The aide next to the khahan quickly took his own bow and nocked a strange arrow with a carved, bulbous head. Instead of aiming at the enemy, the man pointed the shaft upward, as if he were shooting at the clouds. The rank of signalmen prepared similar arrows.
At a slight nod from the khahan, the archers shot their arrows skyward. A chorus of howling shrieks pierced the din. Koja, startled, yanked on the reins of his horse, almost charging his mount into the chaotic fray. Sechen seized the bridle and held the horse in. "Whistling arrows," the big guard shouted, nodding upward where the shafts still flew, mournfully wailing over the galloping riders.
The whistling signal electrified the waiting troops. Koja watched as each man eagerly pulled a bow from his case and, with precision, nocked one arrow while gripping a bundle of others in his hand.
The khahan dropped his hand. Another flight of whistling arrows flew, followed immediately by a loud twang, like a badly tuned instrument, as the ranks fired their bows. The shafts hissed through the air, stabbing into the gloom. From the plain came a ragged chorus of startled cries. Through small gaps in the swirling dust, Koja saw a field dotted with a few dead and wounded. Other horsemen milled in confusion, panicked, as they tried to find the source of the attack.
Before the enemy could recover, Yamun's warriors shot again and again, sending their arrows into the slowly lifting murk. The cries of the wounded mixed with commands shouted in lilting Khazari that only Koja could understand. Officers were desperately trying to regain control of the confused mass. Men screamed of their injuries or called for their friends and horses. The dust began to settle, revealing a battlefield filled with confusion and fear.
"Now, before they recover, charge!" the khahan ordered. The nine-tailed banner waved forward, and the war drums were sounded. Down the line Koja could see the three banners of the tumens take up the signal. Three thousand men leaped from their positions.
Koja pulled back on his reins, holding his horse from the rush. The mare pranced and bucked, champing to join the tide that rushed outward. Even with Sechen holding the bit of Koja's horse, it was hard to restrain the skittish steed.
Only after the ranks had swept past did Yamun move forward. Steadily, the khahan and those with him gained speed to keep up with the galloping warriors strung out in front of them. Soon they were abreast of the stragglers—lamed horses, fallen riders hurriedly remounting, and nags that couldn't keep up. Koja clung to the pommel as he plunged forward, straight for the thin wavering line of enemy riders.
For Koja, the battle dissolved into a chaotic collection of scenes. There was no sense of order or place. It was not like the battles Koja had imagined: organized, proper, almost stately. Instead, the charge was like opening the doorway to the realm of Li Pei, the great judge of the underworld.
The first seconds of the attack were the clearest. As the leading men of the Tuigan tore into the flank of the Khazari cavalry, Koja could see the looks of utter astonishment and fear on the enemy's faces. The Khazari were still confounded by the torrent of Tuigan arrows and didn't seem to expect a charge.
The two armies met. A sound, like a peal of thunder, tore through the milling crowd. Koja had never experienced that instant when two lines met. The shock of first impact-horses, men, lances, and armor driving together—staggered him.
Almost instantly the two forces swirled into a mass. The Tuigan rode straight into the enemy, using their momentum to cut deep into the heart of their foes. The Khazari wheeled in confusion, and they lashed out in all directions. Commanders shouted orders to their men, desperately trying to regroup their units.
Before Koja could fully grasp the situation, Yamun and his command were among the enemy. An unshaven warrior with a gaunt face, dressed in a dirty silk robe with gilt trim, thrust a lance at the priest. Instinctively, Koja swung his mace up, batting at the oncoming shaft. The lance head ricocheted off the mace's shaft and skittered past his arm, bouncing off the metal plates of his armor. As the man swept past, a big fist shot out from the right, cracking the Khazari on the chin. The warrior toppled and thudded off the flank of Koja's mare. Sechen pulled close to the lama and grinned, holding up his fist in pride. The priest twisted back, horrified at what was happening. The fallen Khazari was nowhere in sight; he had vanished beneath the surging horses' hooves.
After that, Koja could no longer tell who was winning or even who was friend or foe. His horse leaped over a mortally wounded stallion that flailed madly on its back. Wild screams rattled around the terrified priest. A warrior stood, tottering. His body was braced against the end of a broken lance, which had been driven completely through his chest. Another soldier swayed weakly in his saddle, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist. His eyes were glazed and almost rolled completely back. He babbled prayers to some god. Two troopers grappled with a third, trying to throw him from his saddle.
Abruptly the fighting seemed to stop. The charge had carried Yamun's men through the enemy. The effect was dramatic. The sudden appearance of the warriors had set the Khazari cavalry into panicked flight. The broken lines streamed back the way they had come, ignoring their officers, leaving their wounded behind.
"Signal the pursuit," Yamun bellowed to the standard-bearer. Already the commanders of the jaguns were gathering their men. The standard waved, and the war drums quickly picked up the signal. Not allowing the Khazari troops a moment to regroup, Yamun hurled his riders after them. The lines of Tuigan cavalry quickly fanned out.
A rider wearing the armor of a Tuigan dayguard furiously whipped his horse, overtaking Koja. Some headstrong young warrior out to impress his khahan, the lama thought. He looked to see who it was, on the faint chance he knew the man. To his amazement, it was the dayguard he had seen earlier, the man who had aroused his suspicion. Hard behind the man came Afrasib, the wizard. He held no weapon but a slender bone wand. A flashing spark shot from the end, then a sudden gout of flame exploded far to the right. A wavering line of smoke hung for a second in the air. The wizard laughed aloud, deriving some maniacal pleasure from the destruction.
Suddenly, Yamun's group ran into another cluster Khazari, men who had no intention of turning their horses and running. There must have been twelve or more of them grouped under a commander. Sechen's momentum carried him through the defenders. His charge scattered the group. Some of the Khazari lancers veered off toward Yamun's standard-bearer, forcing the man away from the khahan. Two charged toward Koja, only to be met by the priest's guards. The suspicious-looking dayguard continued to whip his horse mercilessly, driving it toward the khahan. Koja wanted to call the man back, then realized the guard's job was to protect the khahan, not him.
Koja saw the dayguard, his foxlike face gloating, move close behind Yamun. The priest assumed the fellow was only coming to the support of his ruler, but he suddenly lunged forward, thrusting his lance into Yamun's back.
The khahan howled in rage and pain. Twisting in his saddle, he swung his saber in a blurring backhand swing. There was a brief, dull sound as Yamun's blade sheered through the man's collarbone and cut into his chest. The would-be assassin dropped his lance in surprise. Blood flowed freely from the rent in his armor. He fumblingly drew his sword and weakly jabbed at the khahan. The thrust missed, but pierced Yamun's white mare in the rump. At the same time, the Khazari lunged forward, sensing an opportunity to strike.