David Cook - Horselords

Goyuk's men crossed the plain in a well-ordered charge. It was not a wild, pell-mell rush. Instead, the minghans advanced at a trot, keeping in a line abreast. Gradually, as they closed the distance to the enemy line, the horses picked up speed, first to a canter, then a full gallop. Across the plain, the spears of the Shou rippled in anticipation.

Yamun waited for the moment when the lead horsemen would suddenly slow their charge just short of the enemy, loose a flight of arrows from their bows, and gallop away, stinging the enemy into pursuit.

That moment never arrived.

From the ridge, Yamun could see the front of the rushing wave of horsemen reach the point where they were in range to fire, just inside the long shadow of the Dragonwall. Down the length of the Tuigan line, the ground rippled, then surged upward, exploding in a fountain of dust and rock. There was a shrieking grind of stone grating on stone and a rolling thunder as the earth's crust tore asunder. Another voice, higher than the roar of upthrusting earth, pierced through the din: the screaming wail of men and horses, their voices fused into a single cry.

Yamun shouted in astonishment and outrage. The front-most ranks of the Goyuk's tumen had suddenly disappeared, crushed by dirt and stone. The next ranks, unable to swerve their charging mounts, were swallowed by the curtain of dust that roiled outward. Here and there, the swirling tornado parted to reveal geysers of earth erupting amidst the panicked riders. Boulders tumbled and bounced, crashing through the remaining ranks of horsemen, leaving bloody and crushed bodies in their wake.

Under the onslaught, the tumen wavered and began to fall back. The riders farthest from the churning earth wheeled their mounts and began to flee. Their panic was infectious. Standards started to drop as more men turned to run.

Impossibly, one section of the Tuigan line held firm and pressed forward, lunging into the chaotic landscape. At the center of the mass was Goyuk's blue-streamered banner. The dust clouds reached forward, beckoning the entire block of riders into their gloomy arms.

"No! Break off, Goyuk!" Yamun shouted futilely, as if he could recall the riders from where he stood. The khahan whirled to his standard-bearer. "Signal them to withdraw!"

Suddenly, Goyuk's charge was engulfed in dust. Fountains of dirt and rock erupted in the midst of the riders, flinging men and horses like childrens' toys. A pall of clay descended on Goyuk's banner, and it disappeared from sight.

"Eke Bayalun!" Yamun howled. "Get Mother Bayalun! Where are her wizards? They must stop this!" The khahan tore through his small group, screaming out orders, demanding reports, but most of all bellowing for the presence of the second empress to explain the horror he was witnessing. Never had the priest seen the khahan in such a rage.

A rider charged through the ranks of the Kashik behind the khahan, whipping his horse furiously. Leaping off his mount, the man sprawled completely on the ground in front of the khahan, pressing his face into the dirt. "A message from the second empress, Lord Yamun!"

The khahan whirled on the man, poised to strike. "Speak!" he shouted over the rumble from the plain.

Without looking up, the messenger yelled his mistress's words. "The second empress says the magic of the Shou has taken her wizards by surprise. They are unable to do anything. She asks if the foreign priest might know what causes the earth to heave. She humbly begs forgiveness for her failure to—"

"I'll hear her excuses later," the khahan snarled, turning away from the man. The messenger sprang to his feet and backed away, groping for his horse. One of the Kashik, sympathetic to the man's fears, quickly hustled the courier out of Yamun's sight. The khahan looked toward the plain, seeing only men and horses rushing through the clouds of dust.

"My horse!" Yamun demanded. A quiverbearer ran to fetch Yamun's white mare. "Standard-bearer, we're going down there. Prepare to ride!" The guards looked to each other, then hurriedly began to find their mounts and take their positions around the khahan.

Without waiting for his guards to finish assembling, Yamun urged his horse down the steep slope toward the plain. The guards plunged after him, their mounts half-sliding toward the bottom.

Sechen, his tall, muscular body towering out of the saddle, drove his horse savagely to keep up with the khahan. His master was riding blindly into a trap, and the giant was determined to protect him. The pair reached the bottom of the slope well ahead of the rest of the bodyguards.

Small knots of riders rode out of the swirling dust and galloped for the safety of the ridge. Lone men and riderless horses fled in panic. Weapons, shields, and armor were cast aside.

Yamun charged forward and then suddenly reined in his horse before the first knot of routed men. "Form up! Make your stand here! I command you!" The routed men skidded to a halt, brought short by the wild apparition of the khahan that faced them. "Watch them," Yamun ordered Sechen as he galloped off toward another fleeing group.

From atop the ridge, Koja watched the khahan rush from point to point, working to halt the rout and organize a proper defense. The warlord was easy to spot by his banner, white horse, and the swarm of black-robed guards who followed him everywhere. His affect on the men was unmistakable as the broken ranks slowly halted their flight and began to reform into ragged lines. Finally, Yamun turned the task over to Sechen and climbed back up to his command post. As he arrived, a group of guards still clustered in his wake, Koja moved quietly to his side.

Looking very tired, Yamun sat on his stool. For a long time he said nothing, only watched the battlefield. The dust was slowly settling, leaving a clearer picture of the destruction. Across the front was a line of churned earth and shattered rock. Most of the dead or dying lay there, crushed or trapped beneath the fallen stone. On both sides of the wreckage there were still pockets of fighting. A handful of Tuigan riders, the leaders of the foremost rank, were trapped on the far side of the magical earthwork. There they fought, though hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded.

In a few other places, the Shou soldiers had foolishly scrambled forward over the broken ground, believing all the Tuigan were crushed. In pursuing the fleeing horsemen, these small units were also trapped. Battles involving these doomed Shou were brief.

Just when Koja became convinced the defeat had crushed the spirit out of Yamun, the old warlord sat up, shaking off the air of gloom and desperation that had settled upon him. "Find Goyuk, if he lives. I want to know what happened," he commanded, his old energy gradually returning to him. As one messenger left, he turned to another. "Tell Sechen to separate those who fled from the rest of the men. He is to execute those who have no weapons. Of the rest, every man must be beaten for seven blows and every tenth man for twice times seven."

"There are thousands of men down there!" Koja said in astonishment.

"They shouldn't have run" Yamun answered grimly. He continued the orders. "The wizards are to be whipped seven blows for their failure. And if Bayalun argues, tell her she can either have them whipped or give me seven to execute. It's her choice." The man nodded and left to deliver the khahan's orders.

"Tell the yurtchis to bring the camp forward. We will be staying here." With a wave, the khahan dismissed the remaining couriers. When they had withdrawn an appropriate distance, Yamun turned to the priest.

"Now, anda, why did this happen?" The khahan's voice was hard and measured.

"I do not know. What you saw, if I'm right, was the work of a powerful spirit creature." The priest spoke softly, not wanting to commit himself without knowing more.

"You're saying this . .. creature protects the Shou and won't let us attack the Dragonwall?" Yamun asked incredulously, trying to understand the power he had just seen. His rage and frustration were growing.

"Perhaps. I do not know." Koja looked toward the carnage on the plain.

"Can I defeat it, anda?"

"I do not know," Koja sighed. "I have never seen anything like this. I do not know what to do."

"Then think of something!" Yamun shouted, slashing his knout against the ground.

Koja swallowed nervously. "I have had dreams. I think the spirit spoke to me. It called on you, and me, to free it from the wall. It seemed to think that we had some power."

"That's all you know?" Yamun asked, disappointed when the lama stopped talking. "Your plan is to wait for it to visit you in your sleep?"

"If I must, Yamun. Spirits are not easy things to command." Koja was tired and almost lost his temper with the khahan. He took a long, slow breath, then added, "I must seek guidance from Furo."

"Talk to your god then. And when you are done, tell me how to defeat that thing." Yamun thrust his finger toward the furrowed plain. "The servants will bring you anything you need. I must attend to other things." Yamun stood to go. "Teylas's blessing on you, anda," he said just before he left.

"And Furo's on you, Yamun," the lama offered. Koja watched the khahan descend once more onto the plain.

"Paper and brush," the priest ordered of a quiverbearer. The man hurriedly brought the material and set it before Koja. Taking up the brush, the priest carefully wrote an elegy for the dead on the field below. The poem was not composed out of artistic desire, however; the priest needed the verse for the spell he wished to cast. Finished with the poem, he read it through, then set it aside.

"See that no one disturbs me," Koja ordered the servant. The man nodded in understanding. The lama closed his eyes and began to recite prayers. For ten minutes he droned on, never raising his voice. Then he stopped, opened his eyes, and touched the paper to flame. The thin sheet quickly burned, the ashes drifting into the air. The lama closed his eyes again and waited.

Abruptly he opened his eyes and stood up. The spell was over; he had communed with his god. With one foot, he scattered the remaining ashes. A small group of quiver-bearers had gathered to watch his strange behavior. Now, they hurriedly went back to their tasks, afraid Koja would put a curse on them.

"Where is Yamun?" the lama demanded. One of the servants nervously pointed toward the west. "At his yurt, great historian." Not wasting any time, Koja found his horse and rode to Yamun's tent.

When the lama was announced, Yamun quickly cleared the yurt and had his anda ushered in. "Sit and tell me what you've learned," the khahan said as soon as Koja stepped through the door.

"Mighty Furo saw fit to hear my prayers," Koja said as he took his seat. Yamun got off his throne and sat on the floor closer to his anda.

"And?"

"It was a spirit that attacked today, a spirit that is trapped in the Dragonwall," Koja eagerly explained. "The same spirit spoke to me in dreams, although Furo did not say why it chose to."

"But can it be destroyed?" Yamun demanded, holding up a fist.

Koja shook his head. "No, not destroyed. Furo said it craves release. There is some way to free it."

"How, anda, how?" Yamun stared at Koja, awaiting his answer.

The lama took a deep breath. "For that, I must consult the spirit of the Dragonwall."

"Then do it," Yamun said as he headed for the door.

"I cannot," said Koja, bringing the khahan to a stop. "I cannot until I rest. These spells are very tiring. I will be ready tonight, before the dawn. And I will need an offering, one suitable to something as powerful as this spirit must be. Is this possible, Yamun?"