The Iron Khan (37 page)

“He’s already raided history for an army,” Chen said. “And now he’s got one. He surely can’t be planning to launch an attack on Hell or Heaven? Either one is too heavily defended and with his ally the Empress gone…”

“Don’t know.” Zhu Irzh squinted through the binoculars at the temple. The Khan himself was clearly visible, mounted on his piebald pony, as expressionless as a stone. But he was staring directly at the temple and there was no doubt as to where his attention lay. “What happened to Robin?”

“She tried to get in there but she can’t. Whatever magic the Khan is using as a barricade is extremely potent.”

“What kind of spell was it that you used to defeat the Empress?” Zhu Irzh asked Roerich. “Could you do the same thing again? Without Chen, this time.”

Roerich shook his head. “The Empress was drawing power from the Sea of Night — that thing you saw was a denizen of it. I earthed her power via Chen through Agarta itself. But the Khan is a part of this world, even if he’s out of his own time and territory. He’s drawing on the power of the land here, not something eldritch elsewhere.”

But that power was strong. Zhu Irzh could feel it pulsing underneath him. The energy lines that congregated on Mhara’s temple were being sapped, like someone tapping into an electricity supply. The Khan seemed to grow — not in his actual physical size, but in his magical aura, which swelled as the power surged through him.

“We’ve got to stop this,” Chen said. He turned to Omi, who had joined them in the company of Exorcist Lao. “Is there anything you can do?”

Omi’s face was drawn; he looked far older than his years. “It’s my job,” he said. “But I don’t know how to carry it out. My grandfather’s gone. You can’t help me, can you, Nicholas?”

“No. My plans for defeating the Khan didn’t work out, if you remember.”

“Something’s happening,” Zhu Irzh said. All the power summoned by the Khan was coming to a point, building up like a thunderhead. Zhu Irzh’s head felt as though a storm was about to break, and the next moment, it did. The Khan took all the power he’d gathered and launched it at the temple: the demon could see this, not through his physical senses but in his mind’s eye, a great arrow of lightning directed at the modest white building before them, striking through the rain.

The temple remained, but Zhu Irzh could not see how it still stood, for the strike blasted all the ground around it so that the temple hung in empty air above a great gaping abyss. Behind it, the demon glimpsed the Sea of Night, a thin black line, and beyond, the bright shore of Heaven and the livid one of Hell. It was like glimpsing the universe in miniature, but there was more to come. A series of glowing cracks appeared in the abyss, fracture lines between the worlds, and Zhu Irzh understood how it was that Chen and Inari and the others had passed so easily through. The universe was indeed breaking down. The nearest crack was splitting apart, growing so that the world it contained filled the gap. That world was like the Taklamakan: somewhere bleak and arid and blisteringly hot. But this was a land in which no human could survive: Zhu Irzh’s demon senses told him as much.

And within it were armies. Legions upon legions, iron-armored, fire-eyed. Zhu Irzh glimpsed swords and spears and more complicated, arcane weaponry: massive trebuchets with creaking metal cogs, huge rusted catapults with flames flickering along their sides, tanks painted in all the colors of destruction. At the front, on a great red horse, rode a figure in a helmet, his face concealed, a broadsword hanging by his side. Something about him was familiar and with a shock, Zhu Irzh realized who he was: this was Tamurlane’s spirit — Timur the Lame in an earlier time — endowed by all the powers of a Hell that was not home. He was looking at the Hell to which the Khan was spiritually linked: a desert realm, a land of fire, and through the coalescing ether he thought he smelled the Khan’s fear.

The Khan, Zhu Irzh knew, had no intention of dying, of entering that Hell. Instead, he planned to bring its armies here. Then, beside him, the demon heard Omi say, “I’m going in.”

•

Despite all they had been through together, Omi was still surprised to find Zhu Irzh beside him.

“You’re coming with me?” Omi asked.

The demon gave him a slanted glance. “Gotta face your demons, you know. The Khan and I have unfinished business. Besides, it would be a shame not to see how things turn out.”

“Thank you,” Omi said, and meant it.

“Do you happen to have, you know, any kind of plan?”

Omi smiled. “No. Just an instinct, that this is what I have to do. But I don’t know why, Zhu Irzh. You can walk away now if you choose.”

“I’ll see how it goes,” the demon said.

Together, they walked toward the breach in the fabric of the universe. Omi saw the others — Chen, Lao, Roerich — fall back as they came on, as if it had been acknowledged that this was now their rightful place. Ahead, Mhara’s small temple floated high above the ground, suspended like a toy. The breach was growing and out of the corners of his vision Omi saw all manner of things begin to appear at its edges: ships and barques and galleons, all the predators and pirates of the voids, gathering to see what pickings were to be had.

Suddenly, Omi’s boots were no longer ringing on concrete, but on baking desert earth. He gasped for breath and the demon pulled him back.

“Not too close.”

“Can’t avoid it.” And he couldn’t: someone else’s Hell was closing around him and its airs were toxic and fire-filled — Omi’s throat closed and he started to choke.

“Shit!” he heard the demon say and then his senses were filled with cool water and the scent of endless grassland. A breath of wind brushed his face. He looked up. The blue crane hovered above him, wings beating like a huge fan.

“Raksha!”

The shaman smiled. “Here I am.” She rode the crane with customary ease, a short spear in her hand, and the light of battle in her eyes. “It’s time,” she said, and Omi knew what she meant. He turned to Zhu Irzh.

“Thank you again for walking with me. But you’ve come far enough now.”

“Hey,” the demon said, surprised. “You don’t want me with you?”

“It’s not that. I might need your support here, to hold the gate open. But she and I must go on alone.” Raksha was waiting. He climbed onto the crane’s blue back and it bounded upward.

Omi looked down. At the entrance to the abyss stood the demon, a small, dark figure against a wasteland of sand and fire. Omi could see the outline of the gateway before him, a portal to the world of a different Hell. It glittered faintly, betokening activity. Within it, the vast army waited. The Khan spurred his pony forward. Omi had a good view of him from above, and he could see how careful the Khan was to keep away from the portal. Unlike Zhu Irzh, he was afraid. And that, Omi thought, gives us our principal advantage. He tapped Raksha on the shoulder.

“You know what we’ve got to do, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She touched the crane’s neck, in turn. Omi glanced through the gateway and saw that the army was beginning to move, slowly at first, the front ranks hammering across the desert, then the surge of the tanks and troops behind. Something swung dangerously close to Omi’s head; he ducked.

“What was that?” He looked back. An anchor hung in the air, attached to a thick iron chain. Its pointed ends moved to and fro like a pendulum. It was attached to a ship, riding high in the clouds and flying a black flag.

Omi had not anticipated having to deal with flying pirates when all this began. He swore.

“Don’t worry,” Raksha shouted above the wind. “We’re too small to bother with.”

Omi was not sure she was right about that. The appearance of the anchor had seemed a little too deliberate. Maybe they were just playing. The Khan’s pony wheeled below, galloping up and down in front of the portal and the slight rise on which Zhu Irzh stood. Omi saw the demon raise a hand and give a cheerful wave to the Khan.

“Closer,” Omi breathed. “Closer…”

An ifrit dived, screaming. They’d spotted the crane. If the main flock took an interest, he and Raksha would be torn to pieces. Omi drew the bow and fired, spearing the creature through its nominal heart. There was a shriek from the flock. The crane dived with a speed that ripped the breath from Omi’s lungs.

Zhu Irzh stepped back a pace. Through the portal the army thundered on. Omi caught his breath. Then Zhu Irzh took a scroll from the pocket of his coat. He held it high, shouted something. Omi was too far up to hear the words but he thought he knew what the demon was calling.

“Here’s what you want, Khan. Come and get it!”

The crane was still swooping downward. Omi glanced back over his shoulder and saw a line of ifrits pursuing them. They were ten feet or so from the ground, closing on the Khan, who was riding toward Zhu Irzh. The demon stood firm, still holding the scroll. The Khan’s sword flashed up and Zhu Irzh threw himself in a roll under the screaming pony’s hooves.

Raksha and the crane swept alongside the Khan. As they did so, Omi reached out and seized the man around the waist, dragging him from his mount. The Khan shouted but the crane was hurtling on, with the Khan dangling from Omi’s grip. The bird could not, however, take the new weight; its flight was dipping and an ifrit snapped at its tail feathers. The crane squawked.

“Go, Raksha, go!” Omi shouted, and the shaman threw herself off the crane’s back, landing safely amongst the scrubs. Omi caught a glimpse of her sword as she came up fighting. Then that terrible smack of heat was once more striking him as he flew through the portal itself.

This time, however, Omi found he could breathe. The same magic that had protected him from the freezing altitude during that first flight was still in effect, protecting him from the worst ravages of this new atmosphere. Now that they were through the portal, the Khan’s struggles had redoubled. He clutched at Omi’s throat. Omi struck him back, slamming his fist into the Khan’s face but it was like hitting a bag of rocks. Omi struck again, feeling the jolt all the way up his arm, but the Khan lashed out. The back of his hand connected with Omi’s jaw and he felt it dislocate. The Khan’s hand hammered back and Omi lost his grip on the crane’s neck feathers. Locked with the Khan, he fell off the crane’s back. The ground hurtled up to meet them, some twenty feet below.

Immediately Omi was gasping for breath, released from the protective field of the crane. He landed flat, managing to break his fall somewhat, but the Khan was on top of him. The Khan’s hands around his throat. Omi had a nightmare glimpse of the Khan’s face above him: the bulging, reddened eyes, the leather-and-bone countenance. He punched the Khan again and again, but it was no use: the breath was going out of Omi and his vision was turning black.

Then — not black anymore, but red. In his last instant of vision, Omi saw the figure riding up behind the Khan on his rust-red horse — Tamurlane’s spirit: the pointed helmet, the glaring gaze, teeth sharp as a tiger’s; his eyes were gold. He brought down his scimitar and struck off the Khan’s head.

Warlords don’t like competition, was Omi’s last thought before he passed out. And they don’t like being forced to do someone else’s will. The Khan should have remembered that — and then there was nothing more.

•

“We’re trapped,” Roerich said. Chen looked back and saw a second wave of the clay warriors riding up behind. An archer drew a bow and let the arrow fly: Chen shoved Roerich to the ground. From a grove of trees to the left of where Mhara’s temple stood, a Celestial fired back, but the arrow burst into flames as it flew and crumbled into ash.

“Stay down!” Roerich yelled, and he and Chen flattened themselves against the earth as the wave of cavalry leaped overhead. A sword cut downward; Chen cast his rosary upward and shouted a spell.

He did not expect it to work. The rosary struck the sword halfway up its length and the blade shattered, then the hand and arm that wielded it, and then the body of the warrior. The horse was the last to crumble, covering Roerich and Chen with dust. Along the ranks of the cavalry, horses and warriors were following suit.

Roerich spat soil. “Chen! What did you do?”

“I don’t think I did anything,” Chen said, rising shakily to his feet. He looked across the mounds of broken pottery, where horses and soldiers had been so brief a time before. An ifrit fell from the skies at Chen’s feet. A second followed, but high amid the main flock the ifrits were turning to ash and blowing away on the wind.

“I think the Khan’s finally dead,” Chen said. At the portal, there was no sign of Zhu Irzh. Chen swore.

“Where’s he gone now?”

•

Omi opened his eyes. Everything was white, swimming with sunlight. His head felt as though it was about to burst. Hands reached down and placed something wet and cool and sweet-smelling over his brow. The pain receded.

“He’s coming round,” a voice said.

“Concussion,” someone else said, calmly. Omi’s eyes opened wider and he sat up.

“Grandfather!”

The old spirit smiled. “Omi. I thought it best to leave you to find your own way for a while. The old tend to think that they always know best.”