by Troy Denning
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.
