will come with us.' Sechen drew a knife meaningfully.
'But I've done nothing!' protested Koja.
'You are Khazari. Come with us or die.' The guards flanked him, each taking one arm. Resigned and more than a little fearful for his safety, Koja allowed himself to be whisked away.
The guards placed him in a small empty yurt. Koja had no idea where his servant or his belongings were. Sechen and the other man took position outside the door. Koja, with little else to do, sat near the door, trying to glimpse the activity outside and listen to whatever he could hear.
For a long time, nothing in particular happened. Then, as the sun was almost set, he heard a familiar thunder. Horses, a large number of them, were on the move. Soon the noise grew louder and louder. Koja could only imagine the scene on the other side of the ridge. The minghans were advancing with the setting sun at their backs, to blind the archers on the walls. The lama strained to hear more. Faintly, echoing through the dusk, were the blasts of horns and the deep, staccato roar of war drums. A ringing, higher note rose above the lower rumble. At first, Koja could not place it, then he realized that it was the sustained cries of screaming horses and men.
The battle for Manass had been joined, and all Koja could do was listen.
The noise continued for about an hour after sunset, gradually growing fainter and less insistent. Koja sat still, rapt by every crash, cry, and wail that reached him. The battle was a failure, the lives were wasted; he was convinced of this. He imagined the ground outside Manass was strewn with gutted horses and broken men. Koja choked back an involuntary sob at the thought of the suffering pointlessly inflicted.
This was Yamun's vision of conquest. It was a dream, filled with blood, valor, and death, but nothing more. Koja wondered if this, the futile attack on Manass, was really what Yamun's god had shown the khahan in that thunderstorm. Was this what Yamun wanted?
Before today, the priest thought Yamun would conquer Khazari. He also had been sure that Yamun could somehow be persuaded to leave it unharmed and safe. Koja had tried to hint and suggest the possibilities for peaceful rule. What hope was there of that now? If the khahan was willing to send his own men to certain death, Koja knew Khazari could expect no mercy from the Tuigan warlord.
Images of the dream came back to him as he began pacing around the yurt. His old master had talked of his lord, and the strange creature claimed Koja was with the khahan. Who was his lord? Prince Ogandi had sent him as ambassador to the Tuigan. The khahan had sent him as ambassador to the Khazari. Now he was a prisoner. Koja felt lost, the events of the day casting his own actions into doubt. There was no treaty between the Tuigan and Khazari as a result of his actions. Instead, there was an army on the border of his homeland. He, as envoy, had failed his prince.
Exhausted, the lama sat back down and prayed to Furo for guidance, silently whispering his sutras as he sat huddled near the door. Finally Koja realized what he must do. As a lama of the Enlightened One, Koja must guide the khahan to be a true ruler, more than just a warlord.
His decision made, Koja strained to hear any sounds of the struggle, but the tumult of battle had ceased. Koja sat patiently, until sleep finally settled over him.
The guards came and woke the lama during the night. It was dark and bitterly cold in the thin mountain air, and Koja was shivering from the instant he awoke.
'Quickly,' ordered Sechen, 'come with us.' The lama groggily heard the words without really understanding them. The guard grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. 'It's time for you to go.'
'Go where?' Koja managed to ask as the Kashik pushed him through the doorway. His bodyguards were being none too kind.
'Away. We're leaving,' Sechen offered as explanation. It didn't tell Koja much. The guard pushed the priest toward a horse. Servants were already setting to the task of taking down the yurt. Indeed, the camp seemed to be astir, but in an oddly silent way. The normal sounds of breaking camp- the grunted shouts, clatter of cups, even the braying of camels-were all missing. The men, even his guards, spoke in hushed tones. The fires, normally blazing, were damped to the lowest coals.
'I would like to see the khahan,' Koja declared as he became more aware of where he was.
'You will,' answered a guard, much to Koja's surprise. A servant held the horse for Koja to mount.
'What is going on?' Koja demanded one more time. Somehow he suspected the question was futile.
'Be quiet,' Sechen hissed. The other guard nodded in agreement, smiling with a mouthful of crumbling, decayed teeth. They roughly hoisted the priest into the saddle and then mounted their own horses. The big wrestler reached over and took Koja's reins, leading his horse along. There was no clopping of horse's hooves; the pace was marked instead by a soft plodding. Koja looked at the lead horse and saw that its hooves were wrapped in bindings of rags. Wherever the army was going, they were taking great efforts to do it quietly.
The group rode in the darkness for some time, going mostly downhill. All around, Koja could hear the quiet movements of other riders. Shapes moved in and out of his vision. The lama wondered if they were moving to Manass. Had it, against all possibilities, fallen to Yamun's attack, or was the khahan secretly reinforcing whatever remained of the three thousand men already encamped outside?
As the hours went by, the priest became confused. They traveled too long to be going to Manass, even though they went slowly.
With the dawn, Sechen and his fellow guard finally came to a halt. They were on the edge of a rocky bluff overlooking a flat valley floor. A line of birches marked the course of a small stream that cut through the valley. Behind Koja were more trees, making the tops of the low mountains dark blue-green in the morning light.
While Sechen watered the horses, another nightguard came with a message for the wrestler. 'The khahan orders you to send the priest to him,' was all the man had to say. In a very short time, Koja found himself in Yamun's camp.
The Khazari priest expected the camp to be like a furious beehive of activity, with Yamun hearing reports and issuing orders, couriers galloping in and out, and commanders plotting out strategies-just the way he imagined any great leader's camp must be during times of battle. When he got there, however, he was astonished. Yamun Khahan, his son Jad, and the old Goyuk were all sitting on stools, drinking hot cups of Tuigan tea.
Slightly off to the side was a wrinkled, old wizard. In the weak light of the dawn, the sorcerer looked drawn and lean, radiating an otherworldly feeling. Perhaps it was the effect of spending a life steeped in strange magics. Koja knew that the arcane arts took a toll on their masters, sometimes even draining them of vitality.
Like the others, the wizard was sipping a cup of tea, although he did not join in the muted conversation. Instead, the wizard sat close enough to their circle to listen, but looked the other way, watching the sun rising over the ice-frosted peaks of Khazari.
Yamun and his companions did not appear to be hurried or concerned, rather more like a group of men relaxing before a hunt. They looked up, noting Koja's presence. Jad made a show of watching the tree line while old Goyuk smiled his bland smile and noisily sucked up his tea.
Yamun stood as Koja came closer to the circle. 'Welcome,' he said evenly. Koja could not guess what Yamun's temperament was. 'Sit. Have some tea.'
Koja dutifully took his place, trying to decide how he was being treated. In just a day, he'd been a diplomat, a prisoner, and now-well, he just didn't know. So many things had been going on, and none of them seemed to make sense. 'Khahan,' he inquired, 'am I your prisoner or your envoy?' Koja chose his words with care, trying not provoke the khahan into some rash action.
'In my land you are my historian,' Yamun explained, rubbing at his chin. 'In Khazari, you are Khazari. Some of my khans think you are a clever spy for your people. I do not want them worrying about you.'
Koja stammered, 'But-but, Great Lord, you sent me to Manass to deliver your ultimatum just yesterday.'
'Yes, but remember, you asked. I thought you could persuade them to be reasonable.' The khahan took Koja by the arm and led him away from the others. 'You didn't. And you came back with ten dead men. There have been questions.'
'Questions?' Koja's voice hardened in unexpected anger.
'They are groundless and insulting' Yamun assured him.
'But there are questions … so you have me confined,' Koja said, a trace of bitterness in his tone.
'Yes,' Yamun said simply. 'It was for your own safety.'
'My own safety, Yamun?' Koja asked skeptically, irritated at the suggestion.
'If you wander about before a battle, people think you are a spy. If you don't, no one kill you. Is good plan,'
