"Let Yamun suspect," Bayalun continued, her voice dropping to soft murmur. "We will find a way to distract the khahan." She took Chanar's hands again and gently pulled the general to her. He gave a slight resistance at first, then took her in his arms. She stroked his tanned scalp and the thick brown braids that gathered over his ears. Caressingly, she tugged at his tunic, slowly undoing its clasps.

The sun only weakly warmed the layer of frosty dew that covered the ground the next morning. On the plain where the dead lay, the day's chorus of jackals and vultures was beginning. Listening to their cries, an almost comforting sound, Chanar stretched grandly in the doorway of Bayalun's yurt. There was a rustling noise behind him as the khadun stepped into the small reception area, adjusting her headdress.

"Yamun's death standard still stands, Bayalun," Chanar commented. He did not turn from the doorway. Coming up behind the general, she peered over his shoulder.

"Good. It gives us more time. There are many things we must plan. Now, come and eat." A small tray set with cups of salted tea, soured mare's milk curds, and chunks of sugar had been prepared by her guards. The second empress motioned Chanar to sit as she sipped at her tea.

Chanar could tell by the set of Bayalun's jawline that she had already been thinking of the distraction they needed. Taking up a cup, he settled back to listen, leaning comfortably against one of the chests.

"Did you see the khahan's face yesterday?" The khadun didn't wait for an answer. "It was pale, and his voice was weaker than I have ever heard. He did not escape my assassin. He's been hurt." She stared into her salted tea. "He wants to be dead so he can heal. We must force him into the open before he is ready."

Chanar nodded. "Easily said, but everyone believes him dead."

"I have a plan. Which khans are friendly to you?"

Chanar began to rebraid his hair. He thought for a few seconds while he worked. "Several—Tanjin, Secen, Geser, Chagadai—"

"Enough. Talk to them. If the khahan is dead, then there must be a couralitai to select a new khahan," the sharp-witted Bayalun explained.

"A couralitai?" Chanar exclaimed with a contemptuous laugh. "It'll take months to gather all the khans for a council. By then Yamun will be healed and there won't be a need to pick a new khahan. Bayalun, you've lost your cunning."

The khadun ignored his slight. "No, your khans must insist on it now." She touched his chest with her staff. "Think about it. The Tuigan are fighting two wars—one with Semphar and one here. Things could go badly without a khahan. Yamun's sons might fight each other for the throne. A decision must be made immediately." She lowered her staff. "These are the things you must tell your khans to make them worry. Then they will insist on the couralitai. They will even believe it is the right thing to do. Now, do you see?"

Chanar stopped braiding and pondered her words. "That's true. I could speak to the khans. But Yamun might let the couralitai happen. Jad might take command," the general said, trying to see all the strategies, all the complications.

"The khahan will not let it happen. He will appear," the second empress replied confidently.

"True. After all, Prince Jad might lose," Chanar mused, thinking of his own supporters.

"That's not why Yamun will appear. It's his pride that will force him into the open. He won't let another be khahan, not even his own son." Bayalun returned to her breakfast. "That is why I know he will appear."

"So, you force him to come out," Chanar conceded. "What good is that?"

Bayalun smiled, not the tender smile of the night before, but the scheming look Chanar had come to know. It drove a shiver of fear through him, the feeling he sometimes got on the verge of battle.

"When Yamun is weak and in the open, we will find a way to strike at him," she promised.

Their plans decided, the two plotters set to work. All morning Chanar made calls on his fellow khans, dropping suggestions, hints, and ominous predictions. At first skeptical of Bayalun's scheme, Chanar was surprised at how receptive the khans were to his words. The couralitai gave them a course of action, more so even than Jad's funeral plan. The khans began to clamor for the couralitai, threatening to leave if their demands were not met.

It was late in the afternoon of the same day when Jad insisted upon a council of war. Koja tried to prevent it, arguing that the khahan was still too weak, but the prince would hear none of it.

"I want a meeting with my father," he demanded. "The army's breaking up and there's a new problem. Envoys from Manass have arrived to negotiate a peace. I don't know what to do. Goyuk should be there, too; he knows what's going on. And you, too, priest."

No amount of debate was going to sway Jad, so Koja resigned himself to the meeting. Perhaps the prince was right, he thought. Things were getting out of control. He had heard the rumors among the guards. There was already talk of choosing a new khahan. They needed a plan.

In a short time, Jad, Goyuk, and Koja presented themselves to the khahan. Yamun looked stronger and there was more color in his cheek, but his voice was still shaky and weak. He was sitting up in his bed when they entered, wearing an ermine-trimmed robe lined with yellow silk. Koja had insisted that he put on clean clothes as part of the healing process. In truth, the priest only wanted to get rid of the smell.

Jad wasted little time with ceremony. "Father, your death's gone on long enough," he began, almost as soon as everyone was seated. "The khans are talking, demanding a couralitai. They're stirring up the men. I cannot hold the army together any longer."

Yamun looked surprised by the news. "A couralitai takes many months to prepare. My time of mourning isn't even over."

"They want one now," Goyuk explained, his wrinkled face lined even more deeply with concern. "They say the army needs a leader." His gums smacked together as if to accentuate the point.

"It's worse, Father," added Jad, bowing his head. "The envoys from Manass have come and are impatient to begin negotiations. That's given the khans more to complain about. Already Chagadai and Tanjin have threatened to return to their pastures. That's four minghans, four thousand men, Father."

Yamun considered the situation, absentmindedly twisting the sheets. "Anda, is my mother still in camp?"

"Yes, Yamun," answered Koja.

"Could this be Bayalun's doing?" the khahan feebly growled as he slapped the bed with a resounding thud. "Or is it spies from Shou Lung?"

There was silence from the group as they mulled over the possibilities. No one offered any answers.

"Yamun, you cannot sit here waiting for something to happen. You should make a plan," Koja suggested, speaking hesitantly.

"My anda is right. Tell them to call a couralitai," the khahan announced. He choked back a small cough.

"What?" sputtered Jad. "Why not just appear? Show you're alive?"

"Someone is manipulating all this," Yamun declared with certainty. "I'll show myself, but only after they make their move. Let's give our mysterious enemy what he wants, then see what happens. Call it for tomorrow."

"Lord Yamun, if there is a couralitai, you must appear—to prove you are not dead. Otherwise they will pick a new khahan," Koja pointed out.

"I know this. Don't worry, anda. I'll rest. Now go." With a tired wave, Koja and the others were dismissed from the khahan's presence.

As he stepped into the afternoon sunlight, Koja realized that it had been days since he'd last made any notes for Yamun's chronicle. He wondered how much he could remember. As a historian, he was doing a poor job. Wearily, the lama wandered to his tent to fulfill his duty as grand historian.