The Lesser Evil

The master sat before us, clenching his gnarled hand into a fist as he banished the last of the magical visions he had created for our edification. His dark hood slipped down to reveal a head that was hairless, and the parchment-like skin stretched delicately across his rounded skull as he leaned back slowly. He exhaled once, deeply. His robes of sumptuous black velvet rustled softly as he turned to face us, and his ancient eyes gleamed like emeralds.

"Power," he whispered harshly, "is the unholiest of grails. Men seek it nonetheless. For some the quest is simply blind instinct, whereas for others it is the dedication of a lifetime."

He paused for a moment to consider the eager face of young Aeris and nodded approvingly.

"You are here because you have the desire, and the talent too. But you must never forget that the pursuit of the grail can kill you, and as the knights of old discovered, even the successful quest may prove fatal."

He fell silent for a moment and examined his wizened fingers, which in ended in long, claw-like nails, seemingly forgetting our presence. After a time he looked up at us, his students, holding each of us in turn in that eerie serpentine gaze. Then he spoke again.

"You have heard of the wizard Tetradates," he stated. We surely had.

"Tetradates!" Ganelos, the senior apprentice, was the first to speak, expressing the delight that filled us all. "The Darkmage who summoned the demon Ravana! Did you know him?"

The old one was amused at our excitement.

"He did not actually... summon Baal-Ravana, but yes, I knew him well. I had him killed, you see."

His bloodless lips twisted into a thin smile of dark humor, and he pointed a dessicated finger at the four of us.

"I will tell you the story, and perhaps it will provide you with some small enlightenment."

Aeris leaned back to rest against my knees and we listened as the master's dry voice wove a spell that took us back to a time long past, a time before the Desecration.

A large man sits hulking in front of a television screen, his piggy eyes encased in sagging folds of flesh. He stares intently at the monochromatic images moving silently before him. He waves his hand in an obscure motion that could be an arcane gesture, and he grunts with satisfaction as the voices of the tiny figures become audible. As he eases his bulk into an overloaded leather chair and searches the greasy bottom of a bargain-brand potato-chip bag for edible remnants, a casual observer might easily miss the fact that the end of the old TV's power cord lies nearly a hands-length away from the nearest electrical outlet.

"I've broken oath to come here!" a young man stated icily, as he glared at the men surrounding him. "This is an emergency!"

The speaker was a tall Nordic-looking youth, dressed casually in a tight white t-shirt and torn blue jeans. He was handsome despite the two parallel scars that marred his left cheekbone. He stood in a small room with hardwood floors in front of eight older men, all whom were clad in flowing white robes and demonstrating varying degrees of interest. A tall grey-bearded man who'd been surveying the young man with a skeptical eye glanced down to examine his exquisitely manicured fingernails.

"So? What is a broken oath among Discordians to us?" he said dismissively, spreading his long white hands palms-upward in an elegant gesture of dismissal. "If you intend to mend your ways, well and good, I suppose, but I don’t think the repentance of a minor black-robe calls for the assembly of these august personages."

He sniffed daintily and turned his haughty face towards a man with a shaven head.

"I should say it's been interesting, Gorean, but it hasn't. So I won't."

The bald man smiled slightly. He was a patient man, but even he found the other's arrogant lack of manners difficult to tolerate.

"Ill-spoken as ever, Alexi," he rebuked his colleague, without noticeable effect. "Regardless, I think you will all be interested to hear what the boy has to say, that is, if you will only take the time to listen."

His green-eyed gaze swept across the haughty faces of the others, Masters all, secure in their knowledge and proud in their power.

"Speak on, Dag," he urged the scar-faced youth.

The young man nodded gratefully to his benefactor and turned to face the assembled adepts, his eyes narrowing.

"My news is this. My master, the archmage Tetradates, has made compact with a Duke of the Sixth Hell. The compact was sealed with the great binding Words of Fire and Blood!"

The fat man tosses aside the empty potato-chip bag and smashes a fist against the chair in anger as he lurches ponderously to his feet. The black-and-white image on the screen shows a room full of robed men erupting in consternation around a slender young man, then fades to a spark and disappears. Dozens of dust, leather-bound books fall to the floor with a thunderous crash as the man sweeps his fleshy arm across the shelves of an old oaken bookcase. His rage swelling by the moment, the man picks up one ancient volume and hurls it straight at the television set. Bellowing powerful curses that would cause a demon to shrink in dismay, he pays no attention as the book reduces the unlucky screen to twisted wires hanging amid smoked glass shards.

"Devil-blasted sodomites will be here any minute!" he growls at an alchohol-soaked fetus sitting in a jar on an untouched wooden ledge as he rushes past it.

The dead homonculus offers no reply, but it seems unlikely that the obese man would have noticed had it begun turning somersaults while reciting the Lord's Prayer. Bending over a black iron table marked with rusty stains that hint at its past use as a sacrificial altar, the man flips rapidly through the cracked yellow pages of an ancient book of spells. Meaty fingers run over faded spiderish writing, as his lips silently form the words of a language long since dead.

Momentarily appeased, he reachs into volumnous silk robes to find a black velvet bag suspended from a cord. From this he extracts six gold coins, each embossed with Oriental ideograms andwith square holes punched through their centers. He tosses them en masse upon the table with a flick of the wrist and studies the result, then hastily scrawls a trigram upon a loose sheet of paper. Once more he repeats the process, then returns the antique coins to their pouch and tucks them away inside his robes as he examines the completed hexagram.

Finishing his consultation, the man utters a single word, and the dry wood lying in the fireplace bursts into sudden flames. The fire burns with a greenish tint that betrays its unnatural origin. Crumpling the paper in his left hand, the sorceror turns as he tosses the wad towards the fire, failing to observe that it falls to the floor just centimeters short of its intended destination.

He lumbers into a musty, rank-smelling chamber, then turns to secure the door behind him and speaks a Word of Power to seal it magically as well. Quickly, he lights the ritual candles and bends down to chalk a rough pentagram upon the floor. Stepping into its center, he drops heavily to his knees and raises pudgy hands to the ceiling.

"Dagon! Serpent Frog! Lord of the Primal Deep and King of all that dwell within your Ocean, hear now your servant! I call you by your dread true name and invoke your Presence here! Akh uhll, ghol nakh ghol, akh gwarrh, D'thla-Shoggi!"

He shrieks the invocation and the candle on the west side of the pentagram flickers and goes out, filling the room with an insensible feeling of tentacles and murky darkness.

The sorceror grins to himself and continues, shouting "Ereshkigal! Cthonic Mother! Queen of Death and Desert, come to your servant now! Kurnugia, evartigul, erwadahul Ninanna!"

He feels the slow approach of a dry, dusty Presence, and the murk eases somewhat as the candle to the south sputters and dies. He inhales sharply, and as he does so his parched lungs burn with the hot air of the desert. Nodding with satisfaction, he proceeds with the third step of the ritual by facing east and crying out once more.

"Mahishara! Bull-prince of demons, I summon you, in the name of the eighteen-armed one! Durga-ma ke naam se, eakdhum yahan ao!" To the east, the candle's flame disappears instantly and a rage-filled Presence fills the room with silent howls of anger.

The hateful power of the Rakshasa nearly penetrates the chalked shield and its binder sways on his knees before it, but manages to recover his balance. Sweating profusely now, the Darkmage closes his eyes and runs a pudgy hand across his brow before calling upon the final and most powerful link in the chain of power he is assembling. Slowly, cautiously, he turns to face the last candle burning to the north.

"Mighty King! Hear me now! Show yourself, Master of the Death Hunt! Tyruun ap ioloithas! Come, Eternal Lord of Annuwyn!"

Thunder booms and a wild north wind storms shrieking into the room, extinguishing the last candle as green and blue lightnings crackle explosively outside the magical boundaries of the pentagram. The fat mage's body rocks back and forth as he chants the words of his great spell, his voice unheard over the raging fury of the elemental Presences.

His working finished, the wizard bows his head and with a gesture causes the wards to fall. Greenish bolts of electricity arc over the chalked boundaries and slam into his body, hurling him to the floor in the center of the pentagram. Unconscious, he convulses like one possessed, then disappears in a flash of blinding blue light.

"Erin's Apples, he's gone!" cursed the Darkmage’s treacherous apprentice, wringing his hands with dismay. "We're too late."

Dag turned towards Gorean, the shaven-headed Master of the Assembly.

"Didn't you bloody well shield me?"

The bald man shook his head ruefully as the bearded Alexi snorted with disgust.

"I set a few basic wards, though nothing that would have prevented a determined scrying."

The Master gestured around the ransacked penthouse, watching as his fellow masters paged excitedly through rare manuals of the darkest magic while others examined mysterious paraphenalia and engaged in spirited discussions of possible applications.

"Obviously he observed us, and he prudently took flight."

"Well, you can hardly expect him to wait around for you!” Dag laughed bitterly. “I hope you've got contacts with the Unipol, because he could be anywhere."

He swore beneath his breath. "And he's sure not going to be too happy with me!”

Loremaster Alexi nodded his distinguished head in agreement with the boy’s morose conclusion.

''True, but you've naught to fear. You've rendered us a service, and it's the least we can do to protect you from his wrath."

The bearded master turned and looked down his elegant nose at his superior.

"Gorean, you will provide the boy with a proper warding this time, I hope?"

The bald man rolled his eyes, but before he could articulate a retort, excited shouts heralded the breaching of Tetradates' spell chamber. The two Masters dropped their dispute and rushed towards the newly opened room, leaving Dag alone to contemplate the hideous end his master was surely devising for him already.

A soft voice coughed politely behind him. "You risked much to aid us in this matter."

Dag spun around to see a slender, smooth-faced Asian of about twenty-five. His almond eyes were unreadable, but the treacherous young apprentice thought he noticed a glimmer of curiousity hidden there. Too upset to bother being polite, he replied haughtily.

"There's evil with a small e, and evil with a big E followed by a capital VIL." Dag smiled coldly. "I'm the evil with a small e, the do what thou wilt Discordian ride, you get it? But big-time EVIL, you know, soul-bargaining with devils, mass murder, and blood sacrifice, is just not my thing!"

The young Asian didn't withdraw in affronted alarm as Dag half-expected him to, but nodded thoughtfully instead.

"Yes, I think I understand." To Dag's great surprise his questioner unexpectedly grinned, then bowed deeply to him. "I am Yung Chu, and big-time evil is not my thing either!"

Dag shook his head and laughed, taking in the unadorned white robes that indicated a discipleship in the Asssembly of Logosian Order.

"No, somehow I didn't think it was."

"How perceptive. One presumes you are also very talented, to take service with one such as this Tetradates."

Dag smiled bitterly at the other’s flattery, flashing his long canines.

"What do you want, Yung Chu?"

The slender young man bowed his dark head slightly and smiled easily. He had a servile manner that made Dag’s skin crawl.

"Just an answer to a simple question. Was your master in the habit of consulting the Book of Changes?"

"Yeah, he did it all the time. Why do you ask?"

"Because I believe I have found what may be a clue," Yung Chu answered humbly as he produced a wrinkled piece of paper. "Perhaps this will help us learn what has happened."

"Oh, we know what happened!" spat out an irritated voice behind them. "Though I doubt your clue will be of much use to us, Yung Chu."

The two apprentices whirled around to see an extremely disgruntled Alexi walking towards them with a worried-looking Gorean at his heels.

"The question isn't where, but when!" The arrogant Loremaster was almost snarling with anger. "That fat bastard went back in time!"

Two junior officers flank the imposing figure of their commander as he strides confidently out from the confines of his staff’s headquarters. As the three men reach an open field just out of sight of his army's encampment, the general sees, just as it was reported to him, the curious sight of a strangely-clad fat man lying unconscious beneath the shade of a twisted scrub tree. Sharing an amused look with one of his lieutenants, the general, himself none too slender, strolls up to the sleeping man and kicks him once, hard.

The man stirs slightly, and mutters something unintelligible, and one of the officers, following his general’s example, kicks the man in the side again. The sudden pain causes the man's eyes to fly open with shock, and the bemused commander sees that the man appears to be utterly bewildered.

But as he watches, curious, the man’s gaze falls upon an object lying next to him. The confusion on his fleshy face disappears, and is replaced by a crafty look of triumph. The man rises slowly to stand directly before the general, points a spread-fingered hand at the junior officers, and speaks a single word. The general is astonished to see both his staunch lieutenants slump to the ground unconscious, too surprised even to think of drawing his weapon.

Before he can react, the stranger utters a long string of harsh-sounding words. The general is horrified to see the man's face begin to melt, its features shifting as it undergoes a unnatural transformation. Thirty seconds later, he recognizes a familiar face staring at him, and in that face, death.

His frozen muscles are galvanized by terror and desperation as he leaps at the mirror image of himself, bent on its destruction, but an invisible barrier appears in front of him without warning. Blood spatters and he falls screaming to his knees, his hands cradling a shattered nose.

"Take off your clothes now or I'll boil you in your own blood!" he hears the doppelganger command in his own tongue. The general hurries to comply, trying to ignore the waves of pain that make his head throb, imagining he can already feel his intestines heating. Minutes later the sorceror stands before him, wearing his clothes with the martial bearing of a man long accustomed to command. The general stares dully at the sorceror, his mind numb with fear, and he cannot even flinch as the evil one points a finger at him. A beam of intense green light is the last thing he sees and he collapses to the ground dead, the steamed remnants of his brain smoking from his eyes, ears, and nostrils.

Pausing only to retrieve a book lying upon the barren ground, the disguised wizard walks towards his waiting army, followed by the two lieutenants, revived from their slumber, who stumble slowly after him in a dream-like state of trance. The corpse of the dead general lies lifeless beneath the naked rays of a merciless sun, steam still spiraling upwards from its ruined face.

The two young magic-users sat next to one another near the back of the formal council room. Due to the gravity of the situation, over forty of the Assembly's most powerful adepts had been assembled at short notice, and there were even a few ebon-colored robes sprinkled in amidst the predominantly red- and white-clad crowd. Not wishing to draw attention to himself, Dag had borrowed clothing from Yung Chu, and together they listened closely to the Order Master's concluding remarks.

"Given what we have learned from analyzing Tetradates' spellbooks, in speaking with his apprentice, and from making some preliminary inquiries on the astral planes, we've determined that he has gone back in time in order to perform a ritual sacrifice that he could not easily arrange at this moment."

Gorean looked tired, Dag thought, no doubt the bald old man had performed many of the astral projections himself.

He wondered idly if the Assemby had considered contacting any of the leading denizens of the Sixth Hell. Maltyrakh and Svarozjic, the archdemon's ducal rivals, would certainly be forthcoming with any information that might hinder their hated adversary, but they were just as surely unaware of Ravana’s unholy arrangement with Dag’s former master.

The crowd buzzed and tittered in response to a statement from Master Gorean, and Dag returned his attention to the podium, wondering what he had just missed.

"What'd he say?" he asked Yung Chu.

"Shhh!" was the young Asian's response.

"...that is to say, he could of course easily arrange to have the requisite number of people killed, but apparently not in a manner that would satisfy the ritual element involved. Murdering great quantities of human beings is, sadly, nothing remarkable in this day and age, but for whatever reason, bombs and other means of mass destruction have not been deemed acceptable to the Lords of the Hells. For ritual purposes, that is," the Master added hastily.

A few white-robed adepts shouted questions at the podium, but Gorean shook his bald head and held out a hand imploringly to the crowd.

"If you seek more information on these matters, please don't ask me, I'm simply repeating what I've been told by my esteemed colleagues here." He politely indicated three elderly black-robed men sitting in the front row.

"Now we have concluded that the Darkmage gone back to a historical period where millions of people have perished in such a way that will satisfy his end of his compact with the archdemon. Judging from our admittedly limited information on the current political situation in the Sixth Hell, this great sacrifice will likely endow Ravana with the power he requires to vanquish his opponents and consolidate his grip there, possibly with an eventual challenge to one of the ranking Archdevils in mind.

"The effects of such a challenge upon our world would likely be profound, if indirect. Though we of the Logos naturally oppose all Nether Powers on principle, we are at least familiar to a certain extent with the minds and methods of Abraxas, Asmodai, Belial, and the like. Duke Ravana is a hitherto unknown factor, and were he to come to a throne on the Seventh or Eighth Hell, we have reason to believe that he would pursue a far more aggressive policy than any of the current ruling Dukes. Therefore, we must work to ensure that this does not happen!"

The Master paused for a moment, glancing about the room with a steely-eyed gaze, then continued solemnly.

"We do not know what Tetradates himself has to gain from this, but we can assume that since he is evil, intelligent, and self-centered in the extreme, it must be something substantial. The thought of this Darkmage returning to our time, with his power and prestige enhanced by an unholly ally, is a dire one. In fact, Tetradates has revealed himself to be a direct cause for concern for this Assembly!"

In emphasis, he smashed his fist down upon the wood of the podium in front of him.

"Therefore, I am determined to hunt him down immediately." Gorean's voice grew strong and cold, forcefully reminding the Assembly they were neither powerless nor weak. "I will send back three of our most skilled Adepts, to the times and places we have deemed to be of maximum interest to the Darkmage. Their mission is to prevent Tetradates from carrying out this blasphemy, by any means necessary!"

The Master raised his right hand in an aggressive summons.

"Shail Nagaruna, Derek Utberg, and Charles DeWitt, will you please stand!"

His strong voice carried clearly through the crowded room. The seated magic-users whispered loudly amongst themselves as three men rose slowly to their feet, two clad in white, one in red.

"Will you accept this charge, by the Anchor and the Tree?" he cried.

One by one, each adept indicated his acceptance and sat down.

"Thank you," Master Gorean nodded gratefully to the three adepts.

"Tonight, at midnight, the time-traveling spell will be cast by Khul-Hazal, and will be supervised by myself, the Lore Master, and three ranking Adepts" he emphasized, quickly stifling the inevitable murmurs of dissent at the participation of a Discordian mage. "Our emissaries will attempt to stop Tetradates with a minimal amount of historical interference.

"Adept Utberg will be sent back to 1933, to investigate the Nazi era in Western Europe. Since this is the most obvious choice, I doubt Tetradates will be there." The bald man shrugged. "Nevertheless, it's best to be sure."

"Adept DeWitt will travel to the year 1347, the time of the most serious outbreak of the Black Death in Europe. This is unlikely, but it is theoretically possible that these deaths would satisfy Tetradates' requirements, and again, I think it best to play it safe. Finally, Adept Nagarjuna will return to the year 720 BC, to the time of the expansion of the Assyrian empire under Sargon II. Clues we have found as well as information from our astral inquiries lead us to believe that this is the era that Tetradates has chosen. We wish all three men the best of luck and..."

"Just a moment!" a voice called from the audience. "What about the Ukrainian famine engineered by the Stalin regime of the 1950's?"

The Master of the Assembly nodded his head and responded readily.

"A good question. We considered the possibility of the infamous Great Leap Forward as well. But I am told that death by starvation, even by design, is not deemed an acceptable sacrifice, perhaps since no blood or fire is directly involved. Are there any further questions?"

When no one else spoke up he raised a slim hand in dismissal. "Enough has been said. May the Logos aid us in this matter."

Yung Chu followed Dag out of the hall quietly, too lost in thought to take part in the lively discussions that were breaking out in the crowded Council hall. He noticed a troubled look on his companion's angular face.

"What's the matter?"

Dag shook his head. "I'm not sure. I have to go and think about something."

He looked down at the shorter Asian and his blonde-lashed eyes narrowed.

"Are you free tonight, around ten o'clock?"

Yung Chu nodded his assent.

"Good," Dag replied. "I'll find you in your chambers then."

Yung Chu nodded again and watched as the Discordian walked quickly towards the eastern exit, his borrowed white robes trailing behind him.

"So, what are you thinking?" Yung Chu asked a few hours later, as he watched Dag trace a complicated pattern on a blank piece of paper.

Incense trailed upwards toward the ceiling, filling the small room with sweet smoke as the evil apprentice completed the ideograph and turned towards him. They were both dressed less formally than before, in t-shirts and jeans.

"I think I know where he is."

"Which is..." Yung Chu prompted him.

"Not where the Assembly thinks he is.” Dag rubbed at his scars. “Do you remember the hexagram you found at the apartment?"

"Yes, of course. Number thirty-five, Chin."

"And the reading was?"

Yung Chu closed his eyes, trying to picture the crumpled piece of paper in his mind. Then the image returned to him, and he was able to state the quote with confidence.

"For the top. 'He advances as with lowered horns, intent solely upon subduing the cities. Whether his affairs go awry or prosper, he is not in error, but for him to persist thus would involve him in ignominy.’”

He grinned at Dag. "I suppose killing thirty million people could be construed as ignominious!"

Dag nodded his head in silent agreement.

"So why not Sargon II, then?" Yung Chu asked.

"Too obvious," Dag replied. "Your Master Gorean and the Assembly are making the incorrect assumption that history is immutable."

He bit his upper lip as he handed Yung Chu the paper on which he’d been drawing.

"What do you make of this?"

Yung Chu studied the hexagram carefully.

"Double K'un is K'un of course. Hmmm...." He glanced up at Dag and shrugged. "I don’t recall. What's the text say?”

Dag flipped open an slim leather-bound book and read out loud.

"Passive principle, sublime success! Its omen is a mare. The Superior Man has an objective and sets forth to gain it. At first he goes astray, but later finds his bearings. It is advantageous to gain friends in the West and South, but friends in the East and North will be lost."

He closed the book with an audible snap and cocked a pale eyebrow.

"Now use your imagination."

Yung Chu pursed his lips in thought.

"Let's see. I imagine your inquiry involved where Tetradates disappeared to, right?"

Dag nodded affirmatively, but did not speak.

"Then, hmmm... There's a horse culture of sorts involved, obviously, and a great man, presumably a historical figure of note. West and south is good, but east and north.…"

Dag nodded again.

"Never mind that for now. Where is he?" He stared into Yung Chu's dark eyes, seeking an answer. "Where is he? Don’t try to think, just let your mind flow freely. What does it tell you, Yung Chu."

Yung Chu swallowed and replied as the obvious answer appeared like magic in his head.

"Twelve hundreds. Mongolian empire. It's got to be Temujin."

Dag leaned back and smiled approvingly at he young white-robe's quick understanding.

"Exactly! That’s what I came up with myself."

Yung Chu shook his head, exhaling to release his psychic tension as Dag rose gracefully to his feet and opened a thick black book lying on the oak desk to a page that had been marked.

"Now take a look at this," Dag told him.

Yung Chu walked over to the desk and bent over the book.

"‘Subetai had swiftly grown to enormous stature and bulk; none of the steppe horses could carry him far, and he customarily traveled in an iron wagon....’" he read aloud.

The Logosian acolyte looked up from the book with a puzzled look on his face.

"What is this? Subotai was one of Genghis Khan's four Hounds, not a fat man on a cart!"

"Think again, Yung Chu,” Dag grinned knowingly. “Look at the cover."

Yung Chu did as he was told.

"The Secret History of the Mongols," he said, correctly interpreting the ideograms. "I know I've read this before and I’m almost sure it didn't say anything like that!"

"But what if history itself is changing, even as we speak?" Dag indicated the book. "I know Tetradates cast a time-link spell on certain books, keeping them up to date as the historical events recorded within them changed. This is one of them. Interesting, too, that he chose this particular book."

Yung Chu ignored his musings, still too unsettled by the shocking implications.

"But you're saying that history isn't static, but fluid!"

"Well, dynamic at any rate."

"Why don't I know about this?” Yung Chu was horrified. He could not have been more alarmed if an abyss had suddenly opened up under his feet. “Do the Masters know?"

"I should think they'd have to, but I imagine that the knowledge is most likely suppressed."

"Why?"

Dag sighed and shook his head.

"Because your Assembly couldn't accept this, they''d be too afraid of the possibilities."

His hands described a circle as he attempted to make his new friend understand.

"If the past can be altered through magic, then magic becomes a destabilizing element in what is a much more chaotic reality than is commonly imagined. Your Masters believe their magic serves the cause of a positivist Order in a rational universe, so the idea of a dynamic history looks heretical, if not downright evil to them."

Yung Chu was uncertain.

"I don't think that’s necessarily so.… I mean, if our cause is Order, then surely the possibility of a Discordian tampering with the past is simply an example of the very importance of our duty." His slim eyebrows raised speculatively. "Maybe this is why we have been given our power."

"Whatever gets you through the night. Look, the theological implications are not a concern of mine, okay?" Dag pointed at the door. "Go tell them yourself. I'll be here when you need me."



An hour later, a furious Yung Chu stalked back into the room, muttering angrily under his breath. Dag's eyes danced with amusement but he pretended not to hear the Logosian’s near-blasphemous imprecations. For a long moment the slim Asian stood before the window, arms folded, staring silently out at the courtyard below. Finally he turned to speak.

"They didn't listen. You knew they wouldn't!" he spat accusingly.

Dag nodded, but did not reply.

"Fools, all of them! Even Master Gorean! And Alexi.…"

The junior Adept's voice trailed off, but Dag had a pretty good idea of where the greater part of Yung Chu's fury was directed. Dag let him stew in silence for another few minutes, then rose from the desk where he'd been reading.

"Then we'll take matters into our own hands." He pointed to the book upon the desk as he started to leave. "Why don't you read up on where we're going, and I'll go finish a few preparations I want to make. I'll be back in an hour, two at most."

Yung Chu looked alarmed.

"But you can't cast a spell of that nature here! They'll feel the astral disturbance and interrupt before we can finish!"

"No they won't. They'll be too busy, I'll bet. Friends in the North, remember!" He paused in the doorway. "And, Yung Chu?"

"Yes?"

"If anyone asks about me, you don't know where I am."

"But we can't -" Yung Chu tried to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, the sorcerer's apprentice drew the door quietly shut, and disappeared.

Derek Utberg sits quietly in the maximum-security council room, blonde hair and Aryan profile accented dramatically by the black-and-silver uniform of a ranking SS general. A top aide to Fieldmarshal Rommel presents to the Fuhrer the latest information on the situation in Northern Africa, but the adept pays him no attention.

Instead he focuses his astral self outward, searching for signs of magical tampering with any of the twenty or so men in the room. He delves quickly into the minds of a Wehrmacht general and a heavyset air marshal, both to no avail, then recoils upon coming into contact with the twisted obscenities that writhe inside the head of a fellow Gestapo officer. The knowledge that the man's warped mind does not stem from an outside source is of little comfort, and it is with some relief that Utberg turns his focus towards the next man, a civilian party official.

He is too caught up in his investigations to note the end of the major's presentation and does not realize that another has detected the astral disturbances created by his scans. Adolf Hitler, the Leader of his adopted country and skilled tantric sorcerer, observes with surprise a faint purple aura emanating from the head of one of his generals.

A closer look reveals nothing but shields tightly drawn about the man's closed mind. Caught up in their surreptitious psychic activities, neither adept notices the rapid exit of Rommel's aide, nor realizes the significance of a briefcase left behind under the large wooden table. Abandoning his fruitless examinations, the spy from the future returns his attention to the table's head and is shocked to discover the rabid eyes of the Austrian boring deeply into his own. His awareness dims momentarily as an invisible fist cruelly grasps his mind, attempting to crush his psychic wards. He stifles a cry and achieves a temporary respite as a reflexive thrust at the mind of the other causes the iron grip to relax for a second.

But only for a second, for the invisible fist returns like lightning, smashing into his mind as his mental shields disintegrate. Desperately, he lashes out with a bolt of raw power, only to see it deflected harmlessly beneath the table. He sinks in despair as his last defenses are penetrated, laying his secret thoughts open to his adversary.

Under the table, the forgotten briefcase falls to its side, absorbing full force of the magical blast. Derek Utberg finds sudden release in the void as the bomb concealed inside it explodes prematurely, killing him instantly and freeing his violated mind.

A few moments later, his wounded adversary regains consciousness. Before the clamoring officers outside manage to enter, the bleeding Austrian crawls painfully over to the adept’s bomb-blasted body, and carefully removes a curious ruby pendant from around the corpse's neck.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Yung Chu asked quietly.

Dag only shook his head, too busy with his preparations to speak.

In the hall outside the quiet candle-lit room the Asian apprentice could hear worried voices and the hurried rush of sandle-clad feet. They were alone inside a tiny library located two stories underground in the great Assembly building, constructed centuries before to commemorate a learned Loremaster now condemned to obscurity.

He scanned the rows of books bound in decaying leather, desperately trying to turn his mind from the dark suspicions he was beginning to harbor of his companion. He returned one slim manual back to its proper place and turned to face Tetradates' apprentice. Former apprentice, he reminded himself. Former apprentice.

The sight before him did little to allay his fears. The Discordian was kneeling before an opened spellbook, whispering harshly in a tongue the Order adept knew but would never dare to speak. Blood dripped from an opened vein in his wrist into a bowl carved of white bone, and Yung Chu tried not to think on its origins as he stared at the thick red fluid pooling there.

He started as Dag grunted with satisfaction and began to bind up his wrist with a clean white cloth. The Scandinavian youth smiled at him cynically and beckoned him forward.

"Is that a chirul crystal you're wearing around your neck?"

Yung Chu nodded.

The Discordian grimaced and shook his head. "Has it occurred to you that the spell I'll be casting is a Discordian spell, after all?"

"Of course! Why.…" Yung Chu's voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes to the floor. "I didn't think of that," he admitted sheepishly.

"It's okay. You can still bring it with you. It won't interfere with anything as long as you're not actually wearing it."

The blond youth laughed briefly, and Yung Chu saw dark amusement momentarily brighten his companion's cold eyes.

"It might come in handy, now that I think about it. I'll probably be wishing I could wear one myself if we run into my master."

The Discordian absent-mindedly scratched at his scarred face, then returned to his preparations.

"You might want to close your eyes about now. You might not find the presence of some of our arriving guests terribly... comfortable."

Yung Chu nodded and removed the blue crystal from around his neck and held it clenched in a white-knuckled hand.

"I don't want to know any more," he shuddered. "Just do what you have to do!"

He closed his eyes and dropped to his knees, hearing the soft scratch of the chalk against the hardwood floor as Dag sketched a protective magick circle. He willed his mind to trance, ignoring the deep sacrilege being performed around him by focusing on the blessed writings of the Great Ox.

'But evil is not known by Order through itself, otherwise evil would be in Order; for the thing known must be in the knower.'

"Ghul nakh ghul! Akh gwarrh..."

'Therefore, if evil is known through something else, namely, through good, it will be known by It imperfectly; which cannot be, for the knowledge of Order is not imperfect.'

"Eakdhum yahan ao!"

'Therefore Order does not know evil things!'

The green lightning roared as the magic shield was dropped and the young white-robe's mind found solace in unconsciousness as he collapsed beside the Discordian. The unearthly bolts hissed and crackled around their jerking bodies for a short moment, then blue light flared and they were gone.

"Where are we going, Dag?," Yung Chu whispered as they crouched outside the walls of the royal palace of the Emperor. "Is Tetradates somewhere out there?"

He pointed towards the red glow of the torch-lit outer walls. Peking was surrounded by the horse-archers of the great barbarian Khan; the city had been besieged for months but was still unvanquished. Beyond the lighted towers of sun-dried brick lay the great goat-skinned tents of Temujin, and somewhere within those tents lurked the evil mind of the Darkmage Tetradates.

"We're going to find someone important," Dag replied quietly. "The city will fall at dawn."

"How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that!"

"Of course I can!" Dag patted the padlocked book at his side. "I looked it up once we got here. The link spell held. Listen!”

'Acting under the advice of his general Subetai, the Khan ordered that the Yangtze be diverted, thus depriving the city of its water supply,’ he read out loud to Yung Chu.

“See, when the Khitan nobles realized this they opened the city gates to the Mongols, but only after giving the Golden Emperor time to escape to Kai-Feng in the south."

Dag pointed to the palace looming over their heads

"The Emperor departed at nightfall, so that means the gates will be opened in a few hours. I’ll bet you anything that Subotai is really my old master by now. I know how the fat bastard thinks, and since Subotai is Temujin’s man, that’s who he’ll replace.”

"But if tonight’s the night, we'll be massacred along with the rest!" Yung Chu was aghast at the prospect, and he couldn’t understand how his companion could be so composed.

Dag shook his head and smiled reassuringly.

"We'll be fine. Trust me. But first we have to find a certain scholarly gentleman." He rose to his feet and smoothed his stolen thirteenth century Chinese garb. "Let's go."



A few hours and a number of attention-diverting spells later, the two young magic-users stood in an ornately decorated hallway in the east wing of the palace. A pale glow around the edges of an intricately carved wooden door indicated that the occupant of the small chamber was still awake and at his duties.

Yung Chu reached out to knock, but Dag, sensing someone approaching them from the far end of the hallway, grabbed his arm and pulled him back roughly behind the cover of a huge silken tapestry on the southern wall. They heard the soft footsteps of two or three men, leather-shod for silence. Yung Chu could see very little through the tapestry, but the metallic clank of swords being drawn from scabbards was unmistakable, as the shadowy figures paused for a moment before the doorway.

Then the armed men burst violently through the unlocked door, and Yung Chu cringed as he heard the sound of iron slicing through flesh and bone, and the meaty thud of a body hitting the floor. Then there was only silence as the assassins padded softly out the door and retreated down the hall in the direction from which they had first appeared.

Dag slipped from behind the tapestry, and after looking down the hallway to make sure the killers had no intention of returning, beckoned for Yung Chu to join him. Reluctantly, the Logosian apprentice crept out from his hiding place and followed his companion into the room of the dead scholar.

He fought the gorge that threatened to rise from his stomach as he forced himself to look at the murdered man. The victim was young, about his own age, and of a similar build. His clothes were rich, yet simple, and his face was finely formed with the sensitivity one might expect in a scholar, or a priest. One blade had gutted his stomach, while another had swept down across his body, crushing his collarbone and nearly severing his head.

"Good!" Dag commented coolly. "The one thing I feared was that they'd take his head. That would've been a major problem!"

Yung Chu could only stare at the Discordian apprentice, too appalled to speak. The horror, the nausea, was almost too much to bear. "His head?" he finally managed to ask.

"Yeah, we needed to know what he looked like." Dag smirked at him. "You're going to take his place after all. All those earlier visitors did was save me the trouble of killing him myself."

Yung Chu chose to ignore the frightful implications of that statement, and focusing on the assassins instead.

"Who killed him? And why?"

"Tetradates had him killed, is my guess. His name is Yeh Che'lyu Tsai, and after being captured by Mongol soldiers during the fall of Peking, he was taken to the Khan. He was Khitan, but his loyalty to his Chinese overlords pleased Temujin to the point that he was made chief astrologer to the Khanate. He was in a position to influence the Khan against his more bloodthirsty generals. Like Subotai.”

Dag laughed gleefully, his long hair flying free as his ill-fitting wide-rimmed hat fell off.

"Tetradates is going to freak when you show up wearing his face tomorrow!"

"But what about you?”

"What about me? I can't stay with you, you know. I'm not Asian and Tetradates would strip a shapemasking spell in a minute. You just need a minor glamour and you’ll match this guy nicely. No one'll notice."

"But... but where are you going? Back to our time? You can’t leave me here!"

"Of course not. I'll ride to Austria and raise the defenses against the possibility of a European expedition. There's a certain princeling thereabouts who reportedly had long blond hair."

The Discordian's eyes glittered dangerously.

"You mean you're going to kill him!" Yung Chu blurted out, terrified of this ruthless aspect of his companion's character.

Dag shook his head patiently and tried to mollify him.

"Do you have a better idea? Look, do you really think I can just ride up to the Most Holy Roman Emperor and tell him 'Hi, I'm from the future and I'd like to borrow your armies in case the little yellow people come?'" He chuckled indulgently. "Come on, Yung Chu, don't be such an idiot. Sometimes people have to die so that more people won't.”

He bent his tall frame over and carefully slung the corpse of the Chinese scholar over his right shoulder.

"Now I'll get rid of the body and you clean up this mess on the floor. Just change into one of his robes, fix your hair into a topknot, and wait to get captured. Don't forget to impress the Khan! I'll contact you from Europe; we can firetalk without too much trouble. In the meantime, just do whatever you can to counter anything Tetradates is telling the Khan."

Yung Chu only stared as the young Discordian mage grunted as he rose unsteadily to his feet and walked carefully out the door, blood still dripping from the lifeless burden. The Logosian closed his eyes and listened until the heavy footsteps were gone, leaving him alone the past, trapped inside a besieged city doomed to fall in only hours. He lay back on the dead scholar's bed and wept, tears of fear, guilt, and shame wetly streaking his cheeks.

"What do you mean, we won't go after them?" snarled Alexi. "Have you lost your mind!"

The angry Loremaster’s voice shook with fury as he glared at the cool grey eyes of his superior.

The Master of Order calmly shook his shaven head and grimaced wearily at the Loremaster's insubordination.

"No, Alexi, I have not lost my mind. But you, I'm afraid, have lost your temper!"

A note of steel entered his voice as he pointed a finger at the bearded man.

"It is unseemly and if you would speak further, I will hear a civil tongue! Is that clear?" His iron tone brooked no challenge, and the Loremaster bowed his head in submission.

"Yes, I... I must apologize. It is only... it is my utmost concern that we stop this evil sorceror from consumating his blasphemous plans."

"I understand and share your concerns - " the Master of Order started to say, but Alexi interrupted him

"Then why do we wait here, useless? The apprentices have located the evil one, so let us move to end this madness." The exasperated master threw his hands up towards the ceiling. "I beg you, send me, or Cummings, or one of the Jains, or even go yourself! But we must stop Tetradates and we cannot do it from here!"

He stared at the Master of Order, his fists clenched on his hips.

The Master placed his hands together in the shape of a temple, and stroked his chin contemplatively. He cleared his throat and his eyes narrowed as he regarded the other.

"You realize we have already lost two Adepts, two of our best."

"Of course. Utberg and DeWitt. What of it?"

"And you think these deaths were mere accident?" The Master's left eyebrow rose skeptically and for a moment the Loremaster looked uncertain.

"Well, we did not know that Hitler was a sorcerer of such strength. As for the plague era, well, millions of people did die of the disease after all, it was just misfortune that the vaccine failed."

"Really?" The Master's voice was dry. "And it was just happenstance as well that Tetradates' own apprentice should choose this particular time to betray him, so close to the moment of his master’s greatest triumph? I wonder, Alexi, I really do. There appear to be wheels within wheels here, and I am sorely afraid I have been deceived!"

It was a painful admission. The deaths of two, perhaps even three good men were already on his conscience. He was loathe to add any more to that score.

"But that's impossible!" the Loremaster protested. "I essayed Truthscan on Tetradates' apprentice myself!"

"As did I, my friend. But we do not truly know the depths of the darker Discordian magicks, and it may well be that a cunning Darkmage like Tetradates has ways of hiding secrets within a willing mind. I have wondered much since the two boys disappeared so suddenly, and I dread to think at what has happened to young Yung Chu."

The Loremaster shuddered in agreement.

"Every night I pray for his safekeeping. But surely if he is endangered by the dark apprentice, that is all the more reason why we must pursue them now, is it not?"

The Master of Order shook his head.

"No. The communication I received was from the Discordian, not Yung Chu. Although he claims they have located the Darkmage, and that Yung Chu is well, I fear he may be lying. No Alexi, I will not risk another of the Assembly, not just yet."

"Then what shall we do?" The Loremaster's eyes, for once, were not the least bit arrogant, instead, they were dark and haunted.

"We wait, old friend. We wait and we pray."

Yung Chu grimaced as he pulled the evil-smelling coverings closer to him, trying to ward off the chill of the northern Chinese night. The rancid goatskins were malodorous and rough to the touch, and he thought longingly of the fine silks that had adorned Yeh Che'lyu's chambers, wishing he had thought to bring them with him at the time of his capture.

Outside his tent, he heard drunken shouts and the terrified screams of women captured at the fall of Peking, now condemned to live out the rest of their short lives as barbarian playthings. His position as Chief Astrologer had assured his own survival and his newfound status allowed him a certain degree of privacy, but his modern conscience made it impossible for him to ignore some of the indecencies of conquest’s aftermath.

He groaned as yet another woman screamed piercingly, her long despairing cry cut short by a guttural oath and the sharp crack of an open-handed blow. Then there was silence, almost, as the woman's quiet sobs were drowned out by a sudden gust of wind from the north. The tent rattled and shook, but held firm and Yung Chu rolled over on his side in a futile search for sleep. It had been a long night.

Just as the first rays of dawn were appearing in the east, a hand grasped his shoulder and shook him awake. Yung Chu started momentarily at the man's rough Mongolian speech and then relaxed as he remembered where he was. And, he reminded himself, who he was supposed to be.

"You are to attend the Khan at his council, immediately!" the soldier ordered.

His soft leathers and fine Chinese sword marked him as one of the Khan's personal bodyguards, his presence a testimonial to the high regard in which the Khan held his Astrologer. Not a bad omen, thought Yung Chu.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glared at the bodyguard's pockmarked face. "Where is it being held?" he asked, replying in the barbarian tongue.

"The Great Yurt, of course."

"Very well." He stood and looked down his nose at the shorter Mongol. "You will wait outside while I make my preparations. Then you will escort me to the council!"

He gestured his dismissal and the Khan's bodyguard, taken aback at his firmness, bowed deeply.

"Yes sir! I am at your command."

A few minutes later he strode confidently into the Khan's goatskin tent. It was huge, large enough for the ruler of many lands and diverse peoples to hold court in. Now it was half empty, with only a score of servants and pleasure girls wandering about inside the interior, oblivious to the warlike men clustered around a large man seated on a cluster of pillows towards the back of the tent.

As Yung Chu drew closer, the warriors nearest him began to step out of his way. The movement attracted the seated man's attention, and Temujin looked up, glaring at the intruder. But the irritated look disappeared instantly and the Khan's broad face creased into a smile as he recognized the Khitan councillor.

"Ahhh, Yeh Che'lyu, I am glad to see you!"

The strangely golden eyes that looked so like a cat's were gleaming. Yung Chu wondered what had caused the Khan to be in such good humor, but quickly put the thought aside. He'd find out soon enough.

"I exist only to serve you, Great Khan! May this unworthy servant be ever at your command, Great One."

Yung Chu swept low in a formal courtly bow and Temujin beamed. It was interesting to see how these bloodthirsty barbarians fervently admired the civilized manners and flowery words of the ancient culture they had so ruthlessly conquered.

As he rose from his obeisance, the young Asian's gaze swept across the generals standing behind their seated ruler. He marked Mukali and Bogurchi, Jebei the Arrow, Juchi, the Khan’s half-Merkit son, and Chagatai, the heir apparent. He noted Jelme, other than himself, the only non-Mongol, a forest dweller who had once saved Temujin's life and now ranked among the most powerful marshals of the toumans. Then his eyes met those of an imposing figure standing behind the rest, his great bulk dwarfing even that of the legendary wrestler Belgutai, who was said to have broken the back of the giant Buri Boko with his bare hands.

Yung Chu froze as he stared at the inscrutable face of the Khan's favorite general. Tetradates' shape-masking spell was perfect, for not a glimmer of Caucasian ancestry showed in the Darkmage's disguised appearance. The Logosian ventured a hesitant psychic probe and stifled a gasp as it was rebuffed by a power that dwarfed his own. Closing his eyes, he quailed and braced for the magick he feared would blast through his shields and strip the glamour that concealed his true features.

"Yeh Che'lyu, what's wrong!" Yung Chu found himself embraced by a two pairs of strong arms as he sank to his knees waiting for a blow that never came. "Are you ill? Do evil spirits assail you?"

He unsteadily opened his eyes and found himself staring into the slitted orbs of the Great Khan.

"Father, he sees visions from the Sky!" exclaimed Temujin's middle son, Ogodai, who had caught Yung Chu from behind as he fell. "Tell us, Yeh Che'lyu, do you see victory in the south for the toumans?"

Yung Chu's mind raced as he sought to unravel the diverse threads woven through this particular council. Temujin's good mood, Tetradates' forbearance, and now a hint from the Khan's son. He shook his head in horror as he quickly pieced the clues together and came up with a conclusion that caused his heart to grow cold. Peking was the gateway to the civilized south, and there were many cities for the sacking… and many millions of souls for the slaying. Rising to his feet, he bowed deeply again to the Khan and spoke. This was no time to to mince his words, even if it cost him his life.

"I have seen… what I have seen.... victory and cities falling, but in their destruction, a Sky-cursed waste. I see a foolish hubris in attempting to win that which has already been won!"

At his words, the war council broke out in a buzz of interjections and excited arguments.

"He lies to protect his former masters!"

"How could he, he wasn't here?"

"He speaks with the voice of the Sky!"

"Ha! Astrologers know nothing of war!"

But Yung Chu ignored the multitude of voices, listening only for the one that mattered most. The Great Khan stood before him, tall and broad-chested for a Mongol, a man among men. Now his square face was filled with a puzzled sadness as he surveyed his youthful Astrologer, stroking his sparse beard and shaking his pigtailed head. Yung Chu's intestines twisted as he recalled the horrific fate of those who had gainsayed Temujin before, but his beardless face remained calm and impassive.

"You would call me a fool, then, you, a man of dwindled Kara-Khitai, slaves to the Jurchet?" The Khan’s voice was soft, but Yung Chu knew that danger lurked like a yawning abyss only a single step away.

He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, staring fixedly at the hide-covered floor.

"I am your slave only, Great Khan. But when a wise one seeks a mare's milk to make khouvass, does he slay the mare and drain her body dry, or does he simply milk her, then leave her unmolested until he once more has need for milk?"

The Khan was unmoved. For a long moment he remained silent, and Yung Chu thought he could really feel Temujin’s eyes burning upon the carefully knotted hair on the back of his head. Then, as Yung Chu dared a sidelong glance, he saw the Khan’s lips began to curve upward in a broad smile, and that broad, thickening belly began to shake as he roared with laughter, his amusement echoing from the goatskin walls of the giant tent.

"Fools! All of you, fools!" He spun and glared at each of his generals in turn, but saving his most scathing look for the false Subotai. "And you would have had me slay them all, short-sighted wolf! Then who would work the fields, our untamed toumans? Shall my sons turn merchant, and learn to make gold like the traders? No! Never!"

He turned back around and raised Yung Chu to his feet. "You, Astrologer. What is your advice?"

Yung Chu swallowed hard. Here was his chance. It was only a battle, not the war, but it was a victory nonetheless.

"Appoint a viceroy to rule over the Kin,” he said quickly. “One who can break the remnants of their pride, but leave them free to work and trade otherwise. Tax them heavily, and use them to provide for the toumans. Your empire, Great Khan, has been conquered from the saddle. But you cannot rule it from the saddle. For that, you need a throne!"

The Khan nodded. "Wise words, Yeh Che'lyu. Mukali!" he shouted, gesturing to a tall Mongol standing off to the left of him.

"Yes, Great Khan," the man stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully.

"Mukali, you are Viceroy in the south. Rule over the Kin with an iron fist, and milk them for me. Yes, milk them!" he bellowed, grinning happily at Yung Chu. The Khan's loud laughter was so infectious his generals couldn't help but join him, and even the young time-traveler had to smile.

"And you, Yung Chu, will not be just my Astrologer anymore. I have an Empire now, and I must have a Councillor worthy of an Emperor. The man who rules at the Emperor's side. What did the Kin call such a man?"

Yung Chu bowed his head, concealing his satisfaction.

"This humble servant is not worthy, Great Khan. But they called such a man... Prime Minister, Majesty."

The Khan smiled.

"Then, Yeh Che'lyu Tsai, you are my Prime Minister."

Yung Chu fell to the ground and prostrated himself before the Emperor of the Steppes.

"I am always yours to command, Great One. If I speak, may it only be with your voice!"

He was pleased with himself. But as he rose to his feet to accept the many congratulations from the assembled Mongol warlords, he couldn't help but sneak a quick glance at the man whose plans he had thwarted. Tetradates betrayed no emotion, but Yung Chu knew that the demons of rage were howling behind the Darkmage's disguised face. He started as a silent voice spat angry words into his mind.

You will not thwart me, Orderling. I promise you that!


That night Yung Chu fell to sleep with difficulty, and his dreams were ghastly visions of suffering and torture. Again and again, he saw himself perishing after long hours of torment at the exsquisitely skilled hands of Tetradates. He saw the scaly tongues of horgutash demons flaying his soul from his body as skeletal bone devils snapped his limbs and sucked greedily at the marrow that slowly dripped out. Then the warning shriek of a violated warding spell jolted him awake, and he was relieved to find himself sitting upright amidst his foul-smelling skins. But he was not alone.

His black-clad assailants eyed him warily as they entered the little tent. Each man was swathed in cloth from head to toe, and bore a sharp, curved dagger. The first man, whose entry had triggered the magical alarm, also carried a short scimitar-like sword as he advanced towards Yung Chu in a crouch. Something about the man seemed familiar, the young Logosian thought as he eyed the evil-looking blade. As he backed slowly away from the men, his mind returned to another midnight assault, and that same sword dripping with the blood of a scholar.

But unlike the man whose face he wore, Yung Chu was not defenseless. He smiled grimly, and cast a quick glamor over himself as suddenly leaped to his feet.

"You thought you killed me once, fools! Do you think to try again!" he shouted angrily as he assumed one of the demonic aspects that had so recently haunted his dreams.

The three assassins quailed before the image of the horgutash, as it flapped its dragon-like spiked ears and drooled bloody red ichor from its gaping black maw. The hellish image was too much for two of the men, they broke and ran screaming into the night, but the man with the sword stood his ground, cringing fearfully, until Yung Chu made as if to leap at him. The sword fell to the ground, followed seconds later by its bearer as he collapsed in a dead faint.

"Oh, for Belial's sake," growled Tetradates as he strolled into the tent, still wearing the outward appearance of the dead Mongolian general. "You can't trust these superstitious primitives to do anything right!"

Yung Chu’s momentary sense of victory disappeared at the sight of the Darkmage. Now it was his turn to cower as the great sorceror shrugged and extended a hand towards him.

"I suppose we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way," Tetradates told him.

Yung Chu felt an unseen hand seem to reach inside his rib cage and grip his heart, and a sharp pain wracked his chest as the hand began to squeeze. His pectoral muscles spasmed uncontrollably and he fell to his knees, body exploding with agony. As he felt the fibers of his heart began to tear away slowly, one by one, he clutched desperately at his breast for the chirul crystal that hung suspended there.

He almost lost control of his bladder as the blessed crystal broke the evil magick and the pain disappeared instantly. Tetradates grunted uncomfortably, and Yung Chu glanced up to see an overweight Caucasian man with a very surprised look on his face. He crawled for the assassin’s fallen sword, grasped it firmly, then leaped to his feet. With a fury inspired by fear, he raised the weapon over his head, ready to decapitate the stunned Darkmage. But like his cowardly hirelings, Tetradates had already fled into the shadows.

"What is happening, you cursed hellspawn? Where is he?"

The Loremaster's eyebrows rose as Gorean angrily addressed the scarlet riyal crystal in his hand. The crystal glowed and seemed to pulse weirdly as Dag's response echoed back over the centuries, as if keeping time with some unheard, irregular rhythm.

He's with the Khan somewhere near India. Problem is, Tetradates is there too!

"Why can't we speak with him?," Alexi interjected, leaning over the Order Master's shoulder. "How do we know you're not in league with your master?"

You don't, came the immediate reply. And you can't speak with him because I'm in Hungary in service to Prince Henry. He doesn't know how to use the riyal anyhow.

"Where did you get it?" Alexi demanded.

You don't need to know. Now are you going to send someone back here or not? Yung Chu managed to keep Temujin from wiping out China, but Iran is history. My guess is that Tetradates has already got something like a third to a half of the deaths he needs.

"You're not serious...” Gorean blanched. “No, of course you are." He looked over at the Loremaster, who was shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "Well, Dag, I suppose we have no choice but to trust you. What would you have us do?"

Get a good team of five or six Adepts together who are capable of taking on my master between them. Tell them not to mess around, just kill him as fast as they can. I'll contact Yung Chu tonight and find out where you should send the strike team. Have them plan to travel at the next new moon, with a group that large you won't be able to do it any sooner than that.

"Okay but wait..." The glow inside the crystal died to a dull blood-like red, and Gorean swore under his breath in frustration. "He's gone."

Yung Chu held his head in his hands as he meditated before the fire in his rudely-constructed dwelling. The last six months, he had been witness to a hell on earth, as the Khan's toumans, like the evil breath of a bloody-minded god, had swept before them the armies of the Kwaresm-shah, massacring his people and obliterating his empire. And there had been nothing Yung Chu could do to stop it.

For Temujin had not planned to war against the wealthy and powerful Muslim empire. Rather, the Great Khan had actually taken his advice make diplomatic overtures to his counterpart across the great river of the Jaxartes. Unfortunately, the Shah Mohammed was cursed with a surfeit of pride and a dearth of good sense, and, feeling that the undisciplined horse-archers of the Mongols would melt before his fierce Islamic warriors, sent the Great Khan's ambassadors back to him with their heads shaved. Among the Mongols, this was the mark of a slave. It would have been better had the Shah simply killed them.

The Khan was enraged, understandably, and no amount of pleading or argument would budge him from his determination to punish the Kwaresmians. Tetradates, in his guise as Subotai, had designed a brilliant plan of assault, circumlocuting the Shah's armies on the banks of the Jaxartes by traversing the dangerous heights of the Pamir mountains in the cold depths of winter. The Shah was taken completely by surprise; Otrar fell first, followed by Bukhara, then Samarkand. At first, Temujin was inclined to be merciful, killing only the Kwaresmian nobles and the Turkish-manned garrisons. But as the war went on, setbacks occurred and Mongol casualties increased. The Great Khan's temper grew short. And always, there was the false Subotai, whispering in his ear.

Seventy thousand people were slain at Nissa, one million perished at Merv when the waters of the Murghab were diverted to drown the besieged city. At Herat, three thousand were spared during the first sacking of the city, but at Subotai’s insistence, the toumans returned. At Nishapur, Subotai's protégé, Tului, presided over the bloodshed as every single living thing in the city was exterminated, every last man, woman, dog, cat, and rat.

And before the shattered gates of each fallen city, an immense mound of skulls was piled, an mighty tribute to the kings of death. Subotai had told Temujin that the mounds would strike fear into his enemies, that they would teach the world to quail before his armies and dread the very mention of his name. But in his ivory-and-gold mansion in the bowels of the Sixth Hell, a sated Baal-Ravana smiled and flicked his spiny tail about with anticipation.

Yung Chu had no idea of how close Tetradates was to reaching his goal. He was reeling from the magnitude of the vicious genocide, and felt only a vague sense of surprise that the Darkmage's sacrifice had not yet been completed. He had not heard from Dag since that lonely night in Peking when the Discordian had left him awaiting capture at the hands of the Mongols. Therefore he was quite startled when he heard a familiar voice whisper to him amidst the crackling of the flames.

Yung Chu, listen to me. It's Dag.

Yung Chu couldn't help a reflexive glance around the room, then, angrily, he returned his attention to the fire before him.

"Where in Chaos' name have you been? Why haven't you contacted me? Why..."

Because there hasn't been a reason to! Dag interrupted. My master is more powerful than you know, and he could be listening right now. Where is he?

"He's with Jebei besieging Tus, at the foot of the Elbuiz Mountains. It's safe to talk now, I think."

Good. What do you think he plans next?

"Well, the Khan was talking to me today about coordinating the logistics of crossing the Indus. He must be planning to invade the Punjab, I suppose. I tried to discourage him, but I think Tetradates has him under his spell. Not literally, of course, I mean, I’ve been keeping a close watch out for that, but I think the Khan's blood has been up ever since he destroyed the Shah. Whatever Subotai says pretty much goes nowadays."

Hmmmm. Well, regardless, you absolutely have to keep him from India. There's too many people there, and he'll finish the sacrifice in no time. Do what ever you have to, even poison the Khan if you must...

"Dag!" a shocked Yung Chu exclaimed. "I can't do that! You know we're sworn never to kill!"

Except, of course, for the occasional wizard of whom your Assembly doesn't approve, the Discordian returned drily.Ah well, I'd hoped your time there had taught you a bit more flexibility.

"Besides, he named Ogodai heir now, and he practically worships Subotai." Yung Chu ignored the sarcastic rejoinder. “Killing Temujin wouldn’t change much.”

So poison him too. Look, you have to keep the armies out of India. If you can't kill, then think of something else. But there are five Assembly Adepts coming in less than two weeks, so if you can hold off Tetradates for that long, we should be okay. Now I've got to go. Good luck.

"You too, Dag," Yung Chu whispered to the fire, feeling suddenly heartsick and scared, caught out of place and time. "You too."

His hands still coated with greasy animal fat, Yung Chu strode rapidly to the Great Yurt, escorted by an honor guard of the Khan's elite bodyguard. He had protested when the Khan assigned the four men to guard him, but the rumors of a failed assassination caused Temujin to insist upon Yung Chu’s acceptance. Fearing treachery, or a malevolent ensorcelment courtesy of Tetradates, the young disciple of Order no longer slept without first setting an exhaustive series of painstakingly woven wards to protect against any demonic or metaphysical assault. Fortunately, his precautions only helped cement his reputation among the barbarian warriors as a potent Astrologer.

Having become accustomed to their strange charge's dabbling in the mystical arts, none of his enforced companions thought anything of the working he had performed that morning. It wasn't a Discordian spell, quite, but it wasn't one that his Assembly instructors would approve of either. But since his only other altenative was quite beyond the pale, he could only hope that the stern god of Harmony and Order would understand his dire straits and relent when the Day of Judging came. Putting his guilty misgivings behind him, Yung Chu entered the Khan's goatskin tent, knowing that in only two days the nine-tailed white banner of the Emperor of the Steppes was scheduled to cross the Indus.

"Ah, Yeh Che'lyu! My eyes brighten with your presence," the Khan said, openly pleased at his Prime Minister's arrival.

Kasala, the Khan's beautiful Merkit concubine, was lying at her lord's feet but as Yung Chu drew closer to the Khan's pillowed seat, she rose gracefully and quietly made her sinuous way towards the back of the huge tent. Yung Chu's eyes couldn't resist following the exquisite swing of her retreat, and Temujin chuckled.

"Yeh Che'lyu, your wisdom is such that I often forget how young you are. You need a wife!" At the stunned look on his Khitan minister's face, the barbarian ruler relented. "Well, at least a woman to call your own. You need one. A good woman is like a smooth-riding horse, Yeh Che'lyu; once you get in the saddle you don't want to get off!"

He sniggered lewdly and smirked as he glanced back to where the lovely Merkit girl had disappeared. "You like her? She's yours."

"The Great Khan is too kind to his miserable servant!"

Teumjin only laughed again. "You won't be miserable long!"

Once more, Yung Chu noted the Khan's unusually playful demeanor, in very much the same way that the autumn still calmed the grass just before the storm winds of the Mongolian winter began to sweep the steppes. If he had any questions about the immanency of the invasion, they were gone now.

"So why are your hands covered with fat?" the Great Khan wanted to know, pointing to Yung Chu's lard-dripping hands.

His Prime Minister bowed respectfully, extending his arms palms-up for the Khan’s review.

"For you, Great Lord. I would anoint you with the Sky's blessing before your ride today." Yung Chu held his breath, awaiting the superstitious Khan's response. He felt a chill inside as Temujin arched a slender eyebrow and shook his full head of hair that was still, for the most part, as black as the ravens that fed upon the slain.

"And how did you know I planned to ride today?"

Yung Chu swallowed and took a deep breath.

"It is said that in two days the toumans begin the Indus crossing. This humble servant has noticed that the Great Khan often enjoys a ride before battle.”

"Yes…heheheheh, a ride of one sort or another," the Khan joked cheerfully, slapping the younger man's shoulder. "Anoint me then, Yeh Che'lyu, for I will ride long and hard tonight!"

Letting out a slow sigh of relief, Yung Chu drew two vertical lines down the Khan's cheeks with his fingers, then connected them with a single horizontal stripe curving across the broad forehead. "Ride well, Great Lord," he said quietly. He bowed once, and departed before he could repent of his actions.


Late that night, a flash of green light exploded above the young Prime Minister's head. A man's voice shouted, more in surprise than pain, and Yung Chu heard feet pounding as he struggled to open his eyes. He muttered a few words to release the wards and sat up quickly, glancing about the tent. Shadows danced strangely in the smoky torchlight that illuminated the inside of the yurt as his nervous bodyguards kept their respectful distance. Outside the entrance, a guardsman clad in the Khan's imperial whites was clutching at his burned right hand, cursing violently, and keeping a wary eye on him.

One of his personal bodyguards bowed respectfully.

"Wise Lord, forgive us. We warned him not to wake you.…"

Yung Chu brushed his apologies aside. "It's okay, Ulgunai. Is anything amiss with the Emperor?”

The Khan's man bowed even more deeply than Ulgunai. "The Khan of Khans requests your presence, Lord. He is... troubled."

Yung Chu nodded in understanding. "Go then, and tell the Khan I will attend him."


"I saw... a strange beast. Like a horse, but not a horse, standing on the banks of the Indus. Its skin was green like the spring plains, and it had a single horn, a horn like that of a goat, growing from the center of its skull. It... it spoke to me, saying 'Temujin, strong you are, but no man can battle the Sky. This passage is forbidden. Return, or death will follow!'"

The Khan's yellow face was pale, even by the crackling reddish light of the fire. "Tell me what it means,” he insisted feverishly. “Yeh Che'lyu, tell me the meaning of my dream!"

"Peace, Majesty, peace.… What you saw was a unicorn, one of the magical shapes that the Sky sometimes takes in the dream-world. When a man dreams, his soul leaves his body and goes to another place, where things of this world exist in different forms, and where things not of this world may appear too."

Yung Chu took a closer look at the older man's face. Clearly the spell-dream he had woven had frightened the dread ruler of the Mongols badly, even worse than he had intended. He'd forgotten just how superstitious these primitive pagans could be.

"The green color indicates sickness and disease, perhaps to be visited upon the toumans should we cross the river, or perhaps, may the Sky forbid it, to be visited upon your own person, Great Khan. But whatever the meaning, Lord, know that what is foretold in the spirit world will always come to pass.”

His voice dropped lower as he strove to drive his point home.

"And the message to you is clear, Great One. Not even one warrior may ride across the river into the Punjab! The Sky forbids it!"

Genghis Khan nodded, beads of sweat dripping from his brow. "You are right, Yeh Che'lyu. We will not cross the Indus!"

The Mongol captain was in a foul mood. A week ago the invasion of the rich empire of the Punjab had been called off for reasons unknown, and he shook his head bitterly at the thought of the plump, langorous women whose embraces he would never know. He smashed a callused fist against the worn leather of his saddle at the painful realization that the wealthy, unwalled cities of the lower Indus valley still remained safe in their innocent splendor.

The knowledge that the Tanguts of Hsi Hsia had revolted again against their Mongol overlords gave him little cheer, despite the promise of a good fight sure to be offered by the proud eastern tribes. It was going to be a long, cold winter, and the captain had been looking forward to spending it in the sensual surroundings of a fallen Punjabi city, not warring against a familiar enemy on the frozen steppes.

The captain scowled as one of his lieutenants rode up alongside him, and he glowered at the sallow-skinned young man as he made his report. He paid little heed as the lieutenant droned on and on, until the mention of an unusual party traveling south captured his attention.

"...and Gogido said they did not even try to hide or run away!" The young man paused and reflected a moment. "Perhaps they are spies?”

The captain's narrow eyes almost disappeared as he squinted at the horizon. "It is a strange thing," he mused aloud. "Five men, dressed as Kin peasants, traveling far from their homeland. And taking little note of our patrols... I do not like that!"

Thoughtfully, he chewed at his lower lip, reflecting on the possibilities as his horse continued its easy canter north. At last, he reached a decision.

"They cannot be peasants. If they are not merchants attempting to avoid our taxes, they must be Tangut spies. Either way, we will take no chances. Take a troop of archers and ambush them as they crest a hilltop. Bring me their heads.


An hour later, hearing the sound of onrushing hooves, the captain looked up and saw the young lieutenant galloping excitedly towards him, holding a heavy sheepskin bag slung before him.

"You were wise, lord, to take precautions!" the lieutenant exclaimed. "For as they reached the top of the hill, we greeted them with a hailstorm of arrows, and the Sky guided our shafts! Look!"

He lifted the bag from his horse's back and disgorged its contents upon the ground. Five severed heads lay there, still oozing blood and ichor. Three were Kin, but one appeared to be burned to a black crisp by the sun. And the last was hairless, its skin a strange pink color similar to that of the red-haired slaves the captain had seen once in the conquered cities of Khorasan.

"Shapechangers, then," he grunted, nodding approvingly at the lieutenant. "Well done!"

The Mongol cavalry rode on towards the great army assembling in Balkash. Behind them the sightless green eyes of the Master of Order stared fixedly at the endless horizon of the Transoxian plain.

"Where are they!" Yung Chu whispered urgently into the fire. He wanted to release his anxieties by screaming at it, but didn't dare for fear of waking Kasala. Although like his bodyguards she had started to become used to his strange customs, he had no doubts that shrieking at nothing but burning kindling would manage to terrify the sleeping beauty. "You said they'd be here a week ago!"

They should have done, Dag responded. The Discordian sounded worried. Has Tetradates been gone from the camp?

"No, he and the other generals have been closeted with the Khan for the past ten days. The Tanguts are proving a harder nut to crack this time around, and Temujin's recalled all of our top strategists from the field. I think they're trying to come up with a new plan of attack."

Well, that's good at least. Where in Aerin's name can they be? Did you just say, our? You’re starting to think like a Mongol!

Yung Chu snorted, and the both fell silent for a minute or two, until a dark thought occurred to Yung Chu.

"Dag, remember the reading?," he asked. "The one that led us here in the first place?"

Yeah, of course. Why.... oh, devils! the Discordian exclaimed. This isn’t good.

"No, I don't think so. The only question is, are they the friends in the East or the North?"

Cursed if I know. The voice inside the crackling flames fell quiet again, but Yung Chu knew the irritable Discordian was swearing under his breath. Looks like I'll have to contact the Assembly again and see what's taking them In the meantime, take advantage of any opportunity to... you know, shake things up in the camp.

"Perhaps," Yung Chu said wearily. "I'll see what I can do."

Dag’s sigh was audible. All right. Well, the Tanguts don't have any cities worth speaking of so I doubt Tetradates will bother there, which should buy us the time we need. Sit tight, and I'll keep you posted. Adios!

The flames rose momentarily with a greenish flare then settled down and continued to lick hungrily at the firewood. Yung Chu sat and stared at the glowing reds and golds of the fire, silently wrestling with his conscience as he listened to the hissing and popping sounds of the wood being devoured.

"Who were you talking to, Yeh Che'lyu?," he heard a sultry voice behind him murmur.

Unsettled, he spun around on his buttocks to see Kasala's almond eyes staring at him. She blinked once and licked painted lips with her dainty tongue, carefully studying his face. Though he doubted the Khan had ordered her to spy on him, he was loathe to put anything past the wily Mongol ruler.

"Only a fire demon, lovely one," he lied easily. "His name is Sivarodai and he roams the hells like a wolf upon the steppes, preying on the damned souls there."

He was amused to see her eyes widen as a look of alarm crossed her lovely face. Her fear almost made him burst out laughing.

"Now I must go and tell the Khan of the evil secrets he has whispered to me".

"But it is late to call upon the Great One!" the captured courtesan protested.

Yung Chu slowly stood up and surveyed the kneeling woman, her splendid golden body covered meagerly by the captured Turkish bedsilks, high breasts quivering only slightly as she strove to hide her fear of him. The young apprentice licked his lips as a warm heat began to rise below his belly.

"Perhaps you are right, it is late, yes!"

He smiled in anticipation and took her slender hand in his own. He had broken so many of his vows already. What was one more?


As the cool night breeze froze the glistening sweat into miniscule salt crystals upon his body, Yung Chu walked noiselessly across the Mongol camp to the Khan's great tent. He passed several bodyguards, but the keen-eyed warriors in white never saw him, not even when he ducked his head and slipped through the entrance. He was invisible thanks to the masking spell he’d cast after Kasala had drifted safely off to sleep.

Two hours after midnight, most of the tent's inhabitants were sleeping also, although soft cries and grunting noises betrayed the activities of a few tireless couples. Stealthily, Yung Chu made his way towards the Khan's usual place at the back, tip-toeing around the slumbering bodies of two pretty young Kin slave girls and a fat, elderly general sprawled between them.

Finally he spotted the burly figure of the Emperor, stretched out in front of his throne of white horse-skins near the glowing embers of a dying fire. Although four young women slept nearby, it appeared as if the Khan had abjured his usual sport in favor of a solitary drinking bout, for three empty goatskin flasks at his side indicated a prodigious night's consumption. Standing over the unconscious man, Yung Chu's fingers fumbled at his belt for the jeweled dagger that had been the Khan’s own gift to him. Quietly, he drew it forth from its sheath, and he felt its keen edge with his thumb. Bile rose in his throat as a wave of guilt crested inside his mind, but shaking his head determinedly, he bent down towards the sleeping man. There was no other choice.

Suddenly, the Khan's eyes snapped open, and Yung Chu stifled a startled cry as the Emperor's yellow orbs stared up in the direction of his face. Though he knew the Mongol ruler could not see him, he held his breath, afraid to move, as Temujin grunted and rolled over, reaching blindly for his nearest concubine. As the bleary-eyed girl began to respond obediently to her lord's blandishments, Yung Chu softly sheathed his weapon and carefully made his way back towards the exit.

For a man whose mission had just failed, he felt strangely exhilarated. Perhaps the gods did not ordain that he should forsake the most sacred of his vows and become a murderer. He might be guilty of many things, but at least his hands would not be stained with blood. Satisfied with the decrees of Fate, Yung Chu returned, unseen, to the warmth and safety of his own dwelling. He did not notice as one white-clad soldier standing in front of the Khan's yurt turned towards his companion.

"You hear something?" the guard asked.

"No. Did you?" The second guard’s eyelids were drooping, on the verge of shutting completely. He yawned, exposing yellowed and rotting teeth. "You heard something?"

"Thought so..." A puzzled look crossed the man's sparsely-bearded face. "It sounded like... humming!"

The other guard laughed, and pointed at the night sky.

"Full moon. Spirits walk the steppe tonight!"

The campaign had been a bitter one. The toumans had swept virtually unopposed through the lands of the Rus, Kiev’s proud princes, crossing the Volga in the dead of winter to burn first Moscow and then Kiev itself. Following the destruction of the Rus, the columns rode into Poland, quickly vanquishing all opposition there. But the Mongol generals were prepared to expect stiffer resistance in Hungary and Silesia. The fierce Teutonic knights rode alongside the crusading orders of the Templars and the Hospitallers under the banner of Prince Henry of Silesia, while Bohemia’s King Wencelas commanded a large troop of trained and well-armed Hungarian, French, and German horsemen.

However, before the two European forces had come together, Prince Henry found himself blundering into a large body of Mongol cavalry near the small Silesian town of Wahlstadt. His scouts rode in to report a sizable troop of light horse only six miles ahead.

"Dare we engage them alone, your Highness?" Duke Adolph of Thuringia asked the Prince as he reined in his armored mount beside him. Prince Henry, a thin balding man whose dark skin hinted at his Turkish ancestry, sniffed and rubbed gingerly at his runny nose with a steel gauntlet.

"I don't see that we have a choice, Adolph. We're not scheduled to meet up with Wencelas until day after tomorrow, after all."

"It's not like they're leagues away either!" another voice added. "Even if your Highness decides to avoid engaging them now, the cursed yellow-skins may not give us a choice and force us to close on ground of their choosing."

The Prince craned his head around and smiled to see the Swedish baron with the scarred face joining them. The Swede was more than a decade younger than Henry’s own thirty-five years, and his build was surprisingly slight, but the battle-hardened Silesian knew the young man could fight like a demon. He had seen the Swede had perform deeds with a sword that were unheard of since the time of Roland.

"I'm glad you could join us, Dag. You agree that we should engage them here?"

"Yes," the baron replied with certainty. "If we ride hard, we can get to Liegnitz before them, and array our men to the north side. That will keep the sun out of our eyes, and we can position the Venetians with their crossbows in the trees behind us."

The Prince nodded his head and smiled, pleased with the young Swede.

"A good plan, I think. Duke Adolph?" He turned to the burly German nobleman, whose hard-won knowledge of tactics he had learned to value.

"It sounds reasonable to me. I'll take the Teutonic knights over to the right wing, along with the Templars. Keep the levies to the left, and mind the center yourself with the Hospitallers and your own men. If you can hold your own, we'll break through their left and ride along the river to crush their main body between the pikes of the footmen and our lances, God willing!"

"Let us pray God wills it indeed," the pious prince agreed. The German turned to the young Swede.

"Care to ride on the right with us, Baron Hoerskald?" An ironic grin twisted the parallel scars on the blonde-haired man's face. "I'd be most honored, my Lord!"


At first the battle had gone according to plan. The curved sabres and boiled leather jerkins of the Mongols were no match for the plate armor and heavy wooden lances of the Teutonic knights. The lightly armored Asiatic horsmen crumpled before the awesome power of the Germanic assault, their small pony-like steeds literally crushed under the iron-shod hooves of the mighty European warhorses. Only moments after contact, the Mongol's left wing collapsed and began a disorderly retreat, galloping madly back across the frozen river. The shattered horse-archers were too panicked to even fire back across their mounts.

It was with some difficulty that the Thuringian duke managed to dissuade his blood-maddened knights from pursuing their prey across the ice. The old noble knew from past experience fighting the Rus that for a heavily-armored knight, a ride across frozen water could be a very short excursion. He directed his men towards the middle of the field, where Prince Henry and the Knights of the Hospital were battling what appeared to be the Mongol’s main body of heavy cavalry to a standstill.

Duke Adolph smashed his heavy mace down across the leather-helmeted head of one unlucky Mongol, and grunted with grim pleasure as he watched the little man fall from the saddle. He paused to shake a spray of blood and grey matter from his weapon over the blood-soaked snow before looking around to find another hapless victim. There was a clang of steel as a curved blade bounced harmlessly off his steel-encased shoulder, and he turned quickly and buried the mace into the skull of the offending warrior's shaggy-haired mount. The little horse bleated as it collapsed, throwing its rider, who soon perished under the heavy hooves of a Templar's armored steed.

"My Lord, the west!" he heard a familiar voice calling to the left of him. He yanked on the reins and turning his horse around to see the young Swedish baron shouting at him. "Look to the west, milord!"

The puzzled duke twisted his neck around and lifted his helm, peering towards the scraggy pine forest at the perimeter of the battlefield. What he saw there chilled his blood. Scores of mounted warriors were emerging from between the trees, most of them heavily armored shock troops. Their curved blades and scaled armor told him at once that they were not Europeans. Almost fearing to turn around, he slowly urged his horse around to face south, towards the river. Sure enough, the wild Mongol retreat had halted, and the horse-archers were returning to the battlefield, darkening the skies with their black-feathered shafts. The Mongols were not trapped between him and the Prince, instead, they were the ones who faced being surrounded on three sides.

But the duke was undaunted, despite their worsening odds. He quickly came to a decision, and gestured to the Swede.

"Baron Hoerskald, we must keep that heavy cavalry from reaching us before we smash through the Mongol center!" He stared intently at the younger man, knowing he was probably sending this brave lad to an untimely death. “Take the Templars, and keep them off our backs as long as you can.”

He was pleased to see the doughty young baron grinning back at him, clearly unafraid.

"You got it, Duke baby! See ya in Valhalla!" The scarred young man spurred his steed towards the approaching Mongols, long blonde hair flowing free in the wind. "Templars, to me, to me!"


"What kind of creature is that man?," the Mongol general, Kaidu, asked his superior with unfeigned amazement. "He slays like one possessed, and our men cannot touch him!"

He watched, astonished, as the golden-haired berserker struck aside a lance with his sword, then beheaded two warriors in a single stroke. A mounted archer launched a shaft at the helmetless man, but though it flew straight and true, the arrow flashed bright green and disintegrated even as it neared its target.

Kaidu shook his head. "It is a Sky demon, surely!"

The Mongol advance faltered and then stopped entirely as the outnumbered Templars, inspired to new heights of fury by their young leader, threatened to break their lines.

But the supreme commander only laughed and patted the shorter man on the shoulder. "No, he's human, sure enough, Kaidu."

"But I've seen him kill more than twenty men! He's a wolf in human form! It's unnatural!"

A smile crossed Subotai's face as he dug amongst the saddlebags piled in his oxcart for a vial of blue liquid. "I have to admit, you are correct there," the mountainous general chuckled.

"What?"

"Never mind. Here, you, give me that arrow," he addressed a nearby horse-archer.

The archer complied, and watched with curiousity as Tetradates dipped the arrow tip into the vial and muttered a few words under his breath.

"Do you see that man?," he pointed to the heroic young berserker. The Mongol nodded, and nocked the arrow to the gut-string, sighting carefully. His well-muscled arm quivered a little as he drew back the powerful horn bow, and let the shaft fly.

As before, the arrow disappeared just as it approached the man, but this time the flash was tinged yellow instead of green, and there was a dull booming sound, like a distant clap of thunder. At first glance nothing appeared to have happened, but the Mongol warriors surrounding the yellow-haired man noticed his apparent dismay and redoubled their efforts. There was a silvery flash of a curved blade, the meaty sound of metal striking flesh, and the yellow-haired one suddenly disappeared from view.

"Kaidu, make sure someone brings me his head, will you?” Subotai requested amiably. The Mongol general only turned and stared, his mouth agape, as the imposing figure of his enigmatic commander walked indifferently away from the battlefield.

"So what did you do when the Darkmage sent you Dag's head?" Aeris asked anxiously.

The master closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. We waited in eager silence for the conclusion of his remarkable story.

"It seemed obvious to me that all of the Assembly’s resources had been exhausted. All of them, that is, except myself. The Book of Changes had, as usual, been correct in all matters, so I decided to consult it and allow it to be my guide. The hexagram was Hsu, in the fourth six. Can you tell me the commentary?"

"I can," said Ganelos confidently. "He is waiting in a place of blood. He must escape from the pit."

Aeris looked confused. "But you hadn't memorized everything, had you? Then how did you find the commentaries?"

Our master laughed with the rest of us, wheezing out his good humor with some difficulty.

"Come, little one, you forget that the Book of Changes and the commentaries of Duke Chu were written thousands of years before the Mongols came to Kin. The very first thing I acquired in my position as Astrologer was the Book."

He chuckled again, then wiped his rheumy eyes and continued.

"But the commentary clearly indicated that there was still some blood yet to be shed, and that it would be on my hands. Also, there was only one way I could see to force Tetradates to halt his sacrificial killings and return to Karakorum."

"How could you possibly do that?" I asked.

"By causing a battle for the succession. I poisoned the Khan, and Tetradates was forced to return in order ensure the election of his protege, Ogodai. Once I had cast my scruples to the wind, it was relatively easy to orchestrate his elimination. In the months it took the toumans to return from Europe, I was whispering incessantly in Ogodai's ear, shamelessly making use of every mind-influencing spell at my disposal. By the time Tetradates returned, Ogodai was convinced that his hero had been taken over by a shape-changing sky demon.

"Which, of course, was practically the truth. The beauty of the accusation was that Tetradates couldn't use his powers to prove otherwise without validating it. He rode back unsuspecting, and I had him bound in silver before he realized what was happening. And as for me, well, I was an Astrologer after all, so I was rather expected to dabble in the forbidden arts from time to time."

The ancient one laughed again, and his black robes shook. "He died screaming. Ogodai insisted on pouring molten gold down his throat!"

"How did you manage to return to our time?"

The humor disappeared from the master’s wrinkled face as he turned to address Ganelos.

"The Assembly finally managed to get its act together and sent another party to Karakorum. They brought me back with them, and Alexi, Gorean's successor as Order Master, banished me from the Assembly for breaking my vows!" The master shook his bald head angrily, and there was bitterness in his voice when he spoke again. "As a reward for preventing Tetradates from consumating his pact with Baal-Ravana, they let me live. Which of course they came later to regret."

He rose carefully to his feet and spread his arms wide, like an evil messiah embracing the lost souls of his damned flock.

"But that is another story, for another day. So I will leave you with this, my children. Know that your choices will not always come in pure shades of black and white. Sometimes, choosing the lesser evil requires one to tread the darker path."

Gravely, the Darkmage nodded, and turning his back on us, returned to his inner sanctum.

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