by Troy Denning
Her voice trembled with a fear Ju-Hai knew she did not feel. If Ting were truly afraid, she would appear angry and dangerous, not timid and apologetic.
“Yes, perhaps you should go,” the Minister of State replied. He poured himself some more tea and did not bother to rise. “If you have that evidence you speak of, take it directly to the emperor.”
Ting hesitated, furrowing her smooth brow in confusion. Finally, she said, “But I couldn’t. I owe you—”
“If you believe me a traitor,” Ju-Hai interrupted, “you owe me nothing. Your duty is to present your evidence to the emperor.”
Ting exhaled wearily, then returned to her seat. “I don’t believe you’re a traitor, Minister, and I never did. But I am the Minister of State Security.”
Ju-Hai smiled with heartfelt warmth. “Understood, my dear. I expected nothing less.”
Ting sighed heavily and turned in her seat to look out over the goldfish pond. “The emperor and the other mandarins are already commenting on your suspicious behavior. What am I to say? That we had tea and that I have your assurance you remain faithful to Shou Lung?”
Ju-Hai shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “That won’t do.”
She looked at him with pleading eyes. “I can’t help you unless I know what you are hiding.”
“I am hiding nothing,” the elder minister responded. It was not difficult for him to lie, even to friends. He did it every day as a normal part of his duties. “You have my word.”
“Splendid,” she answered, rolling her eyes away from Ju-Hai’s. “I’ll sleep like the dragons tonight.”
For nearly a minute, Ting stared at the pond, watching the fat goldfish swim lazy circles. Finally, she looked back to her mentor. “If you’re not the spy, who is?”
“I don’t know,” Ju-Hai answered, shaking his head sadly. “But if my honor is to be saved, that is the question you must answer.”
Ting shifted forward in her chair. “I need some help.”
“Perhaps you could compare calligraphy?” Ju-Hai suggested. He lifted his teacup and looked at the table while he drank, as if the matter were of little consequence to him.
Ting shook her head. “I thought of that, but there are only pictures and numbers on the map. Anyone could have drawn it.”
Shei Ni entered the garden and approached the belvedere at a brisk pace. He seemed quite flustered, so Ju-Hai did not wait for the customary bow. “What is it, Shei Ni?”
“Minister Kwan,” he replied. “He insists upon seeing you right now. I told him you were unavailable, but—”
Ting quickly stood. “If I am to be your defender in the Mandarinate, it might be better if we were not observed having a tryst in your garden.”
Ju-Hai nodded, glad that Ting had made the suggestion. He was not anxious for her to hear anything that passed between him and the Minister of War. “Shei Ni will show you out—”
The servant shook his head. “Minister Kwan is already halfway through the house. The guards are stalling him, but they’re afraid to manhandle a mandarin.”
Eyeing Ting’s tight cheosong, Ju-Hai said, “I suppose climbing the garden wall is out of the question …”
She nodded vigorously.
“Very well,” Ju-Hai said, pointing at a hedge on the opposite end of the goldfish pond. It was close enough to the belvedere for Ting to overhear what was said, but Ju-Hai hoped to steer the conversation away from what he did not wish her to know. “Hide behind the shrubbery. I’ll deal with this quickly.”
No sooner had Shei Ni helped Ting behind the hedge than two of Ju-Hai’s household guards appeared at the arbor. They each held gleaming chiang-chuns, but were nevertheless backing away from a screaming Kwan Chan Sen. As they moved, they held their polearms in front of the old man and politely tried to explain that he had not yet been announced.
“Minister Kwan!” Ju-Hai called, quickly refilling the teacup that had been Ting’s until just a moment ago. “Won’t you please join me?”
The guards relaxed, then stepped aside. The ancient mandarin bustled over to the pavilion at such a frantic pace that Ju-Hai feared he would trip and injure himself.
“This is your fault!” the old man stammered, dropping heavily into his seat.
“What?” Ju-Hai asked, topping off his own teacup.
“Batu Min Ho,” Kwan replied. “My informants tell me the emperor intends to promote him to General of the Northern Marches!”
“How unfortunate,” Ju-Hai replied, feigning sympathy.
“The emperor hasn’t consulted me. He hasn’t consulted anyone!” the old man hissed.
Though Kwan Chan did not know it, what he said was not true. After hearing about the ingenious manner in which the young general had saved two thousand pengs, Ju-Hai had investigated Batu’s record.
What he had learned impressed him. Since Batu had been placed in command of the Army of Chukei, the small force had destroyed or chased away more than one thousand barbarian raiding parties, suffering only light casualties itself. Batu had even reclaimed some prime farmland from a tribe of vicious half-humans on the northern frontier. When the general’s father-in-law had arrived and described Batu’s barbarian heritage, Ju-Hai had suggested the young general as a good choice to lead the war against the Tuigan.
Of course, Ju-Hai had no intention of telling this to Kwan, for he always tried to avoid making enemies needlessly.
After allowing the milky-eyed old man to fume for a few moments, Ju-Hai said, “It’s the emperor’s will. We can do nothing except live with his decision.”
Kwan turned an angry frown on Ju-Hai. “We must make the Divine One change his mind, or that upstart from Chukei will have my seat in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.” Kwan paused and shook his wrinkled head sadly. “Imagine, a barbarian in the Mandarinate!”
“Come now, Minister,” Ju-Hai objected, frowning at the ancient mandarin. “Batu is hardly a barbarian—”
“How would you know?” Kwan asked, his voice even and reasonable despite his obvious anger. “I’ve seen our enemy close up. He looks like the barbarians, he smells like them, and he thinks like them!”
“Perhaps that is why the emperor chose him to lead the war,” Ju-Hai hazarded. “After all, to hunt a leopard, one must think like—”
“We are not talking about leopard hunts,” Kwan snapped. “We are talking about the Mandarinate—my seat in the Mandarinate.”
Kwan paused, then turned his milky eyes on Ju-Hai. “You are the First Left Grand Councilor,” the old man observed. “Use your influence with the emperor to get rid of this Batu Min Ho.”
Through Kwan’s mask of wrinkles, Ju-Hai could not tell whether the ancient mandarin was threatening him or pleading with him. “I’ll do what I can,” Ju-Hai lied.
Kwan studied his host for a long moment. Finally, the old man said, “No, you’ll do it. You said we had to crush the enemy quickly, before the emperor started to worry about the barbarians. So I tried, damn you. I’m an old man, too old to be roaming around the empire making war, but I tried.”
Kwan paused and pointed a yellow-nailed finger at Ju-Hai’s face. “It’s your turn. By tomorrow night, Batu Min Ho will be gone. He’ll be gone, or I’ll tell the emperor why the barbarians attacked Shou Lung.”
Ju-Hai ground his teeth, angered by the threat. He was also angry at himself for underestimating the old man’s acumen. With Kwan, lies would not work. The Minister of State knew he would have to resort to threats, even if it did mean Ting would overhear the whole sordid business of how this war started. There was nothing to be done about it.
“I’m not going to have Batu Min Ho removed,” Ju-Hai began.
Kwan’s baggy eyes opened wide in anger. He slammed his ancient fist down on the table so hard the teacups spilled. “Then you’re finished!” he spat.
“No,” Ju-Hai responded, righting his teacup and speaking in a calm voice. “No, I’m not. What are you going to tell the emperor? That I started this war myself? Don’t you think he�
�ll want to know where the assassin came from?”
“It was done at your request!” Kwan pointed out.
“Do you think he’ll care?” Ju-Hai demanded, taking pains to keep his voice even and polite. “We started this war together. It’s unfortunate that we can’t finish it. But if we can’t do it, we must find someone who can.”
Ju-Hai poured more tea for himself, but the pot ran out as he tried to refill Kwan’s cup. “We’re going to stand aside and let this Batu Min Ho kill barbarians,” the Minister of State said. “After he wins the war, if he wins the war, we’re going to welcome him into the Mandarinate. Undoubtedly, he will have earned the post.”
Ju-Hai sipped his tea, evaluating Kwan over the top of his cup. “Until then, instead of two more incompetent, corrupt bureaucrats executed for crimes against their offices, you and I will still be mandarins of the Shou Empire. What could be more fair than that?”
Kwan’s face turned from angry red to deep purple. He began to breathe in short puffs. For a moment, Ju-Hai hoped the old man was doing him the consideration of dying out of rage. At length, however, the old mandarin’s color returned to normal and he managed to stand.
“This is not over, Ju-Hai,” Kwan sputtered. “I do not take kindly to betrayal.”
“As long as you take kindly to survival,” the Minister of State responded. “My guards will show you out.”
After the old man left, Ting returned to the table and sat down. For several minutes, she simply watched Ju-Hai with a patient expression and did not say anything.
Finally, Ju-Hai looked at her. “I may as well tell you,” he sighed. “You’ll just dig it up on your own, and I’ll have an even bigger mess when the emperor wants to know what you’re looking for.”
“I must know what’s happening,” she agreed, regarding her mentor with a steady, unreadable eyes.
Ju-Hai rubbed his palms over his brow, then folded his hands on the table. “It’s not so complicated,” he began. “Over the last two years, a barbarian named Yamun Khahan has united the horse tribes. Recently, he has been wiping out our trade caravans, and tax revenues have been dropping steadily. Several times, we have sent gifts to him, hoping to buy his favor. When that did not work, Minister Kwan and I urged the emperor to send an army west to subdue the horse tribes. But the Divine One refused, not wishing to be the aggressor in a war.
“Minister Kwan and I finally developed a plan to deal with the problem quickly and efficiently. We contacted this khahan’s stepmother, a treacherous woman named Bayalun. In return for her promise to leave our caravans alone, we agreed to help her usurp his throne.”
“Surely you didn’t believe she would keep her word?” Ting asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Ju-Hai responded, “but we believed that without Yamun Khahan’s leadership, the horse tribes would once again dissolve into the warring clans they have always been. In any case, we sent an assassin to aid Bayalun. Unfortunately, Yamun discovered our plot. In retaliation, he has turned his horde in our direction. I fear we have sadly underestimated both his ingenuity and his strength.”
Ting lifted her empty teacup and held it thoughtfully against her lips, considering her mentor’s explanation. Several moments later, she asked, “Do you really think this Batu Min Ho can stop the barbarians?”
The minister nodded and met her gaze. “I am convinced that if the Tuigan can be stopped, Batu is the only man who can do it. He knows more about the horse tribes than any of our surviving generals. From what I have seen of our other high officers, he alone possesses the cunning and courage to match Yamun Khahan.”
Ting placed her empty cup back on table. “An unfortunate turn of events,” she said. “Clearly, you only had Shou Lung’s best interests at heart.”
Ju-Hai breathed a sigh of relief. “Then you will keep my secret?”
Before answering, Ting studied her lacquered fingernails. “Considering the presence of a spy in our midst,” she said, “would it not be wise to place a cadre of guards at the disposal of the Ministry of State Security?”
Ju-Hai closed his tired eyes. It would have been too much to hope that the Tigress would aid him without demanding payment. “What do you intend to do with them?” he asked.
“Use them to keep Tuigan spies out of Tai Tung and the summer palace,” she said quickly.
Ju-Hai opened his eyes. Although he did not doubt that she would assign the guards to the duties she mentioned, he also suspected that the force would satisfy her own sense of personal aggrandizement. “How many?” he asked wearily.
“A thousand—no, two thousand,” Ting answered. “That is not too much to ask.”
The minister shook his head, then prepared an angry stare and met Ting’s gaze. “A thousand, and no more. Under no circumstances will I permit anyone to control a force equal to the emperor’s personal guard.”
Ting smiled to indicate her acceptance of the offer. “Let us wish heaven’s favor on General Batu.”
5
The Silent House
After the Mandarinate’s dismissal, Batu spent the rest of the day cloistered with the emperor. For many hours, the general stood before the jade throne answering questions about the Tuigan. Though his back and legs grew so weary they fell numb, he did not ask for a chair. Only mandarins were permitted to sit in the Son of Heaven’s presence.
The emperor interrogated Batu about every detail of the horsewarriors’ lifestyle. He wanted to know about their religion, their marriage customs, even their taste in food and wine. Of course, the general could not answer all the emperor’s questions, but he was surprised at how much he could recall under the Divine One’s relentless questioning.
Finally, the meager body of knowledge Batu had accrued from his great-grandfather’s stories was exhausted. When it became apparent the general could remember no more, the emperor turned the conversation to war strategies.
“General, if these warriors are only a tenth as ferocious and cunning as you say, Shou Lung is indeed in great danger,” the Divine One said. “I will assemble a vast army and send it north to meet these barbarians.”
Batu found the emperor’s plan imprudent, for it ignored the Tuigans’ mobility. Fortunately, the general was enough of a politician not to express his reservations bluntly. Instead, he politely nodded, then said, “A courageous decision, Divine One. Yet, such a vast army will need a great many supplies—supplies that must be brought from behind the lines. With the advantage of their horses, will it not be possible for the barbarians to encircle that vast army and cut its supply line?”
The Son of Heaven furrowed his brow and said, “Of course, but the barbarians are the ones who will be trapped. As soon as they appear behind our lines, we’ll fall back and smash them. Surely you are familiar with the tactic, General. It is discussed in the Book of Heaven.”
Batu grimaced inwardly. He had not expected the emperor to be one of those unimaginative Shou who believed the answer to every problem could be found that ancient text. The general did not allow his emotions to show, however. He concentrated upon relaxing his face so his expression would remain unreadable, then said, “Your ruse has much to recommend it—” He paused a moment to allow the emperor to appreciate the compliment “—as did the trap that Minister Kwan laid at our last battle.”
The emperor did not miss the implication of Batu’s statement. Scowling, the Divine One shifted forward and demanded, “If you do not like this strategy, what plan would you suggest?”
Though confident that there was only one way to defeat the barbarians, Batu hesitated, searching for a diplomatic and inoffensive way to phrase his answer.
“Come now, General,” the emperor pressed, pointedly remaining seated at the edge of his throne. “What tactic do you favor?”
Batu saw that he had no choice except to speak his mind candidly. Lifting his chin, he said, “The only way to defeat the Tuigan is to fight as they do—with boldness and imagination, not with standard military tactics.”
A br
ooding frown crossed the Divine One’s mouth. “Do you mean to imply that barbarian tactics are superior to those suggested in the Book of Heaven?”
At first, the general was inclined to equivocate, to say that the Tuigan strategy was merely more appropriate to circumstances. However, noting that his feeble diplomatic skills had done him little good with the emperor, he decided to leave the flattery to the bureaucrats.
Returning the emperor’s gaze, Batu said, “If the barbarians could read the Book of Heaven, they might have made the same mistakes that our northern armies did. Unfortunately, the Tuigan are uneducated men. Instead of the advice of venerable ancestors, they rely upon treacherous natures and animal cunning.”
The Divine One stared at Batu with emotionless eyes. For several moments, the general stood in silence, hoping he had not angered the emperor too severely. His words had lacked the customary Shou tact, but the general believed what he said.
At length, the emperor calmly pushed himself back into his throne. He studied Batu scornfully, then said, “It disturbs me that you hold the wisdom of our ancestors in such low esteem, General. They have written many pages regarding the art of war, and their wisdom has served us well.”
Batu bowed his head. “I agree, Divine One. But to the Tuigan, warfare is no art. It is a way of life. If we are to defeat them, we must understand their natures as well as we understand the Book of Heaven.”
The emperor’s face relaxed, concealing his emotions. “General, how much of the Book of Heaven can you recite?”
Batu flushed. “I have read it, of course. But my duties have not allowed much time for study.”
The Divine One shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “There are those who claim that giving you command of the barbarian war is Shou Lung’s only hope of victory. Can this be so?”
The emperor’s words took Batu by surprise, and his mouth dropped open. The mere idea of being considered for such a promotion stunned him. Yet, as soon as the Divine One had mentioned the possibility, he wanted nothing more.