[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

He'd never seen such a creature. It didn't surprise him that Bayalun would use
beasts and not men. He could see now why her plans had failed, relying as
they did on such creatures.
"There are also rumors," Yamun said thinly, interrupting the contemplation
of the body, "that you, Mother, were somehow responsible for this." He
paused. Unconsciously, the khahan tugged gently at his mustache, his body
sagging forward as he did so. "Of course, this isn't true. Still, it would end
these rumors if you swore an oath of loyalty to your khahan."
Bayalun glared coldly at her stepson. In icy, measured tones, she said,
"You would make your mother and your wife swear to you? Men will say you
are without morals for this perversion."
"Men will say worse of you if you refuse!" Yamun snapped, suddenly
revealing surprising strength. "Will the khans hear how you are afraid of
Teylas's wrath?" Yamun braced himself once more against his knees.
Bayalun realized that she stood alone. Chanar could not, would not, come
to her aid without arousing suspicion. Bitterly the woman agreed. "Never
before in our history has the khahan dared to demand this of his khadun. May
Teylas find this offensive to his sight!" She turned and spat on the rugs.
"Teylas can make of it what he wants. Now, say the oath." Yamun
commanded. By his tone it was clear he would brook no more argument.
Bayalun stared at her husband, weighing her choices. She could hear his
armor creak to his labored breathing. At last, she kowtowed before the
khahan. With her face pressed into the rugs, she recited the ancient words.
"Although your descendants have only a scrap of meat thrown on the
grass, which not even the crows will eat; although your descendants have
only a scrap of fat, which not even the dogs will eat; even then my family will
serve you. Never will we raise the banner of another to sit upon the throne."
"As this is heard by the khahan, Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan, so it is
heard by Teylas," Yamun murmured in response. His body sank slightly as he
recited the words. "Now, dear Bayalun, you're tired. This audience is over."
Burning with humiliation, the khadun struggled from the floor, pushing
herself up with her staff. Eschewing the traditional formalities of departing, she
barged from the yurt, driving aside the guards with a few solid whacks of her
stout wooden shaft.
"Chanar, you will stay. I have questions for you," the khahan ordered when
the general stood to go. Chanar froze, briefly panicked, and then slowly sat
back down. He looked around, wondering if the audience was about to turn
into some sort of trap.
Yamun deliberately let Chanar sit and wait. Just as Koja decided that the
khahan had passed out inside his armor, Yamun spoke. "General Chanar, my
anda, why aren't you in Semphar advising Hubadai?" He let his voice trail
away at the end.
"I was ill and could not travel," Chanar answered stiffly. He placed his
hands very carefully in front of him. "I sent messengers telling you of my
sickness."
"You could've ridden in a cart, or were you too sick to travel at all?" Yamun
asked.
"I am not an old man " Chanar stopped suddenly and gave a quick glance
to Goyuk. The khan's normally pleasant smile was clouded and grim. "I am
not a woman," Chanar began again, "who cannot ride. Valiant men do not
follow oxen to the battle. I could not fight from a wagon."
"It is true a warrior should ride into battle," Yamun agreed. "I'm pleased to
see that you're feeling much better. Now that you are well, why have you
come here?"
Wary of the khahan's maneuvering, the general picked his words carefully.
He looked at the floor in mock humility.
"The khadun suspected an evil fate had struck you and came to learn the
truth. I could not allow the khadun to travel without a proper guard."
Metal scraped wood as the khahan shifted in his seat. "So, you came for
the sake of my mother. Learn this, khans," Yamun said louder, addressing
Goyuk and Jad. "General Chanar has shown us the proper thing to do. It is
true I have chosen two worthy andas, the warrior and the lama. Let us drink to
their health."
The kumiss was drunk and the toasts were made. Throughout the salutes,
Koja tried to stay quiet and avoid Chanar's attention. There could be no
misreading the angry looks the general gave him over each ladleful of
fermented milk. Koja could also see that Yamun was weakening, the ladle
shaking a little more each time the khahan raised it to his lips.
"Yamun," the priest finally called out, "Chanar is surely tired from today's
traveling. However, he is too noble to complain, so let me speak for him and
ask that this audience end."
The khahan turned toward Koja, about to lash out at the priest for such
impudence, when he suddenly saw the wisdom of the lama's words. Turning
back to Chanar, he held one hand up to send the servants back to their
places. "My anda, Koja, is wise. I've kept you too long, Chanar Ong Kho. This
audience is over now, and you may leave."
The warlord sat gaping, then, with a crash, hurled the ladle across the yurt,
spraying kumiss over the rugs. "He does not speak for me! I need no one to
speak for me. I am your anda!" he shouted. Not waiting for a reply, Chanar
stormed out of the yurt, savagely shoving the guards at the door out of his
way.
The door flap had barely been tied shut when Yamun toppled off the
throne. Arms weakly flailing, he grabbed at the screen only to succeed in
pulling it over with him. The khahan tumbled from the dais in a crash of metal [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]