by Troy Denning
“The khahan will—”
“You need no bodyguard in my camp, historian,” Batu interrupted, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “The escort was an insult.”
Batu did not truly find the bodyguard insulting. The general simply wanted to impress upon the khahan that he was not afraid to fight. Doing something so deliberately provocative would send that message.
Outside the tent, there were several screams and thuds. A Tuigan warrior stumbled into the pavilion, three crossbow bolts protruding from his back. Two Shou soldiers followed and cut him down with their chiens. The lama watched the display with an expression of revulsion and utter disbelief.
A moment later, the scuffle outside ended. Pe returned and bowed to indicate that he had executed the order. As two guards dragged the dead Tuigan from the tent, Batu said, “Now, anda-to-the-khahan, you may deliver your message.”
Koja’s face went white. Nevertheless, he looked Batu in the eye. “On behalf of Yamun Khahan, Ruler of the World and Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples, I am here to accept your surrender.”
Many of the Shou officers could not stop from snickering. Batu saw nothing funny about the khahan’s message, for he was keenly aware that the Tuigan warriors outnumbered his pengs three-to-two. Nevertheless, he purposely turned up his lips in what he hoped would appear an amused and confident smile. A few moments later, he frowned as if remembering decorum. He scowled at his troops to quiet them.
After the pavilion returned to silence, Batu said, “Tell Yamun Khahan that we have no use for surrender. Our only interest is his death.”
Koja grimaced at the words, obviously envisioning his master’s fury when he delivered the Shou response.
Batu dismissed the lama with a wave of his hand, then looked to Pe. “Give Koja his bodyguard’s heads to take to the khahan. We would not want Yamun Khahan to think that his men surrendered instead of fighting.” Batu did not truly think that Yamun Khahan would doubt his guards’ loyalty. He was just trying to make their deaths as striking as possible, thereby giving the Tuigan leader something to think about besides strategy.
The adjutant bowed. “As you wish, my commander.” He moved forward to take the lama away.
As soon as Pe escorted the messenger from the room, Batu turned to his subcommanders. “Prepare for battle,” he said. “Position the Armies of Wak’an and Hai Yuan in front of the gates.”
A buzz filled the tent as the officers moved to obey.
“An ingenious plan,” commented Hai Yuan, rising. “We can’t storm the city, so you’re provoking the enemy into leaving it.”
“That is not my intention at all,” Batu replied, taking the time to address both of his surviving subcommanders. “We must not forget that there are one hundred thousand Tuigan and only sixty thousand Shou. Sooner or later, the barbarians will get hungry and decide to leave. If we’re going to win the battle that follows, we’ll need time to ring them in with our fortifications.”
“Then why insult the messenger?” Hai Yuan asked. “Provoking the enemy will only make him attack sooner.”
“That is where you are mistaken,” Batu replied, a wry smile on his lips. “Do you think he really expected us to surrender? He sent the messenger to spy upon our camps and to see whether I was confident or afraid. By insulting the messenger, I told the khahan I was confident, that I wanted to fight. If he believes I want him to attack, he will wait.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Wak’an, furrowing his brow skeptically. “Is it not possible that he will see through your ruse?”
“It is,” Batu admitted. “That is why we must be ready for battle.”
The next week was a tense one. The barbarians kept a large force on the walls and fired at anyone careless enough to enter the archers’ range. The Shou kept one army on watch at all times, while the others prepared the trench around the city to receive its fortifications. At the same time, the survivors from the Army of Kao Shan spent the daylight hours laboring in distant woods or at the kilns, making bricks and sharpening poles. They were careful to stockpile these materials behind ridges and hills where they could not be seen by the Tuigan.
Yamun Khahan would not be concerned by a trench, Batu knew, for the Tuigan horses could easily jump over or into a simple ditch. However, when the khahan realized the Shou were building a defensive wall, the barbarian commander would try to attack before the fortification could be completed. Batu intended to rob his counterpart of this opportunity. By preparing the wall’s foundations in advance, the Shou general hoped to erect it in a single night.
Seven days later, the ditch was ready to receive its fortifications, and the survivors from the Army of Kao Shan had stockpiled enough sharpened poles to ring the city. Batu was inspecting the trench that evening, silently lamenting the fact that there was still a shortage of bricks, when the city gate opened.
The lama rode out, waving a white flag. This time, he was alone.
Before Koja could approach the trench, Batu took twenty guards and went to meet him. By riding into Tuigan archery range, he was taking a big risk, but he did not want the lama to see the preparations in the trench.
As the two men approached each other, the guards formed a ring around both of them. Koja ignored the soldiers and continued straight toward Batu, stopping only when their mounts stood nose to nose. The lama’s horse looked haggard and hungry, its ribs visible beneath its hide. Across his saddle, the messenger carried two large bags. The general almost gagged as a rancid odor filled the air.
“What news do you bring from our city?” Batu asked, eyeing the lama appraisingly. Koja’s cheeks were hollow and sunken, and there were deep circles beneath his eyes. Clearly, the messenger had not eaten much in the last week.
The little man’s horse pawed at the dirt, then dropped its muzzle and began gnawing at the barren ground. Koja pulled on the reins, but the starving beast would not be denied its futile search for stray grass roots. After a moment, Koja gave up on the horse, then took one of the bags off his saddle and turned it over.
Five heads fell to the ground. Though they were in the early stages of decomposition, Batu could easily see that they had once belonged to Shou soldiers. Koja’s starving horse nuzzled a head and decided it was no good to eat, then went back to pawing at the ground in search of food.
Before the general could say anything, the lama overturned the second bag. Another five heads fell out. This time, Batu recognized two of the heads. One belonged to his father-in-law, Hsuang Yu Po, and another to Xeng, the Hsuang family steward.
“The mighty Yamun Khahan, Ruler of the World and Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples, sends his greetings.” Koja spoke as stiffly as he sat. “He wishes you to know that he meant no insult by sending an escort with his messenger. He repays the courtesy you showed him by returning his guards’ heads, and sends to you the heads of ten Shou commanders who fell defending this insignificant town.”
Batu barely paid the little man any attention. The general was staring at Tzu Hsuang. Though he had long ago accepted that his father-in-law had died in Shou Kuan, he could not help being shocked by the sight of the noble’s gray-haired head.
A dozen contradictory emotions clouded the general’s thoughts. He felt grief at the loss of a friend, and anger at the sight of a family member’s mutilation. His thoughts turned to Wu and what he would to her say about her father’s death. Would he reveal what he had seen? Perhaps it would be better to lie and say that Hsuang’s body had never been recovered.
Koja’s voice suddenly stopped droning. Batu realized that he had allowed his enemy to see his pain.
“Is something wrong, General?” Koja asked. The lama’s face did not bear the smirk Batu had expected to see there. Instead, it showed a faint trace of surprise.
Batu shook his head, chastising himself for allowing familial feelings to interfere with his duty. “Nothing’s wrong,” he snapped, more harshly than he meant to. “Is this all your master sent you to deliver?”
&nb
sp; “No,” the lama responded. His horse moved forward to tug at a woody root. Koja jerked on the reins, then said, “These are the words of Yamun Khahan.” He unconsciously straightened his back and sat high in his saddle. “ ‘I have killed a million of your people and laid waste to a million acres of your land.’ ” The lama’s hand swept the horizon.
“ ‘I have smashed six of your armies and killed two hundred thousand of your soldiers.’ ” The little messenger thumped his chest dramatically, as if he were actually the one who had done all these things. “ ‘I have captured two of your cities and plundered all that lies within their walls.’ ”
Koja paused, allowing ample opportunity for his audience to consider the words. Batu remained unimpressed.
The lama continued, “ ‘This I have done not out of greed, only to repay your treacherous attempt on my life. Now, I have learned that your emperor did not know of the attack on me. Two servants sent an assassin to my camp without his knowledge. Therefore, Shou Lung’s punishment is complete. I will call an end to this war, keeping only the lands I have conquered.’ ”
Batu stared at Koja for several minutes, shocked by what the lama claimed. Though the general had no doubt that Shou Lung employed assassins as diplomatic instruments, he could not believe an imperial servant would take such a drastic step without the Divine One’s knowledge.
Finally, seeing that Koja was again scrutinizing him, the general looked toward Shou Kuan and said, “Even if I believed this lie, it would not be worth a single foot of Shou territory.” Batu pointed at Koja’s starving horse. “Within two weeks, your horses will not be fit to ride. Tell Yamun Khahan that if I were him, I would attack soon.”
The lama frowned, clearly puzzled. “You will not consider the khahan’s offer?”
“There is nothing to consider,” Batu replied. He turned his horse away, indicating the parlay was over.
The lama did not leave. “Please! The khahan is not lying about your assassin. You must agree or thousands of men will die needlessly.”
Batu looked at Koja out of the corner of his eye. “If the khahan wishes his men to live, they may surrender and the emperor will take them as slaves.”
Koja sighed, exasperated. “The Tuigan are not the only ones who will die.”
“That does not matter,” the Shou general replied coldly, regarding the priest with an icy stare. “My men are ready to die whenever I command it.” Batu motioned to the guards. “Send him back to his master.”
A soldier took Koja’s reins. After the guard had led the messenger away, Pe and Batu’s subordinate generals rode to his side. “What did he want?” asked the adjutant.
“There isn’t time to repeat it,” Batu replied. “We must erect our wall tonight. The barbarians will attack tomorrow. Go and tell the loggers to bring their poles forward, then meet me at my tent.”
“As you order,” Pe replied.
Batu quickly assigned supervisory duties to his subordinate generals, then rode to the kilns and asked for a report. The result was disappointing. There were only enough bricks to build a wall two feet high. Nevertheless, a two-foot barrier was better than none at all. If the wall was built on the far edge of the ditch, the men standing in the trench would have nearly four feet of cover. Batu ordered the officer in charge to prepare the bricks for transport.
After leaving the kilns, Batu turned toward his tent. By the time the general arrived, dusk was falling. He paused and looked down toward Shou Kuan. Already, thousands of torches were burning in the Shou trench.
The general went inside the pavilion and found Pe waiting. While Batu’s soldiers labored at the wall, the general from Chukei reviewed each unit’s condition, formulated his battle plan, and issued written orders. Even with his wall, Batu was far from certain of victory. He was determined that his chances would not be fouled this time by a lack of communication or a misunderstood order.
By the time dawn came, Batu and Pe had finished their plans. Though the adjutant could not keep from yawning, the general was far from tired. Anticipation of the coming battle invigorated him. He fastened his scabbard onto his belt, then led the way out of the tent.
“Dispatch the orders, Pe,” the general said. “I’m going down to inspect our wall.” He mounted his horse and rode down the hill.
As he had hoped, the wall had been completed in a single evening. The men had not had time to mortar the bricks into place, but the wall would stop arrows all the same. The sharpened poles had been placed at a forty-five-degree angle in front of the wall. They were spaced every two feet, close enough to impale any horse charging between them.
The commander of Hai Yuan’s army rode close to Batu. “The men did well, did they not?”
“Yes,” Batu answered. “They are to be commended.”
“Let us hope our soldiers fight as well as they build,” the general said, nodding toward the city walls.
As Batu had expected, thousands of barbarians stood along the top of Shou Kuan’s fortifications. They were dressed in their armor and carried their bows in plain sight. The remainder of the barbarians, Batu suspected, sat astride their horses in the streets behind the gate. When the gates opened, they would charge out in a long, seemingly endless column and the battle would begin.
Batu turned to a messenger. “Have the officers prepare their men for battle. We won’t have to wait much longer.”
The Tuigan, however, did not attack right away. An hour passed, then two. The barbarians remained on the wall, ready for battle, but the gates did not open.
The sun crept higher in the sky and the day grew warmer. Exhausted from the long night of labor, pengs began to nap behind the wall. Officers walked the line, yelling at their men and beating them to keep them awake. Even Batu, still expecting the barbarians to charge out at any moment, yawned and struggled to keep his eyes from closing.
Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon to evening. Still, the Tuigan did not attack. Finally, as the dim purples of twilight began to creep across the rolling hills, the gate opened.
Instead of a mass of charging cavalry, however, all that issued from the city was the lama, Koja. He carried the same flag of truce he had carried yesterday. Batu was surprised the Tuigan leader had sent the messenger out again, but he was also curious as to what the khahan had to say now that the wall had been built. The general dispatched a dozen guards to escort the lama through the fortifications.
With Pe and his subcommanders following close behind, Batu met Koja as soon as he crossed the trench line. As the lama approached within speaking distance, he said, “I bring words of praise from Yamun Khahan. He says that the Shou build walls faster than any of the peoples he has fought.”
“I did not build the wall to impress the khahan,” Batu snapped. “I built it to keep him caged.”
Koja ignored the terse response. “The khahan wishes you to know that he and his men eat well enough on the milk of their mares and the blood of their stallions. He says that when the horses grow too weak to fight, they will be slaughtered and used to feed his men.”
The lama paused, looking to the generals of Hai Yuan and Wak’an in search of the apprehension he could not read on Batu’s face. He did not find it. Both men were shrewd enough not to reveal their feelings to the enemy.
Koja continued, “The khahan says he will test the strength of your wall at his leisure. Perhaps he will attack tonight, while your men lie sound asleep, recovering from their many hours of labor. Perhaps he will attack many months from now, when the cold autumn rains come and your men grow ill from sleeping in the mud. Perhaps he will wait until the winter snows, when your men huddle with frozen hands and feet around burning dung, while his men eat and drink in the comfort of the city’s warm houses.”
“Tell the khahan that Shou can build houses as well as walls,” Batu countered, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “The flesh of his horses will rot before we freeze. Tell him that whenever he wishes to fight, we will be ready.”
Koja nodd
ed, as if he had expected no other response. “Perhaps fighting will not be necessary,” he said, reaching into his robes.
Pe, Hai Yuan, and Wak’an drew their swords and urged their mounts forward to shield Batu. “Please!” Koja said, slowly withdrawing an ebony tube. “There is nothing but paper inside. Let me show you.”
The three men looked to their commander for instruction. Batu nodded his permission. To the lama, he said, “Open it.”
Koja slowly opened the tube and withdrew two sheets of paper. “Read these,” he said, handing them to Pe. “They prove that the khahan is telling the truth about the assassin.”
Pe backed his horse several steps and handed the papers to Batu. In the fading light, it was difficult to make out the writing, so it took a few moments to read the first letter. It was addressed to Yamun Khahan and was from a spy in the summer palace. It reported Batu’s appointment as General of the Northern Marches and his subsequent disappearance. The letter also named Kwan Chan Sen and Ju-Hai Chou as the two men who had sent the assassin after the khahan.
The general passed the letter to his subcommanders, then looked at the second paper. He immediately recognized Qwo’s calligraphy. His heart pounded wildly. Forcing himself to remain composed, he read Wu’s account of recovering the first letter and her identification of Ting Mei Wan as the spy who had written it. At the end of the account, Batu noted his wife’s signature and the stain of dried blood next to it.
When he looked up, the general asked, “Where did you get these letters?”
“From a dead man,” Koja replied simply. “As you can see, the khahan is telling the truth about the assassin.”
“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” scoffed the general from Wak’an. “This document could easily be a forgery.”
“It isn’t,” Batu replied, passing the second sheet of paper to him. “I recognize the calligraphy.”
Wak’an read the letter quickly, his face blanching with shock.
While his subordinates read the letter, Batu fought to conceal the distress it had caused him. His stomach ached with concern for his wife and children. He wanted nothing more than to take his horse and ride to Tai Tung to see what had happened to his family. Batu tried to put such thoughts out of his mind, for he was a soldier and knew better than to allow his feelings to interfere with his duty. Forcing himself to ignore the worry in his heart, Batu looked back to Koja.
