by Troy Denning
“What of the barbarians themselves?” asked Kei Bot.
“Yenching is well lit,” the officer reported, glancing toward Kei Bot but addressing Batu. “It appears the enemy is taking shelter in the city.”
“They’re not sleeping with their horses?” Batu asked, frowning.
“No more than three hundred campfires burn outside the city,” the scout said confidently. “Perhaps many of the barbarians are sleeping without fires, but then who is lighting the city?”
Pe pointed to the body-choked river. “Certainly not the citizens.”
“This makes no sense,” Batu said, leaning on the gunwale. “Why would there be so many barbarians in Yenching?”
“Evidently, the residents tried to hold Yenching” Kei Bot offered, nodding at the corpses. “Perhaps they didn’t burn their grain before the city fell.”
“The Tuigan must have taken the city weeks ago,” objected one of the other generals. “Why would they remain here, consuming what must be a very limited supply of food? It would be wiser to eat their fill, then carry what they could and press forward.”
“Our enemies are barbarians,” Kei Bot snapped, turning on the man who had contradicted him. “After two months of starvation, they must now be content to feast and rest.”
Batu stepped between Kei Bot and the other general. “Our enemies may be barbarians,” he said, “but they are cunning and disciplined. Whatever their reason for remaining in Yenching, General Kei, it is not lethargy.”
Batu deliberately delivered the comment with a scornful tone. Kei Bot received the censure with a bow and an apologetic expression, but Batu knew from experience that the reproach would have little permanent effect.
“The Tuigan must be ready for us,” Pe said, addressing his commander. “Perhaps a spy learned of your plan, General.”
All six commanders grimaced.
“That’s impossible,” Batu responded, shaking his head. “Only one person at the summer palace knows where we are, and she would never reveal the plan.”
“The summer palace is far away,” Kei Bot responded, looking toward the southeast. “Who can tell what is passing there.”
Kei Bot’s ominous comment sent an unaccustomed pang of concern through Batu’s breast. He cast a disturbed glance toward the distant palace, wondering what his family was doing and if they were safe. The concern was a new emotion, for the general had always felt confident of his wife’s ability to care for the family when he was gone. During their last two weeks together, however, Wu had seemed anything but assured or strong. Diplomacy had never been one of her gifts, and it had been clear that she felt insecure in the political atmosphere of the summer palace.
“Is something wrong, General?” Pe asked, daring to touch his master’s sleeve.
Batu shook his head, forcing his family from his mind. This was no time to let such thoughts interfere with his duty. If familial concerns keep a soldier from focusing on the task at hand, Batu reminded himself sternly, he had no business having a wife and children. In war, there was too much at risk to let personal affairs take priority over military matters.
The general turned back to the cavalry officer. “What do you make of the horses and the lights in the city?” he asked.
The officer’s eyes widened in shock. “Me, General?”
“Yes,” Batu snapped. “You’re the only one who has seen the enemy camp. Do they appear prepared for battle?”
The young cavalryman looked from one general to another, as if begging for mercy.
“Answer!” insisted Wak’an, the officer’s direct commander.
The scout licked his lips nervously. Finally, he answered, “In truth, they aren’t prepared for battle. They have established a wide perimeter of guardposts, of course. But the rain has made the ground muddy. Their patrols move slowly and do not range far. They have displayed a surprising lack of concern about the river—”
“They don’t realize it’s a means of transport,” Kei Bot observed, a condescending smirk on his face. “The barbarians are not boatmen.”
“No doubt,” Batu agreed. He turned back to the cavalry officer. “Continue.”
“There’s little more to report. By moving only at night, our scouts have engaged but one patrol, and we destroyed it to a man. We haven’t made any blunders, and the enemy’s lazy deployment suggests they don’t suspect our presence. They look as though battle is the farthest thing from their minds.”
“They sound more like a garrison than a battle-ready force,” Pe observed, furrowing his brow.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Batu said. “They might be only a garrison.”
“With a hundred and fifty thousand horses?” objected another general.
Batu nodded. “Yes. Even if the Tuigan don’t know our plan, their spies have certainly reported the disappearance of our five armies. As he has demonstrated so far, the barbarian commander is no fool. The only bridge across the upper Shengti is at Yenching. Yamun Khahan knows as well as we do that if he loses that city, he will be cut off from his homeland and trapped in Shou Lung.”
“So he would garrison the city,” Kei Bot observed. A moment later, he frowned. “But not with a hundred and fifty thousand men. From your estimates of the enemy’s strength, General Batu, that’s three quarters of the barbarian army!”
The other generals muttered in agreement, but Batu shook his head thoughtfully. “The Tuigan are as rich in horses as Shou Lung is in people,” the general said. “Each man leads an extra mount, sometimes two. There are probably no more than seventy-five thousand warriors in Yenching.”
“Even so, seventy-five thousand men is no garrison,” countered Kei Bot, meeting Batu’s gaze with a critical expression. “Until we know why there are so many barbarians in Yenching, we must proceed with the utmost caution.”
Batu suffered a sinking feeling. “As much as it pains me to admit it, your counsel is wise,” he replied. The General of the Northern Marches looked over the gunwale toward the city. “What can they be doing with so many men in Yenching?” he demanded, his voice betraying more frustration than he cared to reveal to his subordinates.
After a long and anxious silence, it was the cavalry officer who dared to speak. “If I may, General, I can offer one possible answer.” He inclined his head to show that he did not mean to be presumptuous.
“If you know the reason for the barbarian behavior, it is your obligation to report it!” Batu snapped, irritated that the man’s timidity had kept him from fully discharging his duty. “Speak!”
The officer paled at his commander’s tone, then quickly wet his lips and began. “I have only a few thousand horses in my command,” he said, staring at Batu’s feet. “Still, we have found it difficult to feed them, especially in the areas the peasants have burned. With a hundred times as many horses, the problem must be a hundred times as severe.”
Batu nodded. “Go on.”
The cavalryman dared to look up. “If I were the enemy commander, I’d leave my extra horses and as much of my force as prudent at Yenching—especially if the granaries were full when the city fell.”
“You’re right,” Batu declared, laying a commending hand on the scout’s shoulder. “They aren’t foot soldiers, so the Tuigan ignore the possibility of using the river for transport. We aren’t cavalrymen, so we forget the difficulties of feeding the horses and don’t recognize the obvious problems our enemy faces.”
The other generals voiced their agreement with the cavalry officer’s analysis. Presently, however, Kei Bot scowled. “What difference does this enlightenment make, General Batu? Your plan is spoiled. Even if we had the proper equipment, it would take weeks to siege Yenching. Before it falls, the rest of the barbarians would return to aid the garrison.”
Batu meet the stocky general’s scowl with narrowed eyes. “Then we must take the city by surprise,” he said. “Tonight.”
His subordinates gasped. The cavalry officer nearly choked with shock. “B-But that’s impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible,” Batu replied, a smile of anticipation creeping across his lips. The general loved nothing more than testing himself and his men in battle, and storming the city might well prove a challenge worthy of their talents.
Still, Batu harbored no hope that Yenching would be a truly magnificent combat. The circumstances were not right for the epic confrontation he coveted. There was nothing illustrious about taking an enemy by surprise, especially when the opponent was outnumbered and far away from the supervision of a brilliant commander.
There was no chance, Batu realized, that Yenching would be the illustrious battle of which he dreamed. On the other hand, there was no chance that it would prove boring, either.
After standing for several moments in dumfounded silence, the scout bowed deeply. “Please forgive me, General,” the young officer said. “I didn’t explain the situation clearly. The barbarians will see us coming. There is a guardpost two miles outside the city. They will see your boat lamps as soon as you round the next bend. That’s why I stopped you here.”
“The enemy is not as poorly prepared as you had hoped,” Kei Bot said, a satisfied smirk creasing his lips. “There is no way to surprise the Tuigan. You have no choice but to siege the city.”
“I repeat,” Batu said flatly. “We’ll take Yenching tonight. I have just the way to do it.”
Ignoring his subordinates’ open mouths, Batu turned to the cavalry officer. “Can you stampede the barbarian’s mounts?”
A grin crossed the scout’s lips. For the first time that night, he looked certain of himself. “It will be a simple matter. The animals may be tethered, but no rein in the world will hold a frightened horse—much less a hundred and fifty thousand of them.”
“Good,” Batu replied, giving his subordinates a confident smile. “Yenching will be ours by morning.”
He outlined his plan, assigning each general the responsibility for coordinating one particular aspect. When he finished, he ordered the fleet commander to begin debarking the army on the river’s northern shore.
Batu took a few minutes to help the feng-li lang and his assistants from the Rites Section kill a hunting falcon. The feng-li lang claimed the sacrifice would persuade the spirits to grant favorable weather for the coming battle. After the bird’s body had been ritually burned in a bronze caldron, Batu turned his attention to the most crucial part of his plan. He had a hundred and fifty volunteers, armed with swords and torches, hidden deep within the bilges of two cargo junks. Next, he had the boats loaded with grain, taking care to make sure that his pengs could not be discovered easily.
Batu ordered the two junks to light all their lamps and sail upriver, then returned to his cabin to write his customary letter to Wu. No sooner had he set out the ink and writing brushes, however, than Pe came below.
“The pengs are debarked and formed into units,” the adjutant said, standing in the tiny cabin’s door. “The Most Magnificent Army of Shou Lung is ready to march.”
“Good,” Batu responded, dipping his brush into the ink well. “We’ll begin as soon as I finish writing to Wu.”
Pe looked concerned. “More than half the night has passed, General, and we have a long march ahead.”
“I am aware of the hour and the distance to Yenching,” Batu snapped, irritated by Pe’s presumption. He felt sure the adjutant had meant to imply he was wrong to delay the army while attending to a personal matter.
The adjutant blanched. “Forgive me, General.”
“Don’t apologize” Batu replied, realizing that Pe was correct to criticize him. Every minute he delayed increased the likelihood of the sun rising on his army before it reached Yenching. If that happened, even the Ministry of Magic’s wu jens could not keep such a vast number of men concealed.
Batu laid his writing brush aside and stood, fastening his chia. “Issue strict orders that no peng is to speak. Every man is to secure all loose equipment. We don’t want enemy sentries hearing even the faintest voice or the most distant piece of clanging metal.”
Pe did not turn to leave. Instead, still looking at the floor, the adjutant said, “But your letter, General. I didn’t mean you should not finish it, only that it might be wise to send the army ahead.”
Batu cast a regretful eye at the blank paper. “I must be with the army at all times, in case the enemy discovers us,” he said. “Anyway, I can’t send the letter to Wu. If the Tuigan captured the messenger, they would certainly learn our position. The risk is too great to take just to keep a personal promise.”
He motioned Pe out of the doorway. The adjutant led the way up to the deck and into a waiting sampan. After the general and his aide reached shore, Pe issued the orders concerning talking and clanging equipment.
A few minutes later, the army began marching through the mud, the cavalry leading the way. Within half an hour, the drizzle stopped and a brisk wind blew out of the west. Batu had no idea whether the change in weather was the spirits’ doing or not, but he whispered a silent thanks to them anyway. The breeze would carry any sounds his army made away from the enemy.
At regular intervals, the scouts sent guides back to lead the infantry over the next section of ground. The guides took the army through a labyrinth of shallow valleys. Because of the absolute darkness, men were constantly stumbling and falling on the broken, muddy ground. For the largest part, they avoided cursing or calling out, but it was impossible to prevent loud thuds and clangs.
Twice, the army paused while the cavalry surrounded and attacked an enemy outpost. During these times, Batu could hardly restrain himself from riding forward to direct the small engagements personally. If one of the enemy sentries escaped, the Shou armies would lose the element of surprise. Fortunately, the cavalry proved up to the task and most of the Tuigan died with their weapons sheathed.
Three hours later, the armies were still struggling through the mud and the cavalry scouts had not yet called a halt. It was nearly morning, and the first gray streaks of false dawn were appearing in the eastern sky. Batu feared the barbarians would be awake by the time his army arrived at Yenching.
Just when he felt sure the scouts had lost the way, the cavalry commander returned. Pointing at a hulking silhouette that loomed ahead, the young man said, “Yenching is over that hill, General.”
“Let us see what there is to see,” Batu replied.
The general and the scout dismounted and crept to the hilltop, Pe following close behind. The three men were careful to stay low to the ground, lest they cast a silhouette against the false dawn.
Yenching lay in the shallow valley of a tributary to the Shengti. The streets were barely discernible from the buildings at this early hour. A dark band, which Batu took to be a wall, surrounded the city. Outside the wall, thousands of dark shapes that could only be horses milled through the valley. The cavalry officer had not exaggerated their huge number.
A canal had been dredged from the Shengti River to Yenching, entering the city through a fan-shaped gate designed to accommodate boat traffic. Batu could see little else, for the night remained dark and moonless.
Pe pointed at the Shengti. “There are the junks, General.”
Two sets of lights were slowly moving up the river. As the three men watched, it became apparent that the barbarian sentries had also noticed the junks. The trio caught several glimpses of mounted silhouettes skulking along the shore behind the boats.
Within a few minutes, the junks reached the mouth of the canal and turned toward the city. To Batu’s relief, the enemy did not stop the boats. It appeared the Tuigan were every bit as desperate for supplies as the cavalry officer had suggested. Assuming the craft to be ladened with cargo, the barbarians were not making any moves that might frighten the crews and send the junks back down the river. The horsewarriors would probably not seize the boats until they were inside the city, where fleeing would be impossible. Shortly afterward, torches in hand, the pengs hiding in the bilges would rush from the junks. They would set fire to eve
rything they could, burning Yenching from the inside and forcing the barbarians to flee into the arms of the Shou armies waiting outside.
The boats’ progress up the canal seemed painfully slow. False dawn faded, then reappeared a few minutes later as first light. Batu could barely stop himself from giving the order to stampede the horses. He was anxious to start the battle, and not just because he was looking forward to it.
The general from Chukei was relying upon at least partial darkness to keep the barbarians confused. Every minute closer to dawn reduced his chance of victory. At the same time, if he attacked too early, the enemy would smell a trap and close the river gate. The junks would remain outside Yenching, forcing a siege.
Finally, the boats reached the gate. Batu turned to the cavalry officer. “Prepare your men.”
A broad grin spread across the young commander’s face. “Yes, my General.”
As the cavalryman turned to go, Batu spoke to Pe. “Order the generals to advance behind the cavalry. Position one thousand archers along the canal to prevent the enemy from swimming out of our trap. Return here after you are finished.”
“Yes, General,” Pe replied, creeping down the hillside to relay the orders to the messengers.
A few minutes later, the river gate closed behind the two junks. Behind Batu, the cavalry assembled just below the crest of the hill. The Shou riders numbered less than three thousand, but Batu thought they would suffice for what he wanted today.
A sliver of orange sun appeared on the horizon, casting reddish light on the eastern side of the hill. Fortunately, the western side remained plunged in shadows. Thanking the night spirits for this small favor, Batu stood and waved the cavalry forward. Immediately, the line advanced. As they passed the general, the mounts broke into a trot, then into a charge as they descended upon the valley.
The infantry followed a moment later, rushing forward at a disciplined double time. They paid less attention to formation than to speed, for their goal was to surround the city as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, the officers did their best to keep the men grouped into assigned units in order to avoid confusion during the battle.
