'I couldn't help but see you are alone today, instead of with your anda, Yamun.'
Chanar slowed his pace to match hers. 'You are very observant.' His voice went cold. He glanced back to the khahan's yurt. Yamun and the foreign priest were sitting in close conversation.
'I have just come to apologize and say that I do not think it is proper.' Her tone was soothing to his injured pride. 'You have been traveling much of late, General Chanar.'
Chanar turned in surprise at her concern. 'I have been doing Yamun's wishes.'
'The khahan has messengers to carry out duties such as these,' Bayalun said as she steadied herself on the staff. 'He sent you to Semphar-'
'It was an honor!' Chanar insisted.
'Naturally, though hardly taxing on your abilities,' she answered, unperturbed by his outburst. 'The priest you brought back is quite a prize of war.' Chanar glared at her, needled by her barb.
'Of course it was an honor to go to Tomke's ordu, too,' Bayalun added as she stopped walking. They were near her tent. The second empress turned and looked back toward the khahan. 'Since you have been gone, Yamun has spent much time with the foreigner. He has named the priest his grand historian.'
'I know' Chanar muttered sullenly. He followed the empress's gaze to where the two men sat.
'Other things have happened while you carried messages,' Bayalun noted ominously. 'Yamun consults the priest for advice, listens to his word. It could be the priest has enchanted Yamun.'
'Bayalun, you know no spells can work here. He-' Chanar tipped his head toward Yamun's tent, '-chose this place with you in mind.'
'There are ways other than spells to enchant, General,' Bayalun reminded Chanar as she turned to enter her yurt. 'The priest is dangerous-to both of us.'
'Not to me. I am Yamun's anda,' Chanar corrected. He didn't look Bayalun in the eyes.
'Chanar, things have changed. More things could change. Look up there. That should be you talking to Yamun, not the Khazari.' Bayalun pulled aside the tent flap. 'The khahan forgets you, forgets all the things you have done… forgets you for a lama.' She paused again for effect.
Chanar let his head sink so that his chin almost rested on his chest. He watched the second empress from the corner of his half-closed eyes. The light of the morning sun highlighted her figure, the slimness showing even through the heavy clothes she wore. 'You're right,' Chanar conceded, 'Yamun should listen to his khans, his anda- not strangers.'
'Of course,' Mother Bayalun agreed in a magnanimous tone. 'The khahan needs good advisors, not bad ones. If he is not careful, Yamun may forget the Tuigan way. Then, General Chanar, what will happen to us? Come into my tent,' Bayalun cooed as she stepped through the doorway. 'I think we should talk more.'
With a cold, friendless smile, Chanar stooped and stepped inside. The tent flap silently fell back into place.
5
'Come, Koja,' Yamun bellowed, 'sit here beside me!'
Under the night sky, Yamun sat in half-darkness, illuminated by the flickering flames of a large, foul-smelling fire. Thick smoke from the burning dung drifted lazily into the chill, star-studded sky. Koja wrapped the sheepskin coat around himself and walked into the ring of light that marked Yamun's campfire.
The feast celebrating Chanar's return had already begun by the time Koja arrived. It was now late in the evening. The sky was black, and the moon was three-quarters full. Tonight it shone with a reddish hue, dimly illuminating the landscape, casting thick sepia shadows over everything. Behind the moon trailed the string of sparkling lights. Tuigan tales said these were the nine old suitors scorned by Becal, the moon. According to the story, she in turn pursued Tengris, the sun.
The celebration was no small affair. In the walk to the top of the hill where Yamun's yurt stood, Koja passed a dozen or more fires. Around each was a circle of men, eating and drinking. At several fires the soldiers sang wailing, obscene songs. At one, two squat burly men were stripped to the waist, arms locked around each other as they wrestled in the dirt. Their companions roared and shouted out bets. More than a few troopers had already drunk themselves into a stupor and now lay around the fires, snoring in sotted bursts. Koja hurried past these fires.
During his hike, Koja noticed a change in the quality of the men. Near the base of the hill were men who carried iron paitzas, the lowest pass issued by the khahan. Koja knew because he recognized a few of the men as commanders of a jagun of one hundred soldiers. Serving as the khahan's scribe, the Khazari had seen these men in audiences before Yamun. Also around these fires were common dayguards, now off duty. The dayguard troopers were the least important of Yamun's elite bodyguard, but they still had greater status than the rest of Yamun's army.
At the next ring were lesser noyans, commanders of minghans of one thousand soldiers. Koja did not recognize most of these men, but guessed their rank by their talk. The priest acknowledged the greetings of the few he had met.
At the innermost circle, clustered around Yamun's fire, were the greater noyans, the commanders of the tumens of ten thousand men. All of these men were khans of the various tribes, important in their own right. Occasionally one would leave his fire and slowly approach the center, where the khahan sat. However, even the khans took care not to alarm the nightguards who stood around Yamun's camp.
'Come and sit, Koja,' Yamun repeated to the priest, who still stood at the edge of the firelight. 'You'll be my guest.' He waved to an empty space on his left. A quiverbearer quickly rolled out a rug and set up a stool for Koja.
The priest glanced about furtively, looking for Chanar. This feast was in the general's honor, and Koja didn't want to accidentally insult the man. Chanar was already irritated enough as it was.
Koja couldn't spot the general among the faces around the fire. Several of Yamun's wives, old Goyuk, and another khan Koja couldn't identify sat close to the khahan. An iron pot hung from a tripod over the fire, simmering with the rich smell of cooking meat. Several leather bags, undoubtedly kumiss and wine, sat on the ground next to the revelers.
'Sit!' insisted Yamun, his speech slightly slurred. 'Wine! Bring the historian wine.' The khahan tore at a clublike shank of boiled meat.
'Where is General Chanar?' Koja asked, pulling his shearling coat out of the way as he sat down. He had traded a nightguard an ivory-hilted dagger for the coat and then spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the lice and vermin out of it. Now, it was tolerably clean and kept him quite warm.
Yamun didn't answer Koja's question, choosing instead to talk to one of his pretty wives. 'General Chanar, where is he?' Koja asked again.
Yamun looked up from his dalliance. 'Out,' he answered, waving a hand toward the fires. 'Out to see his men.'
'He has left the feast?' the priest asked, confused.
'No, no. He went to the other fires to see his commanders. He'll be back.' Yamun swallowed down another ladle of kumiss. 'Historian,' he said sternly, turning away from his wife, 'you weren't here when the feasting began. Where were you?'
'I had many things to do, Khahan. As historian, I must take time to write. I am sorry I am late,' Koja lied. In truth he had spent the time praying to Furo for guidance and power, hoping to find a way to send his letters to Prince Ogandi.
'Then you have not eaten. Bring him a bowl,' the khahan commanded to a waiting quiverbearer.
A servant appeared with a wine goblet and a silver bowl for Koja, filling the latter from the steaming kettle over the fire. The pot held chunks of boiled meat, rich with the smell of game, swimming in a greasy broth. A second servant offered a platter covered with thick slabs of a sliced sausage. Koja sniffed at it suspiciously. Aware that Yamun was watching him, he chose one of the smallest slices. At least Furo was not particular about what his
