"Bayalun, you have your reasons to see him gone! If not me, you'd turn to another for help," Chanar accused.

"Of course I have my reasons, and I will turn to anyone who can help me," came the unhesitating reply. There was no shame in the widow's voice, only a bitter undertone of hatred. "I think of my son. I think of my husband—my true husband, not this murderer I was forced to marry. I have not forgotten them. I have the right," she snapped. "And don't you have your reasons? Yamun will lead us all to destruction, battering our armies against the Dragonwall of Shou Lung. Perhaps the priest suggested this as a way to destroy us all. So, what will you do?"

The second empress took a step backward as she waited for Chanar's answer. He stood there quietly, his chest heaving, fingers slowly unknotting behind his back. The color that had drained from his face was gradually returning. The wind blew against the yurt, creaking the wickerwork sides. The door flap snapped against its wooden frame.

Chanar tilted his head back, looking toward the smoke hole. His lips moved, saying a silent prayer. Finally, he lowered his head and looked the confident Bayalun straight in the eyes, almost as if he were trying to fathom the depths of her dark nature.

She didn't flinch from his gaze, but met it straight on. Defiant, self-assured, savage—these qualities Chanar saw within the glistening blackness of her eyes.

The general blinked, breaking away from her hypnotic gaze. He had made his decision. Carefully Chanar pulled his long, curved saber from its scabbard, letting the weak sunlight that came through the smoke hole play over the blade. With a defiant thrust he jammed it into the carpeting between them. Bayalun gently touched the blade with her staff.

"Tell me what I have to do," he demanded grimly.

"For now, come with me," Bayalun answered gently, the coldness melting away from her now that she had triumphed. Bayalun took Chanar's hand and gently pulled him toward the back half of the tent. "There will be time for talk later."

Koja stumbled through the gloom, exhausted. He had been sitting all day in negotiations with the diplomats of his old lord, Prince Ogandi. He could only see it that way now—Prince Ogandi was the man he once served, what seemed to be centuries ago. This meeting had confirmed Koja's separation from his own people. He could vividly see the look of outrage and fury on the faces of the Khazari diplomats when he was presented as the khahan's representative. His title certainly hadn't helped the negotiations any.

The priest desperately wanted to go to bed and forget this awful day. Emotionally, it had been hideous, perhaps worse in its own way than the terror he had experienced on the battlefield. During the mad charge across the plain, excitement and fear had kept him detached and allowed him to witness the blood and suffering without any emotional response. He wasn't even aware during the battle of how scared he was. That realization only came later. In the tent with the Khazari, however, Koja felt every excruciating second. Their hatred for him seemed much stronger expressed in Khazari. He understood every nuance and connotation of their words. There was little he could do at the time but suffer through it, while demanding their acceptance of the khahan's terms.

Now, he had to tell Yamun the day's results. Reaching Yamun's yurt, the lama leaned against the doorframe while a servant announced him. It was not proper or decorous, but Koja didn't care. He was tired.

The servant came back and ushered the lama in. The khahan was alone, enjoying a late dinner of boiled horsemeat and curd porridge, chomping noisily on the simple food. He looked up from his meal and nodded for Koja to take a seat. Finishing the mouthful, Yamun wiped his face on the silken sleeve of his robe, leaving a greasy swipe on the fine blue fabric. "Welcome, priest. Will you eat?"

Koja nodded, although he wasn't hungry, especially not for the unappetizing dishes set out in front of him. One small advantage of being in Khazari was that he had found some proper food: roasted barley and vegetables. Still, not wanting to insult the khahan, he gingerly took a scrap of meat and a small bowl of the porridge. Chewing broadly, he made a great show of eating. Neither man spoke during the meal.

Finally, Yamun slurped down the last drops of the porridge and then wiped the bowl clean with his fingers. He set it aside and waited for the priest to finish. Koja wasted no time in pushing away his own meal, barely touched.

"They've accepted my terms for peace," Yamun predicted, scratching at the stubble of his thin beard.

"Mostly," corrected Koja. "They still have some reservations."

Yamun looked carefully at the priest. "Such as?" he asked, a steely edge in his voice.

"Of course, they agree to surrender," Koja hurriedly explained, to avoid provoking the khahan. "They are only ambassadors and will have to go back and present your terms to Prince Ogandi. However, they find them generally acceptable."

"What are their problems?" Yamun demanded, cutting through Koja's stalling. He gulped a ladleful of kumiss and waited for Koja to get to the point.

"They want to negotiate the amount of tribute—"

"Haggling?" Yamun shouted in astonishment. "I offer them peace or destruction, and they want to haggle about the price?"

"I'm sure it's only a formality, Yamun," Koja interrupted, speaking as quickly as he could.

The Illustrious Emperor of All People snorted in disgust. "You said there were problems, not just one."

"The governor and his men are a problem, too. The ambassadors want to know if you intend to keep these men as hostages. The demand for the Shou envoys has them concerned." Koja rubbed his temples, trying to make his rising headache go away.

"My intentions are clear. I'm going to kill them. It is this or total destruction. Didn't you make this clear?" Yamun looked away in vexation.

"Naturally. I stressed it to them," Koja assured the squat warlord. "They are confused."

"Why's that?" Yamun scratched his head, picking for a louse that had crawled out of his hat.

Koja discreetly chose not to notice the khahan's preening. "Taking Khazari hostages they understand, but they don't see why you want the men from Shou Lung. They are afraid this will make the Shou emperor angry with them."

Yamun ignored the comment. He set aside his kumiss and asked, "Does this governor have any use as a hostage?"

The priest thought for a minute. "I think he is a cousin of the prince."

"Good. What about the other man, the wizard who killed my men?"

Koja hesitated. He knew the man was no relation to Prince Ogandi, but if he revealed that, Yamun would certainly condemn the dong chang to death. That would make him, a priest of Furo, responsible for the murder. Still, if he lied, the khahan would learn the truth sooner or later and would kill the man anyway—and Koja would be in trouble.

"He is not related to anyone I know of, Yamun," Koja finally replied.

"Then he must die. The jagun of the men executed in Manass will want vengeance," explained the khahan. "It is known the wizard still lives. This is a great shame for their jagun, and it will be worse if he is allowed to escape. Therefore, the wizard will be turned over to them for punishment."

Koja cringed. He knew that the men of the jagun would not just kill the dong chang, they would make the wizard's death prolonged and agonizing. The only argument to save the wizard's life Koja could think of was that it was wrong, but it wasn't wrong to Yamun. For him, it was the correct thing to do.

"What of the governor?" the lama asked weakly. "Can I promise the Khazari that he will live?"

"Only if they also turn over the wizard and the men of Shou," Yamun stressed. "I'll keep the prince's cousin as hostage, but the others will die."