Dragonwall (32 page)

“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 nodded, 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.

“This is all very interesting, but it changes nothing,” the general said, tightening his face to keep from showing his emotions. “Even if I had the right, I would not yield a single foot of Shou territory to your master.”

Koja nodded in understanding. “That will not be necessary. In his infinite generosity and wisdom, the khahan will accept a different form of tribute. He will allow Shou Lung to retain the lands he has conquered, but you must give him the men who sent the assassin.”

Batu studied the lama’s face, considering Yamun Khahan’s offer. The terms were not unreasonable: two lives in return for peace. Even if it meant sacrificing his friend Ju-Hai Chou, Batu could see the wisdom of accommodating the barbarian commander. Despite the attitude the general displayed whenever he met Koja, he was far from certain that the Shou could outlast the barbarians. With autumn coming and the surrounding land laid to waste, it would prove difficult to keep the army fed. Of course, he could bring supplies from other cities, but that would require the use of massive supply columns vulnerable to the muddy fall weather. In the end, it might be his own troops who starved to death, not Yamun Khahan’s.

By not accepting the offer, he knew, he was risking his command. If the Tuigan sensed any weakness in his army, they would sally forth and wipe it out. In itself, such a risk did not trouble Batu, for soldiers had to be accustomed to danger and imminent death. However, if his army fell before the emperor could muster reinforcements, nothing would stand between the barbarians and Tai Tung. Shou Lung itself might fall, and that was a risk he did not dare take.

Koja shifted in his saddle. “There is no need to make your decision immediately,” he said. “The khahan is prepared to receive your response in the morning.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Batu replied, locking eyes with lama. “If the emperor will give me charge of Kwan Chan Sen and Ju-Hai Chou, I agree to the terms.”

Koja breathed a loud sigh of relief. “The mighty khahan will be most pleased. There is only one other term: you will accompany myself and five thousand riders to retrieve the criminals.”

“You’re mad!” the commander from Wak’an exclaimed. “We’d be fools to let five thousand barbarians within a hundred miles of the emperor!”

“You must,” Koja answered, meeting the general’s gaze with a surprisingly stubborn frown. “We are not surrendering. Therefore, I am entitled to my bodyguard.”

“You are entitled to nothing!” someone else snapped.

Batu silenced his subordinates with an angry scowl, then he addressed Koja. “You may have your bodyguard,” he said. “But we aren’t surrendering either, so I will also take five thousand men.”

Even without looking at them, Batu knew his subcommanders did not agree with his decision. Nevertheless, he felt sure it was the correct one. Five thousand Tuigan did not concern him, so long as he had five thousand Shou to watch them. Besides, if the emperor rejected the peace proposal, he would make sure that Koja’s bodyguard never returned to defend the walls of Shou Kuan.

The lama studied Batu for a moment, as if trying to read the thoughts of the Shou commander. Finally, the little historian said, “I am sure the khahan will agree to your request. When shall we leave?”

“At dawn,” Batu replied.

Considering the exhausted condition of his men, one night was not much rest before beginning such a long ride. Nevertheless, now that he had decided to return to the summer palace, Batu was unwilling to postpone their departure for even an hour. Thoughts of Wu, Ji, and Yo were flashing through his mind so rapidly that he was burning up with anxiety for them.

With more than a little fear, the General of the Northern Marches wondered how much his concern for his family had influenced his decision. For if his emotions had played any part in his decision to accept the khahan’s proposal, he was betraying his duty.

As Ju-Hai Chou crossed the marble floor, he noted that he was the last minister to enter the Hall of Supreme Harmony. The other mandarins already sat in their seats, their breath rising from their noses in wispy plumes of steam. Except for Ting Mei Wan, who wore a cream-colored fur over a black cheosong, the ministers were dressed against the cold in heavy hemp waitaos.

Though it was a chilly autumn morning, the Hall of Supreme Harmony remained unheated. Because its venerable builders had intended the building for summer use only, they had made no provisions for warming even the emperor’s seat. The Divine One sat in his throne wrapped in a colorless wool robe.

Keeping his own cloak wrapped tightly about his chest, Ju-Hai Chou bowed to the emperor, then took his chair. No one had told him the reason for this dawn meeting, but the minister felt sure it concerned the army of horsemen that had camped outside the city last night.

“I am glad we are finally assembled,” the emperor said, glancing at Ju-Hai with visible annoyance.

In response to the Divine One’s irritation, the minister simply bowed his head in apology and offered no excuses for his tardiness. He had come as soon as the chamberlain had summoned him, but no doubt the messenger had called upon him last. Thanks to Ting Mei Wan, Ju-Hai had grown accustomed to such treatment.

After destroying the Batu household, the beguiling Minister of State Security had mounted a propaganda campaign to convince the emperor that Wu had been a spy working for her traitorous husband. The cunning female mandarin had prevented Ju-Hai from contradicting her story by holding him prisoner at her house for several weeks. Ting had justified this unusual measure by claiming that Wu’s death had unbalanced the Minister of State. She had further undermined Ju-Hai’s influence by implying that the “spy” had become the minister’s lover. By the time Ting had released the Minister of State, even his own servants had looked askance at him.

Fortunately, Ju-Hai had come across a way to restore a little of his credibility. A few days after his release, the minister had learned that Ting’s subordinates were searching for the ebony tube Wu had taken the night before her death. Assuming the tube contained evidence of Ting’s betrayal, Ju-Hai had quietly begun his own search. So far, neither he nor Ting had met with success. It seemed as though the tube had simply vanished.

Ju-Hai’s reverie ended when the emperor spoke to Kwan Chan Sen. “What is our situation?”

The old man slowly rose to his feet and addressed the entire Mandarinate. “From what we saw last night, the barbarians have ten thousand men, twice the number of our defenders.”

Ju-Hai stood and turned to the emperor. “Divine One, may I speak?”

The Son of Heaven studied the Minister of State with a look of strained patience, but finally nodded his head. “Please be brief. We have serious matters to consider.”

“Thank you, Emperor,” Ju-Hai responded, quickly bowing. “Shouldn’t we consider what the messengers told us?”

Sighs of exasperation rustled around the room. In the last two weeks, two messengers had arrived from Shou Kuan. The first had come sixteen days ago. He had reported that Batu and the provincial armies had trapped the barbarians in Shou Kuan. The exhausted rider had presented a request for siege equipment, reinforcements, and food. The second messenger had arrived just four days ago, reporting that General Batu was riding to Tai Tung with a Tuigan delegation and a peace proposal.

Although they had carried the proper seals, the men had been greeted with nothing but suspicion. Both times, Kwan Chan Sen had suggested that Batu had sent the messengers to lay the groundwork for a traitorous trap. The emperor and the other mandarins had agreed, and the men had died at the hands of Ting’s interrogators.

The other mandarins were no more inclined to listen to Ju-Hai Chou than they had been to believe the messengers were legitimate. Without exception, they greeted the Minister of State’s suggestion with intolerant scowls and impatient moans.