"His men must have their weapons ready," the khahan continued. He signaled a servant to bring him a drink. "Each man must have two lances, two bows, and four hundred arrows. Any man who doesn't will be beaten—five lashes of the rod. Any man whose horse is not ready will be beaten for the same. Any man who goes home to his family will be captured and given to his khan for punishment."

Koja finished writing with a flourish. He held his brush poised, ready to resume writing.

"The morning audience is over," Yamun abruptly announced. "Tonight there will be a feast to honor the safe return of Chanar Ong Kho. Let all who welcome his return attend."

Chanar was stunned. Although pleased about the feast, he expected a longer meeting with the khahan. Always in the past he had enjoyed Yamun's favor. Now, it seemed things had changed. Reluctantly, he stood to go, bowing to the khahan as he started to leave. Koja also got to his feet, wincing as his legs refused to unbend.

"Koja," Yamun suddenly said, using the priest's personal name for the first time, "I want you to stay. I'm curious about your prince."

The priest waited as the khahan ordered, obedient if baffled. He also sensed Chanar's dark looks behind him. The general stalked away, keeping his counsel to himself.

"I will go now, too, my husband," Mother Bayalun pronounced. Yamun didn't answer.

After Bayalun and Chanar had departed, the khahan ordered the servants to bring drinks, black kumiss for himself and hot wine for Koja. He once again lounged back on his stool. "Now, Koja of the Khazari, I've let you learn something of our plans. Perhaps now you can tell me what sort of man your Prince Ogandi is." Yamun yawned.

Koja paused, uncertain of what to say. How much could he reveal without betraying his lord? How much did he owe to the khahan?

Down the slope, Mother Bayalun caught up with Chanar as he was walking toward his white mare. She hobbled alongside him, prodding the ground with the tip of her staff.

"Greetings to our brave general," she hailed. "Will you take a little time to visit with an old woman?"

Chanar looked at her carefully. The sunlight gave her face a warm glow. It was a mature beauty, livened with self-confidence and will. Bayalun gave Chanar a smile, knowing and tempting. "Old woman" was hardly the way Chanar would describe her.

"Greetings returned, Mother Bayalun," Chanar replied. A part of him was intrigued. It was not like Bayalun to be so forward.

"I couldn't help but see you are alone today, instead of with your anda, Yamun."

Chanar slowed his pace to match hers. "You are very observant." His voice went cold. He glanced back to the khahan's yurt. Yamun and the foreign priest were sitting in close conversation.

"I have just come to apologize and say that I do not think it is proper." Her tone was soothing to his injured pride. "You have been traveling much of late, General Chanar."

Chanar turned in surprise at her concern. "I have been doing Yamun's wishes."

"The khahan has messengers to carry out duties such as these," Bayalun said as she steadied herself on the staff. "He sent you to Semphar—"

"It was an honor!" Chanar insisted.

"Naturally, though hardly taxing on your abilities," she answered, unperturbed by his outburst. "The priest you brought back is quite a prize of war." Chanar glared at her, needled by her barb.

"Of course it was an honor to go to Tomke's ordu, too," Bayalun added as she stopped walking. They were near her tent. The second empress turned and looked back toward the khahan. "Since you have been gone, Yamun has spent much time with the foreigner. He has named the priest his grand historian."

"I know" Chanar muttered sullenly. He followed the empress's gaze to where the two men sat.

"Other things have happened while you carried messages," Bayalun noted ominously. "Yamun consults the priest for advice, listens to his word. It could be the priest has enchanted Yamun."

"Bayalun, you know no spells can work here. He—" Chanar tipped his head toward Yamun's tent, "—chose this place with you in mind."

"There are ways other than spells to enchant, General," Bayalun reminded Chanar as she turned to enter her yurt. "The priest is dangerous—to both of us."

"Not to me. I am Yamun's anda," Chanar corrected. He didn't look Bayalun in the eyes.

"Chanar, things have changed. More things could change. Look up there. That should be you talking to Yamun, not the Khazari." Bayalun pulled aside the tent flap. "The khahan forgets you, forgets all the things you have done... forgets you for a lama." She paused again for effect.

Chanar let his head sink so that his chin almost rested on his chest. He watched the second empress from the corner of his half-closed eyes. The light of the morning sun highlighted her figure, the slimness showing even through the heavy clothes she wore. "You're right," Chanar conceded, "Yamun should listen to his khans, his anda—not strangers."

"Of course," Mother Bayalun agreed in a magnanimous tone. "The khahan needs good advisors, not bad ones. If he is not careful, Yamun may forget the Tuigan way. Then, General Chanar, what will happen to us? Come into my tent," Bayalun cooed as she stepped through the doorway. "I think we should talk more."

With a cold, friendless smile, Chanar stooped and stepped inside. The tent flap silently fell back into place.

5

The Valiant Men

"Come, Koja," Yamun bellowed, "sit here beside me!"

Under the night sky, Yamun sat in half-darkness, illuminated by the flickering flames of a large, foul-smelling fire. Thick smoke from the burning dung drifted lazily into the chill, star-studded sky. Koja wrapped the sheepskin coat around himself and walked into the ring of light that marked Yamun's campfire.

The feast celebrating Chanar's return had already begun by the time Koja arrived. It was now late in the evening. The sky was black, and the moon was three-quarters full. Tonight it shone with a reddish hue, dimly illuminating the landscape, casting thick sepia shadows over everything. Behind the moon trailed the string of sparkling lights. Tuigan tales said these were the nine old suitors scorned by Becal, the moon. According to the story, she in turn pursued Tengris, the sun.

The celebration was no small affair. In the walk to the top of the hill where Yamun's yurt stood, Koja passed a dozen or more fires. Around each was a circle of men, eating and drinking. At several fires the soldiers sang wailing, obscene songs. At one, two squat burly men were stripped to the waist, arms locked around each other as they wrestled in the dirt. Their companions roared and shouted out bets. More than a few troopers had already drunk themselves into a stupor and now lay around the fires, snoring in sotted bursts. Koja hurried past these fires.

During his hike, Koja noticed a change in the quality of the men. Near the base of the hill were men who carried iron paitzas, the lowest pass issued by the khahan. Koja knew because he recognized a few of the men as commanders of a jagun of one hundred soldiers. Serving as the khahan's scribe, the Khazari had seen these men in audiences before Yamun. Also around these fires were common dayguards, now off duty. The dayguard troopers were the least important of Yamun's elite bodyguard, but they still had greater status than the rest of Yamun's army.

At the next ring were lesser noyans, commanders of minghans of one thousand soldiers. Koja did not recognize most of these men, but guessed their rank by their talk. The priest acknowledged the greetings of the few he had met.

At the innermost circle, clustered around Yamun's fire, were the greater noyans, the commanders of the tumens of ten thousand men. All of these men were khans of the various tribes, important in their own right. Occasionally one would leave his fire and slowly approach the center, where the khahan sat. However, even the khans took care not to alarm the nightguards who stood around Yamun's camp.