The counterweights Lian had designed were rope nets of larger stones, hanging from the levers of the machines. Two men had crushed their hands in the construction, suffering agonies as Kokchu cut the mangled limbs from them. The shaman had rubbed a thick, gritty paste into their gums to dull the pain, but they had still screamed. The work went on, watched always from the walls of Yenking. Genghis had been helpless to prevent the massive war bows being moved along the crest to face his own weapons. Sweating teams of Imperial guards built new cradles for them, working as many hours as the Mongol warriors below.
It took hundreds of strong men to roll the trebuchets up to the ramps in front of Yenking. With fresh snow falling on the plain, Genghis stood in frustration as the Chin engineers wound back seven great bows, sending iron-tipped poles crashing against the ramparts. The trebuchets answered with two boulders that cracked against the walls, sending splinters flying. The Chin weapons were untouched.
It took an age to reset Lian's great levers. In that time, the wall bows hammered the ramps over and over. Before the trebuchets were ready for a second shot at the city, cracks appeared in the ramps the tribes had built. After that, destruction came quickly. Stones exploded into the air with each strike, showering Lian and his men with splinters. Many of them fell clutching at their hands and faces, staggering back as the barrage continued. Lian himself was untouched and he stood watching in grim silence as his ramparts were torn apart and his machines exposed.
For a time, it seemed that the trebuchets themselves might survive, but then a direct hit cracked across the plain, followed almost instantly by three more. As the wall teams tired, the rate had slowed, but each blow carried terrific force. Warriors died trying to drag the machines out of range. One moment they were there, sweating and shouting. The next they were bloody smears on the wood and the air around them was filled with snow and dust.
Nothing could be salvaged. Genghis growled softly in his throat as he looked over the broken men and timbers. He was close enough to the city to hear cheering inside, and it galled him that Lian had been right. Without protection, they could not match the range of the wall weapons, and whatever they built would be hammered down. Genghis had discussed making high towers to wheel toward the city, perhaps even sheathed in iron, but the heavy bolts would punch straight through them, just as his own arrows pierced sheet armor. If his metalworkers made the towers strong enough to withstand the blows, they would be too heavy to move. It was maddening.
Genghis paced up and down as Tsubodai sent brave warriors in to collect the wounded and take them out of range. His men believed he could take Yenking as he had taken other cities. Seeing Lian's extraordinary constructions smashed to kindling would not help morale in the camp.
As Genghis watched the Young Wolves risk their lives, Kachiun approached and dismounted. His brother's expression was inscrutable, though Genghis thought he could detect the same deep irritation at the failure.
“Whoever built this city gave thought to its defense,” Kachiun said. “We won't take it by force.”
“Then they will starve,” Genghis snapped. “I have raised the black tent before Yenking. There will be no mercy.”
Kachiun nodded, watching his older brother closely. Genghis was never at his best when forced into inaction. Those were the times when the generals walked with care around him. Over the previous days, Kachiun had seen Genghis lose his dark moods as the ramps rose, wondrously strong. They had all been confident, but it was clear now that the Chin commander had only waited for them to drag the new weapons into range. Whoever he was, the man was patient, and patient enemies were the most dangerous.
Kachiun knew Genghis was capable of being stung into rash decisions. As things stood, he still listened to his generals, but as the winter wore on, Genghis would be tempted to try almost anything and the tribes could suffer as a result.
“What do you think of sending men to climb the walls at night?” Genghis asked, echoing Kachiun's thoughts. “Fifty or a hundred of them, to light fires in the city.”
“The walls can be climbed,” Kachiun replied carefully. “But the Chin patrols at the top are as thick as flies. You said it would be a waste of men, before.”
Genghis shrugged irritably. “We had catapults then. It might still be worth trying.”
Genghis turned his pale eyes on his brother. Kachiun held his gaze, knowing his brother would want the truth.
“Lian said they had more than a million in the city,” Kachiun said. “Whoever we sent would be hunted down like wild dogs and become sport for their soldiers.” Genghis grunted in response, grim and despairing. Kachiun searched for a way to lighten his mood.
“Perhaps it is now time to send the generals out to raid, as you said you would. There will be no quick victory here and there are other cities in this land. Let your sons go with them, that they can learn our trade.”
Kachiun saw doubt cross his brother's face and thought he understood. The generals were men Genghis trusted to act without his supervision. They were loyal by any test that mattered, but the war up to that point had been fought with Genghis watching. To send them out, perhaps for thousands of miles, was not an order Genghis would give lightly. He had agreed to it more than once, and yet somehow, the final command had not come.
“Is it betrayal you fear, brother?” Kachiun asked softly. “Where would it come? From Arslan and his son Jelme, who have been with us from the beginning? From Khasar, or Tsubodai, who worships you? From me?”
Genghis smiled tightly at the idea. He looked up at the walls of Yenking, still untouched before him. With a sigh, he realized he could not keep so many active men on that plain for as long as three years. They would be at each other's throats long before that, doing the work of the Chin emperor for him.
“Shall I send the entire army? Perhaps I will stay here on my own and dare the Chin to come out.”
Kachiun chuckled at the image. “In truth, they would probably think it was a trap and leave you there,” he replied. “Yet if I were the emperor, I would be training every able man as a warrior, building an army from within. You cannot leave too few to guard Yenking, or they could see a chance to attack.”
Genghis snorted. “You do not make a warrior in a few months. Let them train, these bakers and merchants. I would welcome the chance to show them what it means to be a warrior born.”
“With a voice of thunder, no doubt, and perhaps a penis of lightning,” Kachiun said with a straight face. After a moment of silence, both of them broke into laughter.
Genghis had lost the black mood that had settled on him with the destruction of the catapults. Kachiun could almost see the energy rise in him as he thought about the future.
“I have said I will send them out, Kachiun, though it is early yet. We do not know if other cities will try to relieve Yenking and we may need every man here.” He shrugged. “If the city hasn't fallen by spring, I will set the generals free to hunt.”
Zhi Zhong was in a pensive mood as he stood before the high window in the audience chamber of the summer palace. He had hardly spoken to the boy emperor since the day he had crowned him. Xuan was somewhere in the labyrinth of corridors and rooms that had formed his father's official residence, and Zhi Zhong rarely thought of him.
The soldiers had cheered their general as the Mongol trebuchets were destroyed that morning. They had looked to Zhi Zhong for approval and he had shown it in a brief nod to their officer before striding down the steps into the city. Only in private had he clenched a fist in silent triumph. It was not enough to expunge the memory of the Badger's Mouth, but it was a victory of sorts and the frightened citizens needed something to raise them from their despair. Zhi Zhong sneered to himself as he recalled the reports of suicides. Four highborn daughters had been found dead in their rooms as soon as the news of the army's defeat had filtered through Yenking. All four had known each other and it seemed they preferred a dignified end to the rape and destruction they saw as inevitable. Eleven more had taken the
same path in the weeks that followed, and Zhi Zhong had worried the new fashion for death might spread right across the city. He clasped his hands behind his back, peering out across the lake at the noble houses. They would have better news today. Perhaps they would hesitate with their knives of ivory and their scorn for his skill. Yenking could still resist the invaders.
The lord regent realized he was tired and hungry. He had not eaten since the morning and the day had been spent in too many meetings to recall. Every man in authority in Yenking seemed to need his approval and his advice. As if he knew any better than they what to expect over the coming months. He frowned at the thought of the food supplies, glancing to a side table where scrolls lay in a pyramid. The citizens of Yenking were eating themselves into defeat. That one thing could make a mockery of his defenses, but Zhi Zhong himself had stripped the city stores to feed the army. It galled him to think of the Mongols eating the supplies he had gathered for a year at the pass, but there was no point looking back at bad decisions. After all, he and the emperor had believed the Mongols would be stopped before they ever came in sight of the Imperial city.
Zhi Zhong pursed his mouth. The Yenking merchants were not fools. Rationing was already in force across the city. Even the black market had collapsed as they realized the siege might not be broken quickly. Only a few were still selling food for huge profits. The rest were hoarding supplies for their own families. Like all their class, they would try to wait out the storm and then grow fat and rich again in the aftermath.
Zhi Zhong made a mental note to have the wealthiest merchants brought before him. He knew how to apply the sort of pressure that would reveal their secret stores. Without them, the peasants would be eating cats and dogs inside a month, and after that . . . ? He cracked his neck wearily. After that, he would be trapped in a place with a million starving people. It would be hell on earth.
The one hope was that the Mongols would not wait outside the walls forever. He told himself they would tire of the siege and ride to other cities less well defended. Zhi Zhong rubbed his eyes, glad there was no one but slaves to see his weakness. In truth, he had never worked as hard in his life as in this new role. He hardly slept, and when he did find rest, his dreams were filled with plans and stratagems. He had gone without sleep at all the night before as he stood with the bow teams.
He smiled tightly as he remembered again the destruction of the Mongol machines. If only he could have seen the khan's face at that moment. He was tempted to summon the ministers for a final meeting before he bathed and slept. No, not while they looked at him with something more than defeat in their eyes. He would let them have this day complete, one where he had cracked the image of invincibility around the Mongol khan.
Zhi Zhong turned away from the window and took a path through dark corridors to where Emperor Wei had bathed each evening. He sighed in anticipated pleasure as he reached the door and entered a room centered around a sunken pool. The slaves had heated the water ready for his ritual, and he cracked his neck again as he prepared to have the cares of the day soothed from him.
Slaves undressed Zhi Zhong with casual efficiency as he gazed at the two girls waiting to rub his skin with oils in the pool. Silently he congratulated Emperor Wei on his taste. The slave women of the Imperial household would be wasted on his son, at least for a few more years.
Naked, Zhi Zhong lowered himself into the water, enjoying the sense of space in the high-ceilinged room. Water dripped and echoed and he began to relax as the girls soaped his skin with soft brushes. Their touch revived him. After a time, he drew one of them out of the pool, laying her on her back on the cold tiles. Her nipples stiffened in the sudden chill. Only her lower legs remained in the hot water as he took her in silence. She was well trained and her hands writhed across his back as she gasped under the man who ruled the city. Her companion observed the rutting pair with dispassionate interest for a few moments, then resumed soaping his back, pressing her breasts into him so that he groaned in pleasure. Without opening his eyes, Zhi Zhong reached for her hand, guiding it down to where the bodies met so that she could feel him enter her companion. She clung to him with professional skill and he smiled, his mind growing calm even as his body tensed and jerked. There were compensations in ruling Yenking.
Three nights after the destruction of the Mongol catapults, two men slipped unseen down the walls of Yenking, dropping the last few feet without a sound. The ropes disappeared above their heads, pulled up by the lord regent's guards.
In the darkness, one of the men glanced at the other, controlling his nervousness. He did not like the company of the assassin and would be pleased when their paths diverged. His own mission was one he had undertaken before for Emperor Wei, and he relished the prospect of stealing among the Chin recruits who labored so tirelessly for the Mongol khan. To a man, the traitors deserved death, but he would smile at them and work just as hard as they while he gathered information. In his own way, he knew his contribution would be as valuable as that of any of the soldiers on the walls. The lord regent needed every scrap of information about the tribes, and the spy did not underestimate his own importance.
He had not learned the name of the assassin, perhaps as well protected as his own. Though they had stood together inside the wall, the dark-clothed man had not spoken a word. The spy had not been able to resist watching as the man checked his weapons, tying and securing the small blades of his trade as they waited. No doubt Zhi Zhong had paid a fortune in gold for the service, one that would almost certainly mean death for the assassin himself.
It was strange to crouch next to a man who expected to die that night, yet showed no sign of fear. The spy shuddered delicately. He would not want to exchange places and could hardly understand the way such a man must think. What devotion could inspire such fanatical loyalty? As dangerous as his own missions had been in the past, he had always hoped to make it back to his masters, to his home.
In his dark cloth, the assassin was little more than a shadow. His companion knew that he would not reply even if he dared to whisper a question to him. The man was focused, his life bought. He would not allow distraction. In utter silence, they stepped into a small wooden boat and used a pole to cross the black moat. A rope trailed from it to the other side for it to be pulled back and hidden, or sunk. There would be no trace of the men to cause suspicion in daylight.
On the far side, both men crouched as they heard a jingle of harness. The Mongol scouts were efficient, but they could not see into every pool of darkness and they watched for a show of force, not two men waiting to walk stealthily into their camp. The spy knew where the Chin recruits had pitched their gers, mimicking the homes of their new masters without shame. There was a chance that they would discover him and then he too would be killed, but that was a risk weighed against his skill and he did not let the thought disturb him. He glanced again at the assassin and this time he saw the man's head turn toward him. He looked away, embarrassed. All his life, he had heard of the cult, men who trained every waking hour to bring death. They had no honor as soldiers understood honor. The spy had played the part of a soldier enough times to know the creed, and he felt a twinge of disgust at the thought of a man who lived only to kill. He had seen the vials of poison the man tucked away and the wire garrote he had looped expertly about his wrist.
It was said the assassins' victims were their sacrifice to dark gods. Their own death was the ultimate proof of faith and guaranteed them a high place on the wheel of life. The spy shuddered again, disturbed that his work should have brought him into contact with such a destroyer.
The sounds of Mongol scouts died away and the spy jerked in surprise as he felt a light touch on his arm. The assassin pressed a sticky jar into his hand. It stank of rancid mutton fat and the spy could only look at it in confusion.
“Rub it onto your skin,” the assassin murmured. “For the dogs.”
As the spy understood, he looked up, but the black figure was already padding away on noiseless feet,
vanishing in the darkness. The spy thanked his ancestors for the gift as he rubbed the muck over his skin. He thought at first that it had been kindness, though it was more likely the assassin did not want the camp roused while he set about his own work. His face flushed in humiliation at the thought. Let there be no other surprises that night.
When he had composed himself, he stood and trotted through the darkness, heading to a destination he had marked while there was still light. Without his grim companion, he felt his confidence begin to return. In a little while, he would be among the Chin recruits, chatting and talking as if he had known them for years. He had done it before, when the emperor suspected the loyalty of a provincial governor. He put aside the thought, realizing that he must be in place before the assassin struck or he could be caught and questioned. He strolled into the sleeping camp, calling a greeting to a Mongol warrior as the man came out to urinate in the night. The man responded sleepily in his own grunting language without expecting to be understood. A dog raised its head as he passed, but only growled softly as it caught his scent. The spy smiled, unseen in the darkness. He was in.
The assassin approached the great ger of the khan, moving through the dark camp like a wraith. The Mongol leader was a fool to reveal his location to everyone on the walls of Yenking. It was the sort of mistake a man made only once, when he knew nothing of the Black Tong. The assassin did not know if the Mongols would go back to their mountains and plains when the khan died. He did not care. He had been given a scroll tied in black silk ribbon in a formal ceremony by his master, pledging his life in a blood bond. No matter what happened, he would not return to his brothers. If he failed, he would take his own life rather than be captured and perhaps reveal the secrets of his order. The corners of his mouth tightened in dark amusement. He would not fail. The Mongols were sheepherders: good with a bow, but like children against a man of his training. There was little honor in being chosen even to kill a khan of these stinking tribesmen, but he gave no thought to that. His honor came from obedience and a perfect death.
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