At the other end of Yamun's stride was a pallet bearing the unconscious priest. Huddled around him were three shamans, wearing their ritual masks. A piece of white cloth, set with a silver bowl of milk and bloody sheep bones, was spread at the head of the pallet. Encircling everyone was a wall of Kashik dayguards, their backs turned so that they faced away from Yamun and the shamans, forming a living wall. A strong wind whipped their kalats about their legs. In the distance, the smoke of Quaraband curled over the dim shapes of the tents.
Yamun stopped at the prisoner. "Why did old Bayalun summon the Khazari?" he demanded, towering over the bound man.
The prisoner, choking from a parched throat, barely gurgled a reply. Infuriated, Yamun whipped him with the knout, leaving more bloody wounds.
"Why did she summon him?"
"I—I—don't know," the guardsman rasped out.
"What did they talk about?"
The guard gasped as Yamun struck him again. "I did not hear!"
Disgusted, Yamun strode to the other end of the little compound, where the shamans worked. "Will he live?"
"It is very difficult, Great Prince," spoke one of the three. He wore a crow 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 blood still caked the back of his skull, although the wound, magically healed, had already knit. "Well, envoy of the Khazari, want to go riding?" He laughed at his own joke while Koja winced in pain at the thought.
One of the shamans tugged at the khahan's sleeve. "Gently, Great Lord. He is still very weak."
Yamun grunted in acknowledgment and squatted down beside the sickbed. He waved the shamans back so he could be alone. "You live."
Koja nodded weakly, tried to raise his head, and fell back in pain. "What—where ... ?" His questions drifted off.
"You're outside Quaraband. I had you brought here so the shamans could work their spells on you."
Koja took a deep breath and composed his thoughts. "What happened to me?"
"You were thrown from your horse. My guard brought you in, almost dead. It took a little time, but the shamans healed your wounds." Yamun's legs were getting stiff, so he rocked gently from side to side to stretch. "The men who failed you have been punished," he added, assuming the priest would demand justice without delay.
A cloud of confusion swirled in Koja's eyes, only in part from dizziness. "Why have you done this?" Remembering his manners, he rephrased the question. "Why has the khahan, Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan, come here to see to the health of this insignificant one? You have bestowed great favor on me."
Yamun scratched his neck, thinking of how to explain it. The reasons for his actions seemed obvious to Yamun, so he assumed that those same reasons were clear to everyone. "Why? You're a guest in my yurt. It wouldn't be good if you died while you were here. People would say my tents were plagued by evil spirits."
The khahan paused and smiled. "Besides, what would your prince think if I sent him a message saying 'Please send another priest, the first one died'? I don't think he would be pleased." Yamun picked up a pebble and rolled it between his fingers.
"And now," Yamun said softly, "I've saved your life." The warlord tossed the rock aside.
Koja was at a loss for words. "I am unable to repay you for this, Great Lord," he whispered at last. A shiver ran through his body. His chest felt tight and restricted.
Yamun smiled broadly, the scar on his lip giving it a leering quality. His eyes remained squinted and hard. "Envoy of the Khazari, I need a new scribe. The last one proved unreliable."
Koja gulped painfully. "Unreliable?"
"He forgot his loyalties."
Koja remembered the bloody head and Yamun's quick justice. "You mean—"