Jad waited for Chanar to enter, then brought up the rear, trying to suppress his panic. Had he stalled long enough?

Was the khahan ready to receive them? He edged his hand to his sword, in case things went badly.

Bayalun took only a single step through the door and stopped. Chanar, his head bowed to get through the door, bumped into the khadun and stepped back in surprise. Looking over Bayalun's shoulder, he lurched back farther in greater astonishment. Jad easily slid to the side, out of the way, his eyes goggling at Yamun's throne.

Bayalun let out a sharp gasp of incredulity, and her staff almost slipped from her grasp. General Chanar simply gaped in shock. There, opposite them, was Yamun, alive and sitting on his throne. His legs were spread, his hands resting on his knees, his head held upright, chin jutting forward. He was dressed in his finest armor, a bribe the emperor of Shou Lung had sent a year ago. The metal gleamed in the dim light—a golden breastplate sculpted with muscles, a pair of flaring silver shoulder-guards, a skirt of the finest metal chain, and a helm of gem-encrusted brass and gold, tapered and fluted to a point. A pure white horsetail, braided with ribbons of red silk, hung down from the helmet's tip.

Under all the trappings it was difficult, almost impossible, to see Yamun's face. The lamps were hung far and high from the khahan's seat, casting his features into darkness. His hands were covered with thick gauntlets.

At the head of the men's seats, close to the khahan, sat Koja, cross-legged. The hollow-eyed priest studied the pair who had just entered with anxious curiosity. Beside him was Goyuk, still dressed in the filthy robes from yesterday's battle. The old khan had dug out his pipe and was carefully tamping it full of tobacco. He glanced toward Bayalun and Chanar, and then returned his attention to his pipe, scarcely giving them any notice. Behind the khahan were the nightguards. At their head stood Sechen, his arms hidden in the folds of his kalat. The guards stood stiffly erect, their eyes boring in on the visitors. They made no attempt to hide their hatred.

"Come forward," the khahan said softly. His resonant voice carried clearly across the room. Cautiously, eyeing all those around her, Bayalun walked forward. Chanar strode beside her, though his gait was less swaggering than normal.

Bayalun was the first to gather her wits. She cleverly composed in a simple refrain, chanting it in a droning melody.

"Greetings, honorable son who rises again.

Your grieving mother is pleased to see you.

Your grieving wife is pleased to see you.

Double blessings flow like water upon me."

Yamun bowed his head slightly toward his stepmother. "Sit," he whispered, pointing to a seat about halfway up the women's row. Bayalun obediently took the seat, accepting the slight insult the position implied without comment.

"Sit," the khahan said in a stronger voice, indicating a seat for Chanar beside Goyuk. Chanar hesitated, for the seat put him at a lower rank than the priest. He started to protest, then thought better of it.

There was a strained silence and, for a moment, Yamun's head sagged. The illustrious second wife watched the khahan with keen interest. Prince Jad, near the door of the yurt, silently drew his sword and caught the eyes of Sechen. The giant nodded slightly, indicating his readiness.

"Have this pipe, Great Lord," old Goyuk said brazenly, sliding forward to hand Yamun the bowl he had prepared. Abruptly the khahan's head snapped up.

"I'll smoke," Yamun answered, his voice sounding a little hollow. Taking the pipe, he lit it and took several long puffs, enjoying the sharp flavor of the exotic tobacco. Koja offered a silent prayer to the Ten-Thousand Protective Images of Furo. At the back of the yurt, the prince once again relaxed his stance.

"You've heard evil rumors, no doubt," Yamun finally said. "Rumors that assassins were sent to kill me. So, no doubt, you hurried here to prove to your own minds how wrong these rumors were."

Bayalun studied the khahan closely, trying to see if his image was some illusion created by the priest. At the same time, she quickly reviewed the spells she had ready, just in case there were more surprises.

"Sadly, there was truth in the rumors. Have the guards bring the body," Yamun commanded Sechen. The towering fellow left his position and exited the tent. Yamun continued, "Yesterday, during battle, a creature tried to kill me. It failed because my anda—" At this the khahan tipped his head toward the priest. "He fought to protect me. Let us drink to his fortune." With a feeble wave, he had the servants bring ladles of black kumiss. Hands shaking, he raised his ladle to his lips and tipped his head back for a drink.

As he drank his face came out of shadow. Bayalun clearly saw the deathly color of his cheeks, which were gleaming with cold sweat from the mere effort of sitting up.

Chanar sat ramrod-straight, his hard, narrow eyes on the lama. The others raised their ladles and slurped the drink. The general, though, sat still, refusing to salute the priest.

As the group finished the toast, Sechen coughed discreetly from the door. Yamun acknowledged his presence and everyone turned to watch as the huge Kashik pulled open the door flap. There, wrapped in a freshly butchered horsehide, was the body of the hu hsien. The guards kept it just outside the door, so that it wouldn't pollute the khahan's yurt. Even knowing who, or what, the body was, Koja found the creature hard to identify. It's fur had already lost the luster it possessed in life. The gash in its chest was crudely closed, but the decay and corruption had not stopped.

Bayalun looked at the body briefly, only long enough to satisfy herself that it was the Shou assassin the mandarin had provided. It only confirmed what she now expected, so she easily concealed the few emotions seeing the body evoked. Mother Bayalun was disappointed. She had expected much more from the great empire of Shou Lung. Their token of support, a lone assassin, had failed. Now, she would have to press them for greater commitment.

Chanar, on the other hand, looked at the thing with disgust and fascination. He'd never seen such a creature. It didn't surprise him that Bayalun would use beasts and not men. He could see now why her plans had failed, relying as they did on such creatures.

"There are also rumors," Yamun said thinly, interrupting the contemplation of the body, "that you, Mother, were somehow responsible for this." He paused. Unconsciously, the khahan tugged gently at his mustache, his body sagging forward as he did so. "Of course, this isn't true. Still, it would end these rumors if you swore an oath of loyalty to your khahan."

Bayalun glared coldly at her stepson. In icy, measured tones, she said, "You would make your mother and your wife swear to you? Men will say you are without morals for this perversion."

"Men will say worse of you if you refuse!" Yamun snapped, suddenly revealing surprising strength. "Will the khans hear how you are afraid of Teylas's wrath?" Yamun braced himself once more against his knees.

Bayalun realized that she stood alone. Chanar could not, would not, come to her aid without arousing suspicion. Bitterly the woman agreed. "Never before in our history has the khahan dared to demand this of his khadun. May Teylas find this offensive to his sight!" She turned and spat on the rugs.

"Teylas can make of it what he wants. Now, say the oath." Yamun commanded. By his tone it was clear he would brook no more argument.

Bayalun stared at her husband, weighing her choices. She could hear his armor creak to his labored breathing. At last, she kowtowed before the khahan. With her face pressed into the rugs, she recited the ancient words.