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lama to watch his every move.
Koja quickly set to work. "Get the bag off my horse," he ordered. The
standard-bearer hurriedly fetched the bag, passing it to Sechen.
The first problem was the poison. Taking an herb from his bag, the lama
pressed his hands on the lance wound and uttered a prayer. There was a
heat beneath his palms as the spell began to take effect. "The khahan's been
poisoned. I cannot stop the venom right now, but I have slowed the poison to
keep it from killing him out here. This may give me time to pray for a cure."
Koja carefully explained everything he did to defuse Sechen's suspicions.
That finished, he examined the wounds again. They were bad, but probably
not serious enough to kill the khahan. Still, if Furo allowed, it was best to heal
them now. Bowing his head in prayer, the priest counted out a rosary on his
beads. When he completed the plea to Furo, Koja's hands itched and
trembled with the power coursing in them. Gently he placed a palm on each
wound, then pressed them down firmly. Yamun stirred and groaned under the
pain. Blood seeped through the lama's fingers. The heat once again grew
under Koja's hands, this time stronger and lasting longer.
Sechen sucked in his breath through his teeth. "Look. His wounds are
closing," he whispered. Pinkish-white skin grew before Sechen's eyes, knitting
the wounds shut and leaving only a slight scar. At last, Koja took a deep
breath of relief and took his hands away. He tore off another shred of his robe,
spit into it, and daubed away the blood and fluid to check his handiwork. Koja
watched the khahan's chest rise and fall until he was satisfied the man slept
quietly.
"The khahan is better," Koja explained as he sat back in the dirt, shaking
from exhaustion. "However, the poison is still in him, and he could still die.
Can you take him back to camp?"
Sechen nodded. He looked at the priest in wonder.
"Are you sure? What about the battle?" the lama asked.
"You saw. This battle is over. We won. Prince Jad and Goyuk Khan will
finish things here." Gently, Sechen lifted the khahan in his arms.
"Then get him to his tent. He needs rest," Koja urged.
"By your word, it shall be done," answered Sechen. "But you will come with
me." Sechen nodded to the standard-bearer. "He will tell the prince what has
happened." Koja struggled to his feet and helped Sechen hoist the khahan
into his saddle. Yamun barely opened his eyes.
"Oh, yes," Koja said, "the wizard, Afrasib, lies over there. He helped the hu
hsien and would have killed Yamun. Right now, he cannot move, but he will
recover soon. You might want to do something about him." The standard-
bearer looked at the oddly frozen figure on the battlefield and grinned
unpleasantly. Before Koja could stop the man, the trooper ran over and neatly
slit the spellcaster's throat.
"I've always wanted to do that to one of Bayalun's lackeys," he coldly
proclaimed. As Koja sat, stunned with horror, the standard-bearer mounted
his horse and galloped away to inform Prince Jad of the khahan's condition.
"He should have kept the wizard alive to question him!" Koja shouted.
"Priest, the wizard got what all Bayalun's kind deserve. Just consider
yourself lucky not to be among them," Sechen grimly explained as he led their
horses back to camp.
That night there was a council in Yamun's tent. Outside, the finest and most
trusted of the nightguards ringed the yurt. Each was dressed in full armor and
heavily armed. They were nervous and jumpy. Already several rabbits had
died from rapidly fired arrows when they made a little noise in the bushes. The
guards eyed each other as well. The rumors were already circulating through
the camp-stories of treachery among Yamun's bodyguards, whole cadres of
wizards, and evil monsters rising out of the ground.
Those inside the yurt were no less tense. The spacious tent was almost
completely dark. A small iron pot of glowing red coals provided the only
illumination, barely lighting the grim faces of the men present. Yamun lay on
his bed, conscious but very weak. There was very little color in his face.
Under Koja's supervision, he was covered with several layers of heavy felt
blankets. Perspiration beaded on Yamun's brow as the priest tried to sweat
the poison out of the khahan's system. Sitting on the rugs at the side of
Yamun's bed were Jad and Goyuk, little more than dark shapes in the darker
yurt.
Koja had spent the last hour carefully telling his version of the day's events.
Jad sat with his head bowed to the floor. Goyuk nodded as he considered the
priest's words. Koja, now finished describing how he had treated the khahan's
wounds, sat silently with his hands on his knees, waiting for the others to
speak.
"It is good to have gods on your side, even if they are the gods of
strangers," Goyuk said in a rambling tone. It was very late and the day had
been long. Fatigue was showing on the old khan's face; his eyes drooped and
he slumped as if he were some exhausted vulture.
From his bed, Yamun sighed and focused on the big guard at the back of
the yurt. "Sechen, did it happen as the lama said?"
The guard shambled forward, nodding. "What I saw is as the priest said,
Khahan," the wrestler answered, stiffly bowing.
"I remember the guard attacking and the wound," Yamun added. He
pushed himself up onto one elbow. "Historian, you saved my life. Therefore,
Koja of the Khazari, I ask you to be my anda." Yamun weakly extended a
hand to the priest. There was a gasp from the group.
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