Still unsatisfied with this simple answer, Koja knelt beside the dead trooper and gingerly examined the wound. "How often does a warrior in battle have his throat cut so neatly?" Koja asked, turning to one of the guards who remained nearby.
The guard looked at him, puzzled. "It is rare," he admitted, "but one of the Shou might have attacked him from behind."
"And he still chopped the head off another?" Koja asked skeptically.
"It could happen," insisted the man.
"Perhaps," Koja said, though he was far from convinced. The priest stood, and the guards took the body of the dead enemy to hang out for display as Goyuk had instructed. As they were dragging the corpse off, Koja suddenly had an idea. "Leave the head and this man," he ordered, pointing to the trooper. "Wrap the bodies and keep them safe." There were some questions Koja wanted to ask the dead men, but first he had to rest and pray to Furo for guidance.
The men looked at him with horrified eyes, shocked by his grotesque request. Fearful of what they imagined were the priest's awesome powers, the guards gulped and carried out his orders.
His mind racing with speculation, Koja went back to his tent to have his morning tea and say his daily prayers to Furo. Hodj had already cleared away the bath and set out a pot of hot tea. The drink warmed the priest, driving away the predawn chill.
His tent provided only a brief haven from the commotion of the camp. Outside, the army was already beginning to array itself. Eventually coming out of his yurt, Koja took the horse his bodyguards held for him and rode to where Yamun's standard waved. The dark line of the Dragonwall was clearly visible on the plain below.
Yamun, his aides, and the army's commanders were clustered around the banner, debating strategies for the impending attack. In addition to the khahan there were a few others Koja recognized: Goyuk, Chanar, and the big brute, Sechen. The priest looked about for Bayalun, but she was nowhere in sight. There were others he only knew by passing acquaintance: minor commanders of the Kashik, Yamun's standard-bearer, and even his old, withered scribe. They formed an impressive group, dressed in their battle armor.
Yamun wore his finest armor in anticipation of his victory. The suit was made up of small metal plates, each fashioned like the scale of a dragon, gleaming gold. Silks of bright yellow, blue, and red hung from the armor, and a gorget of hammered steel circled Yamun's neck and upper shoulders. The khahan's red braids dangled from beneath the conical helm hung with silver chain mail and trimmed with the white fur of a winter wolf. Long metal bracers of polished steel, tooled with tigers and dragons locked in combat, were strapped over the chain mail that covered his forearms. In one hand, the khahan held a silver-handled knout of three thongs. A bowcase of green-dyed wyvern leather hung at his side, along with a gem-encrusted scabbard. The hilt that thrust out from the scabbard was plain and businesslike. A round shield of hammered gold and silver hung on his back.
Yamun's horse, a fine pure-white mare, was as lavishly decorated, fitted with half-barding that matched the khahan's armor. The saddle had high arches at the front and back, covered with plates of tooled silver, patterned with coiling and twisting vines. The saddle frame was covered with a cushion of thick red felt, trimmed with bits of silver mirrors and golden tassels. The bridle, rein, and straps across the horse's croup and withers were completely covered by bosses of gold set with turquoise. In the eastern sunlight, both Yamun and his horse were dazzling.
Those around the khahan, though not as lavishly dressed, were no less splendid. Each commander wore his best armor. Horses were carefully groomed and prepared. Koja was amazed; he'd never realized the khans brought such finery with them. It was likely, too, that this was the first time he had seen them in clothing so clean.
"Welcome, Koja," Yamun said to the priest. "Today we'll test the strength of this Dragonwall." The khahan let his horsewhip dangle from his wrist as he pointed toward the squadrons of mounted men forming up on the slope below them.
The riders were advancing in separate columns lined out abreast of each other instead of the continuous stream they used when on the march. The war standards of the minghans and tumens were unfurled to flutter in the breeze—streamers of silk, horsetails, tinkling bells, and flashing mirrors hung from cords.
The troopers carried their full war gear with them: a long, springy lance; curved sword; two powerful, compact bows; and a pair of quivers packed with arrows. There were whole blocks of armored men, but the majority wore the same clothes they had every day, a heavily-padded kalat being their sole protection. A few carried shields, but most of the riders disdained these, for the shields interfered with their ability to shoot a bow.
Finally, the khahan joined the line of advance, the khans following him. Today was the final march on Shou Lung, several hours out from the Dragonwall. All through the ride, the khans were strangely quiet. Most rode in silence, gathering their thoughts, or held huddled conferences on horseback with their lieutenants. Gradually, as the group drew closer to the Dragonwall, the khahan gave the commanders their final orders and dispatched them to their units.
By the time the Tuigan reached the last ridge before entering onto the plain, there were only three warriors remaining among the messengers who surrounded Yamun: Chanar in his brilliant silver armor, who was to command the left; toothless old Goyuk, commander of the right; and Sechen, who was in charge of Yamun's personal bodyguards. The khahan himself decided to command the center this day. Koja sat on his horse slightly behind this group, not wishing to interfere.
A messenger, barely more than a boy, wearing the white robes of the empress's guard, rode up on a panting mare and made his obeisance to Yamun. The khahan waved him to speak.
"The shining daughter of heaven, the second empress, has sent me to tell you that she has summoned her sorcerers from across the land and they have taken their positions throughout the army." The youth sniffed and wiped his runny nose on a dirty sleeve.
"This is good. Tell her to put the wizards under the command of the khans," Yamun ordered.
The messenger nervously sat straight in his saddle. "The second empress has ordered me to say that she will keep them under her command. The khans do not know the powers of the mages and will use them badly." The boy sat terrified in his saddle, ready to flinch at the slightest move from anyone.
Yamun, who had already gone on to other business, suddenly turned his attention back to the messenger. "She will do what I command!" he snapped. The boy swallowed in terror, even though his mouth was dry.
Chanar rode forward, apparently trying to soothe the situation. "Lord Yamun," he began formally, "perhaps Eke Bayalun is right. Many of the khans do not like the wizards. They would not use them well. Perhaps we should let her command."
Yamun refused to consider the suggestion. "I don't trust her. She's filled with treachery."
"We may need her wizards today," Chanar warned, nodding toward the Dragonwall. "You can always assign someone to see she carries out your orders correctly."
"Is very late to argue," Goyuk added, trying to defuse this crisis before the real battle started.
Reluctantly, Yamun let himself be persuaded. There was no time left for debate, and he believed that the wizards would not be important in the battle anyway. "Assign one arban of the Kashik to each wizard," the khahan decided.
"Send a jagun of the Kashik to Bayalun. Go, boy, and tell her the men are for her protection."
After the courier had ridden off, Yamun continued his instructions. "Tell the Kashik to kill any wizard, even Bayalun, if any treachery is attempted." Turning to the priest, Yamun then surprised Koja by asking, "Anda, can your god let you see the future?"