In a year, my hair in warrior braids,
we can meet in single combat—
That is if you’re not too cowardly.”
Roared with rage the red-faced warrior,
Swung his heavy fist to strike him.
But the Youngling’s fist was quicker,
struck the warrior like a hammer,
broke his neck and sent him crashing
to the mud, his dead eyes staring.
It was thus he earned his warrior name,
Ironhand was what they called him.
From—The Jarhann Saga,
Kumalo translation
The Buriat great council met again in mid-morning, and arguments continued. After a time, a clan chief stood and declared that whatever the final decision might be on alliance with the emperor or invasion of the Yakut-Russ, and whoever might end up as Great Khan, there was one matter about which they had only a single choice: union! They must unite! The only alternative was to remain as they were and be overwhelmed by the empire.
The only real questions before them, he went on, were whether to invade northward, or to ally themselves with the emperor. And with that settled, who would lead the united Buriat tribes: Kaidu Long Nose or Burhan Rides-the-Bear.
This gave rise to more than an hour of speeches, some terse, some florid. Finally, at noon, Kaidu stood and pro-
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posed that the great council adjourn for the day. Let the clan councils meet and discuss the matter of alliance or invasion. The great council could meet again tomorrow or the next day.
The council agreed, and the meeting adjourned.
With Hans and Baver following, Achikh and Nils walked through the dispersing crowd, speaking Anglic for privacy. “If you had a voice in it,” Achikh asked, ‘which would you vote for? Alliance or invasion?”
“Invasion northward,” Nils said. “I would not see your people leading another imperial army westward to attack my own.”
The answer dissatisfied Achikh. He’d wanted Nils to speak from the Buriat, not the Neoviking viewpoint. “And who would you vote for, for khan?”
“Burhan. Kaidu would make the best chief, for he is both wise and clever. But he has been spelled by Fong, or by the emperor through Fong, and on matters important to them, they will control his decisions.”
“Spelled!?”
“There is a means of controlling someone’s mind. It is not easily done, nor does it work on everyone. But it can be done. Given time, it can be done to almost anyone by certain wizards who can enter the mind undetected. Like Fong.’
Achikh looked worriedly at the big Northman. “And this has been done to my brother Kaidu? Are you sure?”
“To your brother and two others on the great council.” Nils named them, translating their surnames into Anglic so the people whom they walked among wouldn’t know who was being spoken of. Each was an influential clan chief within the Black Stallion tribe. “Fong is a powerful wizard; in the West he’d be called a psi. The emperor seems to be another. And between the two—the emperor and Fong—is a greater power I do not understand yet.”
By this time the crowd had thinned somewhat. Baver was wondering if Nils could do that sort of thing: enter a person’s mind and control it. And if the Northman had
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ever controlled him. As they walked, a bellowing voice called to Achikh by name. They stopped.
A huge, burly Buriat strode up to them, his eyes on Nils rather than Achikh. Four cronies were with the man, all hard-looking. “Foreigner!” he said arrogantly, and looked the Northman up and down. He was five or six centimeters shorter than Nils Järnhann, but outweighed him by twenty kilos, Baver judged.
The man nodded, as if he approved what he saw. “You speak Mongol, I am told.”
Nils nodded.
“Good! Good!” The Buriat grinned then, an unpleasant grin. “I have never, even as a boy, found anyone who could give me a real match in wrestling. Perhaps you can. I challenge you! You understand?”
Achikh broke in then, in Anglic. “This man is Kuduka. He has been famous as a wrestler since his childhood. Before he was grown, before hair grew on his face and only a little on his belly, he was famous for wrestling grown men. He has a hold with which he breaks their backs, he is so strong, and he is retained by the Mengetu family. I do not doubt he was sent by them. You can refuse to wrestle him; almost everyone does.”