The Altar of Hate

by Vox Day

  “But that's impossible!” the Loremaster protested. “I essayed Truthscan on Tetradates' apprentice myself!”

  “As did I, my friend. But we do not truly know the depths of the darker Discordian magicks, and it may well be that a cunning Darkmage like Tetradates has ways of hiding secrets within a willing mind. I have wondered much since the two boys disappeared so suddenly, and I dread to think of what may have happened to young Yung Chu.”

  The Loremaster nodded grimly in agreement.

  “Every night I pray for his safekeeping. But surely if he is endangered by the dark apprentice, that is all the more reason why we must pursue them now, is it not?”

  “No.” The Master of Order shook his head. “The communication I received was from the Discordian, not Yung Chu. Although he claims they have located the Darkmage, and that Yung Chu is well, I fear he may be lying. No Alexi, I will not risk another of the Assembly, not just yet.”

  “Then what shall we do?” The Loremaster's eyes, for once, were not the least bit arrogant. They were dark and haunted with fear.

  “We wait, old friend. We wait and we pray.”

  Yung Chu grimaced as he pulled the evil-smelling coverings closer to him, trying to ward off the chill of the northern Chinese night. The rancid goatskins were malodorous and rough to the touch, and he thought longingly of the fine silks that had adorned Yeh Che'lyu's chambers, wishing he had thought to bring them with him at the time of his capture.

  Outside his tent, he heard drunken shouts and the terrified screams of women captured at the fall of Peking, now condemned to live out the rest of their short lives as barbarian playthings. His position as Chief Astrologer had assured his own survival and his newfound status allowed him a certain degree of privacy, but his modern conscience made it impossible for him to ignore some of the indecencies of conquest's aftermath.

  He groaned as yet another woman screamed piercingly, her long despairing cry cut short by a guttural oath and the sharp crack of an open-handed blow. Then there was silence, almost, as the woman's quiet sobs were drowned out by a sudden gust of wind from the north. The tent rattled and shook, but held firm and Yung Chu rolled over on his side in a futile search for sleep. It had been a long night.

  Just as the first rays of dawn were appearing in the east, a hand grasped his shoulder and shook him awake. Yung Chu started momentarily at the man's rough Mongolian speech and then relaxed as he remembered where he was. And, he reminded himself, who he was supposed to be.

  “You are to attend the Khan at his council, immediately!” the soldier ordered.

  His soft leathers and fine Chinese sword marked him as one of the Khan's personal bodyguards, his presence a testimonial to the high regard in which the Khan held his Astrologer. Not a bad omen, thought Yung Chu.

  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glared at the bodyguard's pockmarked face. “Where is it being held?” he asked, replying in the barbarian tongue.

  “The Great Yurt, of course.”

  “Very well.” He stood and looked down his nose at the shorter Mongol. “You will wait outside while I make my preparations. Then you will escort me to the council!”

  He gestured his dismissal and the Khan's bodyguard, taken aback at his firmness, bowed deeply.

  “Yes sir! I am at your command.”

  A few minutes later he strode confidently into the Khan's goatskin tent. It was huge, large enough for the ruler of many lands and diverse peoples to hold court in. Now it was half empty, with only a score of servants and pleasure girls wandering about inside the interior, oblivious to the warlike men clustered around a large man seated on a cluster of pillows towards the back of the tent.

  As Yung Chu drew closer, the warriors nearest him began to step out of his way. The movement attracted the seated man's attention, and Temujin looked up, glaring at the intruder. But the irritated look disappeared instantly and the Khan's broad face creased into a smile as he recognized the Khitan councillor.

  “Ahhh, Yeh Che'lyu, I am glad to see you!”

  The strangely golden eyes that looked so like a cat's were gleaming. Yung Chu wondered what had caused the Khan to be in such good humor, but quickly put the thought aside. He'd find out soon enough.

  “I exist only to serve you, Great Khan! May this unworthy servant be ever at your command, Great One.”

  Yung Chu swept low in a formal courtly bow and Temujin beamed. It was interesting to see how these bloodthirsty barbarians fervently admired the civilized manners and flowery words of the ancient culture they had so ruthlessly conquered.

  As he rose from his obeisance, the young Asian's gaze swept across the generals standing behind their seated ruler. He marked Mukali and Bogurchi, Jebei the Arrow, Juchi, the Khan's half-Merkit son, and Chagatai, the heir apparent. He noted Jelme, other than himself, the only non-Mongol, a forest dweller who had once saved Temujin's life and now ranked among the most powerful marshals of the toumans. Then his eyes met those of an imposing figure standing behind the rest, his great bulk dwarfing even that of the legendary wrestler Belgutai, who was said to have broken the back of the giant Buri Boko with his bare hands.

  Yung Chu froze as he stared at the inscrutable face of the Khan's favorite general. Tetradates' shape-masking spell was perfect, for not a glimmer of Caucasian ancestry showed in the Darkmage's disguised appearance. The Logosian ventured a hesitant psychic probe and stifled a gasp as it was rebuffed by a power that dwarfed his own. Closing his eyes, he quailed and braced for the magick he feared would blast through his shields and destroy his mind. But it did not come.

  “Yeh Che'lyu, what's wrong!” Yung Chu found himself embraced by a pair of strong arms as he sank to his knees waiting for a blow that never came. “Are you ill? Do evil spirits assail you?”

  He unsteadily opened his eyes and found himself staring into the slitted orbs of the Great Khan.

  “Father, he sees visions from the Sky!” exclaimed Temujin's middle son, Ogodai, who had caught Yung Chu from behind as he fell. “Tell us, Yeh Che'lyu, do you see victory in the south for the toumans?”

  Yung Chu's mind raced as he sought to unravel the diverse threads woven through this particular council. Temujin's good mood, Tetradates' forbearance, and now a hint from the Khan's son. He shook his head in horror as he quickly pieced the clues together and came up with a conclusion that caused his heart to grow cold. Peking was the gateway to the civilized south, and there were many cities for the sacking… and many millions of souls for the slaying. Rising to his feet, he bowed deeply again to the Khan and spoke. This was no time to mince his words, even if it cost him his life.

  “I have seen… what I have seen…. victory and cities falling, but in their destruction, a Sky-cursed waste. I see a foolish hubris in attempting to win that which has already been won!”

  At his words, the war council broke out in a buzz of interjections and excited arguments.

  “He lies to protect his former masters!”

  “How could he, he wasn't here?”

  “He speaks with the voice of the Sky!”

  “Ha! Astrologers know nothing of war!”

  But Yung Chu ignored the multitude of voices, listening only for the one that mattered most. The Great Khan stood before him, tall and broad-chested for a Mongol, a man among men. Now his square face was filled with a puzzled sadness as he surveyed his youthful Astrologer, stroking his sparse beard and shaking his pigtailed head. Yung Chu's intestines twisted as he recalled the horrific fate of those who had gainsayed Temujin before, but his beardless face remained calm and impassive.

  “You would call me a fool, then, you, a man of dwindled Kara-Khitai, slaves to the Jurchet?” The Khan's voice was soft, but Yung Chu knew that danger lurked like a yawning abyss only a single step away.

  He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, staring fixedly at the hide-covered floor.

  “I am your slave only, Great Khan. But when a wise one seeks a mare's milk to make khouvass, does he slay the mare and drain her body dr
y, or does he milk her and then leave her unmolested until he once more has need for milk?”

  The Khan was unmoved. For a long moment he remained silent, and Yung Chu thought he could really feel Temujin's eyes burning upon the carefully knotted hair on the back of his head. Then, as Yung Chu dared a sidelong glance, he saw the Khan's lips began to curve upward in a broad smile, and that broad, thickening belly began to shake as he roared with laughter, his amusement echoing from the goatskin walls of the giant tent.

  “Fools! All of you, fools!” He spun and glared at each of his generals in turn, but saving his most scathing look for the false Subutai. “And you would have had me slay them all, short-sighted wolf! Then who would work the fields, our untamed toumans? Shall my sons turn merchant, and learn to make gold like the traders? No! Never!”

  He turned back around and raised Yung Chu to his feet. “You, Astrologer. What is your advice?”

  Yung Chu swallowed hard. Here was his chance. It was only a battle, not the war, but it was a victory nonetheless.

  “Appoint a viceroy to rule over the Kin,” he said quickly. “One who can break the remnants of their pride, but leave them free to work and trade otherwise. Tax them heavily, and use them to provide for the toumans. Your empire, Great Khan, has been conquered from the saddle. But you cannot rule it from the saddle. For that, you need a throne!”

  The Khan nodded. “Wise words, Yeh Che'lyu. Mukali!” he shouted, gesturing to a tall Mongol standing off to the left of him.

  “Yes, Great Khan,” the man stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully.

  “Mukali, you are viceroy in the south. Rule over the Kin with an iron fist, and milk them for me. Yes, milk them!” he bellowed, grinning happily at Yung Chu. The Khan's loud laughter was so infectious his generals couldn't help but join him, and even the young time-traveler had to smile.

  “And you, Yung Chu, will not be just my Astrologer anymore. I have an Empire now, and I must have a Councillor worthy of an Emperor. The man who rules at the Emperor's side. What did the Kin call such a man?”

  Yung Chu bowed his head, concealing his satisfaction.

  “This humble servant is not worthy, Great Khan. But they called such a man… they called him Prime Minister, Majesty.”

  The Khan smiled.

  “Then, Yeh Che'lyu Tsai, you are my Prime Minister.”

  Yung Chu fell to the ground and prostrated himself before the Emperor of the Steppes.

  “I am always yours to command, Great One. If I speak, may it only be with your voice!”

  He was pleased with himself. But as he rose to his feet to accept the many congratulations from the assembled Mongol warlords, he couldn't help but sneak a quick glance at the man whose plans he had thwarted. Tetradates betrayed no emotion, but Yung Chu knew there were demons of rage howling behind the Darkmage's disguised face. He started as a silent voice spat angry words into his mind.

  You will not thwart me, Orderling. I promise you that!

  That night Yung Chu fell to sleep with difficulty, and his dreams were ghastly visions of suffering and torture. Again and again, he saw himself perishing after long hours of torment at the exquisitely skilled hands of Tetradates. He saw the scaly tongues of horgutash demons flaying his soul from his body as skeletal bone devils snapped his limbs and sucked greedily at the marrow that slowly dripped out. Then the warning shriek of a violated warding spell jolted him awake, and he was relieved to find himself sitting upright amidst his foul-smelling skins. But he was not alone.

  His black-clad assailants eyed him warily as they entered the little tent. Each man was swathed in cloth from head to toe, and bore a sharp, curved dagger. The first man, whose entry had triggered the magical alarm, also carried a short scimitar-like sword as he advanced towards Yung Chu in a crouch. Something about the man seemed familiar, the young Logosian thought as he eyed the evil-looking blade. As he backed slowly away from the men, his mind returned to another midnight assault, and that same sword dripping with the blood of a scholar.

  But unlike the man he had replaced, Yung Chu was not defenseless. He smiled grimly, and cast a quick glamor over himself as he suddenly leaped to his feet.

  “You thought you killed me once, fools! Do you think to try again!” he shouted angrily as he assumed one of the demonic aspects that had so recently haunted his dreams.

  The three assassins quailed before the image of the horgutash, as it flapped its dragon-like spiked ears and drooled bloody red ichor from its gaping black maw. The hellish image was too much for two of the men, they broke and ran screaming into the night, but the man with the sword stood his ground, cringing fearfully, until Yung Chu made as if to leap at him. The sword fell to the ground, followed seconds later by its bearer as he collapsed in a dead faint.

  “Oh, for Belial's sake,” growled Tetradates as he strolled into the tent, still wearing the outward appearance of the dead Mongolian general. “You can't trust these superstitious primitives to do anything right!”

  Yung Chu's momentary sense of victory disappeared at the sight of the Darkmage. Now it was his turn to cower as the great sorceror shrugged and extended a hand towards him.

  “I suppose we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Tetradates told him, before making a gesture with his left hand.

  Yung Chu felt an unseen hand seem to reach inside his rib cage and grip his heart, and a sharp pain wracked his chest as the hand began to squeeze. His pectoral muscles spasmed uncontrollably and he fell to his knees, body exploding with agony. As he felt the fibers of his heart begin to tear away slowly, one by one, he clutched desperately at his breast for the chirul crystal that hung suspended there and called upon the power inside it.

  He almost lost control of his bladder as the blessed crystal broke the evil magick and the pain disappeared instantly. Tetradates grunted uncomfortably, and Yung Chu looked up to see an overweight Caucasian man with a very surprised expression on his face. He crawled for the assassin's fallen sword, grasped its hilt, then leaped to his feet. With a fury inspired by fear, he raised the weapon over his head, ready to decapitate the stunned Darkmage. But like his cowardly hirelings, Tetradates had already fled into the shadows.

  “What is happening, you cursed hellspawn? Where is he?”

  The Loremaster's eyebrows rose as Gorean angrily addressed the scarlet riyal crystal in his hand. The crystal glowed and seemed to pulse weirdly as Dag's response echoed back over the centuries, as if keeping time with some unheard, irregular rhythm.

  He's with the Khan somewhere near India. Problem is, Tetradates is there too!

  “Why can't we speak with him?,” Alexi interjected, leaning over the Order Master's shoulder. “How do we know you're not in league with your master?”

  You don't, came the immediate reply. And you can't speak with him because I'm in Hungary in service to Prince Henry. Yung Chu doesn't know how to use the riyal.

  “Where did you get it?” Alexi demanded.

  You don't need to know. Now are you going to send someone back here or not? Yung Chu managed to keep Temujin from wiping out China, but Iran is history. My guess is that Tetradates has already got something like a third to a half of the deaths he needs to complete the pact.

  “You're not serious…” Gorean blanched. “No, of course you are.” He looked over at the Loremaster, who was shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “Well, Dag, I suppose we have no choice but to trust you. What would you have us do?”

  Get a good team of five or six Adepts together, competent ones who are capable of taking on my master between them. Tell them not to mess around or be clever, just kill him as fast as they can. I'll contact Yung Chu tonight and find out where you should send the strike team. Have them plan to travel at the next new moon, with a group that large you won't be able to do it any sooner than that.

  “Okay but wait…” The glow inside the crystal died to a dull blood-like red, and Gorean swore under his breath in frustration. “He's gone.”

  Yung Chu held
his head in his hands as he meditated before the fire in his rudely-constructed dwelling. The last six months, he had been witness to a hell on earth, as the Khan's toumans, like the evil breath of a bloody-minded god, had swept before them the armies of the Kwaresm-shah, massacring his people and obliterating his empire. And there had been nothing Yung Chu could do to stop it.

  For Temujin had not planned to war against the wealthy and powerful Muslim empire. Rather, the Great Khan had actually taken his advice to make diplomatic overtures to his counterpart across the great river of the Jaxartes. Unfortunately, the Shah Mohammed was cursed with a surfeit of pride and a dearth of good sense, and, feeling that the undisciplined horse-archers of the Mongols would melt before his fierce Islamic warriors, sent the Great Khan's ambassadors back to him with their heads shaved. Among the Mongols, this was the mark of a slave. It would have been better if the Shah had simply killed them.

  The Khan was enraged, understandably, and no amount of pleading or argument would budge him from his determination to punish the Kwaresmians. Tetradates, in his guise as Subutai, designed a brilliant plan of assault, circumlocuting the Shah's armies on the banks of the Jaxartes by traversing the dangerous heights of the Pamir mountains in the cold depths of winter. The Shah was taken completely by surprise; Otrar fell first, followed by Bukhara, then Samarkand. At first, Temujin was inclined to be merciful, killing only the Kwaresmian nobles and the Turkish-manned garrisons. But as the war went on, setbacks occurred and Mongol casualties increased. The Great Khan's temper grew short. And always, there was the false Subutai, whispering in his ear.

  Seventy thousand people were slain at Nissa, one million perished at Merv when the waters of the Murghab were diverted to drown the besieged city. At Herat, three thousand were spared during the first sacking of the city, but at Subutai's insistence, the toumans returned. At Nishapur, Subutai's protégé, Tului, presided over the bloodshed as every single living thing in the city was exterminated, every last man, woman, dog, cat, and rat.