Koja pondered the offer, judging whether the Khazari would be likely to accept it. It was clear from the meetings today that the Khazari were frightened by the power and savagery of the khahan's men.
"I think they will accept that," the priest decided sadly. He felt unclean. He had managed to save the life of one man, but only at the cost of the other three.
Yamun suddenly yawned. "I am tired now, Koja, and so are you. It is time to rest. Go now." With a nod, he dismissed the priest.
The audience over, Koja returned to his yurt and quickly went to bed. Already tired, Yamun's yawn had seemed to drain him of his last energy reserves. Ignoring the cold meal Hodj had laid out, Koja went straight to bed.
At first, exhausted though he was, the priest could not sleep. He kept thinking of the day's events, particularly the wizard's fate. Koja felt responsible for Yamun's decision. Fretting and guilt-ridden, he fell into an uneasy slumber.
A noise penetrated the gray fog enclosing the priest. It was the grinding clink of stone against stone. He was outside, still dressed in his sleeping robes. The wind was blowing, but he did not feel the cold.
Looking around, Koja could see that it was still night, somewhere on a grassy plain—or what remained of it. The ground was a jumble of cracks and upheaved earth. Bodies of warriors and horses lay half-buried, half-crushed under the churned ground. Some were Tuigan bodies, clearly identified by the war banners flapping spectrally in the wind. Mingled among the troopers were the bodies of other warriors, dressed in antique armors. Koja could recognize only a few. A man here wore the garb of a Kalmyr chieftain, like one the priest had seen on an ancient scroll. Another wore the outlandish armor of a Susen warrior, easily identified by the flaring earpieces on the battered helm. The bodies encased by the armors were dried husks, their mummified skin stretched tight over the bone.
The odd noise came from up ahead. Koja clambered over the mounds of dirt, past the skeletal warriors and broken lances. Reaching the top of the largest mound, he could see a dark shape, a wall of immense size. To the left and right, it stretched beyond his vision. It stood higher than the five-storied palace of Prince Ogandi in Skardu. At the top was a line of battlements, jutting upward like broken teeth. The hammering sound came from its base.
As he drew closer, Koja saw a line of men, futilely battering the wall's foundation with mauls. Like the dead of the broken land behind Koja, these men were dressed in a weird assortment of ancient clothes. There were soldiers from Kalmyr, Susen, Pazruki, and men from lands he could not identify from their garb.
Each man swung his maul at a single spot, a single stone, oblivious to those around him. The ground reverberated with their blows, but no swing left any mark on the fortification.
Fascinated, Koja walked down the line, invisible to the toilers. He passed by a Kalmyri, then stopped to study the man. It was Hun-kho, the great war chief of Kalmyr. Centuries ago, Hun-kho had driven the Shou out of the wasteland, back behind the Dragonwall, only to be stopped by the Shou construction. Koja recognized him from the history texts in the temple.
The dead warlord continued his monotonous task. Koja resumed his walk. Farther on was the infamous T'oyghla of the Susen, a conqueror in his own right. He, too, never faltered from his work on the wall.
Finally, Koja saw an end to the line and a lone, robed figure, apart from the others. This man held a hammer, but did not swing it at the Dragonwall. Compelled by curiosity, the lama ran forward. When he reached the man, Koja put a hand on the mason's shoulder. The figure turned, revealing the face of his old master, horribly shriveled and gaunt. Smiling, the master handed Koja the hammer.
"This is the wall you have chosen. Break it and be free," the old man intoned. Seizing the sledge, Koja watched as the old master faded before his eyes. Suddenly he was alone with a line of warlords.
Automatically, Koja swung the maul. The stone splintered, splitting the smooth surface of the wall. Koja looked at the crack. Something glittered and slid inside it. He swung again and the crack widened. A shape softly ground against the ragged edges of the stone. The line of warlords stopped, turning in dumb astonishment. The lama peered into the crack. Something moved inside the Dragonwall, something huge and scaled.
"Free me," it whispered, the tones musically floating out through the hole. "Free me, Koja of Khazari."
Koja swung the maul. A painful shock ran through his hands as the sledge hit stone. Chips flew, but the crack was no larger. He swung again and again, jolting with each blow. The priest's breath came in ragged pants. His sweaty hands grasped the maul's handle, trying to keep it from slipping away. He pounded frantically, desperate to widen the crack.
Finally, Koja stopped, exhausted. Looking up, he saw the crack was unchanged, unbroken. It was no wider than it was when he started. There were no chips or scratches in its surface. Frustrated, he slumped down at the foot of the wall, the spirit drained out of him.
"You alone cannot free me, Koja of Khazari, any more than these others who have tried and failed." Lit by a faint glow, the warlords returned to their task.
"Who are you?" Koja gasped to the mysterious voice.
"I am Lord Chien, master of the ocean," the voice said haughtily. "I am the Dragonwall."
"Why can't I free you?" Koja asked as he clambered to his feet.
"I await your lord. Together you will have the might to humble my captors." Dark scales slid past the crack in the wall, then a baleful eye, yellow and catlike, came into view.
"Guide him," the strange voice continued. "Bring your lord to me and together you will free me."
"Why do you call me?" Koja demanded as he stared at the huge eye.
"You are his man. He listens to you. The others, here, know the price of failure. They are doomed to stay, tormenting me, until the wall is no more." Koja looked at the toiling lords and shuddered.
"And if I do these things?" the lama asked, backing away from the crack.
"Then I will have my revenge!" roared the voice. The ground shook with the spirit's words, then the eye disappeared from view.
Shaking, Koja turned. There was his master again, strong and healthy once more. The old man gently took the maul from Koja's grasp. The lama knew it was time for him to leave. Instinctively, he headed back the way he had come, past the conquerors and over the lands of the dead. Just as he reached the hill's top, his master called out faintly. "Everything is in balance, apprentice. Change one thing and you will destroy something else. There are walls all around you. Choose carefully the ones you will destroy." The words echoing around him, Koja walked back into his yurt, into his bed.
Blinking, Koja sat up in the near-darkness of his yurt. The events of his dream remained clear in his mind. Without knowing quite why, the lama hastily dug out his writing supplies. Huddled close to the light of a glowing brazier, Koja began to set down every detail.
14
Dreams and Destinies
On the next few days, the army's energies were consumed in its preparations to once again go on the march. When the khahan had attacked Khazari, Koja had marveled at the flow of orders given; now he was absolutely stunned. Forty thousand, perhaps even fifty thousand men had taken part in the trek to Manass, and even then only ten thousand had actually attacked the city. The rest were stationed at points along the border, partly to provide a threat to the Khazari, but more to ease the problems of finding food and water for tens of thousands of men and horses.
Now arrangements were being made for an even grander campaign. As historian, Koja discharged his duty conscientiously; he listened all he could and noted everything carefully in a growing pile of papers.