien," the voice echoed faintly. The image started to dwindle.

  "What was his plan? Quickly, priest, ask!" Jad shouted, sensing that the contact was fading.

  "Afrasib, what was Ju-Hai Chou's reason?" Koja blurted out.

  "He was sent to help," the spirit intoned.

  "Who sent him?" Koja quickly asked, before the spirit could fade.

  "The Minister of State," was Afrasib's cryptic reply.

  "Who was Ju-Hai Chou help-" Koja didn't finish the question. The light had shrunk in on itself, leaving only a small point that hung in the air for a few more seconds and then disappeared completely. The priest slid back from the dead bodies, thankful to Furo that it was over. "I am sorry. The spirit escaped me. It was very strong." He pulled off the scented cloth and bowed to the prince in apology.

  Jad grunted, sounding a little like his father. "What about the other? We can learn more from him."

  Koja rubbed his shaven head, and looked at the body of the fox-man. The gaping gash that shattered the creature's chest was black and thick with flies. "I do not think it will work. He is not a man. His spirit is not the same."

  "Then we've learned nothing," Yamun's son said in disgust, brushing the dust from his kalat as he stood.

  "We have a name-Ju-Hai Chou," the priest pointed out. He was relieved that no names from Khazari had come up.

  "And we have a mandarin's title," Goyuk added. "Big herds grow from small sheep."