Horselords by David Cook, Larry Elmore

make our wives fertile,” Yamun chanted in a toneless voice as he sprinkled the last of the kumiss over the banner. The servants took the cup and banner and set them back in their places. Yamun, the formalities over, sat back on his throne. “Sit, Chanar, and report,” the khahan said casually.
    Slowly and with noticeable reluctance, Chanar sat beside Koja, eyeing the priest venomously.
    Just as the general was about to speak, a procession arrived from Bayalun’s tent. The second empress led the small group, of only a few servants. Stepping onto the carpets, she bowed to the khahan. “I thank my husband for permitting me to attend.” Her silver-brown hair shone richly in the morning sun.
    Yamun nodded respectfully to his stepmother. “Your wisdom is always welcome to us.” Mother Bayalun quickly took a seat opposite the men.
    “Now, make your report, General Chanar,” bade Yamun. Chanar took in his breath slowly, composing his thoughts. After a slight pause he began.
    “Following your orders, I went first to Tomke’s ordu. He camped all winter on Yellow Grass Steppe, but with the spring now, his pastures are almost gone—”
    “He’s not to move until I tell him,” Yamun interrupted, addressing his comment to Koja. The priest dutifully noted it down, writing with quick strokes.
    “As I said,” Chanar continued, “the grass there is almost gone. He hopes to move east toward the Tsu-Tsu people, but he waits for your orders.”
    “How are his men?”
    “Tomke let many of them go home during the winter, to reduce his grazing. He has three tumen left—Sartak’s, Nogai’s, and Kadan’s—in addition to his own.” Koja counted them off on his fingers. “They are not full. His wizards count perhaps thirty minghans.”
    “Minghan?” Koja softly interrupted. “What is this? Please excuse me, but I need to know for the letters.”
    Chanar answered him contemptuously. “A minghan is one hundred arban. An arban is ten men.”
    “Ah,” Koja said, working out the figures on a small abacus, “Tomke has thirty thousand men.”
    Yamun scowled. “He’s let too many men go. Order him to call them back immediately.”
    Koja quickly wrote the command on a fresh sheet of paper and handed it to a waiting quiverbearer. The man presented the paper on a tray, along with a stone coated with red ink. The khahan took his seal, a small silver block with a top in the shape of a bird, from under his shirt. The underside was carved in the contorted Tuigan script. Yamun dipped the seal into the ink and pressed it on the sheet. The sealbearer backed away, blowing the ink dry as he went.
    “Continue,” ordered the khahan.
    “He has not sent many scouts,” Chanar noted. “The Tsu-Tsu seem peaceful. He thinks they will come over to us without fighting. The lands behind him, to the west, have been conquered. He has recruited some soldiers from them, but they are poor warriors. He says they are too weak to rebel, and I agree with him. They are dogs.”
    “Dogs bite,” observed Yamun. “What do you say, historian?”
    Koja was startled by the question, too surprised to be diplomatic. “If they have been treated well, they will not rebel. But if Tomke has ruled them harshly, they will fight more fiercely than ever before. My own people, the Khazari, have fought so in ancient times against wicked emperors of Shou Lung.”
    “So, the Khazari are not just mice,” commented Chanar with a faint sneer.
    Koja colored at the slight and bristled to make a reply.
    “Enough,” Yamun firmly interrupted. “Good advice. Chanar, how was my son treating them?”
    “I didn’t ask,” Chanar replied sullenly. He shot an evil glare at Koja.
    “Someone should find out. Send Hulagu Khan. Draw up the orders to see that it’s done.”
    Koja nodded and made a brief note.
    “Was there anything else at Tomke’s camp?” Yamun asked, returning to Chanar.
    “He’s met with the chief of the ogres from the northern mountains. They want to fight