5
The Silent House
After the Mandarinate's dismissal, Batu spent the rest of the day cloistered with the emperor. For many hours, the general stood before the jade throne answering questions about the Tuigan. Though his back and legs grew so weary they fell numb, he did not ask for a chair. Only mandarins were permitted to sit in the Son of Heaven's presence.
The emperor interrogated Batu about every detail of the horsewarriors' lifestyle. He wanted to know about their religion, their marriage customs, even their taste in food and wine. Of course, the general could not answer all the emperor's questions, but he was surprised at how much he could recall under the Divine One's relentless questioning.
Finally, the meager body of knowledge Batu had accrued from his great-grandfather's stories was exhausted. When it became apparent the general could remember no more, the emperor turned the conversation to war strategies.
"General, if these warriors are only a tenth as ferocious and cunning as you say, Shou Lung is indeed in great danger," the Divine One said. "I will assemble a vast army and send it north to meet these barbarians."
Batu found the emperor's plan imprudent, for it ignored the Tuigans' mobility. Fortunately, the general was enough of a politician not to express his reservations bluntly. Instead, he politely nodded, then said, "A courageous decision. Divine One. Yet, such a vast army will need a great many supplies—supplies that must be brought from behind the lines. With the advantage of their horses, will it not be possible for the barbarians to encircle that vast army and cut its supply line?"
The Son of Heaven furrowed his brow and said, "Of course, but the barbarians are the ones who will be trapped. As soon as they appear behind our lines, we'll fall back and smash them. Surely you are familiar with the tactic, General. It is discussed in the Book of Heaven."
Batu grimaced inwardly. He had not expected the emperor to be one of those unimaginative Shou who believed the answer to every problem could be found that ancient text. The general did not allow his emotions to show, however. He concentrated upon relaxing his face so his expression would remain unreadable, then said, "Your ruse has much to recommend it—" He paused a moment to allow the emperor to appreciate the compliment "—as did the trap that Minister Kwan laid at our last battle."
The emperor did not miss the implication of Batu's statement. Scowling, the Divine One shifted forward and demanded, "If you do not like this strategy, what plan would you suggest?"
Though confident that there was only one way to defeat the barbarians, Batu hesitated, searching for a diplomatic and inoffensive way to phrase his answer.
"Come now, General," the emperor pressed, pointedly remaining seated at the edge of his throne. "What tactic do you favor?"
Batu saw that he had no choice except to speak his mind candidly. Lifting his chin, he said, "The only way to defeat the Tuigan is to fight as they do—with boldness and imagination, not with standard military tactics."
A brooding frown crossed the Divine One's mouth. "Do you mean to imply that barbarian tactics are superior to those suggested in the Book of Heaven?"
At first, the general was inclined to equivocate, to say that the Tuigan strategy was merely more appropriate to circumstances. However, noting that his feeble diplomatic skills had done him little good with the emperor, he decided to leave the flattery to the bureaucrats.
Returning the emperor's gaze, Batu said, "If the barbarians could read the Book of Heaven, they might have made the same mistakes that our northern armies did. Unfortunately, the Tuigan are uneducated men. Instead of the advice of venerable ancestors, they rely upon treacherous natures and animal cunning."
The Divine One stared at Batu with emotionless eyes. For several moments, the general stood in silence, hoping he had not angered the emperor too severely. His words had lacked the customary Shou tact, but the general believed what he said.
At length, the emperor calmly pushed himself back into his throne. He studied Batu scornfully, then said, "It disturbs me that you hold the wisdom of our ancestors in such low esteem, General. They have written many pages regarding the art of war, and their wisdom has served us well."
Batu bowed his head. "I agree, Divine One. But to the Tuigan, warfare is no art. It is a way of life. If we are to defeat them, we must understand their natures as well as we understand the Book of Heaven."
The emperor's face relaxed, concealing his emotions. "General, how much of the Book of Heaven can you recite?"
Batu flushed. "I have read it, of course. But my duties have not allowed much time for study."
The Divine One shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "There are those who claim that giving you command of the barbarian war is Shou Lung's only hope of victory. Can this be so?"
The emperor's words took Batu by surprise, and his mouth dropped open. The mere idea of being considered for such a promotion stunned him. Yet, as soon as the Divine One had mentioned the possibility, he wanted nothing more.
Finally, Batu nodded. "I am the only man that can defeat the barbarians."
The Divine One pursed his lips in cynicism. "I wish you made me more confident, General, but it doesn't matter. You are the only commander who has led so much as a third of his troops away from a battle against the Tuigan. You are hereby named a general of the second degree and given command of the Northern Marches and the Barbarian War."
Batu bowed very low, elated by the promotion and the prospect of commanding the entire campaign against the barbarians. "I will not fail Shou Lung, Divine One."
The emperor did not respond immediately. Instead, he sent a guard to summon the chamberlain, then finally turned his attention back to Batu. "If you fail, General, you will be failing me as well as Shou Lung," he said. "Remember that."
Batu did not understand the distinction. Like all Shou, he considered Shou Lung and the emperor to be one and the same. It was impossible to serve one without serving the other—or to fail one without failing the other. He could not conceive of why the emperor felt the need to point out the unity.
Before the general could puzzle out the question, the chamberlain entered the hall and walked to the center of the floor, next to Batu.
"You wished to see me?" the bureaucrat asked, bowing to the Divine One.
"Yes." The emperor nodded at Batu. "I have promoted Batu Min Ho to second-degree general in command of the Northern Marches. Please find a suitable residence for his family within the summer palace."
The chamberlain's narrow eyes popped wide open. The astonished bureaucrat hazarded a sidelong glance at the shabbily-dressed general, obviously regretting the slights he had given him earlier that day.
"Is there a problem?" the Divine One asked. "Surely, we have plenty of houses left."
The chamberlain looked back to the emperor. "No, there is no problem. I am already thinking of a home that I am sure the general will find most acceptable. I can have it ready within the hour."
"See to it," the emperor said, dismissing the bureaucrat with a flick of his wrist.
After the chamberlain left, the Divine One described in minute detail the forces that he had assembled to battle the Tuigan. Ignoring the pain in his back and legs, Batu listened attentively. He was so invigorated by the promotion that he committed every last detail to memory without effort.
After the emperor dismissed Batu, the chamberlain and a dozen guards escorted the general into the summer palace's maze of streets. As they walked through the stone-paved lanes, the chamberlain kept up a constant patter of explanation. Batu ignored most of the man's narrative. While the general had been sequestered with the emperor, night had fallen and it was now impossible to see even the compound walls of the magnificent houses the chamberlain was describing.
At last, fifteen minutes later, the chamberlain stopped at the south gate of a house. "Does this home meet your approval, General Batu?"
Batu eyed the dark outer wall and gate with a judgmental air. Though smaller than his home in Chukei, this house was constructed of better materials. Where his gate had been made of reinforced oak planks, this one was constructed of solid, black iron. The wall was red brick, instead of tamped earth covered with hardened clay.
Recalling how rude the chamberlain had been when Batu arrived at the Hall of Supreme Harmony earlier that day, the general could not resist making the bureaucrat squirm. "It's not as large as I'm accustomed to," he said softly.
The chamberlain's hopeful smile sagged into a disappointed frown. "But it's one of the largest homes in the summer palace."
The general scoffed, allowing himself to enjoy the bureaucrat's discomfort. Behind the chamberlain's narrow eyes, Batu could almost see the man trying to decide just where a second-degree general fit into the hierarchy of palace life.
Finally, the confused bureaucrat reached an uncertain conclusion. "Perhaps the Chief Secretary of the Bureau of Bells and Drums could be moved," the chamberlain suggested tentatively. "His house is not nearly as fine as this, but it is a little larger."
Batu grinned at the chamberlain's consternation and decided to continue his game. "How long would that take? I'm very tired and would like to sleep soon."
"But we c-couldn't possibly move him t-tonight!" the bureaucrat stammered. "It wouldn't be civilized!"
Deciding he had more than repaid the chamberlain's rudeness, the general said, "Then I'll make do with this house."
The chamberlain sighed in relief. "A wise choice, General. It is much better appointed than the chief secretary's." He opened the iron gate and bowed. "I took the liberty of having your family brought from Hsuang Yu Po's encampment. They await you inside."
Batu's heart leaped. "Wu and the children? Here?" He had hoped that they had come south with his father-in-law, but he had never dreamed he would see them so soon.
The chamberlain smiled. "It seemed the least I could do."
Regretting the petty vengeance he had taken upon the man, Batu bowed deeply. "May your ancestors dwell in the heavens for eternity."
"Leaving the chief secretary to his home is thanks enough," the chamberlain replied, also bowing.
As Batu walked through the gate, the bittersweet smell of persimmon blossoms greeted him. The slender silhouettes of young persimmon trees lined the walls, making it seem as if the house had been built in a park. The general was more interested in the conspicuous lack of guards than in the foliage. Perhaps the chief secretaries and mandarins did not feel the need for personal guards inside the summer palace, but the general did not share their confidence. He quickly turned back to the chamberlain, saying, "If you please, send me a detail of guards before you retire."
The bureaucrat frowned. "They haven't arrived?"
Batu studied the shadows inside the compound. "No."
As if the general's word were suspect, the chamberlain stepped through the gate and looked to both sides. "They should have been here. My apologies."
"Think nothing of it," Batu replied. Knowing that he would soon see his family, he was in a generous mood.
Promising to send the guards immediately, the chamberlain bowed and left. Normally, Batu would have had a detail of his own men guard his home, but personal troops were not allowed inside the walls of the summer palace. He had no choice but to use those provided by the emperor.
The general paused at the gate to study his new home and to prepare himself for seeing his family. Like most Shou "houses," this one was actually an arrangement of several one-story buildings inside a walled compound. Twenty feet ahead sat the main hall, a simple rectangular structure with a clay-tile roof. Its exaggerated, upturned eaves were supported by parallel rows of wooden pillars.
Though Batu could not see the building's color in the dim light, he guessed the roof would be traditional green-blue and the pillars would be some earthy red tone. The walls were no more than rice-paper panels that fit between the pillars. Inside the west end of the building, an oil lamp sat on a low table, casting a soft white glow through the translucent walls.
Panels on the southern and northern walls had been moved aside to allow the evening breeze to blow through the building. Through this opening, Batu saw the outer courtyard. It was a small, stone-paved atrium. A large, oddly shaped rock of black pumice sat in the middle of a shallow lotus pool. In Shou homes, it was customary to make the courtyard seem more natural by displaying a strangely shaped boulder.
Buildings identical to the main hall surrounded the courtyard on its other three sides. The room to the west, Batu knew, would be the kitchen, while the children would be sleeping or playing in the one to the east. The building on the other side of the courtyard would be reserved for guests.
Beyond the guest quarters would be a courtyard similar to the first, also surrounded by one-story buildings. The parents of the household would sleep in the northernmost building. The servants would occupy the halls flanking this second, private courtyard.
The house was silent, so silent that Batu could hear an infant crying down the lane, crickets chirping in the surrounding houses, and the lamp sputtering in the main hall. Listening for the sound of his children's laughter or the shuffle of Wu's slippers, Batu went to the entrance.
Inside, the silhouettes of three elegant couches sat on the eastern end of the room. On the western end, the sputtering oil lamp rested upon the edge of a stone-walled pool. Two marble dolphins rose out of the center of the basin, their mouths upturned and spouting small jets of water. Elaborately sculpted stone benches surrounded the fountain.
The hall's opulence amazed Batu, but not as much as its emptiness concerned him. Someone had occupied the building earlier that evening, or the oil lamp would not still be burning. Yet, there were no cloaks on the benches, no silk slippers left by the doors, no signs of habitation whatsoever.
Of course, there would not be, the general realized. He walked over to the pool and picked up the burning lamp, shining its yellow light into the lavish corners of the room. His family could not have arrived more than half an hour ahead of him. Undoubtedly, the children had been exhausted and Wu had put them straight to bed. She had probably left the lit oil lamp so the general could negotiate his way into their chamber without disturbing the children. The absence of servants was easily explained by the unexpected summons to the new home. No doubt, Batu thought, they would follow tomorrow with the family's personal items.
Then the silence of the house struck the general again. Even if the children and Wu were in bed, he should have heard something—chirping crickets, Wu's rhythmic breathing, his son talking in his sleep. Instead, Batu heard nothing inside the house.
He extinguished the lamp and drew his dagger. If the crickets were quiet, it was because someone was skulking about the compound. He started to call for his wife, but thought better of it and remained silent. Wu was hardly the typical helpless wife of a Shou patrician. If she were in the house with the intruder, it would be the intruder who was in danger.
After allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, Batu peered out the door leading into the first courtyard. Again, there was no sign of violence or habitation. The other halls remained dark, and the paving stones of the courtyard looked as cold and as lifeless as the ruins of some long-forgotten citadel.
Batu stayed in the hall for nearly a minute, studying the shadows in the courtyard. The general was doing more than just watching for movement and listening for sound. He was attempting to reach into the dark corners with his ki, his life energy, and feel what was there. Wu called this intangible looking ki-touch, and she had tried to teach it to Batu many times.
Unfortunately, he had not learned it very well. He was what Wu playfully called a "one way man," a man whose feelings, as well as his thoughts, were ruled by his mind. Even at his best, Batu had barely been able to feel the presence of six servants Wu had sent to hide in a dark room. Right now, he felt nothing save his own nagging fear that something terrible had happened to his family.
Taking care to remain in the shadow of the buildings' eaves, the general circled around the first courtyard. He stopped at the guest hall. When he heard nothing from inside, he slid one of the paper panels aside.
A chill crept down the back of Batu's neck, and he felt with absolute certainty that someone awaited him in the second courtyard. A mixture of emotions—determination, anger, even fear—washed over him. He saw a barely perceptible silhouette standing outlined against the opposite wall, and he wondered if he had finally experienced Wu's ki-touch.
Without taking his eyes off the silhouette, Batu silently crawled onto the guest hall's polished wooden floor. Against the dark paper wall, he could barely distinguish the shadow from the darkness surrounding it. He feared that if he turned away, the silhouette would disappear.
It was still there when he reached the other side of the building. Batu curled his knees beneath his body, then reached forward and began to slide the door panel aside. Through the narrow opening, he saw a figure dressed in a dark maitung. The man remained motionless.
In the same instant, the general heard a silk slipper whisper across the floor a few feet to his right. Realizing he was about to be ambushed, he rolled left, raising his dagger to defend himself. A sharp pain shot through his forearm, then his fingers went numb and the dagger dropped from his hand. The interior of the hall was so dark that Batu could not see his attacker.
The general rolled toward the assailant, hoping to entangle his adversary's legs. He found nothing but hard empty floor, then two feet settled behind him with feline grace. Something struck him on the shoulderblade with a blow that felt like a hammer strike. His back erupted into agony.
The blow caused terrible pain, but Batu recognized the attack's true intention and knew he had been lucky. His opponent had been trying to drive a toe under his shoulder blade, striking for a vulnerable line of nerves kung-fu artists knew as the bladder meridian. Though the general did not practice the Way of the Empty Hand, he had learned enough of the art to recognize its debilitating techniques.
Ignoring his pain, Batu pushed off the floor and sprang to his feet. His assailant had already struck twice. If the general allowed another blow to land, it might be the last he ever felt.
As Batu stood, the attacker's silhouette withdrew in a twisted, bent-knee stance characteristic of kung fu. The assailant was no taller than Batu, but slight of stature and quite small. To camouflage himself in the night, he wore a set of black pajamalike clothes known as a samfu. He had wrapped a black scarf around his head to keep his face hidden as well. So complete was the effect that Batu felt as though he were fighting a shadow.
Unexpectedly, the silhouette relaxed. Realizing this might be his only chance to survive the battle, the general reached for his sword.
With one swift motion, the shadow shifted into the white crane stance and kicked. The sharp clack of teeth cracked through Batu's head, and he felt himself lifted off his feet. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, his vision went white, and he sank into the numb world of emptiness.
Batu plummeted through the black sphere of nothingness for an eternity. I'm dead, he thought. There can be no doubt of that. If the kick didn't smash my skull, the assassin finished the job while I lay unconscious—and even if the assassin didn't kill me, my body has withered and rotted away in all the dark years I've been falling.
Batu was angry and sorrowful. The assassin, undoubtedly sent by Kwan, had robbed him of his chance to fight the illustrious battle.
The fate of his family also pressed on his mind. He feared the assassin had killed them, too. Fortunately, if they had survived, he had no need to worry. Wu knew where the gold was hidden, and she was quite capable of defending the family alone. Batu's confidence in her intelligence and competence was why he had never worried about dying in battle. No matter what happened, Wu would manage.
Batu stopped falling and came to a rest on floating black clouds. How long he lay there, he could not tell. He wondered if this eternal lonely darkness was what every man found in the afterworld, or if it was some special torment reserved for generals who died without fulfilling their destinies.
An eon later, Batu heard a shy titter. Everything remained black, but the familiar smell of a woman's perfume filled his nostrils. Soft hands stroked his chest, and he was cradled in a warm lap. With a deep sense of relief, Batu realized he had at last reached the Land of Extreme Felicity.
He was surprised to find that it was a region of sensual pleasure. Like most Shou, he had imagined it to be a place of strict bureaucratic order, where all beings abided in perfect harmony and every affair proceeded according to the perfect plan of the Celestial Emperor. It was a revelation he did not find at all disagreeable. Somehow, the thought of occupying an obscure post in the infinite bureaucracy paled beside the prospect of spending eternity cradled in the lap of a beautiful woman.
A second titter reached Batu's ears, then he felt himself being dragged across a floor—a solid floor.
"Breathe, my husband." The sultry voice belonged to his wife, Wu. He felt her strong hands massaging his chest.
"Wu?" Batu asked. Her name came out in a strangled gasp, and a wave of agony shot through his jaw. Ignoring the pain and stiffness in his face, he asked, "Are you dead, too?"
A pair of giggles sounded from Batu's feet.
"No, husband. Neither are you."
Batu frowned, then shook his head. The motion caused his face to ache from the nose down, and the general knew that his spirit remained attached to his body. He opened his eyes, then slowly made out his wife's face. She was cradling his head in her lap. Her silky hair hung draped over her shoulder in a long loose tail, and the delicate features of her slender face were tense with apprehension. She wore a black samfu, and a black scarf was wrapped around her throat.
"The assassin—you?" he asked.
Before Wu could respond, another pair of giggles came from Batu's feet. The general looked down and saw his two children kneeling there. "How dare you laugh at your father!" he said harshly. "Begone!"
Both Ji and Yo scrambled to their feet, but before they turned to leave, Batu said, "Wait—I guess your father looks silly, doesn't he? Come here and give me my hug."
In the dim light, Batu could see his children's broad grins, but that was all. They rushed to his side—the five-year-old boy, Ji, to the left, and the four-year-old girl, Yo, to the right.
As they embraced him, they were far from careful to avoid the bruises their mother had just inflicted, but Batu did not care. He simply did not feel the pain.
After a moment, the children stood. Wu ordered them to find their grandfather and have him put them to bed. Batu tried to free himself from Wu's grasp, but found his body too sore to move.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"Angry goose nerve kick," she replied. "You were reaching for your sword. My only other choice was to break your arm."
Batu touched his sorest spot, the soft pit just beneath the cleft of his chin. A fresh wave of agony rolled through his entire body. "How long am I going to feel like this?"
"No more than an hour," Wu replied. "I am truly sorry. In the dark, all I could see was your chia." She tugged at his tattered armor. "It was so shabby that I thought you were an intruder."
Batu chuckled. "I should have been so lucky. You would have killed an intruder."
At that moment, a tall man carrying a lit lamp entered the hall. "I put the children in the next hall," he said.
The man's long, graying hair was tied in the warrior's topknot, and he wore the brocaded hai-waitao of a Shou nobleman. When the tall man saw that Batu was awake, he stopped and bowed. As always, the nobleman's firm face was unreadable.
Batu tried to stand and found it too difficult. He merely inclined his head for a long moment. "Tzu Hsuang, please forgive me for not rising. I fear your daughter has incapacitated me."
Hsuang acknowledged Batu's apology with a stiff nod, then said, "Yes, so I see. If the damage is permanent, perhaps we should make her the General of the Northern Marches."
His father-in-law's sarcasm was not lost on Batu. Hsuang, the general suspected, had been the silhouette that served to bait Wu's trap. Had Batu fallen for such a textbook ambush on the battlefield, he would have resigned his commission out of shame. "The trap was well laid," Batu acknowledged. "What, besides your modest son-in-law, were you trying to capture?"
"Vagabonds," Wu responded, using the Shou slang for hired assassins.
Placing the lamp on a low table, Tzu Hsuang seated himself on a couch and continued the explanation. "This afternoon, a friend's messenger arrived at my camp to report rumors that you would soon be appointed General of the Northern Marches," Hsuang said. "Needless to say, we were skeptical."
"You were skeptical," Wu corrected. "At least until the imperial chamberlain's assistant arrived."
Hsuang ignored his daughter's admonishment. "He offered to escort us to your new home. Before we could leave, however, another messenger arrived. This one was from Ju-Hai," the noblemen said. Using the Minister of State's given name was pretentious, but, when it came to politics, Wu's father was given to affectation. "The minister wished to warn us that Kwan is jealous of your favor with the emperor."
"When we arrived, the house was guarded by Kwan's troops," Wu said, slowly stroking Batu's temples.
"I sent them away immediately," Hsuang recounted, pointing an accusing finger at Batu. "Then you came sneaking in here like a murderer."
"A murderer!" Batu snapped. "This is my house. Where did you expect me to sleep?"
"We did not expect you back so soon, my love," Wu said. She moved her fingers to the sides of Batu's neck and began rubbing it gently. "The messengers said you had been sequestered with the emperor all afternoon, and that you might be with him all night."
Tzu Hsuang regarded Batu with an appraising eye, then asked, "Exactly what passed between you and the Divine One? The last battlefield report said you had lost your army and were retreating before the barbarians."
"Before that, we had already given you up for dead," Wu added. "Your letter from the sorghum field sounded as though the enemy had his sword to your throat."
"I turned his blade," Batu said, irritated. Tzu Hsuang's observation concerning the loss of his army had pricked the general's ego, as he was sure Hsuang had intended. Though the general and his father-in-law enjoyed cordial relations, Hsuang rarely missed an opportunity to abuse Batu's pride. The aging nobleman would never quite forgive his son-in-law for stealing Wu away from the Hsuang family.
As Tzu Hsuang's only legitimate child, Wu had rarely been refused anything during her early years. Her father had afforded her many privileges usually reserved for noblemen's sons. Sitting at her father's knee, Wu had learned to administer accounts and issue orders with a commanding presence. Fascinated by the military, she had also spent much of her time following the commanders of her father's army. As a result, she had learned the basics of military doctrine, how to handle a variety of weapons, and had begun her study of kung fu.
Unfortunately for Hsuang, his early indulgence resulted in a defiant daughter, at least according to the standards of Shou nobility. By the time a young officer named Batu Min Ho had come to her attention, Wu had become an independent and headstrong young lady. She had also blossomed into a woman of incredible beauty. Despite their great difference in social standing, Batu had set his heart on earning Wu's love.
As it turned out, winning her heart had been the easiest part of the conflict that followed. Batu's rugged features, forthright manner, and determined courtship had appealed to Wu, so she had found many pretexts to enjoy his company. Eventually, she had fallen as deeply in love with the young officer as he had with her.
However, as a man of high standing, Hsuang had possessed no desire to wed his daughter to the son of a minor landowner, especially one only three generations removed from barbarian ancestors. The lord had forbidden his daughter from seeing Batu, then tried to arrange several marriages more appropriate to her station. Each time, Wu had chased away the suitor with her stubborn, disrespectful manners. The animosity between the nobleman and his daughter had eventually become more than Hsuang could bear. The lord had consented to the marriage, but only if Batu Min Ho could elevate himself to the rank of general.
Both Batu and Wu had soon realized that Hsuang was stalling, hoping Wu would outgrow what he considered an infatuation with a low-born soldier. However, the lord had underestimated the young officer's determination and his daughter's love. Batu had left Hsuang's private army and taken a commission in the imperial military. Fifteen years later, he had become one of the empire's youngest generals.
For her part, Wu had resisted her father's repeated attempts to arrange alternative marriages. As a man of his word, Tzu Hsuang had been forced to allow the wedding when Batu returned wearing the armor of a Shou general.
The young general had expected relations with Hsuang to remain cold. To his surprise, the noble had treated him with a grudging respect after the marriage. The lord had made it clear that he would never be happy Wu had married outside of the aristocracy, but Hsuang had also expressed his admiration for the young man's determination in winning her.
Wu stopped stroking Batu's neck. He was surprised to find that the pain had lessened, though he still felt less than steady. "How long before I can return home with the children?" she asked, helping Batu to his feet.
Tzu Hsuang answered for his wobbly-kneed son-in-law, "Your home is now with the emperor's court. Daughter."
Despite the lord's disgust with Batu's present condition, Hsuang's voice was proud.
"My home is in Chukei," Wu answered, guiding her husband toward the couch. "Even my husband's love of war cannot change that."
In any other family, her retort would have been seen as surprisingly disrespectful. Hsuang, however, had long ago stopped trying to impose any sense of propriety upon his stubborn daughter.
Instead, he looked to Batu and asked, "Can't you control your wife's tongue?"
"No better than you can control your daughter's," Batu replied, his lips upturned in a faintly roguish smile.
Wu withdrew her support and dropped the general roughly onto the couch. "You'd both do well to remember that the children and I are not chattel."
The sharpness of his wife's tone surprised Batu, and he realized that she was deeply concerned over something she had not yet discussed. "The barbarians may cut Chukei off from the rest of Shou Lung," he said, trying to find a comfortable position for his sore body. "You'll be more secure with the emperor until the danger passes."
Wu met Batu's gaze with the hard eyes of a dragon. "Then end this war quickly, my husband. Our children will never be safe in the emperor's court, and it is selfish to put them in so much danger."
Tzu Hsuang frowned. "Don't be absurd, Wu. I'll leave my steward to look after your safety, but there is no need to worry. The barbarians will never reach the summer palace."
"I am not concerned about barbarians," she retorted, glancing toward the hall where the children slept.
When her father's and husband's faces remained blank, Wu said, "Don't you see? We are hostages. If Batu fails, or even if he offends the wrong person one time too many, we will certainly die."

6
The Magnificent Army
The wind came from the west, and it was as arid and as dusty as the barren plains of Chukei. It blew steadily, leaving Batu's face dry and gritty.
He stood in a meadow several miles from Tai Tung. No plaza in the city could hold all the armies the emperor had summoned, so Batu had assembled them here. More than one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers blanketed the hills surrounding the field. Coming from as far south as the cities of Seikung and Sental, the pengs were from five provinces and the private armies of twenty-five nobles.
Save for the unit colors on their armor trim, the men of the provincial forces were attired and equipped similarly. Most pengs wore leather chous on their heads and lun'kia corselets, with water-buffalo hide girdles to protect their lower abdomens. They carried crossbows and chiens for weapons.
The only variations occurred in the small units of heavy infantry and archers. The heavy infantrymen carried pao shous, twelve-foot-long glaives with double-pointed blades, and for close combat, short swords called pai p'is. For protection, they wore complete suits of lamellar armor made of hundreds of overlapping steel plates. The archers were equipped like those Batu had commanded in the Army of Chukei, with wooden shields, lun'kia armor, double-edged swords, longbows, and forty bamboo arrows each.
Each private army was armored and equipped according to the tastes and wealth of its lord. Some consisted primarily of archers, with small contingents of heavy infantry to protect their flanks. Other armies were organized for versatility and were almost entirely light infantrymen armed with crossbows and chiens. One army of five hundred men was even composed entirely of heavy cavalry. Each rider wore a fine suit of lamellar armor and carried a sword and a heavy, two-pronged lance called a ko.
Despite their differences in appearance and organization, all the armies exhibited the legendary Shou bearing. So great was their discipline that every soldier stood at strict attention. Batu did not hear a single peng talking. As he studied the vast assemblage of soldiers, the second-degree general thought that they did not resemble a gathering of men so much as the bare trunks of a crowded, but silent and stark, forest.
Below the hills, the meadow itself was nearly empty. Batu's new purple pavilion sat in the middle of the dry field. One hundred feet away, the Rites Section of the Palace Bureau had built an earthen pyramid. It was from the top of the pyramid that the Divine One would ask the spirits to bless the army.
Batu's sole companion, a beardless Shou with his right arm bound in a sling, said, "It is a magnificent army, sir."
"Yes, Pe," Batu replied. "It is the most magnificent army Shou Lung has ever seen."
Batu was glad to have his adjutant back, even if the boy's sword arm was all but useless. The day after his promotion to commander of the Northern Marches, the general had sent a chariot officer north to retrieve his wounded aide. Under the care of the emperor's healers, the young adjutant had accomplished a remarkable recovery. Though the general knew Pe was far from fully recovered, the boy did not need to be asked twice to return to battle. There would be little time to train a new adjutant, and the general knew it.
"Perhaps we have a name for your troops now," Pe said. "The Most Magnificent Army."
Batu grinned at the boy's enthusiasm, then cast an eye toward the heavens. The sky was vivid blue and the morning sun brilliant white.
"Don't you think Huan-Ti would take offense at our presumption?" Batu asked, referring to the Shou god of war.
Pe's face grew concerned. The youthful adjutant was an ardent worshiper of all the gods, especially the Divine General. The thought of angering a deity as important as Huan-Ti was enough to make Pe pause. "Of course," he said, casting an apologetic eye skyward, "I meant to say the Most Magnificent Army of Shou Lung."
Batu chuckled at the tactful clarification, but did not take his eyes off the clear sky. Like any good commander, he was always concerned with the welfare of those serving him. It had occurred to him earlier that the simple act of standing hour after hour might exhaust such a vast army. He had not yet begun briefing his subordinate commanders, and the emperor had not even arrived from the summer palace. It could easily be six hours before the armies were dismissed.
Using his loudest voice, Batu addressed the thirty armies surrounding the meadow. "Relax. Be seated!" he called. Though he knew his voice would not carry to the edges of the camp, he expected his order to be relayed by the officers.
Tens of thousands of pengs began to shift their weight, but a murmur ran round the valley as their superiors quickly recalled them to attention. Even after Batu had issued the command a second time, the entire force remained at attention.
His brow raised in disbelief and shock, Pe suggested, "Perhaps they didn't hear the order clearly."
Batu shook his head. "The wind's not that loud. They heard it," he said. "The order didn't come from their commanders."
"You're the general of the Northern Marches," Pe said scornfully. "You command these armies now."
"Yes, I do," Batu replied, studying the assemblage. "Unfortunately, it appears you and I are the only ones who know that."
"Shall I have their generals send word to be seated?" Pe asked.
After running his hard eyes over the hills for several moments, Batu said, "No. Let them stand." He turned and entered his campaign tent, where the lord or commanding officer of each of the thirty armies awaited him.
The smell of eel's oil, used to protect metal armor and weapons from rust, permeated the pavilion. Batu's skin prickled with a palpable sense of eagerness, and the room buzzed with conversations conducted in pretentious, subdued tones.
The nobles stood in scattered circles of four or five, grouped according to their shifting alliances. Ranging in age from less than thirty to over sixty, they all wore opulent suits of armor. Each lord was accompanied by an aide whose only function appeared to be holding his master's plumed helmet.
The five generals commanding the provincial armies had gathered in one corner. Uniformly near the age of sixty, the commanders were withdrawn and obviously annoyed by the ostentation and excitement of the nobles. The five men wore the traditional uniforms of first-degree generals: vermilion corselets of k'ai, with gilded girdles. Unlike the nobles, they were not accompanied by aides. Beneath their arms, they held their own helmets, simple conical affairs topped by vermilion plumes. Batu recognized only one of the provincial generals, a stocky man named Kei Bot Li. He remembered Kei Bot as an overly ambitious but competent officer.
The scabbards of both generals and nobles were empty. Without exception, the men in the tent were hoping for a few words with the emperor after he blessed the army. Anyone carrying a weapon would not be allowed within a hundred feet of the Divine One, and they all knew it.
In the corner opposite the provincial generals stood Tzu Hsuang and a handful of lesser nobles with whom he had strong political alliances. Hsuang's elaborate plate armor encased his body like an oversized, enamelled tortoise shell.
Aside from Tzu Hsuang and Kei Bot Li, the only other person Batu recognized was Minister Kwan. The minister sat behind the table at the head of the tent, openly asserting his position as commander of all Shou Lung's armies. A dozen frowning nobles surrounded the ancient mandarin, intently listening to the old man pontificate. Kwan wore a suit of battle armor that would have weighed heavily on the brittle bones of any other old man. The suit was similar to that worn by the provincial generals, save that Kwan's corselet and helmet plume were blue, reflecting his exalted rank.
In contrast to the pretentious displays of the other commanders, Batu wore only his new chia. His one concession to ostentation was that it was trimmed in purple, the color of a second-degree general. Because of his simple dress, perhaps, Batu's entrance remained largely unacknowledged—save by his father-in-law.
Tzu Hsuang ended his conversation and bowed, and the nobles with whom he had been speaking did likewise. The other lords simply glanced at Batu, then returned to their conversations. The provincial generals regarded him with expressions ranging from open contempt to suspicious scrutiny.
"This is disrespectful!" Pe said, stepping forward and speaking loud enough to be overheard.
"Yes, it is," Batu observed evenly. He was more intrigued by the slights than angered by them. The general from Chukei had not expected his subcommanders to accept his authority with eagerness, but neither had he expected them to treat him with open contempt. Batu suspected that Kwan's presence accounted for their insolence. By attending the war council, the minister was making it clear that he had no confidence in his subordinate.
Batu did not care what Kwan thought of him, but he knew that the rivalry between him and the minister would continue to undermine his authority. It was a problem he would have to address before he could command with full effectiveness. Unfortunately, now was not the time or place. At least in name, Kwan was still his superior. If Batu expected his officers to treat him with respect, he would have to do the same for the Minister of War.
After instructing Pe to stay at the entrance, Batu strode purposefully to the front of the tent. There, he bowed to Kwan and said, "I did not expect to see you here, Minister."
Kwan's shriveled mouth contorted into a malevolent sneer. "Is a third-degree general no longer welcome at his subordinate's war council?"
Behind Batu, a chorus of whispers rustled through the tent. The general wanted to ask if ruining him was worth seeing Shou Lung overrun by barbarians, but he knew the question would accomplish nothing. Instead, after a lengthy pause, he said, "My commander is always welcome in my tent, Minister."
A contrived smile slowly creased Kwan's sagging lips. "I'm glad we agree on that much."
Batu shifted his gaze to the nobles gathered around the old man. "If you will return to your seats, we will begin this meeting."
The nobles glanced at the minister for permission.
"Now!" Batu snapped, exerting his authority over the lords. If he had to honor Kwan's authority, it was equally true that his subordinates had to honor his. The sooner he made that fact clear, the better.
Kwan nodded to the nobles, and they walked around the table. As the general waited for them to take their positions with the other lords, a muffled rattle sounded from the surrounding hills. The lords murmured in concerned tones and looked toward the exit.
Batu nodded at Pe, and the young officer stepped outside. An instant later, he returned and bowed very low. "My lords and generals, the emperor approaches."
Pe quickly retreated out of the doorway as the lords filed toward the exit. Only the five provincial generals waited for the proper dismissal, and then left only after receiving permission from both the general and the minister.
Moments later, Batu found himself alone with Kwan. After staring at the old man for a long moment, the general said, "Isn't defeating the barbarians more important than our political disputes? How far do you intend to carry this?"
Kwan stood and, never taking his eyes off Batu, shuffled around the table. "Carry what?" he asked, turning toward the door. "Come, we mustn't keep the emperor waiting."
The minister's disavowal of their rivalry angered Batu as much as the conflict itself, but the only thing he could do about it was swallow his ire and do as ordered. When he followed Kwan out of the tent, he saw that all thirty armies had fallen to their knees and were pressing their foreheads to the ground in symbolic submission to the emperor. The thirty commanders had gathered in front of the earthen pyramid. They were kneeling, but had not yet touched their foreheads to the ground in a kowtow.
Kwan's aide guided him to the base of the pyramid, where, as a member of the Mandarinate, the minister would kneel during the ceremony. Batu went to his own place, twenty feet away from the earthen mound. He kneeled at the front of the thirty commanders.
One thousand soldiers wearing the yellow dragon-scale armor of the emperor's elite guard marched down the eastern hill. The bodyguard, normally an impressive sight, seemed no more than a few drops in the sea of fighting men assembled in the shallow valley. The mandarins, each riding in a covered sedan chair carried by four bearers, followed the imperial guards. Behind the mandarins came the emperor's palanquin, a huge yellow affair carried by sixteen men. Then, also in sedan chairs, came a series of subministers, high-ranking consorts, imperial relatives, and influential eunuchs. Finally, another thousand guards brought up the procession's rear.
The only sounds in the valley were the rhythmic tramp of the imperial bodyguards and the gasping of the wind. When the first guards reached the center of the meadow, they formed a ring around the kowtowing nobles, Batu's tent, and the pyramid. A few moments later, the first sedans arrived and the mandarins, dressed in white ceremonial robes, climbed out of their chairs. As they went to kneel in their places, two of the ministers, Ju-Hai Chou and Ting Mei Wan, inclined their heads in greeting to Batu.
Next, the emperor's palanquin stopped at the steps, but the Divine One did not show himself. The doors remained shut until the last relative kneeled behind the pyramid and the last member of the guard took his place in the defensive ring.
Then, without further ceremony, the Lord of Imperial Sacrifices opened the palanquin door. The Divine One stepped out. He wore a robe of gold cloth and a jade crown carved into a likeness of the sacred sky dragon. Hundreds of mystic symbols, representing all the important nature spirits, had been sewn into his cloak with gold and silver thread.
As the emperor ascended the pyramid, he looked pale and tired. Batu did not find his appearance surprising. To purify himself for this ceremony, the emperor had gone without food or sleep for three days. According to the Book of Heaven, the spirits perceived the resulting state of exhaustion as a symbol of submission. Therefore, they were more likely to look favorably upon the Divine One's request. To Batu, who was not a great believer in either the celestial bureaucracy or the mystic spirits, such privations seemed an unnecessary and risky taxation on the Son of Heaven's health.
At the top of the pyramid, the emperor stopped and glanced down at Batu, then at each of the other commanders, and finally at the Mandarinate. At this signal, they all touched their foreheads to the scratchy grass. Batu was unhappy to hear several nobles grunt with the simple effort of lowering their heads to the ground. More often than not, the armies of fat commanders were filled with chubby, unskilled soldiers.
The Divine One did not take time to speak any words of inspiration. Even if the soldiers could have heard him, it was not for him to inspire them. That duty fell solely on the shoulders of their commanders. The emperor was here for one reason only: to ask for supernatural cooperation and aid.
Accordingly, when he raised his arms and looked toward the sky, he spoke in the throaty, mystic language of the ancient shamans. Of all the tens-of-thousands of men assembled in the valley, not more than ten understood his words.
As the Divine One's mystic entreaty droned on, Batu's thoughts turned to his conflict with Kwan. He wondered if all his preparations were for naught. The general felt angry at the thought of the old man interfering with the intricate plan he had developed over the last two weeks. The sound of Batu's grinding teeth was soon louder inside his head than the steady drone of the emperor's voice.
Realizing that where there was one Tuigan spy, there were bound to be more, Batu had gone to great lengths to keep his preparations secret. In fact, only he, Wu, and Tzu Hsuang knew exactly how he intended to defeat the barbarians. Batu had even kept his plans secret from the Divine One, for his father-in-law had hinted that a thousand ears heard what was whispered to the emperor.
It had not been easy to finalize the preparations without revealing his intentions, but Ju-Hai Chou had done a great deal to help. Ju-Hai had convinced the Ministry of Magic to send a hundred wizards to support the armies. The High Minister had even lent Batu the Mirror of Shao, a huge looking glass that allowed men to communicate over great distances. At Batu's request, Ju-Hai had assembled a fleet of five hundred merchant junks. With Ting Mei Wan's help, the minister had also fulfilled another of Batu's requests, arranging the evacuation of an entire riverfront village. In all cases, Ju-Hai had honored Batu's desire to keep the reason for his strange preparations secret.
Now, just a week after being charged with winning the Barbarian War, everything Batu needed was in place—as long as Kwan stayed out of the way, and provided the barbarians did not alter their tactics.
Batu was not confident that he could handle Kwan, but he felt sure the barbarians would not change strategies. According to the field dispatches, his scorched-earth policy had slowed the Tuigan advance to a crawl. Their foraging parties were being forced to search for food hundreds of miles from the front lines.
Despite the general's satisfaction with the course of the war, the week had not been entirely a good one. Batu had spent most of his time making plans, pleading for blind cooperation, and speaking with exhausted riders. There had been little opportunity for leisure. When he did have a moment for his family, Ji and Yo had seemed sad and frightened. His children's misery had almost been enough to make him lament the war.
Batu was so absorbed with his thoughts that he did not realize the emperor had finished the supplication until the mandarins began to rise. He barely managed to return to his feet in time to hide his inattentiveness. His subcommanders stood next, then the thirty armies slowly returned to their feet and waited at strict attention.
The Divine One paused to look over the vast assembly of troops. Then, speaking to the Mandarinate, he said, "I have asked the spirits for their blessing, and here is what they said: 'Emperor Kai Chin, your soldiers have the superior weapons of Shou Lung, the courage of the heavens, and the leadership of a wise general. The barbarians have only the speed of starving horses and boldness born of ignorance. Why do you need our blessing?' "
The Divine One paused and ran his gaze over the commanders of the thirty armies. Finally, he continued. "Here is how I answered: 'Great Ones, we know our armies can defeat the enemy horde. We ask your blessing because no arrow can pierce a spirit's armor, no hero can outrun the wind, and no general can match the wisdom of the universe. What I ask is that you support us with favorable conditions, so that we may catch our enemy and halt his vile invasion.'"
The emperor paused long enough to wet his lips. "Here is what they answered: 'Then you shall have our favor, Kai Chin, for the enemy is an abomination to nature. We would like your armies to destroy this thing, for our sakes as well as yours. If it rains and slows the advance of your armies, do not worry. It will rain on the enemy twice as much. If the sun beats down upon your heads and parches your throats, it will beat down on the enemy twice as hard, driving the moisture from his body. If the winds blow dirt in your faces, then the enemy will lose his way in a whirlwind of dust.' "
The emperor stopped again and looked from the commanders to the soldiers on the hill. Finally, he spoke again, this time addressing the troops. "The spirits have spoken, my pengs. We cannot lose!"
The soldiers who could hear, those at the bottom of the hills, raised their weapons and gave a tremendous yell. Then they cheered again, and this time their fellows higher on the hill joined in. By the third cheer, their voices rolled over the meadow like thunderclaps. The emperor turned slowly, studying each of the thirty armies in turn.
With each cheer, Batu felt something stir deep within his chest. He did not know whether it was the vibration of one hundred and fifty thousand voices, his own excitement, or the mystic touch of a nature spirit. He only knew that, for the first time since hearing about the Tuigan invasion, he felt Shou Lung could not lose the war. He turned and raised his right arm, leading the other army commanders as they, too, joined in the cheering.
The roar continued for nearly ten minutes, until Batu's ears rang from the din and his throat ached from yelling. Finally, the emperor descended from the pyramid. The valley immediately fell as silent as it had been when the imperial procession had arrived.
Kwan Chan Sen met the emperor at the base of the steps. "A marvelous address, Divine One," the minister said, bowing low. "General Batu has not yet finished his strategy session. May I invite you and the mandarins to attend?"
The emperor glanced at Batu, who remained standing at strict attention in front of the army commanders. "Yes," the Son of Heaven said, "I think I would like that."
As the Divine One and the mandarins turned toward the command tent, Batu frowned. With spies loose in the summer palace, he had no wish to discuss strategy in front of the mandarins. Besides, he suspected Kwan's invitation was simply another maneuver in the minister's campaign to discredit him.

After the Son of Heaven entered the tent, Batu and the other commanders quickly followed. Kwan had arranged things so the emperor and mandarins were seated at the table in front, leaving no room for Batu. The intention, of course, was to reinforce the young general's position as Kwan's subordinate.
As Batu walked forward to stand at the table, the emperor's face remained impassive, as the general knew it would for the rest of the meeting. During the past week, he had seen enough to know that the Divine One held himself above the petty politics of high bureaucracy.
With the emperor present, the army commanders filed into the tent quickly and silently. It only took a few minutes before the meeting began.
Kwan seized the initiative, placing his arms on the table and saying, "Here we are, General Batu. What do you intend to do with us?"
Batu bit back his anger and turned to address his subordinates, the army commanders. "Our enemies move with the speed of the wind and the precision of the stars," he said. "They are barbarians, but they are cunning and sophisticated barbarians who employ all the war tactics described in the Book of Heaven, and many that are not. If we are to defeat these invaders, we must never underestimate them."
Batu paused, and Kwan took the opening to speak again. "Surely your plan consists of more than not underestimating the enemy."
The general from Chukei looked over his shoulder at Kwan. "It does," he confirmed without elaborating. Almost certainly, anything he said with the mandarins present would find its way to the ears of spies.
"Would you be so kind as to explain?" Kwan pressed, a faint sneer on his wrinkled lips.
The young general frowned, trying to think of a way to refuse without insulting the mandarins. He glanced at Ju-Hai Chou for help. The Minister of State's face betrayed no hint of sympathy, and Batu realized that Ju-Hai expected him to work his own way out of this.
Finally, Batu decided to reveal a partial truth. He said, "The fifty thousand men in the noble armies will ride north-west, toward Yenching, to engage the barbarians."
He purposefully did not mention that Tzu Hsuang would lead that force. The nobles were a proud and contentious lot. They would not accept the command of Batu's father-in-law until the young general had firmly established his own authority.
Fortunately, Kwan pressed along another line. "What is your intention for the provincial armies?" the old man asked, his milky eyes fixed on Batu's face.
"They will go due west to secure Shou Kuan," Batu said. He did not enjoy lying in the Divine One's presence, but he could not reveal his true intention.
As it was, an astonished murmur rustled through the tent. Batu's plan ignored one of the most basic dictums in the Book of Heaven: Never split forces in the face of the enemy.
The murmur grew louder, and Kwan could not suppress a grin. The minister's smile gave Batu a clue as to what the old man was doing. The minister had certainly heard about the secrecy with which Batu had gone about his preparations. The old man must have suspected that the younger general would refuse to divulge his entire strategy in front of so many people. Without all the details, any plan could appear poorly conceived.
Batu remembered one of Sin Kow's maxims: "When one discovers a trap, it is not enough to disarm it. One must turn the trap against the man who created it." The young general decided to reverse his strategy and play along with the minister.
After allowing Batu's subcommanders to murmur in astonishment for several seconds, Kwan raised his voice loud enough to be heard. "So, you're splitting the army?"
"Yes," Batu replied, doing his best to feign ignorance.
"What's wrong with that?"
As he had expected, the tent erupted into a chorus of urgent whispers. Kwan's wrinkled face settled into a smirk of satisfaction, but the minister carefully avoided doing anything that the emperor might construe as sowing discontent. If Batu was going to draw the old man into a foolish mistake, he knew he had to provide more bait.
The young general added, "Under Tzu Hsuang's leadership, the noble armies—"
Batu needed to say no more. Twenty nobles jumped to their feet, voicing indignation and outrage. The five provincial generals moved toward Kwan, all expressing reservations about Batu's experience.
Beaming with satisfaction, Kwan allowed the pandemonium to continue for several moments. Feigning a look of confusion and pain, Batu scanned the room as though searching for a friend. His only solid ally, Tzu Hsuang, was frowning, and the emperor's weary face betrayed doubt about choosing Batu to lead the war.
Finally, Kwan moved in for the kill. Rising to his feet, he lifted his hands for silence. The room slowly fell quiet, and, with a triumphant expression, the old man addressed Batu. "General, the plan you have outlined ignores every dictum of basic strategy. Surely, you can't be serious."
Doing his best to appear unsure of himself, Batu glanced from Kwan to his father-in-law to the emperor, then back to the old minister. As if trying to hedge, he said, "Admittedly, I haven't worked out all the details, but this is my general plan. It's the best I can do."
A chorus of angry grumbles ran through the tent. Kwan closed his eyes and shook his head. After a lengthy pause, the minister again motioned the crowd into silence. With an air of extreme reluctance, the old man turned to the emperor. "Divine One, it is with the greatest reluctance that I must insist General Batu be replaced with a more competent officer."
Several nobles voiced their agreement.
The Divine One frowned, then looked at Batu with an expression that seemed half confusion and half anger. The young general returned the appraising look with as steady a gaze as he could summon. His gambit had worked. He had forced Kwan into asking the emperor to choose between them. Now, he could only hope the Son of Heaven would choose correctly.
Help came from an unexpected corner. Ju-Hai Chou turned toward the emperor. "Divine One, if I may speak?"
The Son of Heaven nodded. "We wish you would."
"As you know, I am not a military man. Still, I think there is more to General Batu's plan than is apparent at first glance." He cast an evil eye toward Kwan, who suddenly frowned in concern.
The emperor nodded and turned a thoughtful gaze to Batu, then to Kwan, and finally back to Ju-Hai. "As you say, you are not a military man, First Left Grand Councilor, but we thank you for your opinion."
Kwan smiled at the emperor's words, confident that the Divine One had disregarded Ju-Hai's endorsement.
After another moment's thought, the Divine One addressed Kwan. "Minister, am I to take it that as General Batu's superior, you do not approve of his plan?"
The old man nodded. "It would be a disaster for Shou Lung. The barbarians—"
"If you disapprove of General Batu's plan," the emperor interrupted, his face impassive and his voice even, "then you disapprove of my plan."
Kwan's face withered into a shriveled mask of astonishment. "But—"
The emperor raised his hand up for silence. "We have seen how well you understand the barbarians, Minister Kwan. Let us give General Batu his opportunity. Since you do not approve of my choice in generals, I relieve you of responsibility for it. As General of the Northern Marches, Batu Min Ho now reports directly to me."
Once again, the tent broke into astonished gasps and whispered comments. Kwan rose to his feet. "I beg you to reconsider," he gasped. "This is a grave—"
"That is enough, Kwan Chan!" the emperor said, pointedly turning his head away.
The tent immediately fell silent. The old mandarin closed his mouth and bowed as deeply as his ancient bones would allow. All eyes turned toward Batu, anxiously awaiting the next development.
Sensing that it was time to diffuse the situation, the young general simply bowed to the emperor. "Perhaps that is for the best, Divine One. Minister Kwan is certainly very experienced, but experience will prove of little use against these barbarians."
Kwan stared at Batu with open hatred.
"No doubt," the emperor observed, looking from the young general's face to the other men in tent. "Now, if the mandarins and your officers will excuse us for a few moments, I would like to speak with you privately."
Batu quickly nodded his dismissal to his subordinates, and they filed out of the tent. A few minutes later, he and the Divine One were alone.
The Son of Heaven studied the general for several moments. Finally, he said, "You are a gracious winner, General."
"There seemed no point in pressing the issue."
"A wise decision," the Divine One replied, his eyes suddenly growing cold. "I do not like being manipulated, General. Don't do it again."
Batu kneeled. "I beg your forgiveness," he said. "If I am going to win this war, I must have full command of my troops."
"I hope you are satisfied."
Remembering Kwan's hateful stare of a few minutes earlier, Batu dared to look up. "Not entirely, Son of Heaven."
The Divine One raised an eyebrow. "What else do you wish?"
"At the moment, the only thing that should concern a soldier in my position is his duty," Batu said.
"Yes?"
The general took a deep breath, then said, "I now have a powerful enemy, and I am forced to leave my family alone and unprotected—"
"Do not offend my hospitality by suggesting harm could come to them inside the summer palace." The emperor's reply was controlled and even, but his brow betrayed his irritation. "As you say" the Divine One continued, "the only thing that should concern you is your duty."
Without waiting for a response, the emperor rose. "Now that politics are no longer a consideration, I leave you to the business of war. Do not think of anything else."
Batu touched his forehead to the ground. "I will obey."
"Of course you will," the emperor said. Without giving Batu permission to rise, the Divine One stepped around the table and left the pavilion. The General of the Northern Marches did not move.
Finally, he heard the emperor's procession leave and dared to stand. When he went to the pavilion door, he found Pe and his subordinates waiting.
"What now?" the adjutant asked, bowing.
"We march," Batu replied, scanning the faces of his subordinates.
This time, no one questioned his orders.

7
The River Fleet
After the emperor left, Batu placed all twenty-five of the noble armies under Tzu Hsuang's command. He also entrusted the Mirror of Shao, along with the wagon required to carry the Ministry of Magic's bulky artifact, to his father-in-law. A few of Kwan's lords grumbled about nepotism, but the general didn't care. His father-in-law was the only noble with whom he had more than a passing acquaintance, and he needed someone he trusted in command of the contentious lords.
Tzu Hsuang took his forces and marched to the river docks in Tai Tung, where he loaded his fifty thousand pengs aboard a fleet of barges assembled for that purpose. Hsuang's orders were to sail up the Hungtze as far as the river would carry him, then march west toward the enemy. If the war proceeded according to Batu's plan, Hsuang and the nobles would engage the barbarians just west of Shou Kuan.
Batu took the five provincial armies and went north along the Spice Road. As the general had feared earlier that morning, the afternoon quickly turned hot and dusty. The men, unaccustomed to grueling marches, tired quickly. More than a few fell victim to heat exhaustion.
Nevertheless, Batu did not relax the pace, even when evening fell. Instead, to the unspoken surprise of his stoic subordinates, he continued marching. The general did not call a halt until midnight, when his five armies reached a tiny backwater village that had been mysteriously deserted. It was Chang Tu, the town that he had asked Ju-Hai to evacuate. The hamlet was also where he had ordered his fleet of cargo junks to gather.
As soon as he arrived, Batu ordered the first units onto the junks, issuing strict instructions for all pengs to stay in the cargo holds. Under no circumstance was any soldier to appear on deck, where he would be visible to river traffic or bystanders on the shore.
He could have easily loaded the entire army in a day or two. Instead, Batu took his time, allowing only two or three boats to leave the village every hour. The general felt the extra time was well spent. His intention was to camouflage his troop movements as merchant traffic, hoping that any Tuigan spies in the area would lose track of his army.
Eight days later, Batu and Pe boarded the last junk with the last unit. The oarsmen pulled the little ship into the current, and it started down the Ching Tung River. Any doubts that Batu had about this phase of his plan quickly disappeared. On the exterior, even he could not differentiate his troop ships from the thousands of cargo junks already traveling Shou Lung's river systems. More important, he did not think the addition of five hundred ships over the course of a week would seem remarkable to river watchers, especially considering the boost in commercial activity to be expected when a country mobilized for war.
It took four days for the general's junk to reach the mouth of the slow-moving river, only half the time it had taken to load the fleet. The junk slipped past the city of Kirin at dusk, then entered the dark, rolling waters of the Celestial Sea and turned north toward the flotilla's rendezvous point. Batu's stomach grew queasy once they hit the open sea and, within thirty minutes, he wished that he had never set foot on a ship deck.
Six days later, the general finally felt well enough to leave his bunk. He told Pe to summon his subordinates, then dressed and went up on deck. After the rancid smells of the bilges—stale water, moldy ropes, unwashed boatmen—Batu found the sea air invigorating. He leaned on the gunwale and looked out over the Celestial Sea. To the west, a tiny crag of rock floated on the horizon.
Pe joined him and, noticing the direction of Batu's gaze, said, "That's the Horn of Wak'an. According to the sailors, sighting it means we're within four days of Lo'Shan and the Shengti River."
Without taking his eyes off the sea, Batu grunted an acknowledgement. The prospect of another four days of seasickness almost drove him back to his bunk.
However, with his subordinates on their way to meet him, retreat was not an option. Batu stayed at the gunwale, breathing deeply of the salt air and studying the sea. The sky was as blue as the water, with a favorable wind blowing from the east. Between the general's ship and the Horn of Wak'an, the five hundred sails of his motley armada bobbed upon the water like so many prayer flags. The skiffs carrying his five generals were fighting through the white-capped waves toward Batu's pathetic flagship.
"The barbarians will never think to look for us here," Pe said cheerfully. With his good arm, he leaned on the gunwale next to Batu.
Frowning at the boy's jovial manner with jealous contempt, Batu responded, "Of course not."
Sensing his commander's testiness, Pe withdrew his arm and assumed a more formal stance. "I didn't mean to offend—"
"You didn't," the general said, waving off the adjutant's apology. "I'm still ill, and that makes me petulant."
As Batu watched the rowboats approach, he wondered how the first meeting with his subcommanders would go. Today would be the first time he had seen them since loading the fleet, and he still had not informed them of his plan.
A few minutes later, the first boat arrived. The occupant was Kei Bot Li, the only one of his generals Batu knew. Despite his stocky body, Kei Bot climbed out of the boat and scrambled up the rope ladder with the agility of a monkey. As he stepped aboard, Kei Bot greeted Batu by bowing deeply.
"A great pleasure, Commanding General," he said.
Batu returned the bow, his queasy smile a weak imitation of his subordinate's. "The pleasure is mine, General."
Noting Batu's squeamish expression, Kei Bot asked, "The sea does not agree with you, my commander?"
Embarrassed by his inadequacy, the second-degree general reluctantly nodded his head. "I would never have thought lying upon a comfortable bed could be so difficult."
Kei Bot laughed heartily, but before he could respond, the other generals arrived. The four men bustled aboard with an air of impatience. After trading a few perfunctory pleasantries, Batu led the men down to the junk's galley. It was the only compartment on the ship large enough to hold even this small conference. While Pe served tea, the commanding general spread his campaign map on the table, then prepared several writing brushes and bottles of variously colored ink.
The map showed the northern half of Shou Lung. A black line running across the northwest corner marked the location of the Dragonwall. A red arrow showed where the barbarians had breached the wall and were now advancing toward Yenching. Just south of Yenching, a blue line wormed its way horizontally across the paper, dividing the upper third of the map from the lower two-thirds. This was the Shengti River, which crossed the entire breadth of northern Shou Lung, and which was the cornerstone of Batu's plan.
In the center of the map sat Shou Kuan, a black star with a circle around it to show that it was a fortified city. Toward the map's right side, at about the same latitude as Shou Kuan, was Tai Tung. The Hungtze River ran through Tai Tung to a blue area at the eastern edge of the map: the Celestial Sea.
An instant after the commanding general laid out his map, Kei Bot and the other provincial generals leaned over and examined it at length. Batu almost chuckled as he noticed each man, in turn, glance at him in surreptitious puzzlement.
Finally, he said, "It's time I explain what we're doing in the Celestial Sea while the barbarians press the attack a thousand miles away."
Placing a finger on the red arrow marking the path of the Tuigan advance, Batu said, "Despite our efforts to starve them, the barbarians continue to drive southeast at a slow pace."
The young general picked up a brush and dipped it in red ink, then traced a path to Yenching. "Because of the Shengti's usual spring runoff, we know the barbarians cannot ford the river at this time of year. Therefore, they have no choice except to use the Three Camel Bridge in Yenching. Unfortunately, none of our armies can reach Yenching in time to stop them. After crossing the river, they will advance toward the next target of any consequence: Shou Kuan."
Batu extended the red line to within an inch of Shou Kuan, then changed to a green brush. Tracing a line from Tai Tung to just west of the walled city, he said, "This is the route that Tzu Hsuang will march with the noble armies."
The green line advanced and met the red less than a day's march away from Shou Kuan. After drawing an "X", Batu looped the green line back to the walled city. "Following the initial engagement," he said, "the nobles will retreat—"
"Do you have so little confidence in Tzu Hsuang's leadership?" Kei Bot interrupted, pointing at the line of retreat.
Batu lifted the brush, but did not remove his hand from the map. "I have every confidence in Tzu Hsuang and the nobles," he said. "But, as best as I can determine, the barbarians have nearly two hundred thousand mounted men. Their armies maneuver as well as any in Shou Lung, and their officers are bloodthirsty savages.
"At his disposal," Batu continued, "Tzu Hsuang will have fifty thousand exhausted pengs commanded by inexperienced and contentious officers."
The first-degree generals all voiced their agreement with Batu's assessment of the noble armies.
Batu looked back to the map. "I think it is safe to assume the nobles will lose the engagement. Hsuang will lead a controlled retreat to Shou Kuan and take refuge in the fortified city."
The commanding general picked up another brush and dipped it in red ink, then traced a line representing the barbarian pursuit. "The barbarians will follow along this path—"
"How can you be sure?" asked the general from Mai Yuan. "With their horses, the enemy could just as easily outflank Hsuang and wipe out the nobles."
"They might as well outflank the wind," Batu said. "The noble armies will abandon their artillery and flee under cover of darkness. They will be inside Shou Kuan's walls by dawn, long before the Tuigan can pursue safely."
Batu continued the barbarians' red line to Shou Kuan. "The enemy will siege the city."
"They will have no choice," agreed Mai Yuan. "No commander would be fool enough to leave a large enemy force to his rear."
"Precisely," Batu responded, changing brushes again.
"What are we doing out here?" Kei Bot asked, placing a finger on the Celestial Sea.
The commanding general dipped his brush in a fresh pot of ink. He drew a yellow line that ran up the Shengti River clear to Yenching. "We will outflank the enemy and disembark at Yenching," Batu said, drawing an "X" at the city.
"That's more than fifteen hundred miles!" Mai Yuan objected. "It will take weeks to sail up the river."
"Five weeks, more or less," Batu responded. "We should arrive in Yenching at about the same time the barbarians engage Hsuang outside of Shou Kuan."
"Forgive my ignorance," Kei Bot interjected, his cunning eyes betraying no lack of intelligence. "But if the battle is to take place at Shou Kuan, why are we going to Yenching?"
Batu dipped his brush again, then began following the southward paths of both the Tuigan and noble armies. "We will follow the enemy south, cutting its communication routes and destroying its garrisons as we go."
The yellow line reached Shou Kuan. "When we reach Shou Kuan, there will be a second battle," Batu said. "As we approach, Tzu Hsuang's forces will sally from inside the city, holding the enemy's attention. When the barbarians respond, we'll take them from the rear. No matter how the Tuigan react, they'll be caught in a crossfire. Not even their horses will save them."
The five generals remained silent for a very long time. Finally, Kei Bot tapped Shou Kuan with one of his squat fingers. "How will Hsuang know when to feign his attack?"
Detailed comments and questions such as these meant the generals approved of his plan, Batu realized. He smiled, then answered the question. "We have the High Minister of Magic to thank for that," he said. "Tzu Hsuang and I will keep in touch through the Mirror of Shao."

Later that afternoon, just as Batu's ragged fleet skirted the Horn of Wak'an, the general's wife and children stood outside the walls of the Celestial Garden of the Virtuous Consort. The trio was surrounded by eighteen guards, and two more were currently inside, verifying that it was safe to enter.
"Can't we go in?" asked Ji, tugging impatiently at his mother's hand. At five years of age, he looked more like his grandfather than his father. Tzu Hsuang's noble blood showed in the boy's silky hair, refined features, and statuesque proportions.
"We waited long enough!" commented Yo, frowning at the delay. With wide-set eyes, flat high cheekbones, and flaring nostrils, Yo was the child who most resembled her father. Fortunately, Wu thought, she was only four and there was still a good chance the girl would grow out of this particular legacy. On a man, Batu's rugged features were engaging and appealing, but Wu had no doubt they would seem misplaced in the face of a young lady.
Both children were anxious, Wu knew, because it was already approaching dusk. They would have only twenty or thirty minutes to play before darkness settled in and the guards declared it unsafe to remain outdoors.
Nevertheless, the children had to learn to be patient. Wu tugged sternly on each of their hands. "You are the grandchildren of a lord and the children of the General of the Northern Marches. Is this how you should behave?"
Reminded of their duty, both Ji and Yo sighed, then fell silent.
The Celestial Garden was the only area in the summer palace where Wu felt secure, for it was the one place where she could go to forget what she viewed as her imprisonment. It had been just eighteen days since Batu had left, but already the sycophants of the imperial court were maneuvering to discredit him—in large part, she reflected, because his plan had succeeded too well.
Though reports of her father's progress circulated through the court daily, no one had seen or heard anything of Batu's armies since the emperor's blessing. From what the bureaucrats could tell, the newly appointed General of the Northern Marches had simply taken one hundred thousand men and vanished. At first, the bureaucrats had been amazed at such a feat. Their gossip had concerned how he had managed such a thing. As the week had worn on and there was no sign of Batu, however, it had become fashionable to attribute the disappearance to sinister occurrences.
The desertion theory had begun to circulate two days ago. According to this hypothesis, Batu had rendezvoused with an advanced enemy army and defected with all his soldiers. The advocates of this notion took great delight in suggesting that he would return to Tai Tung at the head of a mixed barbarian and Shou army.
Having helped her husband develop his plan, Wu knew nothing could be farther from the truth. Unfortunately, she was the only person in the summer palace who could say so with absolute certainty. Still, she did not dare speak in her husband's defense for fear that Tuigan spies would uncover Batu's plan.
So, amid the splendor and pageantry of the imperial court, Wu remained shunned and isolated. For her, it was not a great sacrifice. The ladies of the court, with their plucked and painted eyebrows, seemed universally shallow and dull. Wu had no desire to share in their company.
The children, however, were accustomed to the freedom of immense gardens and a plethora of playmates. In the summer palace, though, room was at a premium and young companions were a rarity. The few children who did live in the court had been forbidden from socializing with "the deserter's progeny." For Ji and Yo, the summer palace had become even more of a jail than it was for Wu.
The one island in this sea of isolation had been the Minister of State, Ju-Hai Chou. Wu suspected that the minister had guessed something of her husband's plan. Several times, he had called to reassure her that Batu had the emperor's complete confidence, no matter what the sycophants whispered. Ju-Hai had also gone out of his way to see that Wu lacked no luxury. He had even convinced the bureaucracy to let Wu and the children use the Celestial Garden.
Of all the things Ju-Hai had done, Wu appreciated this last favor the most. Located in the northwest corner of the palace, the garden was a small retreat no more than two hundred feet on a side. It was a feral place filled with trees of many varieties: plum, small magnolias, white mulberries. There were even two grand willows that, with their puff-ball shapes and weeping leaves, made the garden seem almost as wild and as marvelous as the parks of Chukei.
From Wu's perspective, however, the best thing about the Celestial Garden was its walls. The ones on the north and east were actually part of the palace fortifications and stood more than thirty feet tall. On the south and west, the walls were twenty feet tall. The garden had only one entrance, the circular "moon gate" on the south wall, before which Wu now stood. Normally, Wu was not such a student of architecture, but the high garden walls meant that she and her children could be alone—providing, of course, the guards did not find any spies or assassins lurking inside.
Wu and her children waited several minutes more before the two guards returned and stepped through the round gate. One wore green lamellar plate and the other an identical set of armor, save that it was blue. The one in green bowed, saying, "The Celestial Garden is vacant, Lady Batu. It is safe to enter."
Wu returned the guard's bow. "The minister shall hear of your vigilance."
As Wu and the children stepped through the gate, her guards snapped to attention and two brief, distinct clatters sounded behind her. There were two clatters because she had two sets of guards under separate commanders and they never did anything together. The ten soldiers in blue came from the Ministry of War. Her husband's enemy, Kwan Chan Sen, had assigned them to watch her at all times. The ten guards in green came from the Ministry of State Security. As a favor to Ju-Hai, Ting Mei Wan had assigned these guards to Wu. The duty of Ting's guards, as far as Wu could tell, was to protect her and the children from Kwan's men.
Neither group made Wu feel secure. She would rather have had a company of her husband's or father's personal guard, but the Grand Master of Protocol had made it clear that he would not permit such troops inside the palace. Wu was left feeling that she could trust only her own skills for the safety of her children and herself.
As she passed through the gate, Wu released the hands of her children. Both bolted for the northwest side of the garden, pausing on their way to roll down a manmade hill and splash through an artificial brook. Wu started to caution them about soiling their clothes, but decided to allow them their fun. With all that Shou Lung was asking of her family, the emperor could give her children new samfus if necessary.
In the growing shadows of dusk, Wu could almost forget that she was locked inside the palace. The center of the garden held a fish pond, upon which floated a miniature sampan large enough for two people. Though the pond was so small that one could walk around it in less than one hundred steps, a marble bridge spanned its center.
Beyond the pond, the Virtuous Consort's gardeners had formed the terrain into a series of serpentine hills, complete with artificial brooks and miniature cliffs. Along the walls, the trees and shrubbery grew so thick that the stonework behind them was completely hidden, giving the garden the appearance of being an open meadow in a forest. The two weeping willows completed the little park, towering high above the outer wall and draping their shaggy branches upon its crown.
Ji and Yo stopped at the willow closest to the west wall. Ji tugged at his sister's arm and circled the trunk. Yo followed, and they began a merry game of tag, dodging in and out among the long pendant leaves that drooped nearly to the ground. Both giggled wildly and yelled each other's names at the tops of their lungs. Wu did not remind them to keep their voices down. In the Celestial Garden, they could scream as loudly as they wished, for no one could hear them over the high walls.
Suddenly, both children stopped running and peered into the branches.
"What do you see?" Wu called, starting toward the garden corner. "Is it an owl?"
Ji studied the tree thoughtfully, then finally shook his head. "It's too big," he said.
"Well, then," Wu said, stepping across a brook. "It must be a tree troll—"
The pop of a breaking stick came from the willow, then one of its sagging branches rustled.
"It's a man!" Yo screamed, pointing overhead.
Wu broke into a sprint. "Children, get away from there!"
The urgency in her voice stunned the children into inaction. They looked at her with distressed expressions, then both began to cry.
Wu arrived beneath the tree a moment later. Ignoring her children's frightened tears, she shoved them behind her. Automatically, she assumed the stance of the golden crane, her arms raised over her head in a defensive position.
Wu could see a man's silhouette stretched out on a branch, trying to hide in the shadows. He appeared tall and fairly thin, but she could tell little more. The figure wore a black samfu, along with a black scarf to camouflage his face.
Wu could think of only one reason he would be in the garden. He was waiting to assassinate her or the Virtuous Consort. In either case, she thought it wisest not to let him escape. Besides, if she captured an assassin, some of the tongues denigrating her husband might be silenced.
In her most commanding voice, she said, "Ji, stop crying and listen to me!"
As she knew he would, her son obeyed immediately.
"This is very important," she continued, not taking her eyes off the figure in the tree. He would hear her instructions, but that could not be helped, "Take your sister and fetch the guards. Tell them to hurry because your mother is in danger. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother," he replied.
"Do it right now!" she said. "Run as fast as the wind!"
Ji took his sister's hand, and they sped off toward the gate. Wu continued to watch the silhouette.
As the children crossed the brook, the shadow glanced in their direction. It crawled along the limb toward the western wall. Wu realized that this was no vagabond, for an assassin's first instinct would have been to kill, not to run. The figure had been using the willow trees to climb over the outer wall in secrecy.
It could only be a Tuigan spy, Wu decided quickly.
Almost instantly, she leaped up and grabbed the willow's lowest branch. After the capture of the first infiltrator, the Minister of State Security had instituted stringent security measures to prevent more spies from entering or leaving the summer palace. The guard on the outer wall had been doubled, and even mandarins were thoroughly searched when they entered or left the palace.
Wu suspected that the spy had something important to relay to the barbarians if he was willing to brave the increased security. As far as she was concerned, that information could only decrease Batu's chances of returning alive. She had to capture the infiltrator.
Quickly Wu pulled herself onto the lowest branch, then grabbed the next one and climbed after the spy. As she reached the fifth branch, her hand touched a coil of black rope that the enemy agent had probably intended to use in descending the outer wall. She also discovered a faint, fragrant odor she could not quite identify, but which she had smelled many times before.
The spy had already crawled halfway to the end of the limb, but was moving slowly and carefully. Wu tossed the rope to the ground, then followed the dark figure. She did not bother calling out or ordering her quarry to stop, for he obviously would not obey.
Wu scrambled out on the limb rapidly, relying on her kung fu training for balance and strength. As the spy neared the wall, she caught up to him.
A voice at the gate yelled, "Stop! In the emperor's name, don't go any farther!"
When Wu glanced toward the voice, the spy leveled a vicious kick at her head. She easily ducked away and blocked the foot, then found herself tumbling out of the tree.
Landing head-first, Wu went into a forward roll to absorb the impact. Nevertheless, the fall was a long one and it hurt. The landing knocked the breath out of her lungs and left Wu flat on her back, gasping for breath, the world a white blur before her eyes.
By the time Wu's vision returned, one of Kwan's blue-armored guards stood over her, the tip of his broad-bladed chiang-chun held to her throat. The man's sergeant approached, the coil of black rope in his hand.
"When did you sneak this in?" he demanded.
Wu uttered an astonished objection, but her breath had not returned and she managed nothing but a feeble gasp.
The sergeant dropped the rope over Wu's body. "What kind of a mother abandons her children to join her traitorous husband?"
Wu finally drew a breath, then hissed, "How dare you!"
She pointed at the west wall. "The spy is escaping. After him!"
The guard did not bother to look up. "The only spy I see is lying here."
The green-armored sergeant arrived, carrying Yo in his arms. Though the girl had clearly been sobbing a moment ago, she was now too frightened to cry.
"You can't be serious!" said the sergeant in green. "This woman is no spy!"
The soldier in blue, one of Kwan's men, met the eyes of his counterpart. "I suppose Minister Kwan will have to decide that." He did not order his subordinate to move the polearm away from Wu's throat. She realized that only the presence of Ting's guards kept the man from executing her on the spot.

8
Jasmine
Wu kneeled in a traditional kowtow, her forehead pressed to the floor and her arms stretched out in front of her torso. A tiny pool of perspiration had formed beneath her brow, making the marble feel cold and clammy. Her knees ached horribly and her shoulders were as stiff as those of a statue. At her side, Ji restlessly mimicked his mother's position, his graceful little form folded into an elegant egg-shape. Yo had long since tumbled into a heap and lay asleep on the cold stone. Mercifully, the guards had taken pity on the child and let her rest.
The mother and her children had been awaiting the emperor for over two hours. After allowing the spy in the Celestial Garden to escape unpursued, the two sets of guards had argued about whether Wu should be taken to Minister Kwan or to Minister Ting. They had finally compromised by bringing her to the Hall of Supreme Harmony, where the emperor himself could determine what was to be done with her.
At night, lit only by flickering torches, the Hall of Supreme Harmony seemed more an immense and ominous grotto than an architectural wonder. The incessant click-click-click of boots on stone echoed from the murkiness overhead, where unseen guards were making their rounds on dark balconies. Somewhere in the shadowy perimeter, a lone cricket sang its song. A gentle breeze carried the scent of persimmon blossoms through the room.
Finally, Wu heard the doors open behind her, and someone shuffled across the room. Two more people followed the first, the sounds of their steps echoing off the walls with a purposeful cadence. By tucking her chin against her breastbone and looking beneath her armpits, Wu could increase her field of vision enough to observe the areas to either side of her. She saw Minister Kwan totter into view, followed a short time later by Ting Mei Wan. They both went to take their customary seats, moving out of Wu's narrow range of vision.
The third walker stopped to the kneeling mother's right. Ju-Hai Chou bent down and gently awakened Yo. "Come, my child. You're about to meet the Son of Heaven," he said. "Don't you want to show him your respect?"
At the mention of the emperor, Yo grew alert. "The Divine One?" she asked. "Father's master?"
"Yes," Ju-Hai replied, gently moving her into a kowtow. "Everybody's master."
The minister had barely finished speaking before Wu heard the officious steps of several men directly ahead. It would have been disrespectful to lift her head, but Wu did not need to see the Divine One to know that his entourage had entered the hall. Ju-Hai returned to his feet and executed a deep bow. The guards snapped to attention with a sharp clatter of equipment.
To Wu's surprise, Ju-Hai remained next to Yo.
The emperor took his seat, then said, "What is this all about, Minister Chou?"
"I'm not sure I know, Divine One," Ju-Hai responded. "Minister Kwan sent a messenger to my house claiming to have captured a spy and asking me to arrange a special audience. Naturally, I sent word to you and suggested we meet in the Hall of Supreme Harmony." Ju-Hai waved a hand at Yo, Ji, and Wu. In a voice of exaggerated puzzlement, he said, "When we arrived, all I saw was this woman and her two children."
Wu breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least she had one ally present.
"They are General Batu's wife and children," Ju-Hai continued. "Obviously, there has been some mistake."
"Minister Kwan?" the emperor asked, his silk robe swishing as he shifted in his seat.
"There has been no mistake," the old man replied sharply. "We are all aware of the reports regarding General Batu's desertion—"
"Wild rumors," interrupted Ju-Hai. "Probably started by a jealous rival," he added pointedly.
"We shall see." The emperor's robes hissed as he turned away from Ju-Hai and Kwan. "Minister Ting, can State Security shed any light on this?"
"Perhaps," she replied cautiously. "We have been investigating each rumor, as you instructed."
Wu nearly gasped out loud. The news that the emperor was having her husband's loyalty investigated came as a shock. Until now, she had taken the Divine One's trust in Batu as a given, for the Son of Heaven had extended every courtesy to her and the children. Wu felt angry, dismayed, and betrayed. Only the fact that she was kneeling before the emperor himself prevented her from rising to vent her wrath.
"And what have you found, Minister?" the emperor asked.
"Very little," Ting replied. "Though General Batu's disappearance has made many people suspicious of him, no one can provide the slightest proof of any disloyalty."
"Proof!" Kwan stormed. Though Wu could not see the old minister from her angle, it almost seemed she could feel him pointing an accusing finger at her. "Batu's wife was abandoning her children to join the traitor. What greater proof do you need?"
Ji jumped to his feet. "Liar!" he screamed.
Behind Wu, the guards gasped, but she smiled at her child's boldness. No one had given her permission to rise, so she made no move to silence him.
"Ji," Ju-Hai said, grasping the boy's shoulder. "This is the Hall of Supreme Harmony. You mustn't say such things here."
The boy jerked free of the minister's grip and ignored the reproach. "He's lying! Mama wouldn't leave us."
"I understand that this is difficult for you, my child," Kwan said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You mustn't worry. Shou Lung will always care for you, no matter what your mother has done."
"She hasn't done anything!" Ji insisted.
"That isn't for you to say," Kwan replied, his voice growing angry.
Oblivious to the old man's threatening tone, Ji responded. "You weren't even there!"
"That's enough!" Kwan roared, an angry swish of silk indicating that he was rising to his feet. "Remove the children!"
"No," the emperor countered. "The boy is right. Tell me what happened in the Virtuous Consort's garden."
Being addressed by the Divine One himself doused the fire in Ji's heart. He swallowed, looked to his mother's prone form for reassurance, then finally turned back to the emperor.
"We saw something in the tree," he said, looking at the floor. His voice was now quiet and weak.
"What?" asked the emperor. "What did you see?"
"A man."
"Are you sure?" the Divine One asked. "Could it have been something else, like an owl or a cat?"
Ji frowned and looked at his sister uncertainly. She shook her head sternly, and Ji turned back to the Son of Heaven. "No," he said. "We're sure. It was a man."
"Perhaps one of General Batu's spies, come to fetch his wife," Kwan said, the fabric of his hai-waitao whispering against the chair arms as the old man finally returned to his seat. "If there was anybody in the tree at all."
"What are you suggesting, Minister?" The emperor asked.
"Nothing that you have not thought of already, Divine One," Kwan replied politely. "Merely that Wu has coached her children in answering our questions."
"That is for me to decide," the Son of Heaven replied. Addressing Ji again, he asked, "And then what happened?"
"We ran to get the guards," the boy replied, pointing a slender finger at the soldiers behind him. "Mother climbed the tree."
"Why do you think she did that?" Minister Kwan asked.
"To catch the man!" Ji replied, frowning at the minister's silly question.
"Wu is not a large woman," Kwan said, addressing the emperor. "Do you really think she would chase a spy alone?"
A long pause followed, and Wu realized Kwan's rhetorical question had made an impression.
Ting Mei Wan came to the kneeling mother's rescue. "In all fairness, Divine One," she said, "General Batu's wife is reputed to have skill in the art of kung fu."
Kwan scoffed, but Wu breathed a sigh of relief. When State Security troops had been assigned to the Batu household, Ju-Hai had made a point of saying that he controlled Ting. Apparently, he had not been lying.
After a moment's pause, the emperor said, "These children must be tired. Perhaps it would be better if they returned to their home."
Ju-Hai signaled to two State Security guards, but Ji stepped boldly forward. "I want to stay," he said.
"Of course you do," the Divine One replied patiently. "But I am the emperor, and you must do what I say. Is that not true?"
Ji looked to his mother's kneeling form, then to Ju-Hai. The minister nodded to indicate that what the emperor said was, indeed, correct. Dropping his gaze to the floor, Ji said simply, "Yes."
"Good," the Divine One replied. "Take your sister and go home with these soldiers. Your mother will be there when you wake in the morning."
The reassurance did nothing to relax Wu. From what she had heard, the emperor often said one thing and did another.
The guards came into Wu's field of vision, and she watched them take her children's hands and turn away. Both Ji and Yo looked after their mother with sad eyes. Wu wanted to kiss and hug them, but she had not yet been given permission to rise and dared not risk offending the emperor.
After the children were gone, the emperor said, "Lady Wu, please stand."
Wu stiffly did as asked. Her body, unaccustomed to the abuse of kneeling for so long, protested with pain. "My gratitude, Divine One," she said, bowing.
"What happened in the Virtuous Consort's garden?" the emperor asked, his enigmatic eyes fixed on her face.
"It was as Ji said," she replied. "He and Yo saw a dark figure. I climbed the willow tree in an attempt to capture him."
"You are an intelligent woman," Kwan said, shaking his white-haired head in skepticism. "Too intelligent to do something so foolish."
"I did not consider it foolish," she countered, purposefully neglecting to address the minister by his proper title. "My husband and father are both away fighting the barbarians, and we all know there are spies in the summer palace. These spies would like nothing better than to see the emperor's armies destroyed, making me both a widow and an orphan in a short period. Given the chance to capture one of those spies, I think it would have been foolish to let the man escape, don't you?"
Kwan looked from Wu toward the emperor. "Perhaps," he said, "if your husband is truly fighting the barbarians, and not rejoining his ancestral relations."
Wu decided to ignore Kwan. As her husband's political enemy, the old man was clearly more interested in discrediting Batu than in finding the spy. Instead, she turned her attention to the emperor himself. "Divine One, while it is true that my husband and his army have disappeared, anyone who claims Batu Min Ho has betrayed Shou Lung is lying."
"Surely, you can prove what you say," Kwan objected, moving to the edge of his chair with a menacing glint in his eye.
"I could," she responded, "but not while there are spies roaming the summer palace. I will not endanger my husband and the empire so needlessly."
"Lady Wu, Minister Ju-Hai believes in General Batu without reservation, and so do I," said Ting Mei Wan. "Yet, Minister Kwan has met your husband on several occasions, a privilege that few of us have been afforded. His bad opinion carries a great deal of influence within the summer palace. Is there nothing you can say that would prove your husband's loyalty?"
Wu hesitated. By now, it might be safe to disclose that the provincial armies had left disguised as merchant cargo, but Wu doubted that the revelation would quiet the court gossip. Without knowing her husband's entire plan, suspicious minds would simply assume that Batu had sailed away with the army instead of attacking with it. Worse, someone might realize that he was going up the Shengti to cut off the barbarians' advance.
After several moments of consideration, Wu said, "No. I will say nothing."
"You must be able to tell us something," Ju-Hai pressed.
Wu shook her head. "No."
Kwan smiled malevolently. "You are protecting your husband, no doubt?"
Wu nodded, giving the old man an icy stare. "Exactly."
"An admirable reason," Kwan said, turning to the emperor with a smirk on his lips. "From whom are you protecting him?"
"From you," Wu answered angrily. "And from the spy—if you aren't one in the same." As soon as the words left her mouth, Wu chastised herself for letting anger dictate what she said. Her father had often told her that such lapses only demonstrated lack of self-control and betrayed the speaker's weaknesses.
Kwan lifted his wrinkled brow in shock and anger. Ju-Hai and Ting grimaced. Behind Wu, the guards rustled expectantly, ready to take her into custody.
The emperor frowned. "Lady Wu, you cannot say such things."
"Forgive me, Divine One," she answered, barely keeping the anger out of her voice. "But has Minister Kwan not called my husband a traitor, me a child-deserter, and my son a liar? Perhaps it is inappropriate to take offense at an old man's words, but I cannot be blamed for defending my family's honor."
Ju-Hai took her by the arm. "Please, Wu, remember to whom you are speaking."
"I will," she replied, bowing her head to the emperor.
For several moments, the Divine One stared at Wu in open astonishment. Finally, in a carefully controlled voice, he said, "I see where your son comes by his brazenness, Lady Wu. You are lucky that I am fair, for I will not take your outburst into account in making my decision."
The Son of Heaven looked from Wu to Kwan, then back to Wu again, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "You are confident that your husband will defeat these barbarians, Lady Wu?"
"I am," she replied, meeting his gaze.
"Good," the emperor said sharply. "Until that time, you and your family are confined to your house."
Wu did not flinch at the command. The Divine One was simply formalizing what she already knew to be true. She was a hostage guaranteeing her husband's loyalty.
To Wu's surprise, the emperor turned to Kwan next. "Minister Kwan, I am sure Lady Wu finds the constant presence of your pengs an insult to her family's dignity. You will remove them."
Kwan's jaw dropped. "How will we guarantee—"
The Divine One raised his hand, and the old man fell silent. "Minister Ting's soldiers will guard the Batu household," the Son of Heaven declared.
Kwan frowned, but did not object.
The emperor was not finished. He turned to Ting Mei Wan. "Perhaps you should turn your efforts toward finding the man Wu saw in the Virtuous Consort's garden."
Ting bowed her head. "Of course, Divine One." Looking at Wu, the minister said, "I shall start immediately, if Lady Wu can describe what she saw."
"With pleasure," Wu replied, happy to have the conversation turned away from Batu and herself. "I didn't see much, just a man wearing a black samfu. It looked as if he intended to hide until dusk, then climb out on a limb overhanging the outer wall. When I saw him, he returned the way he had come and climbed over the garden's inner wall."
"Why would he go to the trouble of climbing over the outer wall? Why wouldn't he simply leave by one of the gates?" Minister Kwan asked. His voice was devoid of any rancor, but Wu did not doubt the old man was still hoping to cast doubt on her story.
"It is obvious the venerable minister has not left the palace recently," Ting answered, a proud smile on her lips. "My guards are stationed at all exits. They have orders to search everyone who enters or leaves the palace, the mandarins, even myself, included. The spy must have had something he couldn't be caught with." Ting turned her attention back to Wu. "What did this spy look like?"
"His face was wrapped in a black scarf," Wu said, closing her eyes in an attempt to recall every detail. "He was very slender and small, more a woman's size than a man's."
"How do you know it was a man?" the emperor asked.
Wu paused, remembering the fragrant scent she had smelled when she climbed into the tree. It had seemed so familiar, and now she realized why. She had smelled the scent many times before, when visiting the wives and daughters of her father's peers. The smell was jasmine blossom. Vain women enjoyed rubbing the flower over their bodies as a type of perfume.
Finally, Wu answered the emperor's question. "I don't know that it was a man. In fact, now that you mention the possibility, it seems likely the spy was a woman."
Ting frowned and started to say something, but the emperor cut her off. "What else can you tell us?" he demanded. "You must remember everything."
Along with the two sergeants commanding the guards who had been watching her, Wu spent the next twenty minutes answering questions about the incident in the Garden of the Virtuous Consort. At length, it became apparent that nothing more would be learned by continuing the interrogation. The guards had seen nothing but Wu falling out of the tree. The Chief Warder of the Imperial Armory in the Department of Palace Services was summoned and asked to examine the black rope recovered from the scene. He reported that any officer could have taken it out of the armory and no special note would have been taken of the fact. Wu could add little to her description, aside from saying she believed it likely that the figure had been a woman.
The only thing she did not report was the scent of jasmine that had convinced her the spy was female. A whiff of perfume could be interpreted as flimsy evidence for such an assertion, and she did not want to give Kwan another chance to cast doubt on her story.
Finally, the emperor said, "We can't determine the infiltrator's identity from what we have learned tonight. However, with the aid of the heavens, we will soon catch him—or her. Until then, we will refrain from any further political bickering and concentrate our energies upon finding this spy—" The Divine One glanced sternly at Kwan, and then Wu "—and upon teaching our children better manners than our parents taught us."
With that, the emperor rose and walked into the darkness behind the throne. His servants followed with their torches. A few paces later they all disappeared, stepping through a hidden doorway reserved for the Divine One and his attendants.
As soon as the emperor was gone, Minister Kwan furrowed his thousand wrinkles in spite and stared at Wu for several moments. When she did not flinch, the old man rose and briskly left the hall, his guards following close behind. Ju-Hai was the next to leave. He turned to Wu and clasped her hands. "You are a very lucky woman, my dear," he said. "Your punishment for speaking against Kwan so harshly would have been much greater if the emperor were not so fond of Batu."
"Fond?" Wu said indignantly. "Having him investigated for treason is fondness?"
Ju-Hai nodded. "When the danger is so great, the emperor cannot let his personal feelings interfere with caution. He must be suspicious of everyone and everything."
Wu shook her head sadly. "Thank you for trying to comfort me," she said. "But even I can see that the rumors have had their effect on the Divine One."
Ju-Hai sighed. "As long as I have any influence with the emperor, you need not worry about your husband's reputation."
"You are a true friend, Minister," Wu said, bowing to Ju-Hai. "If there's ever anything I can do for you—"
The minister shook his head. "Think nothing of it. What I do, I do for the good of the empire. Ting will take you home. I'll visit when I can."
After Ju-Hai left, Ting Mei Wan broke into a fit of chuckling. Wu continued to stand in the middle of the floor, frowning in puzzlement. Finally, she asked, "What's so funny?"
Ting stopped laughing. "You and your son," she said. "I've never heard anyone speak to a mandarin like that. I thought you were trying to choke Kwan on his own anger!"
"The thought hadn't occurred to me," Wu said, wishing that she possessed such a cunning mind. "I'll remember it in case the opportunity arises again." She paused to let the subject drop, then bowed to Ting. "I also want to thank you for your support, Minister."
Ting grew appropriately serious, then stood and returned the bow. "Minister Chou has done a great deal for me. When he calls for support, offering it is the least I can do."
The mandarin walked to Wu's side. "Now, tell me how Batu disappeared with five provincial armies! What can he be planning?"
Wu caught the whiff of a familiar scent and was reminded of her father's admonishment to trust no one. Consciously changing the subject, she asked, "How will I ever keep Ji and Yo happy inside that little house?"
Ting chuckled at the obvious tactic and took Wu's arm. "You are careful, aren't you?"
As the mandarin started toward the exit, Wu quietly inhaled. There was no mistaking the fragrance. The Minister of State Security smelled of jasmine blossoms.

9
Shihfang
Along with his aide and the twenty-four nobles under his command, Tzu Hsuang stood atop a long bluff. The bluff overlooked a shallow valley that, in some primordial time, had once served as the bed of a river nearly a half-mile wide. All that remained of the river now was a deep, slow-moving brook that meandered through three hundred acres of barley fields.
On the opposite side of the valley sat the town of Shihfang. Like all Shou municipalities, Shihfang was enclosed by a defensive barrier. Little more than a ten-foot wall of packed yellow earth, the barrier was broken only where towers flanked the single gate. The town was unusual in that it had been built on high ground, atop a bluff similar to the one upon which Hsuang and his subordinates stood. Wisps of gray smoke drifted out of the few chimneys that rose above the wall. From one bell tower came the steady, measured clanging of the town's single warning bell.
Hsuang did not see a reason for the sounding of the alarm. Shihfang remained untouched and there was no sign of impending attack. Nevertheless, refugees were pouring out of the hamlet as if the place had already fallen. The old noble did not understand why. As far as his scouts could tell, there was not a barbarian within twenty miles. Still, there had to be a reason for what he saw.
Thousands of people choked the narrow road that crossed the valley from Shihfang and turned eastward at the base of Hsuang's hill. On their backs, the peasants balanced long poles from which hung plow shares, effigies of their gods, sacks of grain seed, and a few other meager possessions. Wealthier refugees pulled two-wheeled rikshas loaded with bolts of silk, polished wooden tables, ceramic wares, and other household goods. Here and there, servants shouldered the palanquin of some minor bureaucrat or a team of oxen drew the overloaded wagon of a rich landowner. In the midst of the throng was a lone camel with a bulky, box-like seat strapped to its back. Hsuang could just make out a figure sitting beneath the seat's silk canopy.
The old noble pointed at the seat, which was known as a howdah. "That looks like someone important," Hsuang said to his aide. "Perhaps he can tell us what is happening here. Fetch him."
"Yes, my lord," the adjutant answered. He immediately turned and ran down the back of the hill. As Hsuang waited for the man in the howdah, his subordinates quietly stood at his back, adjusting and readjusting their armor, or speaking with each other in tense, subdued tones. They were impatient, and the old noble did not blame them.
It had been nearly seven weeks since the noble armies had left Tai Tung and, as Hsuang knew from a messenger, nearly a month since the emperor had confined his outspoken daughter to her house. In the time it had taken to reach Shihfang, the season had turned from late spring to full summer. Every day, the sun had shone brighter and the weather had grown warmer, baking the men inside their armor during the grueling marches. Even Hsuang had to admit that a battle would be a welcome change from the hot daily trek.
Unfortunately, the lord could not tell whether his men would have their battle today or not, for what he saw at Shihfang did not make sense. While he waited for the man in the howdah, Hsuang continued to study the valley below, trying to make some sense of what he saw.
After descending the opposite bluff, the road ran across the valley. About thirty yards away from Hsuang's hill, it crossed a wooden bridge that spanned the slow-moving brook. A great traffic jam had developed on the bridge as hundreds of refugees tried to squeeze their way across. To make matters worse, a flimsy riksha had lost a wheel and was blocking half the lane.
On this side of the brook, the refugees progressed in a more orderly fashion. They followed the road for a mile down the valley, where it became a trail and ascended the bluff. As the fugitives passed below the hill, they invariably stared with dark, curious eyes at the group of lords.
A few minutes later, the camel finally broke free of the bridge and came to the base of the hill. Hsuang's aide helped a corpulent, red-cheeked man climb out of the howdah and struggle up the slope. The man wore the turquoise robes of a prefect, but his expression was dazed and confused. He hardly impressed Hsuang as a man who ran a town, even one as small as Shihfang.
Finally, the man reached the hilltop, gasping and wheezing. Hsuang's subordinates circled around him, anxious to hear any news the man could offer. The chubby bureaucrat eyed the gathering with barely concealed fear.
"Yes, my lords?" the prefect asked, impolitely neglecting to bow or introduce himself.
Hsuang waved his hand at his fellow nobles. "I am Tzu Hsuang Yu Po, and these are the commanders of the Twenty-Five Armies."
"Yes?" the bureaucrat responded, his face betraying his apprehension. "What do the commanders of the Twenty-Five Armies want with me?"
"Why are you abandoning your town, Prefect?" demanded one of Hsuang's subordinates. "You are clogging the road. We cannot reach your town to defend it!"
The prefect blanched, then bowed to the assemblage. "I beg your pardon, lords. Nobody told me you were coming—"
"We are not here to reproach you," Hsuang said, casting an irritated glance at the noble who had spoken without permission. "We only wish to know why you are abandoning Shihfang."
The chubby prefect looked around in confusion. "The rider came and told us to evacuate—"
"Rider?" Hsuang gasped. "What rider?"
"From the retreating army," the bureaucrat explained. "He said the barbarians were coming and that we had to leave at once."
Hsuang frowned. From what Batu had told him of the battle in the sorghum field, he did not think the retreating army should have any riders left. "What did this rider look like?" the old lord asked urgently. "How was his accent?"
The prefect's face fell. "He wore a Shou uniform—"
"Anyone can wear a Shou uniform," Hsuang said, impatiently laying a hand on the bureaucrat's collar. "Describe the man."
The chubby prefect swallowed, then said, "He was short and had a horrendous, guttural accent. I thought he was from Chukei. And the way he smelled! It was like bad wine and sour milk."
"That's no Shou," observed one of the other nobles.
"No," Hsuang agreed, grimacing. "Even in the field, no officer would be shamed by such a disgrace." Addressing the bureaucrat again, he asked, "What else did the rider say?"
The prefect looked away, ashamed that he had allowed the enemy to deceive him. Nevertheless, he answered quickly, "That we are to evacuate the town by nightfall. We aren't to burn the city or the fields because the army needs supplies."
A murmur ran through the crowd of nobles.
"They're out there," said a young lord. He was looking toward the far hills.
Hsuang nodded. "Yes, and General Batu's plan is working. They're resorting to trickery to feed themselves."
"They'll try to sneak in at night, when the stragglers have less opportunity to identify them," said one of the more experienced lords.
This noble was Cheng Han, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred, useless eye and an ugly black stain on his left temple. Like Hsuang, Cheng had a large ducal holding and was entitled to the title of tzu. At just seven hundred men, his army was smaller than many of the others in the Twenty-Five, but it was heavily equipped with siegecraft. Tzu Cheng also carried a huge supply of thunder-powder, though the stocky noble's gnarled eye did not make Hsuang anxious to place his trust in the unpredictable stuff.
After a moment's silence, Tzu Cheng continued, "With their horses, our enemies will find it easy to outflank us in the dark. We can't allow that."
Cheng's remark stirred an ember of panic in Hsuang. "I wonder how many other villages these riders have visited?"
Although he did not say so aloud, Hsuang realized that this new trickery stood a chance of defeating Batu's plan. In order to break out of their precarious containment, the Tuigan needed only a few tons of good grain. Shihfang might be the largest town west of Shou Kuan, but it was not the only one. There were hundreds of smaller hamlets within a day's ride, all supported by farming grain.
Hsuang turned to the young noble who had spoken before Tzu Cheng. "Mount your cavalry," he said. "Prepare two hundred for scouting duty. Send the other three hundred out as messengers. They are to spread the word that the barbarians are coming. The peasants must burn everything and flee."
The noble's eyes betrayed his resentment, for the order meant his cavalry would miss the battle. Nevertheless, he bowed stiffly, saying, "As you wish, Tzu."
As the man turned to go, Hsuang caught his shoulder. "I know your riders are good fighters. At the moment, however, they will serve the emperor better as messengers and scouts. They are the only ones who can move quickly enough to spread the alarm, or who can warn us of the enemy's approach before he is upon us."
The youthful noble bowed again, this time more deeply. "I shall lead the scouts personally."
"My thanks," Hsuang said, dismissing the man.
As the young lord left to dispatch his messengers and prepare his scouts for duty, the prefect bowed to Hsuang. "If you won't be needing me any longer, perhaps I could leave?"
"Yes, be on your way," Hsuang answered absently, already turning to an aide. "Have the Mirror of Shao brought up."
As he waited, Hsuang considered his situation. Shihfang lay directly between Yenching and Shou Kuan, so he and Batu had assumed the barbarian army would pass through the village, and that it would be a good place to meet the enemy. It appeared their assumption had been a correct one.
Unfortunately, they had hoped the nobles would beat the barbarians to the town by several days, leaving plenty of time to rest the men and prepare defensive fortifications. It was a hope Hsuang had given up when he saw the fleeing peasants. Even if he could move his pengs into position against the tide of refugees, they would never secure their positions before night fell and the Tuigan arrived. The original plan was no longer feasible, so he thought it best to contact Batu and report.
A pair of white oxen drew a small wagon to the top of the hill and stopped. The sideboards had been carefully painted with a hundred coats of red enamel. Dozens of mystic characters had been etched into the lustrous surface. The mirror itself resembled a kettle drum with a three-foot head of smoked glass. Its black shell was covered with yellow symbols telling of all the great feats that had been accomplished in the past with drum's aide.
Ordering his subordinates to wait for him, Hsuang went to the wagon and climbed in. Placing his hands on the edge of the mirror, he looked into the smoky glass and repeated the mysterious phrase that activated the artifact. The glass began to clear and a haze swirled beneath it, making it apparent that the Mirror of Shao was not so much a mirror as a huge bowl with magical gas sealed inside.
Forcing all images except his son-in-law's face from his mind, Hsuang looked into the mist and said, "Mirror of Shao, I am looking for Batu Min Ho, General of the Northern Marches and the one hope of Shou Lung."
Hsuang took great care to address the mirror exactly as the High Minister of Magic had instructed, for he was not sure how the thing worked and felt uncomfortable using it. After cautioning him not to use the mirror needlessly, the High Minister had tried to explain how it worked. When one used the mirror, the old sorcerer had said, one looked through the ethereal plane to see and hear whatever he wished. The explanation had been lost on both Batu and Hsuang, who could not imagine any kind of plain other than the type covered with grass and rolling hills.
The mirror's glass became completely transparent, and Hsuang felt as though he were looking into a pool of clouds. Several seconds later, his son-in-law appeared in the white mists. Though the old noble could see only Batu's face, the young general appeared to be looking at the sky.
"General Batu," Hsuang said.
Batu smiled, but continued staring into the air. According to the High Minister, only the person looking into the mirror could see to whom he was speaking. Sound, however, carried in both directions.
"Tzu Hsuang," Batu said. "It's good to hear your voice!"
"And to see your face. How goes the journey?"
"The pilots tell me we are only a few days from Yenching," the General of the Northern Marches answered. "We have lost a few ships to the river, but that is all. The closer we come to the city, the more my subcommanders believe in our plan."
"Then you've remained undetected?" Hsuang asked.
Batu nodded. "The men did not believe it was possible. Now that we have done it, they think nothing is impossible." The general allowed a proud smile to cross his lips, then grew more serious. "And you, Tzu Hsuang? Have you met the enemy?"
Hsuang shook his head. "Not yet, but soon." He described what he had found in Shihfang, then explained that he would not be able to secure the town.
"Shihfang is not important," Batu responded. "What is important is that the barbarians follow you to Shou Kuan. Can you give them a good fight and still have time to retreat?"
"Assuming the barbarians come through the village, yes,"
Hsuang answered. "We can fortify our current position and use the terrain to good advantage. With luck, we might destroy a portion of their army as they cross the valley below."
"Better than we had hoped," Batu observed.
Hsuang bit his lip. "There is a risk. If the enemy is expecting resistance at Shihfang and are as mobile as you say, they might approach along a front of many miles. They could encircle us and cut us off from Shou Kuan. Perhaps I should fall back to Shou Kuan before they attack."
Batu furrowed his brow in thought. Finally, he shook his head. "Don't retreat yet," he said. "If the Tuigan expected resistance, they wouldn't be hoping to trick Shihfang's peasants into leaving grain behind. More important, the Tuigan commander is a shrewd man. If you retreat without a fight, he'll smell our trap. To make our plan work, you must allow the enemy to force you back to Shou Kuan."
"Very well. That is what I shall do," Hsuang answered. It was not the reply he had hoped to hear, but Batu's observations made sense. "I should go now," he said. "We have much to do."
"Just a moment," Batu replied. "What have you heard from Wu?" The young general looked as though he felt guilty for keeping Hsuang from his duties.
"She is, ah, making the most of the comforts in her new home," the old noble answered. He purposely neglected to mention that the emperor had confined her to the house. That fact was not something he felt Batu needed to worry about at the moment.
"Good," Batu replied. "When you send her a message, tell her I am well." He paused a moment, then his expression grew more businesslike. "In case I'm wrong about the Tuigan," he added, "send your scouts out far and wide. Be ready to fall back at the first sign of trouble. Good luck, and let me know how you fare." The general looked away, tactfully indicating that his father-in-law was dismissed.
"Consider it done," Hsuang answered. He took his hands off the mirror. Batu's image faded and the glass became smoky once again. The noble climbed out of the wagon and turned to his aide. "Send the scouts out in a fan pattern. At the first sign of the enemy, they are to report back."
As the adjutant left, Hsuang addressed the cart driver. "When the catapults are moved into position, park the mirror behind them," he said, ordering the man into the most secure position he could think of. "At the first sign that we are losing the battle, take your wagon and ride for Shou Kuan. It is important that you keep the mirror safe."
Next, Hsuang walked a few paces to where his subcommanders were still waiting. Turning to an ancient nan, or minor lord, he said, "Take your men into Shihfang and replenish our own stores, then burn the town and the fields." The old nan acknowledged the order with a formal bow, then went to obey.
"And us, Tzu Hsuang?" asked Cheng.
Hsuang pointed at the brook in the valley below. "I think that will make an excellent defensive line."
Tzu Cheng nodded. "A wise decision. We can place the artillery up here. With my bombs, we can destroy the enemy as he crosses the valley."
"I was thinking of using flaming pitchballs," Hsuang said, trying to find a diplomatic way to keep Cheng's thunder-powder where it could do no harm. Although gunpowder was not new to Shou Lung, its use in battle was. Hsuang was not sure he wanted to trust it.
"Save the pitch for later," Cheng said enthusiastically. "The thunder-powder will be more effective."
Hsuang saw that he would have to be direct. "Please forgive an old man's superstitions," he said, inclining his head to Tzu Cheng. "I have never seen this thunder-powder used in battle. Lofting it over our own pengs makes me nervous."
Cheng's face betrayed his disappointment. "Of course, I understand your concerns, Tzu Hsuang, but I assure you that my artillerists will not make a mistake."
Another noble said, "I have seen this thunder-powder in action. It does little but rumble the ground and create a lot of smoke—"
"You have not seen it used properly, Nan Wang!" Cheng objected.
Wang bowed to Cheng. "Please forgive me, Tzu Cheng," he said. "I did not finish what I meant to say."
"Which was?" Hsuang asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It strikes me that against charging horses, rumbling ground and thick smoke might be more effective than arrows and flaming pitch," the nan finished. He looked toward the fields below.
"If I may speak," offered another minor lord, this one a middle-aged nan from Wak'an. "My own troops also use thunder-powder, though not for bombs."
"And how do you use this marvelous black sand?" Hsuang asked, turning to face the noble. He had noted earlier that each of this lord's pengs carried a large, funnel-shaped kettle, the function of which Hsuang had not been able to guess.
"Rockets, my lord," the nan responded. "We pack our kettles with gunpowder and arrows. Place us in front of the lines. When we light our weapons, our arrows will cut the enemy down like a sickle at harvest time."
Hsuang looked doubtful.
"What do we have to lose, Tzu Hsuang?" asked the nan. "From all accounts, normal arrows will not stop these barbarians."
"Let us use our thunder-powder," Cheng added, "and I promise we will chase the barbarian horses from the field."
As Hsuang considered the suggestion, he saw the cavalry assigned to scouting duty cross the bridge and ride toward Shihfang. The young noble commanding them had wasted little time doing as ordered, but Hsuang was still impatient for the riders to reach their positions. Until the first scouts reported, he was simply guessing at the barbarian intentions and hoping his son-in-law had judged the Tuigan accurately.
Fortunately, Batu's plan was simple and did not call for an astounding victory on Hsuang's part. In fact, the General of the Northern Marches expected Hsuang and the nobles to be defeated. Considering those expectations, it just might make sense to do as Cheng recommended and experiment with the thunder-powder. If Batu's plan did not work, a new weapon might prove just the advantage the Shou needed to destroy the Tuigan. A battle that the Shou were supposed to lose anyway would be the ideal place to conduct such an experiment.
"Very well, we'll try this thunder-powder," Hsuang said, looking at Cheng. "But not at the expense of tested tactics. Confine the catapults to a line of a hundred yards. If we lose this battle, we will need to retreat past them, and I don't want inadvertent fires or explosions impeding our men." Hsuang turned to the nan whose pengs carried the bronze kettles. "Your rockets must be separated from the rest of the line. I don't want our secret weapon to route our own troops."
The two nobles smiled broadly and bowed to Hsuang.
With the refugees from Shihfang still fleeing down the road, the battle preparations took until late afternoon. Hsuang put each lord's army where its peculiar composition would be best utilized. In front of the bridge, he placed two thousand seasoned troops from the southern provinces. Three of the noble armies were composed entirely of archers. These he placed at the base of the bluff, where they would be able to fire over the infantry.
The bulk of the armies he arranged in two ranks, one behind barricades on the far side of the brook, and the other behind similar barricades on the close side. His plan was simple: meet the barbarian charge with the first rank. After the enemy broke the line, the second rank would open fire as the barbarians crossed the brook—covering the rest of the army's retreat.
He protected the flanks with pikemen, who could meet and resist an unexpected charge from the sides. The rocketeers he interspersed along the first rank. He even had Tzu Cheng lay several thunder bombs on the bridge, so that it could be destroyed rapidly when the need arose.
By late afternoon, the refugees were gone. Hsuang's armies were in position and prepared for battle. The foragers that the noble had sent into Shihfang earlier started back, bringing with them five tons of dried grain. Pillars of smoke began rising out of the town.
Still, the scouts did not return, and there was no sign of the enemy. Hsuang began to think he had made a mistake, that the barbarians were even now circling around to cut off the Twenty-Five Armies. As the foragers crossed the wide valley below, they paused to set fire to the barley fields.
By early dusk, the fires in the fields had died, leaving only a thick curtain of smoke that hid the opposite side of the valley. Hsuang feared his army would spend the night in the entrenchments.
Finally, horse whinnies began sounding from the opposite side of the smoky dale.
"Are they our scouts?" Hsuang asked of no one in particular. "I can't see anything in this smoke."
A gentle rumble rolled across the burning fields, as if several hundred horses were galloping down the road from Shihfang.
"It can't be the scouts," said one of the nobles. "They wouldn't return all at once."
"It isn't the barbarians," Cheng countered. "There aren't enough of them."
No one took their eyes off the haze-filled valley.
A moment later, a wide line of riders broke out of the smoke and charged toward the brook. Their mounts were small and slender, with graceful forms and fine features. On their chests and flanks, the horses were protected by barding of hardened leather. The men wore long leather hauberks, split front and rear so they could sit in their saddles. Steel skullcaps, shaped in the fashion of a cone and trimmed with fur, protected their heads. Each man carried a short lance and a melon-sized cotton bag. In the fading light, Hsuang could not see the rider's faces, but he did not doubt they had flat noses and broad cheekbones similar to those of his son-in-law.
On the slope below, archers began nocking arrows. Officers looked toward the hilltop expectantly. Hsuang started to give the order to fire, but thought better of it. There were no more than two hundred barbarians. If he attacked, fifty times that number of men would fire. Thousands of arrows would be wasted.
Instead, he remained impassive as the enemy's small line approached. Every archer in the Twenty-five Armies remained stoic and silent, ready to pull his bowstring taut, resisting the temptation to loose an arrow before receiving the order.
Twenty yards on the other side of Hsuang's fortifications, the horsemen hurled the two hundred bags at the Shou line, then wheeled their horses around. The sacks landed among the defenders with dull plops. Small gaps opened in the lines as soldiers, fearing secret weapons or powerful war magic, scurried away from the mysterious bags.
Nothing happened. The riders rode away, disappearing into the smoking fields as if they were phantoms. The bags continued to lie where they had fallen. Eventually, a few soldiers ventured to open the sacks. Some simply stared at the contents in shock, while others closed the bags and looked away in disgust.
The lines began to rustle with murmurs of fear and anger.
"What can be inside those bags?" asked Cheng, frowning at the scene below.
"We shall see soon enough," Hsuang replied, motioning to his aide to fetch a sack.
When the boy returned, his face was pale and distressed. He carried a grimy hemp sack that held something the size of a melon. The youth bowed and presented the bag to his commander.
Hsuang accepted the sack. Noting that every peng in the Twenty-Five Armies was watching him, he turned the bag over. The head of a Shou soldier tumbled out. Though Hsuang could not be sure, he assumed the head belonged to one of his scouts.
Aware that any sign of disgust or repulsion would translate into low morale, the lord calmly retrieved the grisly head and returned it to the sack. Before he could think of any encouraging words, however, the ground began to tremble. A distant rumble came from the other side of the valley, and Hsuang's heart suddenly beat harder.
"The barbarians are coming," Cheng said, his mouth open in astonishment. "They intend to fight a night battle!"
Dropping the sack, Hsuang ordered, "Stand ready!"
The order was unnecessary. Like their commander, all forty-five thousand of his soldiers had focused their attention on the field. The dim light and heavy smoke made it impossible to see in any detail what was happening on the opposite side of the valley. To Hsuang, it seemed as though the far hill had come alive and was rolling toward them. His feet began to tingle, and the rumble grew increasingly thunderous. Two hundred yards in front of the first barricade, a teeming mass of galloping horses became visible in the smoldering barley fields.
Hsuang nodded to the noble commanding the rocketeers. "Fire when ready," he said to the nan.
The noble lifted his arm to signal, then looked twenty feet down the slope to where his standard-bearer stood. The nan did not give the order to fire, however. Though his rockets were more powerful than normal arrows, they were less accurate and had a shorter range.
The barbarians emerged from the smoke completely, riding shoulder to shoulder. They had let their reins fall free and were using both hands to nock arrows in their bows. In the deepening twilight, the riders' bulky silhouettes made them look like no more than shadows. Their line stretched for an entire mile down the valley, and Hsuang thought he could see several more ranks emerging from the smoke. At a minimum, the charge numbered sixty thousand men.
Eyeing the approaching wall of horsemen, Cheng said, "The enemy has committed his entire army. We'll destroy them in a single battle!"
"What makes you think this is the Tuigan's entire army?" Hsuang asked. His eyes remained fixed on the valley below.
Cheng did not answer. Like Hsuang and the others, he was waiting for the rockets to fire. The rocketeers stood behind the far barricade, separated from the closest conventional troops by gaps of twenty or thirty yards. Each man's kettle held thirty arrows and sat braced atop the barricade. The small end of each kettle was packed with thunder-powder. When the wick was lit, the powder would ignite, shooting the arrows out with incredible force. Or at least that was the theory.
When the barbarians approached to within seventy-five yards of the first barricade, their entire line suddenly reined their horses to a halt.
"What are they doing?" Hsuang demanded, angrily pointing at the enemy. "Why stop a charge in midstride?"
No one could answer.
The air resonated with the twang of sixty thousand Tuigan bowstrings. A black swarm of arrows sailed toward the first barricade. All along the line, men screamed in agony and fell. Hundreds of motionless Shou slipped into the brook and began to drift downstream.
"We cannot wait for the rocketeers any longer!" Hsuang snapped, chastising himself for allowing the barbarians to strike the first blow.
"They're barely within range," the nan objected, still holding his signal arm aloft. "If we wait just a little longer—"
"They're as close as they're going to come," Hsuang yelled, pointing at the stationary line. "Give the order!"
Frowning, the noble looked toward his standard-bearer and dropped his arm. An instant later, the turtle and shark crest began swaying from side to side.
The rocketeers touched their torches to the wicks. A series of booms and claps echoed through the valley, and great billows of black smoke rose into the air.
Hsuang could barely believe the results. In ten places, the kettles exploded instantly, flinging chunks of log and stray arrows in all directions. The rocketeers simply disappeared with the rest of the debris, and all that remained where they had stood were gaping holes in the barricade.
When the kettles did not explode, they sprayed their arrows out in an erratic, cone-shaped pattern that usually fell far short of the barbarian lines. The rockets that did reach the enemy, however, were effective. Nearly twenty riders sprouted arrows and flew out of their saddles with such force that there could be no doubt the men's armor had been penetrated. Dozens of horses dropped to the ground and did not move, dead at first impact. Hsuang could see why his subordinate had wanted to wait. At close range, the rockets' impact would have been devastating.
The effect on the Tuigan horses was more impressive than the number of casualties, however. Horrified whinnies and terrified neighs filled the valley. Thousands of mounts threw their riders, and hundreds of riders died beneath their beasts' frightened hooves. Many of the barbarians thrust their bows into their holsters, and used both hands to grab for their reins in a futile attempt to control their mounts. Only a few of the horsewarriors could keep their thoughts on the Shou.
Without looking away from the battle, Hsuang said, "Have the archers open fire."
His aide relayed the message to the appropriate standard-bearers. An instant later, the distinctive bass snaps of ten-thousand bows vibrated up the hill. A flock of shafts sailed over the brook and struck the wall of horsemen. Thousands of riders fell, and more panic spread through the lines as wounded and terrified horses turned to flee.
"Shall I fire the catapults?" Tzu Cheng asked eagerly. "A few more explosions will route the enemy."
"No," Hsuang replied, lifting a restraining hand.
As of yet, the enemy had not regained control of their horses. He saw no use in chasing them away before the archers could take full advantage of the barbarian disarray.
Another flight of arrows struck the enemy line. Several thousand riders fell, but Hsuang could see the horsewarriors calming their mounts. Loud noises might disturb Tuigan horses, but the beasts were accustomed to men dying upon their backs.
The archers fired another volley, killing even more barbarians than they had with the first two. Hsuang nodded to Cheng. "Loose your thunder bombs," he said.
Tzu Cheng relayed the message to his adjutant, and a moment later his standard waved. The artillerists touched their torches to the wicks of the small iron balls resting in their engines' spoons.
The engine commanders released their windlass locks. As the spoon bars slammed against the cross pieces, a series of deep thumps rolled across the hilltop.
One cross piece splintered. The bomb landed in front of the catapult and exploded, spraying hot shrapnel in all directions. Fifty feet away, a ball of flame engulfed four more catapults. A series of lesser explosions followed. An instant later, the splintered remains of four artillery pieces were raining down on the entire line of artillerymen.
Fortunately, that was the only misfire. Most of the bombs hit near the barbarian lines. At least half of the fuses went out before the missiles reached their targets. These powder pods simply burst on impact, spraying black sand everywhere. Of the bombs that did explode, very few landed close enough to inflict any casualties upon the enemy. Some even exploded in the air, over the Tuigan's heads.
The bombs' inaccuracy did not diminish their effect, however. The enemy's horses went wild, throwing their riders. Many thousands bolted, helpless men clinging to their backs. Within seconds, the Tuigan cavalry was fleeing in an uncontrolled panic.
Tzu Cheng smiled triumphantly. "With the miracle of alchemy, we are undefeatable."
"For now," Hsuang said, casting a sidelong glance at the destruction caused by the single misfired bomb. To his dismay, he caught sight of the wagon that carried the Mirror of Shao. The driver was sprawled on the ground next to the seat. The cart sat lopsided where the axle had broken and a wheel had fallen off. The broken end of a catapult spoon lay among the shattered remains of the mirror.
For a long moment, Hsuang could only stare in horror and astonishment at the smashed mirror. To keep from yelling at Tzu Cheng, he had to remind himself that he was the one who had forgotten to move the mirror when he decided to try the thunder-powder bombs.
A roar of triumph rolled up the hill, bringing the old noble to his senses. He turned back to the battle. Behind the barricades, the soldiers were screaming in jubilation. Over ten thousand barbarians lay dead in the fields, and the Shou casualties had been light. Hsuang could understand their elation, but he knew the victory was only temporary.
In front of the bridge, a handful of men began to run after the barbarians. More followed suit. In seconds, the entire force detailed to defend the bridge was charging after the retreating cavalry.
"I didn't give the order to advance!" Hsuang gasped. "What are they doing?"
"What they're trained to do," said the noble who commanded the bridge guards. "They're destroying a disorganized enemy."
The armies to either side of the bridge also leaped over their barricades to pursue the barbarians.
"No!" Hsuang cried, turning to his subordinates. "Call them back!"
"Why?" asked Cheng.
Hsuang was too astounded to answer. The Book of Heaven urged its readers to pursue and destroy a disorganized enemy. Unfortunately, it had not been written with the Tuigan in mind. Against superior numbers of mounted men, pursuit could easily turn into a trap. It had never occurred to Hsuang that he and his nobles might rout the enemy, so he had neglected to discuss this point with his subcommanders. He feared he would pay dearly for the mistake.
Hsuang turned to his adjutant. "Send runners to every commander on the line. They are not to pursue."
"Tzu Hsuang!" Cheng objected, daring to grasp his superior's sleeve. "Now is no time for timidity. We have the enemy in our hands."
Hsuang jerked his sleeve out of the man's grip. "Then we are about to lose our hands," he replied sharply. He looked at his adjutant. "What are you waiting for?"
The aide bowed and went about the task with a vigor appropriate to its importance. Unfortunately, even the most dedicated adjutant could not have prevented what followed. Every army behind the front barricade followed the bridge soldiers. By the time the runners arrived with Hsuang's order, the front barricade was deserted. The second rank of defenders was working its way across the brook to join them.
The messengers managed to recall the second line of pengs, but the bridge troops had already led the first rank into the dark, smoking barley fields.
As Hsuang watched fifteen thousand men disappear into the smoky twilight, he said, "Lords, I must regretfully order you to prepare to fall back."
The other nobles stared at him with expressions ranging from astonishment to open fury. "This is madness!" Cheng said. "We're winning this battle."
"No," Hsuang replied. "The battle was lost before we reached Shihfang. Now it is a disaster."
"What do you mean?" asked Cheng. The man's expression was thoughtful and concerned.
Hsuang did not need to answer. The ground began to rumble, as if the spirits had sent a terrible earthquake to shake the nobles to their senses. An instant later, the pained and horrified screams of dying men rolled across the dark fields. The rumble grew more distinct; there could be no doubt that tens of thousands of pounding hooves caused it.
Moments later, dozens of Shou pengs appeared out of the smoke. They had thrown down their weapons and were running for the Shou lines, arrows sailing about their heads like a swarm of insects.
Tzu Cheng bowed very low to Hsuang. "I will send the order to destroy the bridge," he said. "Our best chance is to flee under cover of darkness."