With these words, the council was open. Custom gave the honor of the next speech to the commander of the Kashik.
A strong, clear voice suddenly rang out. "Illustrious youth, son of our beloved khahan, commander of forty thousand, this one requests that he may be heard." There was a buzz of excitement at these words. The speaker had made the request in most respectful language, using all the proper forms and inflections-but it was not the commander of the Kashik. At the far side of the council, the wolf-faced Chagadai, dressed in a ragged and filthy kalat, stood to address the prince. He wore a dirty white turban in the style of the western clans. Without waiting to be recognized, he pushed his way to the center of the circle.
The Kashik commander, sitting near Jad, glared at the speaker. The upstart had deliberately insulted him. The commander looked to Jad for guidance, but the prince was in as much consternation as he. Goyuk leaned forward and whispered in the prince's ear. Jad spoke a few words in response, obviously debating with the old man about what could be done. Next to him, Bayalun sat, unmoved by the startling turn. A faint smile played across her lips. Finally, Jadaran looked toward the upstart khan. Throwing a resigned look the commander's way, the prince conceded, reciting the formula required of him. "As lord of this couralitai, I will hear Chagadai speak."
"May the thanks of Teylas be upon the noble prince," answered the renegade khan. Now that he was recognized, he turned to his fellow nobles in the audience. "Hear me, khans. Know that I am Chagadai of the Uesgir.
"I will not waste time retelling the deeds of my family or all the greatness of the khahan. These things we know. Instead, I ask a question we have all been wondering-where is the khahan? Where is the one who has led our people to greatness? They," he shouted, turning toward Jad, "say he has fallen. Yet they do nothing!" Jad tensed and prepared to interrupt, when Goyuk once again whispered in his ear. The prince bit his lip and nodded curtly, waiting for Chagadai to continue.
"What is the duty of a son?" Chagadai quietly asked, stepping closer to the prince. "When the father is killed, the son should not hide in his tent. He should find the murderers."
There was a grumble among the nobles. Prince Jadaran squirmed, angered by the accusation. Chanar watched coolly from his seat, his tented fingers touched against his lips. Bayalun's smile had vanished, leaving her face a blank.
Chagadai turned back to the assembled nobles. "There are ambassadors from Khazari in our camp. They arrived only yesterday. Now, why do ambassadors from our enemy come just when we are in our mourning? Do they come to share our sorrow?" The khan stopped to mop the nervous sweat from his neck. "They come to negotiate, to negotiate with Jadaran Khan in our hour of victory! He is taking our victory from us. Your warriors died in this battle." Chagadai stopped, pacing down the length of the couralitai. There was a growing undertone of discontent among Bayalun's allies.
Theatrically turning to them, Chagadai asked, "Is this who should be khahan? Let us choose another."
Jad moved to stand, only to be stopped by Goyuk's hand on his shoulder. "Let him speak," the old advisor whispered. "This is what we want." The prince sank back down, his eyes smoldering with hatred.
"Let Chanar Ong Kho be khahan," shouted a voice from the ranks of the seated khans.
Several of the younger nobles on Bayalun's side clapped their hands, showing their support. The priest glanced around. Jad's supporters, at least those willing to show their loyalty, were few in number. It seemed that the prince faced a serious challenge to his authority.
"Chanar Ong Kho must be khahan!" cried the voice again. To everyone's surprise, Chanar shook his head, refusing to accept the offer. The general rose to address the assembly. "I thank the wise khans, but these words are disrespectful to the memory of the khahan. I am not worthy of this honor. Let the nomination go to another." There was a sigh of disappointment from Bayalun's side of the group.
Chagadai, still standing in the center of the council, refused to relent. He pressed the offer again. "Let Chanar be khahan!" The man stopped his pace near Jad. Again, the prince made to stand, only to be restrained by the gentle touch from Goyuk. The clapping for Chanar was louder this time.
Chagadai glanced toward Bayalun. She gave a quick smile of approval. The khan was doing well, acting just as she had instructed him this morning.
Slowly, Chagadai faced all the assembly once more. "Chanar will not be khahan," he said with disappointment in his voice. "Still, Jad must show his worth. Perhaps the khahan's killers have been found and perhaps his body is in his yurt. But we have not seen the body. Jad tells us what happened, but shows us no proof. Are we sure the khahan was slain in battle? Perhaps someone else killed him. Someone who does not want us to know the truth. Let us see Yamun's body and learn the truth for ourselves." With those words, Chagadai strode out of the clearing toward the door of Yamun's yurt.
Just as he reached it, Sechen stepped forward and blocked the entrance with his sword.
"Why is Jad afraid?" shouted Chagadai, turning his back to the door so he could address the couralitai. Caught up in the excitement and straining to see, the nobles were on their feet. "Let us see the khahan's body!" shouted many from the crowd.
"Then see it you will," said a voice behind Chagadai, echoing from the doorway of the tent.
The khans in the crowd stopped their cries and froze in disbelief. Standing in the doorway was Yamun Khahan. He was dressed in coarse robes of blue serge cinched with a belt of leather and gold. His hair was undone, shaped in a halo around his shaven pate. He leaned against the door-jamb to steady himself.
"The khahan!" whispered the big, crude khan next to Koja. The assembly echoed the man's words like the breath of a wind spirit. Several of the men abruptly knelt, bowing their heads toward their risen leader. Chagadai turned slowly toward his lord, his eyes wide with shock and fear.
Yamun ignored the wolfish khan. Pushing past Chagadai, he slowly but steadily walked into the center of the couralitai. Yamun's color was still pale, and it was clear that every step drained away a little of his strength. His brow glistened with sweat from the effort of each footstep. Nevertheless, the khahan never flinched. At last, Yamun reached the center of the circle, swaying slightly on his feet. He turned and scanned the faces of the khans in attendance. "Now, who will be khahan?" he demanded, as if he were some vengeful apparition.
No one answered. No one, it seemed, could tear his eyes from the khahan.
Koja looked toward Bayalun. She was once again smiling the same faintly triumphant smile that had crossed her face earlier. Next to her, Jad was watching the khans, his smile equally triumphant as he searched out the slightest sign of opposition.
"None shall be khahan but you, dear husband," Bayalun said diplomatically. "But some, believing you dead, were eager for a new khahan." All eyes turned toward Chagadai. His thin face grew pale. "They forgot what is proper and called for Chanar to be khahan, ignoring your own sons. They did not even wait the thirty days of mourning that tradition demands." Bayalun tapped the ground with her staff for emphasis.
Chagadai nervously walked down the path, trying to discreetly return to his place. Those khans who had applauded his words sat very quietly in their seats, doing nothing to attract attention to themselves. Yamun turned toward the trembling Chagadai, fixing the man to the spot with his fierce stare. Those between the two men slid out of the way. "These words are true," the khahan growled.
"Great Lord," Chagadai sputtered, falling to one knee and bowing his head. "I did these things for the good of your people. Hubadai attacks Semphar, while we fight the Khazari. We need guidance."
"And my son isn't fit to rule. This is treason."