‘With respect, Great Khan, you could send a thousand men and not find him. Asta was the greatest of shamen; he cannot be taken by men.’
‘His magic is stronger than yours?’
Shotza closed his eyes. ‘Yes, lord. There is not one man alive who could overcome him.’
‘It is not my way, Shotza, to have inferior men serve me.’
‘No, lord. But there is a way in which I could defeat him. I have six worthy acolytes. Together – and with certain necessary sacrifices – we could overcome Asta.’
‘Necessary sacrifices?’
‘Blood kin of Asta Khan, sacrificed on the night of Midwinter.’
‘How many such sacrifices?’
‘Twenty at least. Maybe thirty. Each one will weaken the old man.’
‘And you, of course, know the whereabouts of Asta’s family?’
‘I do, lord.’
‘Then I leave the preparations to you, Shotza. Now this peril from the Armour of Bronze – does it herald yet another Drenai uprising?’
‘I do not think so, lord. I saw the image of the armour, and yet the star was in the north. There can be no Drenai threat from the lands of the Gothir. But once I have breached Asta’s wall, I will know more. I will know it all.’
Shotza bowed deeply. Jungir waved him away and the shaman made his way to his chambers and sat down on a silk-covered divan. Free from the piercing eyes of Jungir Khan, he lay back and allowed his fear to show. His heart was palpitating and he found it difficult to breathe. Slowly he calmed himself, thanking the gods of the Steppes that Jungir had not pressed him about the other images.
He had seen a babe, wrapped in a cloak, lying on a cold stone floor.
And hovering over the child was the grim ghost of Tenaka Khan, Lord of the Wolves.
*
Jungir watched the little man leave, then sat in silence for several minutes. He could smell Shotza’s fear and knew full well there was more the shaman could have said. None of these sorcerers ever gave the whole truth. It was against their natures. Secretive, deceitful and cunning, they were weaned on subtlety and guile. But they had their uses. Shotza was the best of them and it must have taken great courage to admit that Asta Khan was more powerful. Jungir rose and stretched. He walked to the hanging tent wall which masked the window and pulled it aside.
The new city of Ulrickham stretched out before his eyes, low single-storey dwellings of mud-dried brick and stone. Yet inside all of them were the tent hangings that meant home to the Nadir. Nomads for ten thousand years, they were ill-suited to cities of stone. Yet Tenaka had insisted on the building of the cities, with their schools and hospitals.
‘It ill behoves the world’s greatest nation to live like savages,’ he had told Jungir. ‘How can we grow? How can we fasten our grip on the events of the world if we do not learn civilised ways? It is not enough to be feared on the battlefield.’
Such talk had made him unpopular with the older Nadir warlords, but how could they turn on the man who did what the mighty Ulric could not? How could they betray the man who had conquered the round-eyed southerners?
Jungir stepped back from the window and wandered into the Hall of Heroes. Here, after the fashion of the conquered Drenai, were the statues of Nadir warriors. Jungir paused before his father’s likeness and stared into the cold, grey eyes. ‘Just how I remember you, Father,’ he whispered. ‘Cold and aloof.’ The statue was expertly carved, showing the lean power of the Khan, the fine jaw and the noble stance. In one hand he held a long-sword, in the other the helm of Ulric. ‘I loved you,’ said Jungir.
A cool breeze caused the torches to flicker and shadows danced on the stone face, seeming to bring it to life. Jungir could almost see the stone eyes gleaming violet, the mouth curving into that long-remembered cynical smile. He shivered. ‘I did love you,’ he repeated, ‘but I knew of your plan. You trained me well, Father. I had my spies too. No man should think to live forever . . . not even Tenaka Khan. And had you succeeded, where would Jungir have found a place? The eternal heir to a living god? No. I too am of the blood of Ulric. I had a right to rule, to make my own life.’