The priest spoke over his shoulder to the others, behind him. "The spirit is bound here for a short time," Koja whispered, afraid he might disturb the thing that hovered over Afrasib's body. "Quickly, what are your questions? I can only ask a few, so choose them carefully."
"Ask who it worked for," Jad hissed, sitting stiffly upright, concealing his fear.
Koja turned back to the spirit. "Who ordered you to kill Yamun?"
"The one who wanted it done," the spirit answered. Its voice came from midair, somewhere in the vicinity of its former mouth. It was Afrasib's voice, but cold and monotone.
"Ask the name," urged the prince.
"What is the name of the person who ordered this killing?"
"Ju-Hai Chou." The words drifted softly throughout the gully.
"Who is Ju-Hai Chou?" Jad wondered aloud. "No, don't ask that. Ask about Bayalun."
"Did Eke Bayalun know of the attack?"
The spirit languorously replied. "Mother Bayalun knows many things. Would she not know this?"
"Now the spirit questions us," the prince muttered in disgust.
"I cannot hold him much longer, Prince Jadaran," cautioned the lama. Sweat had broken out on his brow, and the strain of keeping the spirit bound was telling on him.
"Who is Ju-Hai Chou?" Goyuk broke in, taking up Jad's previous question. "This may tell us more."
"Who is Ju-Hai Chou, the one who ordered you to kill Yamun?" Koja strained to keep the spirit from slipping away. The light wavered and dimmed, then returned.
"The hu hsien," the voice echoed faintly. The image started to dwindle.
"What was his plan? Quickly, priest, ask!" Jad shouted, sensing that the contact was fading.
"Afrasib, what was Ju-Hai Chou's reason?" Koja blurted out.
"He was sent to help," the spirit intoned.
"Who sent him?" Koja quickly asked, before the spirit could fade.
"The Minister of State," was Afrasib's cryptic reply.
"Who was Ju-Hai Chou help-" Koja didn't finish the question. The light had shrunk in on itself, leaving only a small point that hung in the air for a few more seconds and then disappeared completely. The priest slid back from the dead bodies, thankful to Furo that it was over. "I am sorry. The spirit escaped me. It was very strong." He pulled off the scented cloth and bowed to the prince in apology.
Jad grunted, sounding a little like his father. "What about the other? We can learn more from him."
Koja rubbed his shaven head, and looked at the body of the fox-man. The gaping gash that shattered the creature's chest was black and thick with flies. "I do not think it will work. He is not a man. His spirit is not the same."
"Then we've learned nothing," Yamun's son said in disgust, brushing the dust from his kalat as he stood.
"We have a name-Ju-Hai Chou," the priest pointed out. He was relieved that no names from Khazari had come up.
"And we have a mandarin's title," Goyuk added. "Big herds grow from small sheep."
"Perhaps," Jad conceded as he climbed back up the bank. "Still, I don't see anything useful in it." The rest of the group got up and followed.
They rode back to the khahan's camp with little conversation. The midday sun beat heavily on the corpses covering the battlefield. The stench grew stronger. Koja never before realized that war left behind such death and decay. He knew that some men died in the battle and others often suffered hideous wounds, but the aftermath was always something forgotten, ignored. Nobody ever told of the horses' screams or the bloated bodies of the unburied that covered the ground.
The group reached the camp without any interruption, detouring only a few times to avoid some packs of jackals that refused to flee from their approach. As they wound their way back through the warriors' tents, the men came out to greet them. The troopers stood quietly with their heads downcast as the prince passed. At first, the men seemed mournful for the loss of Jad's father, their khahan. Watching them line the way, the priest could sense an uneasiness among the men. The mourners fixed their gaze on Jad, as if waiting for him to do something.
From the back of the crowd, a man suddenly broke into an anguished chant, improvising a lament to the fallen khahan.
"The winds of heaven are not balanced.
The body of birth is not eternal.
"Who drinks the sacred water of life?
In our short lives, let us enjoy.
"The winds of heaven are beyond touch.
The lives of men are not eternal.
"Who drinks the sacred water of life?
In our short lives, let us enjoy."
The singer's voice cracked as his lyric soared and trembled. Quickly the other men took up the chant, repeating the singsong verses, embellishing on them. Voices broke above the mass to carry the words higher.
The song spread ahead of the prince, greeting him at every turn on the way to the khahan's tent. It seemed that every trooper turned out along their march. Khans knelt in respect as the prince rode by. Men, even the horribly wounded, struggled to get to the front of the press, where they could make themselves seen. Koja watched as a crippled trooper, his foot lost in yesterday's battle, was carried forward by his companions, his pallet hoisted over their heads. It seemed to take all his effort to sing the simple lyric, but sing he did, hoarsely bawling out the words.
A surging mass of men followed them up the hill to the khahan's tent. As their numbers grew, the tension increased. "Let us see the khahan!" someone screamed. "Let us see his body!" There was a grumbling swell underneath the song as more and more men called out to see the khahan's bier.
"Guards, keep them out!" Jad shouted over the noise as he entered Yamun's compound. The dayguards dashed forward, forming a triple line around the gate. Their weapons glinted in the sun, a bristling line of sword points. Officers on horseback shouted commands, their steeds prancing behind the line. The menacing black forms of the dayguards pushed forward, forcing the crowd back. Jad and the rest of his party disappeared into Yamun's tent, Sechen at the rear.
Koja hurried to check the khahan. Yamun was still alive and breathing, a victory for the day. The blankets were soaked in sweat and his color was still like that of the ice high in the mountains of Khazari. Hastily, Koja stripped off the coverlets and demanded new ones. A quiverbearer hastened to fulfill the request.
Jad came to the sickbed and watched for a moment, saying nothing. The khahan was asleep, and there was little the prince could do. Satisfied that Koja was attending to Yamun, he turned back to Goyuk. The old khan had just finished offering a prayer to the small felt idols that hung over the door. Reaching into a bucket of kumiss by the sill, Goyuk dipped his fingers in the brew and sprinkled it on each idol. He kowtowed to the little red cloth figures and then turned to join the others.
"You should remember the old ways, Jadaran Khan," chided Goyuk. "Teylas be angry with you." He pointed to the doorway, leaving no doubt what he wanted the prince to do. Jad held his tongue. Although Goyuk was presumptuous to speak that way to him, the prince knew that the old man was right. Obediently, he knelt down at the door and offered up his prayer, going through all the motions to make the ablution. Outside the doorway, he could hear the muffled chanting of the men. Jad wondered how long they would be satisfied to wait.
Goyuk beamed a toothless smile as Jad finished the ritual. "You are a good son. Maybe you make a good khahan, too."
The suggestion caught the prince by surprise. "My father isn't dead yet," he snapped. The weight and pressure of the day were catching up with him, and Goyuk's intimation only added to his rage and frustration.