'What is the message I am to take to Prince Ogandi?' Koja finally, hesitantly asked, his voice trembling with rage and fear.
'You don't. The Tuigan ride to Khazari with their own answer. No one speaks for us,' Yamun pronounced. 'And your prince will hear from me very soon.'
6
Elsewhere in the royal compound, another meeting was just beginning. It was a furtive liaison in one of the yurts used as a storehouse. The tent's felt walls were black, darkened by powdered charcoal. The smoke hole was sealed shut, and the door flap was tightly closed. It was an isolated yurt, seldom visited or disturbed.
Outside, a few soldiers, wearing the blue kalat of common troopers, leaned on their lances. Their eyes were far from idle, though. Under a guise of nonchalance, the men constantly scanned the area, ready to warn of any intruders.
Inside, the black yurt was barely lit by one small lamp. It burned fitfully, the little circle of light it cast growing and shrinking with each flicker. The dim glow revealed rolls of fabric, sealed baskets, rugs, and stacks of metal pots. Nestled in all this, within the circle of light, were General Chanar and Mother Bayalun. She was dressed in a simple robe, hardly fitting to her station. Around her head she had wrapped several coils of a shawl, until her face was hidden in shadows. Her staff leaned against a bale beside her.
'Did you do as I instructed?' she demanded, leaning forward to look the general in the eye.
'Everything,' answered Chanar with cocky self-assurance.
'And Chagadai?'
'He played his part,' Chanar said with a smile. 'What did you promise him?'
'More than nothing,' she answered, avoiding his question. 'What is the result?'
'He rides to the Sindhe River to meet with Jad. Then they go to Khazari.' The general warmed his hands over the lamp.
'Excellent. Soon, Chanar, you will become the true khahan,' Mother Bayalun said coldly. 'And where are you to be?'
'I am to ride to Fergana Pass to advise Hubadai.' Chanar heard something and stopped speaking. He sat up straight, looking about him to see the source of the noise. The dark walls of the tent quivered in a faint breeze.
'Relax, my general,' Bayalun said soothingly. 'We are alone. My guards outside will make sure of that. Now, take this-' She handed him a small leather bag. 'Mix it with some wine tonight, then drink it. It will make you sick, but don't worry, it won't kill you. Yamun will see that you are too sick to travel.'
'Why do this?' he questioned, eyeing the bag dubiously.
Bayalun grabbed his hand and stuffed the bag into his fingers. 'Don't be a fool,' she said sharply. 'We need each other alive. And you need to be here, in Quaraband-not with Hubadai. When the khahan is dealt with, you must be ready to move, so that means you must stay here with me. How are you going to do that? Tell Yamun you don't feel like riding out today? That it's an unlucky day?' She gently squeezed his fingers. 'Use the powder or he will become suspicious.'
'Oh,' Chanar said, slowly coming to understand. 'What if he orders a cart to take me to Hubadai?'
'He won't,' she contended. The khadun's patience was starting to wear thin. 'He has too much to do. Tell him you will take care of your arrangements. He'll believe you.'
'And then what?'
'Then you wait. Things will work just as we've planned. And then-' Bayalun reached out and laid her hand gently on his arm. 'We will lead the Tuigan to their true glory.'
'Yes.' Chanar savored the thought. 'When I'm khahan, I'll get rid of these foreigners.'
'Of course,' Mother Bayalun said, stroking his arm. 'That is the whole reason we're doing this, isn't it?'
Chanar grinned wolfishly, openly admiring the older woman. She was not passive, a mere ornament like Yamun's Shou princesses. She was bold, a woman for a true warrior.
'But quickly,' she urged, breaking the mood, 'you must go before anyone becomes suspicious by your absence. Leave now. My men will make sure the way is clear.' She pressed on his arm, sending him on his way.
Chanar moved to go with only a little reluctance. Her words reminded him of the plan's dangers. Going to the door, he peered out through a tiny gap. After what seemed an interminable minute of watching, he slipped out through the doorway. There was a brief flash of sunlight, and then the tent fell dark again.
Bayalun sat on the pile of rugs, leaning on her staff, her eyes closed as she thought. Her plans were going well. Nothing had gone wrong, but that worried her. She was certain that by now there would have been some mistake. 'Perfect plans are made by fools,' or so went the old proverb.
'Does he suspect?' said a soft, yipping voice from the darkness.
Mother Bayalun looked up slowly, not showing any surprise at the new speaker. 'No, but that's through no help from you. Your clumsiness almost gave you away,' she snapped. 'What are you doing here?'
A large fox, honey brown in color, walked into the light. Moving opposite Bayalun, it settled back on its haunches. With its front paws, it produced a long pipe from the leather bag it carried slung around its neck. 'I wish you people would move your tents. It would make things a lot easier. I'd change out of this form, but these damned magic-dead lands prevent me.'
'Why are you here, you insolent creature?' Bayalun demanded, thumping the rolled-up rug beside the fox- thing.
'My master sent me,' it explained as it stuffed tobacco into the pipe and tamped it down with a paw more human than foxlike. 'Are we stuck with that dolt?'
'Who?'
'The buffoon who was just here,' the fox explained. He dug into his bag and pulled out a smoldering ember, casually holding the burning coal in his paws. 'Stole it from a fire outside,' the fox offered before she could ask. He set the coal to the pipe.
'Don't light that in here!' Bayalun snapped. The fox looked up at her in surprise. 'The smoke will give us away.'
'To whom? Your guards? They're the only ones outside.' The fox drew a long puff on the pipe, blowing out sweet smoke from the combination of tobacco and strange herbs. 'This shape lets me get around easily, but it is so tiring. Especially when everyone wants to chase you.' It puffed on the pipe again, watching Bayalun's increasing irritation with an unconcealed glee.
'You take too many risks! Someone saw you?' Bayalun asked with alarm.
'Some saw a fox, nothing more,' the creature replied confidently.
'Carrying a bag!'
'I was careful. Stop worrying like an old woman. I've done this all my life, which is longer than yours-even if you are one of those half-spirit Maraloi.' The fox-thing blew smoke up toward the ceiling.
Bayalun started at the mention of the Maraloi. 'How did you know?' she demanded. 'No one knows of that.'
'The emperor of Shou Lung knows. Your father was one of the Maraloi, spirits of the great northern wood. Humans think the Maraloi don't exist. You and I know better.' The fox tapped its pipe, shaking out the excess ash. 'But, the man you were talking to-'
'Will present no problems,' Bayalun said, a little subdued. 'He thinks we only plan to get Yamun out of Quaraband so he can seize power. He has no idea of my true intentions.'
'Our true intentions,' corrected the fox, rubbing its back against a rough-sided basket. 'Ahh,' it sighed.
'Our intentions,' Bayalun noted. 'And just what does your master intend?'
'He is concerned. He wants to be sure that everything is as he agreed.' The fox-thing suddenly dropped its casual air. 'Yamun Khahan continues to unite the tribes, and his army grows larger. Soon even the unbreachable
