Horselords

with the might of his god, but fears bones. True warriors don't fear spirits.'

Koja flushed with embarrassment at his own foolishness.

'We must drink to the honor of the khahan,' Chanar announced, hauling himself to his feet. He stepped around the fire and stopped in front of Koja. Uncorking his skin of kumiss, he splashed the heady drink into the skull cup. He took the skull from Yamun and handed it to Koja. Unwillingly, the priest took it in his hands.

'Ai!' Chanar cried, the signal to drink. He tipped his head back and drank from the skin.

'Ai,' echoed Yamun and the khans. They raised their cups and took long swallows.

Koja looked at the skull cup in his hands. The eyes were still staring at him, and the brain recess was filled with a milky pool of kumiss. He turned the cup so it wasn't facing him.

'Drink, little priest,' urged Chanar, wiping his mustache on his sleeve, 'or do you think the khahan has no honor?'

Yamun looked at Koja, noting that the lama had not joined in the toast. His brow furrowed in vexation with his newly chosen historian. 'You don't drink?'

Koja took a great breath and hoisted the skull up to his lips. He closed his eyes and gulped a draught of the wretched drink. Quickly, before they could urge him to take another swallow, the priest held the skull out to Chanar.

'Drink to the khahan's might,' Koja gasped.

'Ai,' called out the khans, refilling their cups.

Chanar grinned at the look of distress that flickered over the priest's face. He took the offered cup and drained it in a single gulp. Taking the skull with one hand, he filled it again with kumiss and handed it back to Koja. 'Drink to the khahan's health,' he said with a wicked smile.

Koja choked.

'Ai,' slurred out the khans. The toasts were starting to take their toll.

'Enough,' interrupted Yamun, pushing the drinking skull away from Koja. 'My health doesn't need toasting. I've told a story, now it's someone else's turn.' He looked pointedly at Koja.

'I've a story to tell,' Chanar snapped, before Koja could speak up. 'It's a good story, and it's all true.' He stepped back to give himself more space, kicking up the ashes at the edge of the fire.

Yamun turned to Chanar. 'Well, what is it?' he asked, barely keeping his irritation under control.

'Great khahan, the priest knows how you beat the Commani with the help of the Naican and your seven valiant men. Now I'll tell of what happened to one of those seven valiant men.' Chanar dropped the skin of kumiss and stepped away from the fire.

'Yes, tell us,' urged the toothless Goyuk Khan.

Koja looked at Yamun before he voiced his own opinion. The khahan was impassive. Koja couldn't tell if he was displeased or bored, so he kept his own mouth shut.

'After the khan-the khahan-,' began Chanar in a loud voice, 'defeated the Commani, he gave them to his companions, like he told us. He told his seven valiant men to gather the remaining men, young and old, of the Commani. 'Measure all the men by the tongue of a cart, and kill all those who can't walk under it,' the khahan ordered.'

'Measure all the men by a cart,' Koja asked meekly. 'What does that mean?'

'Any male who cannot walk under the hitch of an oxcart is killed. Only the little boys are spared,' Chanar answered curtly. 'We killed all the men of the Commani, like the khan ordered. He wasn't the khahan yet, you understand.' Chanar circled around the fire, pacing as he spoke. 'So, we killed the men.

'Then the khan gave out the women and children to us, because he was pleased with his warriors. He went to the seven valiant men and said, 'You and I are brothers of the liver. We've been anda since we were young. Continue to serve me faithfully and I'll give you great rewards.' He said this. I heard it said.' Chanar kicked an ember at the edge of the fire back into the flames.

'The valiant men were pleased by these words.' Chanar paused, looking at Yamun. 'There's more to the story, but perhaps the khahan doesn't want to hear it.'

'Tell your story,' insisted Yamun.

Chanar nodded to the khahan. 'There isn't much more to tell. Perhaps you know the tale. One of the valiant men told the khan, 'We are anda, brothers of the liver. I will stand at your side.' And I heard the khahan promise, saying, 'You are of my liver and will be my right hand forever.' When the khan went to war, this valiant man was his right hand. With his right hand, the khan conquered the Quirish and gathered the scattered people of the Tuigan-the Basymats and the Jamaqua. His right hand was strong.'

Chanar's story became more impassioned. He stomped about the fire, slapping his chest to emphasize his points. 'I never failed or retreated. I went with the khan against the Zamogedi when only nine returned. I fought as his rear guard, protecting him from the Zamogedi. I took the khan to the ordu of my family and sheltered him. I strengthened the khan when he returned to the Zamogedi to take his revenge. Together we beat them-killing their men and enslaving their women and children.

'All this because I was his anda. When the Khassidi surrendered to me, offering gifts of gold and silk, weren't those gifts sent to the khahan? 'These things that are given are the khahan's to give.' Isn't that the law?' Chanar faced the other khans at the fire, directing his questions to them, not Yamun or the priest.

'Is true, Great Prince,' mumbled Goyuk to Yamun, his toothless speech made worse by drink. 'He sent it all to you.'

Satisfied with Goyuk's answer, the general turned to face the lama.

'But now,' Chanar growled, narrowing his eyes at Koja, 'the valiant man no longer has gifts to send and another sits at his anda's right hand. And that's how the story ends.' The general turned from the priest, stalked back to his stool, and sprawled there, satisfied that his point had been made.

With a sharp hiss, Yamun stood and took a step toward Chanar, who watched him like a cat. The khahan's fists were clenched tightly, and his body swayed with tension.

'This is no good,' Goyuk said softly, laying his hand on Yamun's arm. 'Chanar is your guest.'

Yamun stopped, listening to the truth in Goyuk's words. Koja quietly slid his stool away from the khahan, fearful of what might happen next. The singing from the other fires started up again.

'Nightguards!' snarled Yamun. 'Come with me. I'm going to visit the other fires.' With that he wheeled and strode off into the darkness. The guards streamed past, and the quiverbearers followed after, carrying food and drink for the khahan no matter where he stopped.

Those around the fire watched the entourage wend down the hillside. Koja sat quietly, suddenly feeling himself among enemies.

'This is a dangerous game you play, Prince Chanar,' observed Goyuk, leaning over to speak softly in Chanar's ear.

'He can't kill me,' Chanar confidently replied as he watched Yamun march down the hill. 'The Khassidi and many others would go back to their ordus if he did.'

'Is true, you are well loved, but Yamun is the khahan,' the old man cautioned.

Chanar dismissed Goyuk's comments with a gulp of kumiss. As he drank down the cup, he once again saw Koja on the other side of the fire.

'Priest!' he hissed at the lama. 'Yamun trusts you. Well, I am his anda! You are a foreigner, an outsider.' The general leaned forward until his face was almost in the flames. 'And if you betray the Tuigan, I'll have great fun hunting you down. Do you know how a traitor is killed? We crush the breath out of him under a plank piled with heavy stones. It's a slow and painful death.'

Koja paled.

'Remember it and remember me,' Chanar warned. With those words, he threw the rest of the kumiss on the fire and stood. 'I must go to my men,' he told Goyuk Khan, ignoring Koja's presence. The old khan nodded, and Chanar walked off into the darkness.

The rest of the evening seemed to pass quickly and slowly all at once. At first Koja was content to sit near the fire, keeping away the increasing chill of the frosty night air. The servants kept refilling his golden goblet, having long since taken the skull away. The old khan, Goyuk, seeing that the priest wasn't going anywhere, began to talk incessantly. Koja only understood about half of what the codger said, but smiled and nodded politely nonetheless. The khan talked about his ordu, his horses, the great battles he had fought in, and how a horse had kicked out his teeth. At least, that is what Koja thought he was discussing. As the night went on, Goyuk's speech became