by Troy Denning
Batu turned back to the Divine One. “Those letters were sent as proof of the barbarian claim. I—” The general paused as the words caught in his throat, then continued. “I recognized Wu’s signature, so I knew they were genuine.”
“He’s lying!” Kwan said. “He forged the letters!”
“Minister Kwan has a point,” Ting added. “We have no way of confirming that the letters are genuine.” Though she spoke in a calm voice and appeared relaxed, Ting’s face was as pale as the fur on her shoulders. She glanced at Ju-Hai, her eyes carrying an unspoken suggestion.
The self-serving thing to do, Ju-Hai knew, was to join forces with Ting and Kwan. With three people calling Batu a liar, the emperor might take it on face value that the letters were forgeries. Even if the Divine One investigated further, the ploy would buy valuable time to maneuver. As unsavory as he found such a confederation, it was not something at which the minister balked. During his long career, he had made hundreds of unpleasant alliances and betrayed the trust of many friends on behalf of Shou Lung.
Ju-Hai realized that the eyes of the entire Mandarinate were fixed on him, anxiously awaiting his acknowledgement or denial of the assassination attempt. Still, the minister was not ready to make his decision. He had to consider one more point.
The minister turned to Batu. “General, if we don’t make peace with the barbarians, who will win the war?”
Several people seemed confused by the change of subject, but Batu answered immediately. “I can’t say,” he said, fixing a vacant stare on the minister. Continuing in an empty voice, he added, “The Tuigan are trapped in Shou Kuan, but they outnumber us and stand a good chance of winning when they sally. Even if they don’t attack, we may not be able to starve them out, for I’ve heard they’ll eat their horses and even each other. What’s worse is that while the enemy sleeps beneath the roofs of Shou Kuan, our men are exposed to chill weather and autumn rains. The risk of epidemic is high.”
The answer was not the one Ju-Hai had hoped to hear. It meant that much more was at stake than his life or Batu’s.
The Minister of State bowed to the emperor, but did not dare to look him in the eye. “I beg your forgiveness, Divine One,” he said. “The letters are genuine. When I learned of Yamun Khahan’s success in uniting the horse tribes, I offered my help to his treacherous stepmother. At my request, Kwan sent an assassin to aid her.”
A stunned silence fell over the Hall of Supreme Harmony, but only for a moment. Ting Mei Wan sprang to her feet as if to flee, but the emperor was not taken by surprise. “Minister Ting!” he boomed, pointing a long-nailed finger at her. “At the moment, you face only one death. If you flee, I will see to it that you die a thousand times!”
Ting looked from the emperor to the guards behind Batu. They still had not moved, and Ju-Hai thought his former protege stood a chance of escaping if she acted quickly enough. Then her gaze fell on Batu. The general’s face was warped into a hateful scowl and his bitter eyes were locked on Ting’s. Without looking away, the Minister of State Security collapsed back into her chair.
“A wise decision,” Ju-Hai said. “There is no place you could run that General Batu would not find you.”
The Divine One motioned to the guards behind Batu, “Lock her in the First Spire of Ultimate Despair. Ministers Kwan and Ju-Hai are confined to the palace grounds until further notice. Do not let them out of your sight.”
“You wouldn’t think of sending us to the barbarians!” Kwan protested.
Rising to leave the hall, the emperor said, “That will be decided after Ting’s execution.”
Kwan started to follow the Son of Heaven. “Divine One, let us explain!”
Ju-Hai rose. “There’s nothing to explain, you fool.” He knew that the emperor could reach only one conclusion: two lives were a small price to pay for ending a costly war that had little prospect of victory.
The Minister of State turned to the guards assigned to him. “I’d like to spend the day in my garden.”
The sword fell and there was a hollow pop. Ting’s head, covered by a silk hood, dropped into the waiting basket. The kneeling corpse remained perched on the executioner’s block, its hands bound behind its back.
In the pale morning light, everything seemed gray except Ting’s cheosong. It was her favorite scarlet dress, the one with the golden dragon that entwined her body. Now, clinging to a headless corpse, it was the dragon that looked full and alive.
Batu had expected to feel something when Ting died: vindication, relief, perhaps elation. Instead, his emotions remained as colorless as the morning. He could not seem to accept that the traitorous mandarin had killed his entire family.
Accompanied by Pe, the general had passed the night at the house where his wife and children had died, but he had not grieved. He had seen Wu’s bloodstains in the sleeping hall. He had sat in the courtyard and tried to weep. Throughout the night, he kept hearing their voices call to him. Once he had dozed off and awakened to the imagined touch of his children’s hands upon his back.
The thought had occurred to him that his family’s spirits might be trapped at the site of the murders. Though far from a superstitious man, the general had tried talking to them. When he had received no response, Batu had sent for a shukenja. The priest had found no wayward spirits, but had suggested that if Wu and the children were trapped in the house, their murderer’s death would free them to begin the journey to the Land of Extreme Felicity.
So, at first light, the general and his adjutant had gone to the Square of Paramount Justice, where they had joined a small group gathered to witness Ting’s execution. Although Pe had found ceremonial uniforms for both of them, Batu still wore his barbarian hauberk. The others who had been invited to witness the execution—the emperor, Ju-Hai, Kwan, and Koja—had raised their eyebrows at his attire, but Batu did not care. He could not bear to wear the uniform of the emperor who had turned a blind eye to the murder of his family. Feeling as he did, the general wondered how he could continue serving in the army of Shou Lung—or, for that matter, how he could continue living at all.
For the rest of his life, his mind and his heart would be at war. Though he knew rationally that Wu and the children were dead, he would never believe it in his heart. Batu’s only hope of fully accepting their fates, viewing their lifeless bodies, had been taken away. His family had been cremated, their ashes scattered to the winds like those of common thieves. For that insult, especially, Batu had wanted Ting to suffer.
However, the traitorous mandarin had died with more dignity than she deserved. As the guards had led her into the Square of Paramount Justice, her knees had buckled, and she had looked pale and frightened. When the executioner had slipped the hood over her head, she had shamefully avoided the eyes of those gathered to witness her death.
Still, she had not begged for mercy, nor even cried out in despair, and Batu felt that his family had deserved at least that much retribution. If the general had administered the execution, she would have died shrieking in pain and pleading for mercy.
Unfortunately, the Divine One considered torture uncivilized, at least in his presence. He had only allowed Batu to watch an impersonal executioner exact the vengeance which belonged to the general.
“You must be very happy, General,” Kwan Chan said, interrupting Batu’s reverie. The old man stood between two guards. His hands were bound behind his back, as if there were a chance he would break free and totter away. As a badge of dishonor, Kwan wore a dingy samfu of undyed hemp instead of a mandarin’s brocaded waitao.
When Batu did not answer the old man’s comment, Pe took up the gauntlet. “Why should the general be happy, prisoner?” the youth demanded. He clearly enjoyed addressing his hated ex-superior with the derogatory term.
Kwan gave the adjutant a patronizing smile. “He has defeated his enemies.”
“The khahan has not been defeated!” Koja snapped from a few feet away.
Though Batu knew the minister was not referring to
the barbarians, the general had no wish to elevate either Kwan or Ting to the status of enemy. He always held at least a grudging respect for his opponents, and he felt nothing of the kind for either of the two mandarins. He added his own comment to Koja’s assertion, “The Tuigan still hold Shou Kuan. I have not defeated any enemies.”
“True,” the emperor replied, speaking for the first time that morning. “But neither have the Tuigan defeated you. This war is over. I accept the barbarian terms.”
Koja nodded politely, but before the barbarian’s envoy could speak, Kwan interrupted. “No! I beg you to reconsider. Minister Ju-Hai and I had only your best interests at heart, Divine One. We do not deserve such a disgrace.”
“There is no dishonor in dying on the empire’s behalf,” Ju-Hai said. Like Kwan, he was wearing a hemp samfu as a badge of shame, but his hands remained unbound as a symbol of the emperor’s continued faith in his integrity. “What is disgraceful is to beg for your life.”
Kwan snorted. “I am hardly begging for my life, you fool. I have lived a hundred years, and I shall live a hundred more.”
The emperor dismissed the old man’s boast with a wave of his hand. “That will be for the barbarians to decide, Kwan Chan Sen. I will not change my decision. We will make peace with the Tuigan.”
One day ago, Batu would have respected the emperor’s decision, for Shou Lung had little to gain and everything to lose by continuing the war. With his family gone, however, the general no longer cared about the empire’s security. Nothing remained to him except the love of war, and the less secure the empire was, the more battles he would fight.
Ignoring Koja’s presence, Batu stepped toward the Divine One and said, “You mustn’t make peace.”
“You have a plan?” inquired Ju-Hai, a note of hope creeping into his voice.
By the vacant look in the general’s eyes, it was apparent that he did not. “I will make one,” Batu said.
The emperor cast a reassuring glance at the Tuigan messenger, then shook his head. “This war is over, General. I have every confidence in your ability to defeat the Tuigan, but Shou Lung is a nation that loves peace.”
Batu knew that the Divine One was lying. Though the emperor undoubtedly intended to end the war, he was doing so out of practicality and not a love of peace. What the Son of Heaven left unsaid was that Shou Lung could not bring to bear enough force to destroy the barbarians. Reinforcing Shou Kuan would require stripping several armies away from the southern border. Such a desperate measure would ensure an attack from T’u Lung, Shou Lung’s greedy neighbor to the south.
The difference between Batu’s viewpoint and that of the emperor was that the general did not care if the rapacious kingdom attacked. After destroying the Tuigan, he would be more than happy to crush T’u Lung.
“Let me have just one more army,” Batu pressed, “and I will reface the walls of Shou Kuan with Tuigan skulls.”
Koja frowned, uneasy with Batu’s sudden belligerence. “Your promise is easier made than kept.”
“Have no fear,” the emperor said to Koja. “General Batu will be too busy to make good on his threat. I have great need of him here.”
“Here?” Batu echoed.
The emperor nodded. “I have three ministries without mandarins to lead them. As a reward for all you have done, you may have your choice of positions.”
Batu stared at the emperor in uncomprehending shock. Never would he have dared aspire to a seat in the Mandarinate. Now that such an esteemed position had been offered to him, he wanted nothing in the world less. “I choose none of them.”
The emperor frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do,” Batu answered. “I’m no mandarin. I’m a soldier.”
The emperor’s mouth hung agape. “That is not your choice,” he snapped indignantly. “The barbarian invasion has cost Shou Lung much. Need I remind you of this?”
“It has cost me more,” Batu replied.
The Divine One’s eyes softened. “I am sorry about your family, but many others have also lost their loved ones,” he said. “Now, you must set aside your pain. I call and it is your duty to answer.”
Batu shook his head. “No longer.”
The emperor scowled at this defiance. Before the Son of Heaven could speak, Batu continued, “For twenty years, I have performed my duty to you and the empire without failure. If you had done the same for me, my wife and children would be alive.”
“Watch what you say!” Ju-Hai cautioned, grasping Batu’s wrist.
“Why?” Batu demanded, addressing the ex-minister. “What will the Son of Heaven do? He has already allowed my family to be murdered while under his protection.” Batu jerked free of Ju-Hai’s grasp, then turned to the emperor again. “Execute me if you will!” the general spat. “It will do no good. I am a soldier; I am already dead.”
Kwan Chan chuckled malevolently. “Then you have no right to grieve. Dead men have no business with wives and children.”
The words struck Batu like a sword, and rage spread over him like a sheet of fire. Kwan’s words contained enough truth to pain the general, and he vented his anger by hitting the old man with his closed fist.
Kwan collapsed in a heap. Batu dropped on him, reaching for the ex-minister’s feeble throat.
“That’s enough, General!” the emperor snapped.
Ignoring the Divine One, Batu crossed his wrists in front of Kwan’s throat. He grabbed the inside of the mandarin’s collar and pulled, locking his arms against the old man’s neck in a deadly choke. Kwan’s face turned red instantly.
Six guards grasped Batu by the arms. It did not matter to the general. He tightened his grip, trying to crush Kwan’s windpipe before they pulled him free.
“Stop!” Koja said, also grabbing Batu and tugging feebly. “The khahan won’t accept a dead man as tribute!”
When Batu did not respond, Koja continued, “Leave him to the Tuigan. Hell suffer more than you can imagine.”
These last words caught Batu’s attention. Koja was right, he realized. Tuigan savagery was legendary, and falling into their hands alive was considered a fate worse than death. The general released Kwan and stood, saying, “It’s a pity I won’t be there to watch you suffer.”
To Batu’s amazement, the old man showed little sign of the abuse his throat had taken. At the least, most men would have been coughing and gasping for breath. Kwan, however, simply massaged his wrinkled neck and returned to his feet, staring spitefully at his attacker.
Several guards pressed the points of their chiang-chuns against Batu’s body. The Divine One addressed him sternly. “General Batu, I understand the strain you are under. In consideration of your feelings, I have allowed you many latitudes today. Still, I will not tolerate such displays in my court.”
Batu looked at the Divine One and snorted in contempt. “You don’t understand, do you?”
The emperor frowned. “Understand what?”
“I am no longer your general,” Batu said angrily. “You broke faith with me. I’m ronin now.” The term he used came from the islands of Wa, but he was sure the Divine One knew its meaning. He had declared himself a renegade soldier, a mercenary for hire.
The pronouncement caused Koja to raise an eyebrow, but the lama said nothing.
The Divine One studied Batu for several moments. For once, his expression was readable. His lips were quivering in anger, and his dark eyes were narrow and menacing. Batu returned the stare with an empty gaze.
It was Ju-Hai who brought the stand-off to an end. “Divine One, General Batu has performed his duty well, but events have changed him. Even if you could make him stay, I doubt he would be the man we remember.”
The emperor nodded, then looked at Ju-Hai. “Very well. Out of respect for your integrity and the service you once performed for the empire, I grant Batu Min Ho his life and liberty.”
“As if that right were yours to grant,” Batu scoffed.
“That’s enough!” Ju-Hai snapped, turni
ng to the rogue general. “You have what you want. Leave the matter be.”
Pe stepped to his commander’s side, then began to remove his uniform.
“What are you doing?” the emperor asked.
“Where my commander goes, I go,” Pe responded.
Batu laid a hand on his adjutant’s shoulder. “No. Your place is in the Army of Shou Lung.”
“My place is at your side!”
“I doubt a ronin will have need of an adjutant,” Batu responded. “Besides, I once ordered you to abandon a suit of armor. I would like to repay that debt.”
“There is no debt,” Pe protested. “I was wrong to question your order.”
“That is for me to decide,” Batu responded, speaking more loudly and stepping back so others could hear his words. “As Tzu Hsuang’s sole heir, I grant you the rights to his lands and mine.” He glanced at the emperor, then added, “If it is agreeable to the Divine One.”
The emperor nodded.
Pe’s eyes began to water. “Your gift is too great—”
Batu shrugged. “Who else can I give it to? Now take it—that is my last order, and it is your duty to obey it.”
Pe bowed deeply. “If I have no other choice—”
“You don’t,” the emperor said. “I have granted Batu Min Ho permission to leave my service, not you.” He looked at the guards surrounding Batu. “Take this man out of my sight. There is no place for a renegade within the summer palace.”
As Batu turned to go, Pe began to speak. “Gener—”
Batu shook his head, then nodded at the emperor’s frowning figure.
Pe glanced at the Divine One, then preceded his question with a title that would not offend the Son of Heaven. “My friend, where are you going?”
Batu shrugged. “Who knows?”
Escorted by six guards, the renegade walked toward the gate. As he left, the emperor turned away and fixed his gaze on the headless body still kneeling at the executioner’s block. The two disgraced mandarins watched Batu leave, one with an expression of sad regret and the other with an expression of spiteful retribution. Pe raised a hand in farewell.
