by Troy Denning
"Shall I fire the catapults?" Tzu Cheng asked eagerly. "A few more explosions will route the enemy."
"No," Hsuang replied, lifting a restraining hand.
As of yet, the enemy had not regained control of their horses. He saw no use in chasing them away before the archers could take full advantage of the barbarian disarray.
Another flight of arrows struck the enemy line. Several thousand riders fell, but Hsuang could see the horsewarriors calming their mounts. Loud noises might disturb Tuigan horses, but the beasts were accustomed to men dying upon their backs.
The archers fired another volley, killing even more barbarians than they had with the first two. Hsuang nodded to Cheng. "Loose your thunder bombs," he said.
Tzu Cheng relayed the message to his adjutant, and a moment later his standard waved. The artillerists touched their torches to the wicks of the small iron balls resting in their engines' spoons.
The engine commanders released their windlass locks. As the spoon bars slammed against the cross pieces, a series of deep thumps rolled across the hilltop.
One cross piece splintered. The bomb landed in front of the catapult and exploded, spraying hot shrapnel in all directions. Fifty feet away, a ball of flame engulfed four more catapults. A series of lesser explosions followed. An instant later, the splintered remains of four artillery pieces were raining down on the entire line of artillerymen.
Fortunately, that was the only misfire. Most of the bombs hit near the barbarian lines. At least half of the fuses went out before the missiles reached their targets. These powder pods simply burst on impact, spraying black sand everywhere. Of the bombs that did explode, very few landed close enough to inflict any casualties upon the enemy. Some even exploded in the air, over the Tuigan's heads.
The bombs' inaccuracy did not diminish their effect, however. The enemy's horses went wild, throwing their riders. Many thousands bolted, helpless men clinging to their backs. Within seconds, the Tuigan cavalry was fleeing in an uncontrolled panic.
Tzu Cheng smiled triumphantly. "With the miracle of alchemy, we are undefeatable."
"For now," Hsuang said, casting a sidelong glance at the destruction caused by the single misfired bomb. To his dismay, he caught sight of the wagon that carried the Mirror of Shao. The driver was sprawled on the ground next to the seat. The cart sat lopsided where the axle had broken and a wheel had fallen off. The broken end of a catapult spoon lay among the shattered remains of the mirror.
For a long moment, Hsuang could only stare in horror and astonishment at the smashed mirror. To keep from yelling at Tzu Cheng, he had to remind himself that he was the one who had forgotten to move the mirror when he decided to try the thunder-powder bombs.
A roar of triumph rolled up the hill, bringing the old noble to his senses. He turned back to the battle. Behind the barricades, the soldiers were screaming in jubilation. Over ten thousand barbarians lay dead in the fields, and the Shou casualties had been light. Hsuang could understand their elation, but he knew the victory was only temporary.
In front of the bridge, a handful of men began to run after the barbarians. More followed suit. In seconds, the entire force detailed to defend the bridge was charging after the retreating cavalry.
"I didn't give the order to advance!" Hsuang gasped. "What are they doing?"
"What they're trained to do," said the noble who commanded the bridge guards. "They're destroying a disorganized enemy."
The armies to either side of the bridge also leaped over their barricades to pursue the barbarians.
"No!" Hsuang cried, turning to his subordinates. "Call them back!"
"Why?" asked Cheng.
Hsuang was too astounded to answer. The Book of Heaven urged its readers to pursue and destroy a disorganized enemy. Unfortunately, it had not been written with the Tuigan in mind. Against superior numbers of mounted men, pursuit could easily turn into a trap. It had never occurred to Hsuang that he and his nobles might rout the enemy, so he had neglected to discuss this point with his subcommanders. He feared he would pay dearly for the mistake.
Hsuang turned to his adjutant. "Send runners to every commander on the line. They are not to pursue."
"Tzu Hsuang!" Cheng objected, daring to grasp his superior's sleeve. "Now is no time for timidity. We have the enemy in our hands."
Hsuang jerked his sleeve out of the man's grip. "Then we are about to lose our hands," he replied sharply. He looked at his adjutant. "What are you waiting for?"
The aide bowed and went about the task with a vigor appropriate to its importance. Unfortunately, even the most dedicated adjutant could not have prevented what followed. Every army behind the front barricade followed the bridge soldiers. By the time the runners arrived with Hsuang's order, the front barricade was deserted. The second rank of defenders was working its way across the brook to join them.
The messengers managed to recall the second line of pengs, but the bridge troops had already led the first rank into the dark, smoking barley fields.
As Hsuang watched fifteen thousand men disappear into the smoky twilight, he said, "Lords, I must regretfully order you to prepare to fall back."
The other nobles stared at him with expressions ranging from astonishment to open fury. "This is madness!" Cheng said. "We're winning this battle."
"No," Hsuang replied. "The battle was lost before we reached Shihfang. Now it is a disaster."
"What do you mean?" asked Cheng. The man's expression was thoughtful and concerned.
Hsuang did not need to answer. The ground began to rumble, as if the spirits had sent a terrible earthquake to shake the nobles to their senses. An instant later, the pained and horrified screams of dying men rolled across the dark fields. The rumble grew more distinct; there could be no doubt that tens of thousands of pounding hooves caused it.
Moments later, dozens of Shou pengs appeared out of the smoke. They had thrown down their weapons and were running for the Shou lines, arrows sailing about their heads like a swarm of insects.
Tzu Cheng bowed very low to Hsuang. "I will send the order to destroy the bridge," he said. "Our best chance is to flee under cover of darkness."
10
The Spy
"Qwo, what is troubling you?" Wu asked, her voice a frustrated hiss as she struggled with her samfu. Wu's fingers were trembling so much that she could not thread the tog-buttons through their holes.
Without answering the question, Qwo gently pulled Wu's hands aside and began fastening the samfu. The gray-haired servant studiously avoided the eyes of her mistress, a sure sign that she disapproved of Wu's intentions.
"It distresses me when you are sullen," Wu continued, letting her hands drop to her sides. "Please say what you are thinking."
Qwo finished closing the samfu, then stepped back and studied Wu with watery eyes. Though not yet sixty, the servant appeared much older. Her gray hair was thin and coarse, and her doughy skin was fallen and creased with age. She had the hunched back and stooped shoulders of a woman twenty years her senior.
The two women were in Wu's sleeping hall. The samfu Wu had not been able to fasten was her black one, the one she had been wearing when she had surprised Batu and knocked him unconscious.
Qwo reached into the sleeve pockets of her cheo-sam, an embroidered robe with huge sleeves and a high collar, and removed Wu's black scarf. "What's the use?" the old woman asked. "You are the mistress. You will do as you please, no matter what I say."
Her tone was more that of a mother than of a servant. In a certain sense, that was appropriate. Born into the Hsuang household only a few years after Wu's father himself, Qwo had spent her entire life serving the family. When Wu's mother had died, it had only been natural for Qwo to assume a maternal role as well as that of nursemaid.
As Qwo unfolded the black scarf, Wu said, "I have no choice-"
"Phaw!" the old woman objected. "Sneaking about in the night, looking for spies. This is man's business!"
"It is my business tonight," Wu re
plied, taking the scarf and wrapping it around her face.
With no moon out and a low-hanging cloud cover, tonight was truly black. Wu had been waiting for such a night for five weeks, ever since the emperor had confined her to the house. The nobleman's daughter intended to enter the home of Ting Mei Wan, who she believed had betrayed Shou Lung.
Unfortunately, the emperor would never condemn Ting on the basis that had convinced Wu the mandarin was a spy. The only real proof the nobleman's daughter possessed was that Ting perfumed herself with jasmine blossoms, and that the spy in the Virtuous Consort's garden had smelted of the same flower. However, the scent of jasmine was hardly rare inside the summer palace. Ting could easily, and rightfully, claim that hundreds of women scented their bodies with Jasmine.
None of those other women had expressed so much interest in Batu's plan, however. After the audience with the emperor, the Minister of State Security had personally accompanied Wu home. Ting had been very friendly and curious about the whereabouts of the provincial armies. When Wu's answers were evasive, the minister had turned the conversation to other things. During the next four weeks, the lady mandarin had visited almost daily under the pretext of bringing gifts for the children. Each time, the minister had gently probed after Batu's whereabouts. Of course, Wu had refused to answer, and the minister had deftly changed the subject.
Wu had not been anxious to believe that Ting was a spy, for the minister treated her and her family with such kindness that the children had begun to refer to the mandarin as their aunt. When Ji had let slip that Ting had asked him if he knew where his father was, however, Wu had finally been forced to accept that her seeming ally was a traitor.
Though Wu had been careful to hide her suspicions, Ting had not visited in the last five days. Wu feared that the mandarin had learned what she wanted to know from some other source. If so, Wu was determined to stop the minister before she could pass the information to the enemy. Being completely convinced that Ting was a spy, Wu felt sure that the female mandarin would take advantage of tonight's unusual darkness to meet a Tuigan messenger. Wu intended to be at that meeting, both to safeguard the secrecy of Batu's plan and to gather the evidence she needed to prove her suspicions.
Qwo shuffled around behind Wu to tie the scarf. "You're disobeying the emperor," she said reproachfully.
"I know," Wu responded. The admission sent cold shivers down her spine.
"And of course you don't care," Qwo said, pulling the scarf uncomfortably tight. "You've always been a disobedient child."
"I haven't been a child for twenty years," Wu said, reaching behind her head to loosen Qwo's knot.
"Well, you've been disobedient much more recently," the servant said, slapping her hands against her thighs. "Why can't you just send a message to the emperor about this spy?"
"Who would the Divine One believe," Wu asked, looking herself over to see if she had forgotten anything, "the daughter of a country noble or a mandarin?"
"You," Qwo said simply, giving Wu a hard look. "Even if he didn't, you would have done your duty."
Wu frowned, though she knew Qwo would not see the expression behind the black scarf. "This is not about duty to the empire," she said. "It's about my father and my husband. If the enemy discovers their plans-"
"The Divine General alone determines the outcome of war. Such matters are not left to the hands of mortals, and no good will come of trying to interfere. Your concern is your household and your children," Qwo lectured. "By risking the emperor's wrath, you are failing in your true duty."
Wu sighed and looked away from the old woman's severe gaze. About that much, at least, Qwo was correct. So far, Wu's boldness had brought her household nothing but embarrassment and inconvenience. If she were caught disobeying the emperor's direct command, however, she would not suffer the consequences alone. In such matters, the entire family carried the burden of dishonor and guilt.
Though Wu was prepared to face any danger for her husband, she could not bear to watch her children pay for her crimes.
A polite cough sounded in the courtyard outside. Qwo's son, who served as Tzu Hsuang's steward, said, "Lady Wu?"
"Come in, Xeng," Wu responded.
A paper wall panel slid aside, revealing a slim man with a hawkish nose and a mild-manner. He was five years younger than Wu, having been born to Qwo in the absence of a husband. Though no one had ever admitted it, Wu suspected that Xeng was her half-brother. He had the same nose and firm expressions that she had seen so often in her father's face. More telling, however, was the jade medallion Xeng wore around his neck. The dragon-shaped pendant could render a man nearly invisible, and had been in Wu's family for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, Tzu Hsuang had given the priceless medallion to Xeng.
After entering the room, Xeng bowed first to his mother, then to Wu. "The Minister of State is here with news of your father," he said. Eyeing Wu's samfu, he added, "I'm afraid I implied you had not yet retired for the evening."
"News of my father?" Wu repeated. "I'll see him now."
Qwo grabbed her sleeve. "Like that?"
"Yes," Wu responded, pulling the black scarf off her chin.
"Like this."
She followed Xeng through the rest of the house, then entered the main hall. Ju-Hai Chou sat upon one of the stone benches facing the room's main decoration, the dolphin fountain.
As Wu entered, the minister stood and stared at her black clothing. "I'm sorry," he said, confused. "Did I interrupt your exercises?"
Wu decided to be frank with the minister. "No," she said. "You interrupted my escape."
Xeng gasped, and Ju-Hai frowned. "I don't understand," the minister said.
Wu crossed to Ju-Hai's bench and sat. "There is no need for concern. I intended to return."
"Return!" Xeng exclaimed, taking a single step toward the bench. "The emperor himself has forbidden you to leave. What can you be thinking?"
Wu glared at Xeng, but he remained oblivious to the anger in her eyes.
Ju-Hai sat next to Wu, laying his hands in his lap and locking his fingers together. "I'm curious, too. What are you thinking?"
Wu looked back to minister. "I'll explain in a few minutes," she replied. "First, tell me of Father."
The minister looked away uncomfortably. Wu began to fear her father had been killed.
"We don't have all the details," Ju-Hai began, taking Wu's hand. "This is what we do know: six days ago, the nobles met the barbarians outside the town of Shihfang. They lost over half their number."
A knot formed in Wu's stomach. Batu's plan had called for casualties, but she had not expected the toll to be so high.
"The messenger said they were falling back to Shou Kuan," the minister continued.
"And what of Tzu Hsuang?" Xeng inquired urgently, moving to Ju-Hai's side.
The mandarin frowned at being addressed so directly by another person's domestic. "Tzu Hsuang is organizing the retreat," the minister said. "He wasn't injured, as far as we know."
Both Wu and Xeng breathed sighs of relief.
The minister turned his back on the steward and looked Wu in the eye. "I'm afraid I must ask you to tell me where Batu went with the provincial armies," he said. "The news of the nobles' loss has upset the Divine One. He's beginning to voice doubts about your husband's loyalty. It's time to reassure him."
Ju-Hai's admission did not upset Wu, for her current confinement was evidence enough that the emperor had little faith in her husband. Before answering the minister, however, she looked at Xeng. "Perhaps you should inform your mother of the news."
Xeng acknowledged the order with a bow, then turned and left the room. He took care to close the wall behind him.
After the rice-paper panel slid into place, Wu turned back to Ju-Hai. "Tell the emperor not to be concerned," she said. "Batu did not expect the Twenty-Five Armies to win at Shihfang."
"That won't satisfy the Divine One," Ju-Hai responded, shaking his head. "Kwan is taking advantage of the loss to turn the
emperor against us."
"I won't say where Batu is," Wu said stubbornly.
Ju-Hai stood and half turned away. "The time for mysteries is past," he snapped. "You must tell me something that will reassure the Divine One."
"If I do as you ask," Wu insisted, retaining her seat on the bench, "the Tuigan will learn my husband's plan."
"Don't be foolish," the minister answered, scowling. "Shou Lung's secrets are safe with the emperor."
"Are you sure?" Wu asked, meeting Ju-Hai's angry glare with a steady gaze.
Her question caused the mandarin to pause and suppress his anger. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.
"There's a spy in the Mandarinate," Wu answered quickly.
Ju-Hai showed no surprise at the accusation. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes and demanded, "Who?"
Knowing how much her revelation would hurt the minister, Wu took a deep breath. "Minister Ting Mei Wan," she said at last.
For several moments, Ju-Hai stared at the nobleman's daughter with an incredulous look. Finally, he asked, "What makes you think Ting has betrayed the emperor?"
His voice was calm and curious. It was impossible to tell whether he was more interested in the issue of Ting's betrayal or the reason for Wu's accusation.
"Jasmine."
"Flowers?"
"Blossoms," Wu responded. "I smelled them on the spy in the Garden of the Virtuous Consort."
"And Ting Mei Wan perfumes herself with jasmine," Ju-Hai finished, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "Is that the basis of your suspicion?"
Wu shook her head. "She has been asking about Batu's plans."
"So have I," Ju-Hai responded. "Does that make me a spy?" Before Wu could answer, the minister raised his hand. "Don't answer. You might lose the only friend you have left."
Wu stood and took Ju-Hai's arm. Despite the affection she felt for the minister, it was the first time she had touched him. "Ju-Hai," she said, "I could never doubt you, but Ting is different. She even asked Ji-"