"It is good to see you, clever Koja," said an emotionless voice behind him. The fear was suddenly gone, and the priest automatically turned toward the speaker. His guards stood at the base of the rock, upright and unmoving. Beyond them, standing on the slope, was his old master. Wrinkles lined the high lama's eyes but his face was bright and clear, not ravaged by age. He was dressed in the formal vestments used on the festival days—yellow, flowing robes with a red sash over one shoulder, a white pointed cone with flaring earpieces for a hat.
"It has been some time since I saw you, Koja," the old man said. "Greetings."
"Why, master—"
"Quiet, Koja," the old master said softly, cutting the younger man off. "Soon you must face the walls you have built, walls stronger than stone. There are secrets in walls, buried deep beneath them. Learn the secrets of your walls."
Koja came forward to grasp his teacher's hand, but the distance between them never closed. The young priest opened his mouth to speak, but the older lama droned on in a curious monotone, now suddenly a voice not his own.
"Your lord is called by one more powerful than he. This spirit that calls him seeks aid. Before you can do your part, your lord will fear you are against him. Be ready to prove yourself." The figure turned to go.
"What? Which lord? Who? Which lord? Wait! Do not leave! Tell me what I should do!" Koja shouted toward the fading figure.
The old lama didn't answer. He only disappeared into the distance of the steppe. Just as quickly as Koja's old master came, he was gone. "The one who calls waits behind you." The master's voice came drifting out of the darkness.
Koja sat alone, staring into the ebbing light. Behind him, he could sense the creature, clawing and scrabbling its way up the hill. Its grasping hands were getting nearer, reaching for him. He wanted to turn but knew he couldn't. The fear that locked his joints had returned.
The thing had reached the top of the rock. Koja could not hear it or see it, but it was there, reaching for him. Sweat poured down his face, dripped off his fingers. Something cold and reptilian lightly brushed his shoulder.
Koja jerked awake and sat bolt upright. Hodj leaped back, terrified at the effect his simple touch had had on his master. The priest was wild-eyed and panting, his robes soaked in sweat.
Hodj stared at his master, then turned back to his work with a slight shrug. Without comment the servant brewed tea and set a cup before the priest. He then began to prepare fresh bags of churned curd. By the time Koja finished his tea, Hodj had the horses ready for the day's ride.
That day the army marched hard. The normal pattern of riding, then grazing, was broken. They stopped only once, long enough for the men to milk their mares. Hodj tended to this task while Koja took the chance to stretch his pained legs.
The respite was over all too soon. "We go!" shouted a yurtchi. Servants hastily finished their work and ran back to their horses. Almost as suddenly as they had stopped, the horsewarriors were on the march again.
By now, it was getting quite dark, but the riders continued into the night. With the sun gone, the warriors took to guiding themselves by the stars. They used the faint moonlight to pick their way along. Throughout the entire mass of men, only a few torches glittered.
Nothing shown as brightly as the khahan's camp. The great tent cart was illuminated for the first time since the journey began. Bright light shone through the doorway, blinking on and off as the door flap swayed. A swarm of quiverbearers rode around the wagon, carrying torches to light the way for messengers. The nightguards hovered in the shadows, ready to spring to their master's defense.
The army traveled long into the night. Moonlit shapes swayed close, then faded away into the darkness. The snorts of the horses and soft conversations drifted through the night. Occasionally there was a thud, followed by a bitter cry or curse and a burst of laughter as a dozing rider fell from his saddle to the amusement of his comrades. Koja lost track of time and place.
"Master, we stop. I've made your bed." Hodj's voice soaked through the fog, slowly bringing Koja back to consciousness. The sun burned brightly overhead, but the air still felt cold and thin. The pain of twenty-four hours in the saddle burned through every one of the priest's muscles, wracked his back, and twisted his hips. Slowly, his feet dragging over the ground, the lama tottered toward his bed.
The images of his latest nightmare came silently to Koja. Who is my lord? he wondered. Ogandi or Yamun?
Does it matter what I do? the priest's exhaustion-numbed mind finally asked. No, came the answer, only sleep matters. The decision made and eyes closed, Koja pitched forward, snoring almost before he hit the coverlets.
* * * * *
Chanar stared at the scene in front of him. A translucent image of the army, strung out over dusty hills, filled the center of the tent. Bayalun stood, half-hidden by the moving images on the opposite side of the yurt. Between them was a small glowing crystal, the source of the magical scene. "So, Bayalun, Yamun's reached Orkhon Oasis. There—you can tell by the cairn next to the spring. Is it time?"
"Not yet. We cannot be too obvious," the second empress cautioned. "If we strike now, the suspicion will fall on me and everything will be undone. Now that we're out of the deadlands, we can watch them closely. When the right time comes—a battle or something else—then my agent will act." She walked through the image to Chanar's side and placed her hand lightly on his chest. "Patience, brave general. Patience will reward us."
Chanar's eyes moved from the mighty army before him to Bayalun and back again. He bit his lip to restrain his impatient desire.
"Soon, very soon," Bayalun assured him. "Until then, have patience."
7
Manass
"Master" Hodj said softly in his nasal voice. "Master, the khahan wishes to see you."
Koja opened his eyes and discovered that he was looking at a broad field of night stars. He blinked and scanned the sky. In one direction the scintillating points swept as far as he could see. Looking the other way, the lights were blocked by a silver-black range of peaks, mountains outlined by the light of the waning moon.
"Lord Yamun summons you, master," Hodj repeated.
"I hear, Hodj," Koja answered. With his arms, he slowly pushed himself up. His shoulders and back were stiff and pained, but not anything like the agony he had felt earlier. Still, he didn't think he'd be leaping and dancing about for a while. In fact, moving with as little bending as possible seemed like a good idea.
"Help me up."
Hodj slid an arm around the priest and pulled the thin lama to his feet. Koja wavered there unsteadily, lightly testing his weight on each leg before releasing the servant. Satisfied that his knees were not going to buckle underneath him, Koja took a few steps to gently stretch his cramped muscles. While he did so, Hodj hurried into the yurt to fetch clean clothes.
It took Koja a little while to realize this camp was different. His yurt was raised. He turned in a circle, looking over the camp. All around were shadowy, moonlit domes, the rounded shapes of the felt tents. Small welcoming fires blazed on the dusty prairie among the tents. Short, squat, Tuigan men wandered among the fires.
Drifting through the night came the wail of a band of musicians, the scraping notes of the khuur and the rhythmic rattle of a yak-hide drum. A singer suddenly added to the cacophony, wailing in the two-voice style peculiar to the steppe. Somehow the man produced both a low, nasal drone and a high-pitched chant at the same time. Koja was glad the musicians were some distance away, as he had not yet learned to appreciate the finer points of Tuigan music. It all sounded like the screeching of evil spirits, or at least what Koja thought evil spirits sounded like, since he had never really heard any screech.