by Troy Denning
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.
&
nbsp; 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 northwest, 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 t
hough 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.”
