mask, and his thin, creaky voice echoed hollowly from it. Horse-mask and Bear-mask kept to their work.
“I don’t care. Give me an answer,” Yamun snapped.
“His gods are different from ours, Khahan. It is hard to know if our healing spells will have power over him. We can only try.”
Yamun grunted. “Then you’d better try very hard.” He turned to resume his pacing.
The wall of Kashik parted to allow a mounted rider to enter. The man, a commander of a minghan in the Kashik, slid quickly off his horse, ran to Yamun, and knelt before the khahan.
“Get up and report,” Yamun ordered.
“I come from the tents of the Mother Bayalun, as you ordered, Great Lord.”
“And what did she have to say?”
“Mother Bayalun says she only wanted to learn more of the world,” the officer quickly answered as he looked toward the prisoner on the ground.
Yamun gripped his knout with both hands. “And what’s her excuse for the guards?”
“According to her, the orders she gave were not followed. She commanded the guards to escort the priest to and from his tent, and to make sure that he was not hurt,” the commander explained. “She ordered an arban of men to go as escort, but they did not obey her orders.”
“Then you must ride back and tell her to choose a punishment for the nine that deserted their posts,” Yamun ordered. He impatiently scuffed at the ground with his toe.
“She has anticipated your desire and has already given her judgment. They are to be sewn into the skins of oxen and sunk into the river, as is by custom.”
“She’s clever and quick. She hopes this will appease me.” Yamun pulled at his mustache as he thought it over. “Her judgment will do. Still, I want you to go back and tell her I’m not satisfied. For letting this happen, she must reduce the size of her bodyguard. I’ll set the numbers when I return.”
“Yes, Khahan. Surely the second empress will be angry, Lord. Might she do something dangerous?” The officer had heard much of Bayalun’s powers.
“I don’t need to please her. She’ll accept it because I’m the khahan,” Yamun said confidently. He turned and walked over to his captive. “And did she say anything about him?” Yamun asked, pointing at the man on the ground.
“Seeing as he is within your grip, she allows you to deal with him as you want.”
Yamun looked down on the man. The fellow’s eyes were wide, waiting for word from the khahan.
“He did not desert, Khahan,” the officer noted.
“True. He can live, but…” The khahan paused, thinking. “He failed in his duties. Fetch men and stones. Crush one ankle so he cannot ride again. Let all who disobey you know that this is by the word of the khahan.”
“By your word, it shall be done,” answered the commander. Taking his horse, he left the circle to see to the arrangements.
The sound of the drum and flute brought Yamun’s attention back to the shamans. The droning melody of their chant was just ending when he came back to them. Taking their horsetail wands, the shamans sprinkled the still body of the priest with milk and then stepped away from the pallet.
“Well?” demanded Yamun, only to be hushed by Crow-mask.
“Wait, we will know in a little while.” The shaman’s voice echoed from inside the mask. The three squatted down on their haunches. Yamun stood behind them, fiddling with his knout. Finally his patience could take no more and he resumed his pacing.
After several minutes Yamun heard a cough. He turned and strode back to the pallet. Koja was struggling to prop himself up on one elbow. The shamans clustered around, their masks pushed up from their faces. They fussed over the priest, pushing him back down each time he weakly tried to sit up. Crow-mask turned to Yamun. “He lives, Illustrious Khahan. The spirits of the Sky God, Teylas, have favored him with their blessing.”
“Good,” commented Yamun, stepping past the man. He looked down into Koja’s wan face. Dried
“I don’t care. Give me an answer,” Yamun snapped.
“His gods are different from ours, Khahan. It is hard to know if our healing spells will have power over him. We can only try.”
Yamun grunted. “Then you’d better try very hard.” He turned to resume his pacing.
The wall of Kashik parted to allow a mounted rider to enter. The man, a commander of a minghan in the Kashik, slid quickly off his horse, ran to Yamun, and knelt before the khahan.
“Get up and report,” Yamun ordered.
“I come from the tents of the Mother Bayalun, as you ordered, Great Lord.”
“And what did she have to say?”
“Mother Bayalun says she only wanted to learn more of the world,” the officer quickly answered as he looked toward the prisoner on the ground.
Yamun gripped his knout with both hands. “And what’s her excuse for the guards?”
“According to her, the orders she gave were not followed. She commanded the guards to escort the priest to and from his tent, and to make sure that he was not hurt,” the commander explained. “She ordered an arban of men to go as escort, but they did not obey her orders.”
“Then you must ride back and tell her to choose a punishment for the nine that deserted their posts,” Yamun ordered. He impatiently scuffed at the ground with his toe.
“She has anticipated your desire and has already given her judgment. They are to be sewn into the skins of oxen and sunk into the river, as is by custom.”
“She’s clever and quick. She hopes this will appease me.” Yamun pulled at his mustache as he thought it over. “Her judgment will do. Still, I want you to go back and tell her I’m not satisfied. For letting this happen, she must reduce the size of her bodyguard. I’ll set the numbers when I return.”
“Yes, Khahan. Surely the second empress will be angry, Lord. Might she do something dangerous?” The officer had heard much of Bayalun’s powers.
“I don’t need to please her. She’ll accept it because I’m the khahan,” Yamun said confidently. He turned and walked over to his captive. “And did she say anything about him?” Yamun asked, pointing at the man on the ground.
“Seeing as he is within your grip, she allows you to deal with him as you want.”
Yamun looked down on the man. The fellow’s eyes were wide, waiting for word from the khahan.
“He did not desert, Khahan,” the officer noted.
“True. He can live, but…” The khahan paused, thinking. “He failed in his duties. Fetch men and stones. Crush one ankle so he cannot ride again. Let all who disobey you know that this is by the word of the khahan.”
“By your word, it shall be done,” answered the commander. Taking his horse, he left the circle to see to the arrangements.
The sound of the drum and flute brought Yamun’s attention back to the shamans. The droning melody of their chant was just ending when he came back to them. Taking their horsetail wands, the shamans sprinkled the still body of the priest with milk and then stepped away from the pallet.
“Well?” demanded Yamun, only to be hushed by Crow-mask.
“Wait, we will know in a little while.” The shaman’s voice echoed from inside the mask. The three squatted down on their haunches. Yamun stood behind them, fiddling with his knout. Finally his patience could take no more and he resumed his pacing.
After several minutes Yamun heard a cough. He turned and strode back to the pallet. Koja was struggling to prop himself up on one elbow. The shamans clustered around, their masks pushed up from their faces. They fussed over the priest, pushing him back down each time he weakly tried to sit up. Crow-mask turned to Yamun. “He lives, Illustrious Khahan. The spirits of the Sky God, Teylas, have favored him with their blessing.”
“Good,” commented Yamun, stepping past the man. He looked down into Koja’s wan face. Dried
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