"But—but—I am just an envoy, Great Lord. Surely there must be someone better."
The nightguard, the same man who was in the yurt when they left, ran up to the door and dropped to one knee alongside the khahan. "Great Khan!" he said in surprised relief. "You live! I will tell my brothers that you have safely returned."
"You'll stay until I dismiss you," Yamun countered as he walked past. "Koja of Khazari, you will write the history of my life—starting from right now. No one else will do."
"Great Lord, I serve Prince Ogandi. It would not be right." Koja hurried across the yurt.
"I don't care. You'll write it because I need you—who else would write the truth? Mother Bayalun? Her wizards? I wouldn't trust them. My generals? They're like me—they don't know this magic of writing. You—" He wagged his finger at Koja. "You, I trust. And that is why I choose you."
"Lord Yamun, I am very flattered, but you barely know me. I have a responsibility to my prince. I cannot serve you." Koja realized he was knotting his fingers.
"You're in my tent, in my land. You will do what I say," Yamun commanded. He began unwrapping the wet sash from around his waist.
"And if Prince Ogandi bids me otherwise?" asked Koja as he nervously squeezed the water from his cuffs.
"Then I will deal with your prince." Yamun spoke in slow, measured words.
"I'm loyal to Khazari," Koja pressed, his throat getting dry with tension.
"It doesn't matter. I trust you. There's no more discussion to be had of this." Yamun tossed his wet sash aside and settled himself on his throne.
Koja rubbed his head in frustration. He was stymied. In desperation he tried another ploy. "Isn't there a saying of your people about a man who tells the truth?"
Yamun looked about for his wine cup. " 'A man who tells the truth should have one foot in the stirrup,'" he quoted. "It's good advice. You should remember it."
Koja finally gave up and spoke his mind. "I do not want to be your chronicler, Yamun Khahan."
"I know."
"Then why do you make me do it? Why do you need a biographer?"
"Because Teylas revealed that I should," Yamun said testily as he pulled at one of his sodden boots.
"But why? What good would I do you?"
"This is no longer amusing, scribe. There will be no more argument," Yamun snapped, his voice rising in volume. "You will write the history of my great deeds because I am the khahan of the Tuigan and I say you will. Every king and every emperor has someone to make songs about them. You will write mine. Now leave until you are called for!" With a jerk Yamun pulled the boot off and threw it aside.
Stiffly, Koja walked out of the tent, giving only a slight bow and turning his back to the khahan upon leaving. The tent flap slapped shut with a wet flop.
After the priest left, Yamun sat brooding, staring into his glass. The wind whistled around through the small gaps in the smoke hole. Drips fell in the corners where the rainwater had soaked through the seams of the tent.
After the nightguard had laced up the flap of the tent, Yamun spoke. "What do you think?"
"Me, Great Lord?" the guard asked in surprise.
"What do you think of the Khazari priest?" Yamun said, pointing to the door.
"It's not for me to say, Great Lord," the guard deferred.
"I'm asking, so it is. Come closer and tell me."
Intimidated by the khahan, the man hesitantly came forward. "Noble khahan, I apologize for speaking so boldly, but I speak because you have ordered it. The foreigner is disrespectful."
"Oh," Yamun commented as he began tugging at his other boot.
The guard became more confident. "He argues and does not heed your word. He is only a foreigner, yet he dares challenge you."
"And what should I do?" Yamun asked, jerking on the stubborn shoe.
"He should be flogged. If a man in my tumen spoke as he did, our commander would have him beaten!"
"Your commander is a fool," Yamun observed, adding a loud grunt as the boot came off with a thick pop.
The guard looked up, his eyes wide with astonishment.
Yamun continued. "What if everyone obeyed me and never questioned my word? Where would I get my wise advisors? They'd be no better than a worn boot." The khahan held up his own mud-caked boot and then tossed it aside.
Humbled, the guard nodded automatically.
"Why do you think the truthful man has one foot in the stirrup? Truth is not always what people want to hear. Learn and someday I will make you a commander," Yamun finished, suppressing a yawn. He struggled to his feet and began unfastening the toggles of his robes. "Now, I'm tired and will sleep alone tonight. See that my guards are in order and send someone to the women's tent. Tell the ladies they won't be needed. You will sleep at my doorstep."
"By your word, it shall be done," said the guard, touching his head to the floor, acknowledging the duty the khahan had given him. He ran to the doorway and loosened the laces enough to bark out his orders.
Before the guard finished, the khahan had struggled out of his clothes and collapsed, exhausted, onto the hard wooden bed set up behind his throne.
4
Chanar
It was late the next morning when an escort of black-robed dayguards arrived for Koja to lead him to the royal compound. Reluctantly, the priest gathered his writing materials together. Today he was not eager to enter Yamun's presence, not after what had happened last night. Although the wild night out in the storm was clear in his mind, except for the moments where he had succumbed to blind panic, Koja still had no understanding of what had happened. That, along with the idea of becoming the khahan's biographer, frightened him.
Taking the horse waiting for him, the priest set out. One man rode alongside him, holding the reins of his horse. Ever since Koja's accident, the guards had taken the utmost precautions with his mount. None of them wanted the foreigner's horse to go galloping off again.
The rain from the night before had altered the dry steppe. The snow cover had melted to patches and pools of slushy mud. Grasses and flowers, filled with bright vibrant green, had sprung up where none had been before. The ground around the Great Yurt was checked with swatches of fresh green and barren areas of churned mud. Small, black-headed birds hopped around the edges of these mires, poking at the standing water with their beaks. Children charged at them, scaring them off, and then splashed merrily through the muck. The legs and the hems of their robes were caked in mud.
Passing through the entrance to the khahan's compound, the guards dismounted and led their horses up the slope. As they marched to the royal yurt, Koja looked out across the the horse pens, trying to decide which corral had been the scene of last night's terrifying visitation. There was nothing to distinguish one from another, so he couldn't be sure which of them was the one.
"Captain," Koja called out as he hurried to ride alongside the officer in charge, "did anything unusual happen last night?"
Slowing his pace, the officer turned to look at Koja. "Unusual? Teylas sent a storm."
"Yes, but more than that. Did the nightguards report anything strange?"
The captain looked at him suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "Strange? I did not hear of anything strange."
"I heard rumors some horses had escaped."
"A man who listens to his neighbors seldom hears the truth." The captain once again picked up his pace, making it clear he would answer no more questions.
As he neared the top of the hill, Koja saw that the court was to be held outside today. The area was already prepared. Felt rugs in bright red and black patterns were laid out over the sodden ground, layered thickly to keep the topmost ones dry. A small stool for the khahan sat near the doorway to his yurt. Behind the seat towered the khahan's horsetail standard, a sign that he was present in his compound. On the left was the khahan's golden bow case as well as a quiver filled with blue-feathered arrows. On the right side of the standard was a saddle of polished red leather. A white trim of sheepskin decorated the saddle's edges, and its silver fittings gleamed brilliantly in the sun. A tray with cups, a kettle, and a pitcher sat beside Yamun's throne.