There had to be thousands of people-tens of thousands-in those tents. Llesho wondered if he didn't prefer magic to a khan who could mobilize so great a force in so short a span of time. The working of magic left the magician vulnerable, but a field marshal as skilled as the khan's gave few openings for defense.

Bolghai seemed to be paying no attention as Llesho worked to absorb the changes that had sprung up around them in his sleep. The strange little man slung his drum over his shoulder by its thong. With his free hand, he untied from his hair the bone that so interested Carina. This task was made more difficult because he continued to bob his head in the manner of a small animal in the grass. Llesho caught him stealing a glance out of bright, inquisitive eyes and an answering grin escaped before he could consider an appropriate response.

"Don't tell me you take this creature seriously!" Lluka glared from his brother to the shaman, the color rising in his face. "He practices the lowest religion, using tricks and riddles to amaze the ignorant."

Lluka was going to get them killed if he didn't shut up. Llesho kept his voice under control, but the temper snapped in his eyes and flared his nostrils. "The Chimbai-Khan moved a city of tens of thousands to surround us during the night. I would be cautious of calling him ignorant."

"I didn't mean the khan-" The color so recently risen now fled Lluka's face.

"Then treat his servant with respect." Llesho turned his back on his brother and the stunned silence of their company. This was, he realized, the crux of their problem, and he thought he had not handled it well. He couldn't back down to his brother, however, so he returned his attention to the visitor with as much calm as he could muster. Neither Bolghai nor Carina were paying the argument the least bit of attention, though Llesho suspected that nothing had escaped the shaman's notice.

Bolghai held the tiny bone on the palm of his outstretched hand. "A swan came drinking from the silver river, then returned again to graze on the holy mountain."

Carina took it with a smile. "Mama always loves your letters," she said, which must mean that the swan represented correspondence of some kind, and possibly the silver river meant the ink. Llesho hadn't seen any writing on the bone, but he had no doubt that Mara the healer would find it more informative. He really was getting the hang of this riddle thing.

"We are accompanying Llesho on his quest," Carina continued her explanation while she tucked the bone into a little bag that hung from a silver chain on her costume. "Raiders attacked us at an inn on the outskirts of Durn-hag, hoping to seize the prince for the magician who has ridden to the South. I'm afraid they've stolen his brother-prince and others of his friends. We've come from the destruction of Ahkenbad, and hope to rescue the hostages before the raiders reach their master."

"Deadly birds fly in the meadows before you, birds of death fly where you have gone."

Llesho understood that one as well-deadly birds must mean arrows, and birds of death the carrion eaters that followed any battle. The longer he spent in his company, the more familiar the shaman seemed. Could he have accompanied the Long March to the slave markets? But no, Yesugei had assured them that this group of Harnish-men had no part in the raid on Thebin. He reminded Llesho of a meadow, though-and a conversation with Pig.

"Have we met before?" he suggested, unwilling to ask the man outright if he had visited Llesho's dreams as a stoat.

The strange little man went still as a statue, then he patted Llesho on the shoulder. "A sharp knife cuts deep."

The compliment made him blush. He did remember then: The stoat in the grass. Pig had told him to trust this man. Before he could say more, however, Master Den cuffed him gently on the side of his head.

"Prayer forms," the washerman said, "The Chimbai-Khan will want to see you when Great Sun rises." He led them all, captains and lesser soldiers, into the bit of grazing space left for the horses near their camp.

Setting himself a little apart, Bolghai watched with bright, eager eyes as they sorted themselves into rows with the princes and captains at their head. Carina followed the shaman, shaking her animal-skin robes into order about her as she went.

Master Den began the forms with "Red Sun" and Llesho stretched slowly, easily, reaching skyward to greet the morning. "Flowing River" followed. The master called "Wind through Millet" and moving into the form, Llesho became aware of the wind in his hair and the scent of the grass crushed beneath his feet, and the beat of a drum as insistent as the surge of the blood in his veins. He glanced up to see Carina hopping and leaping madly, like a jerboa, while the Harnish shaman darted in zigzags and circles like a stoat while beating on the skin drum.

The sight so amazed him that Llesho stopped in the middle of his form and took a step toward this new sound. No one else seemed to notice the pull of the music that took hold of him, filling him so full of the beating drum and tinkling bells that there was no room for will. He didn't have control over his feet or his arms, but could only watch them move on their own with a part of his mind that recorded memories but took no part in the ordering of his actions.

The drumbeat tingled all over his skin, tugging at his scalp until a part of him floated away, separating body from soul. Carina and the strange Harnishman danced, and Llesho danced with them. Bolghai spun in a circle, and Llesho felt himself spinning, spinning. His feet no longer touched the ground and he rose fearlessly into the air while the breeze held him as securely as the waves of Pearl Bay.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Llesho crumpled like a puppet whose sticks had broken. He could not move, not even to close his eyes against the growing light, but he didn't care. A pain that had lived inside of him for so long that he scarcely noticed it anymore was gone, gone, and he settled into its absence like a child. A whisper drifted through his mind on a breeze of thought-"Is this a true dream?"-and scattered like a drift of smoke on his blissful smile.

"Llesho?"

Something came between Llesho and the brightening morning. Ah, Master Den, and Dognut whose name was Bright Morning. He thought he might have forgotten the dwarfs given name once, but how peculiarly apt it seemed with his dwarfish self blotting out the light of his namesake. The stranger, too, and Llesho's own brothers crowded his vision. Shokar looked like he wished only to know what had laid his brother in the grass so he could kill it, and Lluka stared down at him as frozen as a Southern winter.

"Llesho? Are you awake in there?" Den called to him sternly, and he wondered what he'd done wrong this time. But they weren't on Pearl Island and Master Den hadn't spoken to him in that tone of voice since the arena at Farshore Province.

"He's not breathing," Shokar insisted, angry and scared and with his hands balled into fists. "Why isn't he breathing?" He was looking at Master Den, and Llesho wanted to warn him not to punch the trickster god in the mouth.

First he'd have to do something about the breathing thing, which wasn't quite working at the moment. He would have liked to tell Carina, but ah, there she was. He heard her voice clear as a lark's and insistent as a magpie's.

"He needs attention. Let me see him." She knelt over him, her expression severe. With deft fingers she felt out the bones of his neck, reaching around the back of his head to tilt him so that his throat seemed stretched for the slice of a blade and his chin pointed sharply at the sky. And just when he was wondering if he would ever remember how to breathe, she leaned over and kissed him. No, not a kiss; she was blowing air into his mouth. It filled his lungs and then, with a gentle hand at the base of his ribs, she forced the air back out again. Another, and he remembered how to do it himself, sighing the breath out of himself for so long that he thought all his internal organs had turned into air and were escaping through his mouth. Finally, when he felt flat as an empty waterskin, he blinked, and drew breath again. "What happened?"

"You fainted, but you're going to be fine." Dognut reached around the healer to reassure him with a squeeze of his stubby hand.

Llesho smiled back at him, warmed by the comfort that washed over him like sunshine. Dognut was wrong, though. "I was awake the whole time. Did you see me fly?"

"Maybe not so fine," the dwarf amended.

Carina dismissed Dognut's concern with an airy wave of her hand. "Of course he flew. It's common when just learning the skill to forget to breathe. He'll get better at it in time."

"But does he have have time?" the dwarf muttered darkly. time?" the dwarf muttered darkly.

Bolghai rose from his crouch over Llesho's body and peered up into Master Den's stormy face with a stern frown. "Three are tied to a tree, but one limb is still free."

Llesho had thought that he understood this strange riddle-language, but now he wondered. The image was clear enough-a horse, with its feet hobbled-but he wasn't a horse, didn't have four feet, and had escaped imprisonment a long time back. Master Den said nothing to contradict the Harnish shaman, however. With a frown that carved a crease between his eyes, he directed the disposition of Llesho's body onto a stretcher and called for tea to be brought to his tent.

"I can walk," Llesho objected. When he tried to sit up, however, Bolghai pressed him down again gently, with a finger to the center of his forehead.

"Rest." Carina added her voice to the weight of advisers treating him like an invalid. He settled back with a growl, but his rest proved shorter than even he expected.

"Young prince!" Yesugei rode toward them down the wide avenue that had appeared while they slept. Around the chieftain, an honor guard of armed riders jostled Llesho's small band of fighters, shouting challenges back and forth.

"The Chimbai-Khan expresses amazement at the presence of four princes of the Cloud Country in his humble camp, and begs the company of these guests at breakfast," the chieftain announced. "I am to bring the princes and their captains, with the khan's greetings." He seemed not at all surprised to see Llesho on a stretcher, but waited patiently for the prince to rise from his bed and follow.

At Master Den's commanding gesture, the soldier who carried the bottom of the stretcher lowered Llesho's feet, while the trooper at his head raised that end up. Llesho was on the verge of a smart remark about Harnish tents growing up like mushrooms after a rain when Master Den dropped a large open hand across his mouth.

"Of course," Master Den answered for him.

That probably worked better than Llesho's answer, considering how few their numbers were next to the khan's many thousands. When the tension drained from his muscles, the hand left his mouth. Freed of the trickster god's restraint, Llesho discovered that, like his lungs, his legs remembered how to walk and he stepped off under his own power. He wondered briefly whether the chieftain brought him to Chimbai-Khan as a prisoner or a supplicant, but the lack of an answer didn't worry him much. He'd traveled with gods and battled at the side of the emperor of Shan, so he was well prepared to face a khan with dignity. The little he knew of Harnish customs, however, told him that for a proper introduction, he needed a horse. With a minimal bow, polite without landing him in the dirt again, he gave the chieftain his reply.

"It will only take a moment, friend Yesugei, to greet the khan properly mounted."

His answer seemed the right one; Yesugei returned his bow with a calculated gleaming in his eyes. Assured that the Harnishman would wait, Llesho turned to Harlol, whose Wastrels soon had them mounted and ready.

PART FOUR.

THE TENT CITY.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

WHEN the horses were brought, Yesugei quickly sorted them as Harnish protocol dictated.

"The princes of Thebin will greet Chimbai-Khan together." As Yesugei spoke, he pointed here for Shokar and there for Balar at the right and left of Llesho. Lluka he set on the far side of Balar. With a gesture in the direction of Llesho's mounted forces, he added, "Your honor guard will wait for you outside the palace of the khan, but a servant is expected to attend each member of your party of rank. I suggest that your captains attend you in this way."

Kaydu didn't look happy with the idea of leaving their troops behind, but she quickly sorted out the captains, Bixei at Shokar's side and Harlol by Balar. She took her own position watching Lluka, who sniffed indignantly at Little Brother. The monkey had returned to his mistress and now rode in the sling on her back.

Yesugei looked over their arrangements with a frown. "If I may make suggestions, young captain?" When she nodded permission, he went on, "The khan appreciates amusements, as any man of discernment must, on the appropriate occasions. An audience to bring news of war brewing in the Harnlands would not be considered such an occasion, however."

"And for that reason, Dognut remains behind," she agreed, leaving the chieftain searching helplessly for a diplomatic rejoinder.

"But the creature, young captain-" he finally managed, though the words seemed to strangle in his throat.

"Ah, you mean Little Brother. He can cut a caper well enough in the cause of spycraft, but he serves his emperor best as a courier, and I value his judgment in matters of character."

She raised a brow in challenge, but Yesugei let it go with a shake of his head and tried again, to make a more urgent point with her.

"Have you set no warrior at your prince's back?"

"Master Den watches Prince Llesho," she answered, as if it should be obvious.

Master Den took this as his cue to step up and loop his hand in the bridle of Llesho's horse in the familiar way he had of walking at Llesho's side. "As always, young prince."

Not always. He'd chosen to follow Shou in Durnhag. But he was here, now, and Shou was still alive, which maybe the trickster had a hand in. The chieftain cast a doubting glance at the washerman, the only one among them on foot. Something passed between them, however, a whisper of laughter behind Den's bland expression, that left the Harnish chieftain shaking his head. "And the Lady Carina, friend of our own shaman, will make a welcome ninth," he said, dismissing Little Brother from his count. "A proper number with which to greet the khan."

The number of their party having met some sacred requirement in Yesugei's mind, he led them onto the grassy avenue that had come into being during the night. Young riders had gathered in their path, boasting and jostling as the chieftain led them out. With his guard arrayed around him, Llesho's way remained clear until one rider eluded his defenses and came too close, whistling and hooting derision as he aimed his horse to cut Llesho from the herd. In a countermove too fast and subtle for Llesho to catch, Master Den tipped the rider's foot from its stirrup and dumped him to the ground. And in a move that everyone could see, Little Brother leaped from the sling at Kaydu's back and landed on the boy's chest, berating him with the high, chittering complaints of his monkey kind.

The boy on his backside, taken down as it seemed by a monkey in an imperial uniform, drew the laughter of I his Harnish companions, but the anger sparking in his eyes could easily become a weapon in the hand. Llesho considered his options, and dismissed them one by one. It would be just his luck to kill the fool and discover he was some favored son of Yesugei or a relation of the Khan himself. Instead, he set his chin at an arrogant angle and gave Yesugei an ominous warning. "If your children want to yap at my warhorses, they'd better be ready to get stepped on."

A condescending smile began on the chieftain's lips- the monkey, after all, traveled in Llesho's company-but he quickly recognized the dead light of too many battles glinting in Llesho's eyes. That's right. Don't mistake me for the innocent child I have never been, That's right. Don't mistake me for the innocent child I have never been, Llesho thought. When he was certain he had shaken Yesugei's complacency, he completed the warning. "Your unblooded warriors are playing a game with wooden swords against men and women who have come through fire and storm. We have stood in the rubble of Ahkenbad and seen legends spring to life, and we come to you fresh from battle with your Southern kinsmen. Our nerves are short and battle reflexes sometimes outrun good sense. I don't want to start a war with your khan over a misunderstanding." Llesho thought. When he was certain he had shaken Yesugei's complacency, he completed the warning. "Your unblooded warriors are playing a game with wooden swords against men and women who have come through fire and storm. We have stood in the rubble of Ahkenbad and seen legends spring to life, and we come to you fresh from battle with your Southern kinsmen. Our nerves are short and battle reflexes sometimes outrun good sense. I don't want to start a war with your khan over a misunderstanding."

They could not win against so many, but more than Llesho's troops would die in a fight here.

"My pardon, Prince Llesho." Yesugei snapped a command at the young Harnish riders, who answered the command to order with some resistance. That challenge would have to be met, Llesho knew. If he were to make an ally of the khan, they had to find a way of settling warriorly precedence without killing anyone. In the meantime, however, Kaydu collected Little Brother with an insulting sniff and older horsemen rode to meet them, offering joking insults while they expertly herded the younger men to the fringes. Harlol's Wastrels kept them there. The Tashek warriors held to no formation but rode with fierce expressions, their hands on their sword hilts in a familiar gesture of readiness even the Harnish-men knew better than to cross.

With so many horsemen milling in the space between the ranks of mighty tents, the avenue didn't seem so wide anymore, and Llesho was glad to see the youthful riders fall to the rear of the cavalcade, away from trouble.

"The Lady Bortu sent us to welcome the child prince," the eldest among the newcomers explained with just enough weight on the words to suggest that the lady considered them all children.

A delicate sop to his pride, Llesho noted, while the elder statesmen taking their places as his wardens assured that cool heads would rule. This lady had some power in the Harnish tent city, then-at least until the Chimbai-Khan decided his honor had been crossed.

"This child of war thanks her ladyship," he answered, and gave too much away in the smile at this man who looked like a grandfather.

The man pressed his lips together, doubting. "This is the one?"

Yesugei raised a hand, open-palmed, with a shrug. "That remains for Chimbai-Khan to discover." He sounded sure in spite of the words, and the old rider shook his head. Llesho had the feeling he had ridden into the middle of an argument that was about to sweep him up whether he wanted it to or not.

The tent of the Chimbai-Khan stood across the far end of the wide avenue, watching them, it seemed, down the grassy cut through the center of the wandering city. They rode in silence for longer than Llesho would have thought possible, while tents rose up on either side of them and passed behind.

"It's bigger than Kungol," he muttered under his breath. He hadn't expected anyone to notice, but of course Master Den heard everything.

"Probably," Den agreed, and added, "The North is on the move."

Chimbai-Khan had not moved his city overnight to impress a deposed boy-prince or his small band of followers. War between the clans meant opportunity for a khan as well as bloodshed for his people. Llesho was quick to grasp what that might mean for his cause. Absorbed in considering strategic outcomes of his coming meeting, he scarcely noticed the white ger-tent at the end of the avenue growing larger in his field of view until it had filled the horizon.

They had come to the farthest reach of the city, beyond the tents standing guard over the alley. Yesugei halted at a broad grassy square where riders held races on horseback in front of a ger-tent large enough, Llesho estimated, to hold hundreds of people in council. It had looked as white as its companions from a distance, but close up, Llesho realized that the thick felt of Chimbai-Khan's ger-tent and its roof flap were covered in silver embroidery. The camp had been arranged so that the rays of the Great Sun, rising, flashed and glittered blind-ingly on the polished threads.

"By the Great Goddess, it's a palace," Llesho breathed.

The chieftain gave him an inscrutable look. "That's exactly what it is," he said. They picked their way slowly across the playing field to a small band on horseback ranged across the entrance.

"I bring supplicants to beg the Chimbai-Khan's favor," the chieftain announced. "Carina, friend to this ulus and beloved daughter of the healer Mara, brings to the khan's tent , as prophesied by our shaman, along with his brothers and servants."

"Enter." The centermost horseman of the small band of guards raised his hand in a gesture of welcome, and the warriors parted, leaving a path open to the door.

"Your honor guard will receive welcome from the khan's warriors," Yesugei assured Llesho, who gave a signal for his forces to stay where they were. He dismounted, a sign for their party of nine to do likewise, and held out his reins for a Tashek warrior, who took them, in the manner of their Harnish hosts, without leaving the saddle. When the horses had been led a little apart, Yesugei likewise dismounted and directed them through the tent flap that covered the open door on the great khan's traveling palace.

As large as the ger-tent looked from the outside, it seemed even larger from the inside. Following Yesugei they trod thick furs and dense carpets. Llesho caught glimpses of tent walls hung with thick tapestries, with mirrors in elaborate frames and sculptures in bronze and silver inlaid with coral and lapis. Obscuring his view of the decorations were ranks of the Harnish nobles and chieftains. The youngest among the nobles, the guardians of the khan in their deep blue coats and cone-shaped hats, stood at attention with their backs nearly touching the circular wall. Their hands never strayed to their swords or to the short spears in the scabbards at their backs, a grave insult in the greeting of friends, but they watched with fierce glares on their faces as the khan's guests moved toward the firebox at the center of the tent.

In front of the khan's personal guardsmen, the nobles of middle age and greater sat in an inner circle with one leg tucked under them and the other bent so that the knee nearly touched their chins. Men and women together watched with grave eyes beneath elaborate headdresses, their hands lost to sight inside their long, brightly patterned sleeves.

Centermost of all, and closest to the fire, chieftains of the many diverse clans of the Qubal people sat in uneasy alliance. These struck Llesho as the most thoughtful, and the most wary, of the khan's retainers. As he passed through their circle, Llesho felt eyes tracking his party, judging him by his demeanor. He'd have to convince every one of them if he wanted the khan's help. It looked like he had a lot of work to do there, and he figured it started now. Stiffening his spine, he puffed out his chest and sharpened each step into a challenge.

Balar noted his change in posture with a quick nervous glance, as if he'd suddenly lost his mind, but Shokar followed his lead, only more impressively because of his greater years and bulk. He didn't have to worry about the impression his captains made. The three of them shadowed the princes like hunting cats; Kaydu and Bixei with the forthright stalk of tigers, and Harlol, slinking with the desert grace of a leopard. Master Den, like a mountain on legs, had dropped the open simplicity of the washerman. His sly glance cut from side to side with the narrow-eyed calculation of a butcher measuring a flock of sheep. Young warriors on the fringes stirred uneasily. Though Master Den carried no weapons, Llesho felt infinitely comforted to have him near.

Carina, however, reached up and smacked the trickster god hard on his shoulder. "Bolghai is my teacher and a friend of my mother," she reminded him. "Don't give him cause to report ill of me."

He hadn't seen Bolghai in the khan's tent yet, but Carina's chiding reminder warned him of the shaman's presence. Master Den seemed not at all surprised at her words, but summed her up with mischief in his eyes. "The lady shames me," he said, and bowed to acknowledge the hit.

"As if I could!" Carina laughed at him, but Llesho was not feeling amused.

"Have I met even one person on this quest who is who they say they are?" he grumbled under his breath.

Carina looked at him with surprise. "I am the daughter of my parents, both of whom you know, and a healer in my own right, which you also know. I've had teachers just like you have, and Bolghai the shaman is one of them. That makes me a good healer, not a liar."

Llesho didn't know what to say to that. It was true enough, but he still felt betrayed. "He's Harnish," he said, though he knew it would only make her madder.

It did. With a disgusted "tsk" she shook her head at him and scampered away, her shaman's garb giving her leave to act the part of the jerboa it mimicked.

"You handled that well."

Master Den was laughing at him and Carina was mad at him. Could his life get any more embarrassing? Apparently so, Llesho discovered. Just ahead, the khan sat anjid the royal family on a raised platform, watching every shift in the Thebin prince's expression from across the central firebox. A little older than Shokar, perhaps, Chimbai-Khan held the same pose as his lords, his arms crossed over his raised knee. He wore a full caftan of red-and-yellow brocade under a dark blue sleeveless coat woven with intricate patterns in it: waves at the hem, dragons floating at his knees, and clouds scudding to the waist. Diagonal stripes banded his breast. His cone-shaped hat and the ornate scrollwork that edged the fronts of the coat were heavy with gold threads.

At the right of the khan sat a woman of middle years dressed all in shades of green as rich as the Khan's garb in spite of the simplicity of her color. A towering headdress of silver foil covered in large beads of coral and turquoise obscured all but her eyes with hanging jewels. At first glance, her smile seemed to welcome them warmly. On closer inspection, Llesho trembled at the ser-pentlike calculation in her hard dark eyes. She reminded him of the Lady SienMa, not as a woman but as the white cobra he had seen in his dream. What are you? What are you? he wondered. With a nervous shiver, he let his gaze pass on. he wondered. With a nervous shiver, he let his gaze pass on.

On the left side of the khan, both a little lower on the platform and a little behind the royal pair, an old woman in equally gaudy attire watched Llesho. Her probing examination seemed to peel his soul in strips, searching each layer for his hidden truths. This must be Bortu, This must be Bortu, he thought. The one who called him here, and by her age and her place on the dais, the khan's mother. Without her goodwill he would fail with the khan, and he opened his soul for her to read as deeply as she wanted. If she read him truly, she would find the goodwill he held for her and for her son. he thought. The one who called him here, and by her age and her place on the dais, the khan's mother. Without her goodwill he would fail with the khan, and he opened his soul for her to read as deeply as she wanted. If she read him truly, she would find the goodwill he held for her and for her son.

As if she heard his thoughts, the old woman spoke, not to Llesho but to Yesugei.

"You have brought strangers into the ulus of my son. Who are these foreigners, and what do you intend about the danger that engages them in mutual pursuit?" Her words made it clear that she knew who they were and why they had come. She still demanded a formal introduction, however.