The Iron Khan (31 page)

“They’re with Nandini,” Inari said, “working on a way home.” Her brow was creased with worry. “I think this is a beautiful place, Wei Chen, but it makes me nervous. Maybe it’s because I’m a demon, but — ”

“I don’t think it’s just that,” Roerich reassured her. He paused. “There’s such a thing as becoming inhuman, when all you were aiming to do was to enhance your humanity.” He broke off as Robin and Jhai appeared at the end of the terrace.

“You’re back! What happened?” Robin asked. Chen told her and she visibly relaxed. “That’s wonderful. At the very least, if we get the Book back where it belongs, it can’t do any more damage.”

“What did Nandini say?” Roerich asked.

“They still won’t have any truck with Heaven. Or with Hell, for that matter. I argued and argued, but it didn’t do any good. What they have agreed to do, however, is to transport all of us to a temple of Mhara’s in the mountains near Urumchi, and then we can contact him there. That’s the best Jhai and I could do.”

“It’s enough,” Chen said, and Roerich nodded.

At least they could relax, somewhat, now that they had the scroll. All Chen had to do was wait for the city to move them, and get in touch with Mhara at the other end. A simple matter, he thought, and then reflected on the nature of famous last words.

Zhu Irzh paused for a moment in the midst of the fighting. The body of a young man sprawled at his feet, eyes glazing in death. The demon could not understand why this should disgust him so much: he’d seen enough killing, surely, as a warrior of the Khan. Dim memories of another place, a red sky, a mansion black as iron, filtered through the haze and he thought he remembered a city, too: a world of high towers and screaming sirens.

…sitting on the deck of the houseboat at sunset, nursing a cold beer in one hand and….

…the police precinct’s dreadful tea, grown cold as he worked late on a case where….

…a cool breeze stirring the blinds of Jhai’s bedroom in the middle of the night….

Zhu Irzh blinked. Suddenly, it was all back, his life, waiting patiently where he had left it for the wandering warriorhood of the Khan. Whatever spell had held him had broken, whether due to imperfection of its casting, or age, or simply as a result of the bloodshed, Zhu Irzh did not know.

“I’m back!” he said, and then, “Raksha!”

He found her across the battlefield, sheathing her short sword in earth. He took her by her shoulders, claw-tips cutting into the leather armor, and called her by her name. But her face remained as blank as before — as blank as his own must have been, an hour or so ago.

“What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently. “Look — they’re calling us in. We have to go.”

“No. Wait. Listen to me.”

“It’s all right,” said a new voice, a familiar one. “I haven’t cast the breaking spell on her yet.”

The demon turned to see a young man staring at him with sad patience. “Omi?”

“I found out a few things,” the warrior said. “Zhu Irzh, you need to stand back.”

Zhu Irzh did so, watching as Omi spun a handful of glittering green sparks out of the ground. With practiced movements, he wove them together in a net and cast them toward the shaman. She gave a cry of fury but before she had time to react or counterattack, the sparks sifted down through the air and vanished around her head. One glowed green for a moment, hovering in front of her heart, and then it, too, was gone. Raksha’s mouth fell open in wonderment.

“I — I remember you. What happened? Where are we?”

Urgently, Omi said, “You must pretend that nothing has changed, that you are still in the thrall of the Khan. Otherwise all this is for nothing.”

“Omi,” the demon asked. “When is this?”

The young warrior looked drawn, Zhu Irzh thought. He did not, even now, find it all that easy to discern human emotions but there was a tension to Omi’s face that had not been present even during their mission in the desert and its disastrous aftermath, and the demon knew that Omi’s life had not been so easy before that, either.

“You’re at the time of the great hordes that swept across the steppes of Asia. This was a battle that is barely mentioned in history: a war between neighboring tribes as the Golden Horde rode toward Russia. The Khan is collecting soldiers.”

“And how have you come to be here, Omi?” Raksha asked.

“My grandfather,” Omi said, and bowed his head in shame. “I have been traveling alongside, with the help of the Buddha. In another time, I took a drop of the Khan’s blood — that’s the spell that broke the magic that bound you.”

He cast an unsettled glance toward the gathering line of warriors. “You’d better go. You’ll be missed. I will be watching. I shall not be far away.” Then he melted into the gathering dusk as Raksha and the demon made their way back into place alongside the other warriors.

Now that he had been freed from the Khan’s spell, Zhu Irzh found it easy to see what had been done to his colleagues. Bonds and swathes of magic hung about them in pulsating silver ropes, shot with a bloody light. All of these webs snaked their way back to a focal point: a band on the wrist of the Khan, so that although the bonds themselves were cobweb thin, the Khan looked, from a distance, as though he was holding the leads of a thousand hunting hounds. He still wore that savage grin, which increased in satisfaction as he surveyed his troops.

“Welcome!” he cried, mocking, as some two dozen men were brought before him. An overseer in a pointed helmet forced each of them to their knees and as they knelt, the Khan made his way along the line, casting magic from his outstretched hand. Soon the kneeling warriors, too, were enmeshed in magic. It hissed and spat, meeting lines of force in the land. Zhu Irzh strove to keep his face blank: this must have been what was done to him and Raksha. Not a happy thought, and what was worse, he had no recollection of it. He could feel this magic, too, tugging and nagging at his awareness, sending out tendrils in an effort to bring any strays back into the fold. He hoped the Khan wasn’t paying attention to it, and in desperation he thought of Omi, keeping his promise and not far away, the demon’s unlikely talisman.

To his surprise, it worked. The tendril snaked away, approaching one of the other warriors with greater confidence, and eventually withdrawing. The Khan made a sweeping gesture, both arms up toward the sky.

“Come! Rise in the presence of your master!”

And the new warriors did so, their faces as slack and expressionless as those around him. The Khan gave a crow of triumph. “Excellent. And now, we ride!”

•

It was much later in the day. Demons have greater stamina than humans but even so, Zhu Irzh was exhausted. Beside him, Raksha’s beautiful face was also haggard. He wondered what kind of toll this was taking on her, snatched and whirled far from her own time. And what had happened to the woman he’d seen perched high on that balustrade in Urumchi? Was this the same Raksha, her existence somehow temporally folded so that it was the identical girl who now traveled time? Or would she meet herself, if the Khan took them back to the twenty-first century? Difficult questions, which the demon did not feel equipped to answer. The whole thing was making his head hurt. Chen was usually better at this sort of philosophical issue, but even Chen had his limitations. And what of Roerich? Where was he now?

“I’m out of my depth,” Zhu Irzh confessed in an undertone to Raksha. She gave him a troubled glance.

“You think I know what I’m doing, then?”

“Well, no. I guess we’re just along for the ride.” He looked down at the city that sprawled across the plain, far below them. They had come out in a narrow gorge, a very different country from the roll of the steppes. Crags towered above them, greened with scrub and a thin scattering of grass, and the air smelled fresh, of fir and pine. The demon had no idea where they were. The city itself was big, but not modern. Low buildings were surrounded by a thick brick wall, a massive fortification. Surely the Khan wasn’t planning to attack that? It looked as though it would withstand everything except heavy mortar fire, and the Khan had no war machines with him, no trebuchets or even, as far as Zhu Irzh was aware, a battering ram. A city like the one below was constructed to withstand concerted assault, and long sieges.

Beyond the city, Zhu Irzh could see something else: a village, perhaps. But it didn’t look quite like a village.

“Can you see what that is?” he whispered to Raksha. The shaman squinted against the sunlight; shading her eyes would have betrayed independent thought and neither of them wanted to risk that.

“I can’t — wait a moment. It looks like a palace. Yes, I think it is. A palace surrounded by gardens — I can see a lake. And there’s a hill not far away, with some kind of terrace built around it.”

Now that she’d filled in the picture for him, Zhu Irzh found it easier to see. “Why isn’t it inside the city?” he asked. “It doesn’t make sense to have those fortifications and then build your palace outside it.”

“I don’t know,” Raksha said. “I don’t understand it either.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” Zhu Irzh said.

The contingent to which he and Raksha had been assigned was in the process of setting up camp. The warriors moved with mechanical precision; Zhu Irzh and the shaman joined in, doing their best to mimic the jerky movements of their colleagues. Soon a blaze was leaping up into the evening air, redolent of pine resin. Zhu Irzh found it easier to think, as though the fragrant smoke cleared his head, but it didn’t seem to have the same effect on the others, still deeply enmeshed within the Khan’s spell.

“I have an idea,” the demon murmured to Raksha, as a warrior doled out dollops of porridge and dried meat. “I can’t see Omi anywhere — I hope he’s made it along with us — but what do you think about my trying to eavesdrop on the Khan? Find out where we are and what he’s up to?”

“Do you think he discusses this with anyone?” Raksha asked dubiously.

“I’ve seen him talking to one of the ifrit-types,” Zhu Irzh said. “The one in the general’s helmet. He seems to be functioning as a kind of second in command.”

“It’s worth a try,” Raksha said. “As long as you’re not seen. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. If anyone seems to notice I’m missing, try and create a diversion.” He nearly said: Take your clothes off or something, but thought better of it. As Raksha kept watch on the rest of the cohort, Zhu Irzh slipped like a shadow amongst the pines.

The Khan’s own encampment was some distance away, centered on a cave in the rocks. Zhu Irzh planned to approach it via a circuitous route, coming up through the trees and along the side of the cave. He moved as silently as he could, with the soft carpet of pine needles serving to cushion his footing. It was a shock, therefore, when a hand fell on his shoulder. Zhu Irzh spun around, striking out, and Omi stepped quickly back.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“God, you move quietly!” Demons didn’t tend to suffer from pounding hearts, but if he’d been human, he thought, it might have been enough to finish him off. He leaned against a nearby pine. Omi laughed.

“Good training. My apologies.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I came in your wake,” Omi said. “If I can tap into the right current, I’m able to follow the Khan.”

“I was spying,” the demon said, and explained.

“Might be worth it,” Omi said. “Shall I come with you?”

Zhu Irzh nearly told him that if he could move with that degree of stealth, he was welcome to go in the demon’s stead. Together, they crept through the forest. It was a remarkably silent place, Zhu Irzh thought. Normally this kind of woodland would be filled with night sounds — the call of owls, the whirr of nightjars. But this wood was as quiet as though a lid had been placed upon it. He whispered as much to Omi.

“I think it’s the Khan,” the young warrior whispered in return. “I’ve noticed it before. He has an inimical effect on life.”

They were nearing the cave now. Zhu Irzh could hear the sound of voices and the crackle of flames. With Omi close behind him, he edged around the side of the rocks and peered out.

The Khan was seated squarely in front of a campfire. He held his hands out before him, as if warming them, but when the demon shifted position he saw that the Khan’s hands were directly in the fire itself. Zhu Irzh’s eyebrows rose. A human’s fingers would be crisped within seconds, given the level of the blaze, but the Khan’s hands were steady. His face was lit by the fire, giving him a livid countenance. The scarlet streaks of the flames made him look as though he had been flayed.

“What’s he doing?” Zhu Irzh murmured.

“I think he’s drawing power from the fire.”

Zhu Irzh thought that Omi was right. The Khan was growing in stature, swelling like a frog. A moment later he let his hands drop and the fire abruptly went out, extinguished as though someone had doused it with water. Only a handful of coals, glowing like an ifrit’s eye, remained and one by one winked out. The clearing in front of the cave was lost in shadows and smoke. The Khan rose and strode down the path toward the forest. The ifrit general followed, at a gesture from his leader.