Yamun bristled at her disobedience, knowing he could not force her to comply with the conflict looming before his army. "Very well," he said, his voice tinged by his ill-temper. "Make certain they're ready. There will be no more failures." He pointed at her to accent his words. Her face a mask, Bayalun nodded in understanding.
Finished with the question of wizards, Yamun turned his attention to Chanar. "My general, with Goyuk slain, I'm giving you command of the Ciejan, Ormusk, and Ulu tumens. I'll take the rest." Chanar bowed his head in gratitude. "Will your men be ready for battle tomorrow?" the khahan asked.
"Of course, Yamun. But how will we cross the plain?" Chanar gestured in the general direction of the wall. "Their magic will destroy us."
Yamun smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps not. Now, Chanar, my valiant man, we must make a plan. Since we cannot get the Shou to chase us, how do we attack their wall?"
Stepping down from his throne, Yamun sat on the rugs across from his general. The scribe quickly unrolled a long, narrow scroll between the two men. Along one edge was a diagram of the Dragonwall, showing the gates and the towers. Opposite the wall were little circles, denoting the camps of the Tuigan.
Chanar risked a glance toward Bayalun, to see if she knew what the khahan intended. Noting the general's perplexed look, she gave a small, quick shrug to show that she knew no more than he. Chanar looked back to the map, studying it briefly. "First, Yamun, we must find a way to reach the wall. The broken dirt blocks our horses."
"I agree. Mother Bayalun," the khahan called out without looking up from the map, "your wizards must clear a path through the broken earth."
"Yes, my husband," the khadun answered quietly as she looked over their shoulders. "But the men will fear being crushed if the earth moves again."
"Just do what you are ordered. I will worry about the men. How long will it take?" Yamun demanded impatiently.
Bayalun looked to the ceiling, calculating the spells needed to do the task. "By morning, I think."
"Go then and see that it is done," Yamun ordered. "Sechen, lead a guard to protect the khadun. Send me reports on her progress."
"By your word, it shall be done," the soldier and the khadun both said at once. As the pair left, Bayalun eyed the big wrestler venomously. She knew that the man was being sent to spy on her.
Yamun turned his attention back to the map. "If the paths were clear, Chanar, where would you make the attack?"
Chanar studied the map, stalling to conceal his discomfort. The khahan did not suspect that tomorrow the general planned to overthrow him. The khahan was, in fact, giving the traitor an opportunity to personally plan his downfall. His intentions set, Chanar studied the map in earnest.
"I would strike here and here," the general answered, his hand sweeping over the map. He tackled the problem with enthusiasm. Things were almost like earlier times, in the days when he and Yamun made plans to conquer the Dalats and Quirish. Only now, the stakes were much higher and the game subtler.
Quickly Chanar sketched out his ideas to Yamun. The khahan listened, then added these to his own plans, never realizing that Chanar was planning treachery. Together they argued and discussed, working well into the night. It was a slow process, but gradually the two warriors created a plan of battle for the morning.
"I'll have arbans sent into the mountains to cut trees for rams and ladders immediately," Chanar promised. "The men will be ready to attack at dawn."
"Excellent, my anda," Yamun said. "Tomorrow we will avenge Goyuk. Go and rest. There will be much to do when the sun rises." With a wave he dismissed the general.
As the warrior left the tent, Yamun settled back with satisfaction. Chanar at times might be ambitious, but Yamun thought that he could depend on the general. The plan they had worked out was dangerous, but sound.
Outside the tent, Chanar sought out Bayalun at her yurt. Telling the guards Yamun had posted there that he carried orders from the khahan, the general was admitted with only the briefest announcement. Chanar was not surprised to find Bayalun still awake, meditating over her brazier. Once safely out of earshot of the guard, Chanar told her what had happened. "Why is he planning this? Does he expect your wizards to keep the ground from tearing open again?" Chanar asked in bewilderment.
"I do not know," Bayalun confessed. "I have sat here and pondered on it. The Shou have built some secret into their wall. Of that I am certain. But why Yamun is confident he can overcome their magic is another mystery." She shrugged off these concerns. "Whatever he does, it will not matter. If the Shou kill him with their magic or we catch him in the trap, our plans will succeed."
"Then he will fall," Chanar observed.
"Of course-just as long as he makes the attack." Bayalun glanced toward the vain general with a knowing smile. "Tomorrow, my stepson will be dead. Then we can see about making you the khahan of the Tuigan-as you should be."
Chanar returned the smile, though his heart was pained. Tonight, for a short time, he and Yamun were anda once more. Tomorrow that bond would be severed forever.
While Chanar and Bayalun plotted in her yurt, Koja and a small group of guardsmen picked their way between the Tuigan camp and the Dragonwall. Quietly, the company moved through the ruins of the battlefield toward the line of tumbled dirt and stone that marked the limit of that day's charge. Several times the men came across bands of jackals or viler creatures-gigantic centipedes and carrion worms-feasting on the bodies of the dead. The sight sickened the priest, but there was little he could do for the dead now. He said a few quick prayers for the fallen warriors.
The corpses reminded Koja that he should attempt to speak to the dead guard discovered that morning, providing he ever got the chance. There was something about the way the bodies were found that nagged at his brain. It's probably nothing, the lama assured himself so he could keep his mind on the business at hand. However, this was a war, and you can't be too careful.
The band finally reached the churned, rocky ground that marked the beginning of the destruction. "Here, priest?" asked the guide, a grizzled Kashik with long, gray braids.
Koja shook his head and whispered with exaggerated caution. "On the other side, as close to the Dragonwall as possible."
The Kashik looked ahead apprehensively, then began carefully picking a path through the rubble. Strict orders were given down the line not to talk or make any unnecessary noise.
Slowly, the men walked over the top of the mound and started down the loose slope on the other side. Each time a stone skittered down the slope, the men froze, waiting for a challenge. It was a painful hour before they reached the bottom.
The dark shadow of the Dragonwall stood out distinctly ahead of them. Koja and the men were close enough to make out individual soldiers at the top of the wall, outlined against the fires they had built to keep them warm. "Now?" hissed the Kashik at Koja. The lama only shook his head.
Stealthily the group moved forward from shadow to shadow, toward a nearly deserted section of the wall. At last, they were at the base of the fortification. Now, no one spoke. The guards watched warily as Koja sat, preparing his spell.
Alone, the priest carefully unwrapped the offering he brought-the khahan's sword and jewel-encrusted scabbard. He hoped this would be sufficient to contact the spirit. Very softly, he began to murmur sutras similar to those he had used earlier in the day. The lama spoke with exaggerated clarity and care.
At the closing words of the prayer, the priest fell into a trance. Quickly, something writhed out of the wall near Koja. At first it only seemed to be a small tendril of smoke, then it grew, expanding and swelling. Finally it coalesced into the transparent outline of a huge dragon. The long serpentine coils of its body lazily circled the priest. The flowing, fanged face stopped directly in front of him.