Dragonwall

by Troy Denning

  Finally, the man reached the hilltop, gasping and wheezing. Hsuang’s subordinates circled around him, anxious to hear any news the man could offer. The chubby bureaucrat eyed the gathering with barely concealed fear.

  “Yes, my lords?” the prefect asked, impolitely neglecting to bow or introduce himself.

  Hsuang waved his hand at his fellow nobles. “I am Tzu Hsuang Yu Po, and these are the commanders of the Twenty-Five Armies.”

  “Yes?” the bureaucrat responded, his face betraying his apprehension. “What do the commanders of the Twenty-Five Armies want with me?”

  “Why are you abandoning your town, Prefect?” demanded one of Hsuang’s subordinates. “You are clogging the road. We cannot reach your town to defend it!”

  The prefect blanched, then bowed to the assemblage. “I beg your pardon, lords. Nobody told me you were coming—”

  “We are not here to reproach you,” Hsuang said, casting an irritated glance at the noble who had spoken without permission. “We only wish to know why you are abandoning Shihfang.”

  The chubby prefect looked around in confusion. “The rider came and told us to evacuate—”

  “Rider?” Hsuang gasped. “What rider?”

  “From the retreating army” the bureaucrat explained. “He said the barbarians were coming and that we had to leave at once.”

  Hsuang frowned. From what Batu had told him of the battle in the sorghum field, he did not think the retreating army should have any riders left. “What did this rider look like?” the old lord asked urgently. “How was his accent?” The prefect’s face fell. “He wore a Shou uniform—” “Anyone can wear a Shou uniform,” Hsuang said, impatiently laying a hand on the bureaucrat’s collar. “Describe the man.”

  The chubby prefect swallowed, then said, “He was short and had a horrendous, guttural accent. I thought he was from Chukei. And the way he smelled! It was like bad wine and sour milk.”

  “That’s no Shou,” observed one of the other nobles.

  “No,” Hsuang agreed, grimacing. “Even in the field, no officer would be shamed by such a disgrace.” Addressing the bureaucrat again, he asked, “What else did the rider say?”

  The prefect looked away, ashamed that he had allowed the enemy to deceive him. Nevertheless, he answered quickly, “That we are to evacuate the town by nightfall. We aren’t to burn the city or the fields because the army needs supplies.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd of nobles.

  “They’re out there,” said a young lord. He was looking toward the far hills.

  Hsuang nodded. “Yes, and General Batu’s plan is working. They’re resorting to trickery to feed themselves.”

  “They’ll try to sneak in at night, when the stragglers have less opportunity to identify them,” said one of the more experienced lords.

  This noble was Cheng Han, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred, useless eye and an ugly black stain on his left temple. Like Hsuang, Cheng had a large ducal holding and was entitled to the title of tzu. At just seven hundred men, his army was smaller than many of the others in the Twenty-Five, but it was heavily equipped with siegecraft. Tzu Cheng also carried a huge supply of thunder-powder, though the stocky noble’s gnarled eye did not make Hsuang anxious to place his trust in the unpredictable stuff.

  After a moment’s silence, Tzu Cheng continued, “With their horses, our enemies will find it easy to outflank us in the dark. We can’t allow that.”

  Cheng’s remark stirred an ember of panic in Hsuang. “I wonder how many other villages these riders have visited?”

  Although he did not say so aloud, Hsuang realized that this new trickery stood a chance of defeating Batu’s plan. In order to break out of their precarious containment, the Tuigan needed only a few tons of good grain. Shihfang might be the largest town west of Shou Kuan, but it was not the only one. There were hundreds of smaller hamlets within a day’s ride, all supported by farming grain.

  Hsuang turned to the young noble who had spoken before Tzu Cheng. “Mount your cavalry,” he said. “Prepare two hundred for scouting duty. Send the other three hundred out as messengers. They are to spread the word that the barbarians are coming. The peasants must burn everything and flee.”

  The noble’s eyes betrayed his resentment, for the order meant his cavalry would miss the battle. Nevertheless, he bowed stiffly, saying, “As you wish, Tzu.”

  As the man turned to go, Hsuang caught his shoulder. “I know your riders are good fighters. At the moment, however, they will serve the emperor better as messengers and scouts. They are the only ones who can move quickly enough to spread the alarm, or who can warn us of the enemy’s approach before he is upon us.”

  The youthful noble bowed again, this time more deeply. “I shall lead the scouts personally.”

  “My thanks,” Hsuang said, dismissing the man.

  As the young lord left to dispatch his messengers and prepare his scouts for duty, the prefect bowed to Hsuang. “If you won’t be needing me any longer, perhaps I could leave?”

  “Yes, be on your way,” Hsuang answered absently, already turning to an aide. “Have the Mirror of Shao brought up.”

  As he waited, Hsuang considered his situation. Shihfang lay directly between Yenching and Shou Kuan, so he and Batu had assumed the barbarian army would pass through the village, and that it would be a good place to meet the enemy. It appeared their assumption had been a correct one.

  Unfortunately, they had hoped the nobles would beat the barbarians to the town by several days, leaving plenty of time to rest the men and prepare defensive fortifications. It was a hope Hsuang had given up when he saw the fleeing peasants. Even if he could move his pengs into position against the tide of refugees, they would never secure their positions before night fell and the Tuigan arrived. The original plan was no longer feasible, so he thought it best to contact Batu and report.

  A pair of white oxen drew a small wagon to the top of the hill and stopped. The sideboards had been carefully painted with a hundred coats of red enamel. Dozens of mystic characters had been etched into the lustrous surface. The mirror itself resembled a kettle drum with a three-foot head of smoked glass. Its black shell was covered with yellow symbols telling of all the great feats that had been accomplished in the past with drum’s aide.

  Ordering his subordinates to wait for him, Hsuang went to the wagon and climbed in. Placing his hands on the edge of the mirror, he looked into the smoky glass and repeated the mysterious phrase that activated the artifact. The glass began to clear and a haze swirled beneath it, making it apparent that the Mirror of Shao was not so much a mirror as a huge bowl with magical gas sealed inside.

  Forcing all images except his son-in-law’s face from his mind, Hsuang looked into the mist and said, “Mirror of Shao, I am looking for Batu Min Ho, General of the Northern Marches and the one hope of Shou Lung.”

  Hsuang took great care to address the mirror exactly as the High Minister of Magic had instructed, for he was not sure how the thing worked and felt uncomfortable using it. After cautioning him not to use the mirror needlessly, the High Minister had tried to explain how it worked. When one used the mirror, the old sorcerer had said, one looked through the ethereal plane to see and hear whatever he wished. The explanation had been lost on both Batu and Hsuang, who could not imagine any kind of plain other than the type covered with grass and rolling hills.

  The mirror’s glass became completely transparent, and Hsuang felt as though he were looking into a pool of clouds. Several seconds later, his son-in-law appeared in the white mists. Though the old noble could see only Batu’s face, the young general appeared to be looking at the sky.

  “General Batu,” Hsuang said.

  Batu smiled, but continued staring into the air. According to the High Minister, only the person looking into the mirror could see to whom he was speaking. Sound, however, carried in both directions.

  “Tzu Hsuang,” Batu said. “It’s good to hear your voice!”

  “And
to see your face. How goes the journey?”

  “The pilots tell me we are only a few days from Yenching,” the General of the Northern Marches answered. “We have lost a few ships to the river, but that is all. The closer we come to the city, the more my subcommanders believe in our plan.”

  “Then you’ve remained undetected?” Hsuang asked.

  Batu nodded. “The men did not believe it was possible. Now that we have done it, they think nothing is impossible.” The general allowed a proud smile to cross his lips, then grew more serious. “And you, Tzu Hsuang? Have you met the enemy?”

  Hsuang shook his head. “Not yet, but soon.” He described what he had found in Shihfang, then explained that he would not be able to secure the town.

  “Shihfang is not important,” Batu responded. “What is important is that the barbarians follow you to Shou Kuan. Can you give them a good fight and still have time to retreat?”

  “Assuming the barbarians come through the village, yes,” Hsuang answered. “We can fortify our current position and use the terrain to good advantage. With luck, we might destroy a portion of their army as they cross the valley below.”

  “Better than we had hoped,” Batu observed.

  Hsuang bit his lip. “There is a risk. If the enemy is expecting resistance at Shihfang and are as mobile as you say, they might approach along a front of many miles. They could encircle us and cut us off from Shou Kuan. Perhaps I should fall back to Shou Kuan before they attack.”

  Batu furrowed his brow in thought. Finally, he shook his head. “Don’t retreat yet,” he said. “If the Tuigan expected resistance, they wouldn’t be hoping to trick Shihfang’s peasants into leaving grain behind. More important, the Tuigan commander is a shrewd man. If you retreat without a fight, he’ll smell our trap. To make our plan work, you must allow the enemy to force you back to Shou Kuan.”

  “Very well. That is what I shall do,” Hsuang answered. It was not the reply he had hoped to hear, but Batu’s observations made sense. “I should go now,” he said. “We have much to do.”

  “Just a moment,” Batu replied. “What have you heard from Wu?” The young general looked as though he felt guilty for keeping Hsuang from his duties.

  “She is, ah, making the most of the comforts in her new home,” the old noble answered. He purposely neglected to mention that the emperor had confined her to the house. That fact was not something he felt Batu needed to worry about at the moment.

  “Good,” Batu replied. “When you send her a message, tell her I am well.” He paused a moment, then his expression grew more businesslike. “In case I’m wrong about the Tuigan,” he added, “send your scouts out far and wide. Be ready to fall back at the first sign of trouble. Good luck, and let me know how you fare.” The general looked away, tactfully indicating that his father-in-law was dismissed.

  “Consider it done,” Hsuang answered. He took his hands off the mirror. Batu’s image faded and the glass became smoky once again. The noble climbed out of the wagon and turned to his aide. “Send the scouts out in a fan pattern. At the first sign of the enemy, they are to report back.”

  As the adjutant left, Hsuang addressed the cart driver. “When the catapults are moved into position, park the mirror behind them,” he said, ordering the man into the most secure position he could think of. “At the first sign that we are losing the battle, take your wagon and ride for Shou Kuan. It is important that you keep the mirror safe.”

  Next, Hsuang walked a few paces to where his subcommanders were still waiting. Turning to an ancient nan, or minor lord, he said, “Take your men into Shihfang and replenish our own stores, then burn the town and the fields.” The old nan acknowledged the order with a formal bow, then went to obey.

  “And us, Tzu Hsuang?” asked Cheng.

  Hsuang pointed at the brook in the valley below. “I think that will make an excellent defensive line.”

  Tzu Cheng nodded. “A wise decision. We can place the artillery up here. With my bombs, we can destroy the enemy as he crosses the valley.”

  “I was thinking of using flaming pitchballs,” Hsuang said, trying to find a diplomatic way to keep Cheng’s thunder-powder where it could do no harm. Although gunpowder was not new to Shou Lung, its use in battle was. Hsuang was not sure he wanted to trust it.

  “Save the pitch for later,” Cheng said enthusiastically. “The thunder-powder will be more effective.”

  Hsuang saw that he would have to be direct. “Please forgive an old man’s superstitions,” he said, inclining his head to Tzu Cheng. “I have never seen this thunder-powder used in battle. Lofting it over our own pengs makes me nervous.”

  Cheng’s face betrayed his disappointment. “Of course, I understand your concerns, Tzu Hsuang, but I assure you that my artillerists will not make a mistake.”

  Another noble said, “I have seen this thunder-powder in action. It does little but rumble the ground and create a lot of smoke—”

  “You have not seen it used properly, Nan Wang!” Cheng objected.

  Wang bowed to Cheng. “Please forgive me, Tzu Cheng,” he said. “I did not finish what I meant to say.”

  “Which was?” Hsuang asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “It strikes me that against charging horses, rumbling ground and thick smoke might be more effective than arrows and flaming pitch,” the nan finished. He looked toward the fields below.

  “If I may speak,” offered another minor lord, this one a middle-aged nan from Wak’an. “My own troops also use thunder-powder, though not for bombs.”

  “And how do you use this marvelous black sand?” Hsuang asked, turning to face the noble. He had noted earlier that each of this lord’s pengs carried a large, funnel-shaped kettle, the function of which Hsuang had not been able to guess.

  “Rockets, my lord,” the nan responded. “We pack our kettles with gunpowder and arrows. Place us in front of the lines. When we light our weapons, our arrows will cut the enemy down like a sickle at harvest time.”

  Hsuang looked doubtful.

  “What do we have to lose, Tzu Hsuang?” asked the nan. “From all accounts, normal arrows will not stop these barbarians.”

  “Let us use our thunder-powder,” Cheng added, “and I promise we will chase the barbarian horses from the field.”

  As Hsuang considered the suggestion, he saw the cavalry assigned to scouting duty cross the bridge and ride toward Shihfang. The young noble commanding them had wasted little time doing as ordered, but Hsuang was still impatient for the riders to reach their positions. Until the first scouts reported, he was simply guessing at the barbarian intentions and hoping his son-in-law had judged the Tuigan accurately.

  Fortunately, Batu’s plan was simple and did not call for an astounding victory on Hsuang’s part. In fact, the General of the Northern Marches expected Hsuang and the nobles to be defeated. Considering those expectations, it just might make sense to do as Cheng recommended and experiment with the thunder-powder. If Batu’s plan did not work, a new weapon might prove just the advantage the Shou needed to destroy the Tuigan. A battle that the Shou were supposed to lose anyway would be the ideal place to conduct such an experiment.

  “Very well, we’ll try this thunder-powder,” Hsuang said, looking at Cheng. “But not at the expense of tested tactics. Confine the catapults to a line of a hundred yards. If we lose this battle, we will need to retreat past them, and I don’t want inadvertent fires or explosions impeding our men.” Hsuang turned to the nan whose pengs carried the bronze kettles. “Your rockets must be separated from the rest of the line. I don’t want our secret weapon to route our own troops.”

  The two nobles smiled broadly and bowed to Hsuang.

  With the refugees from Shihfang still fleeing down the road, the battle preparations took until late afternoon. Hsuang put each lord’s army where its peculiar composition would be best utilized. In front of the bridge, he placed two thousand seasoned troops from the southern provinces. Three of the noble armies were composed entirely of
archers. These he placed at the base of the bluff, where they would be able to fire over the infantry.

  The bulk of the armies he arranged in two ranks, one behind barricades on the far side of the brook, and the other behind similar barricades on the close side. His plan was simple: meet the barbarian charge with the first rank. After the enemy broke the line, the second rank would open fire as the barbarians crossed the brook—covering the rest of the army’s retreat.

  He protected the flanks with pikemen, who could meet and resist an unexpected charge from the sides. The rocketeers he interspersed along the first rank. He even had Tzu Cheng lay several thunder bombs on the bridge, so that it could be destroyed rapidly when the need arose.

  By late afternoon, the refugees were gone. Hsuang’s armies were in position and prepared for battle. The foragers that the noble had sent into Shihfang earlier started back, bringing with them five tons of dried grain. Pillars of smoke began rising out of the town.

  Still, the scouts did not return, and there was no sign of the enemy. Hsuang began to think he had made a mistake, that the barbarians were even now circling around to cut off the Twenty-Five Armies. As the foragers crossed the wide valley below, they paused to set fire to the barley fields.

  By early dusk, the fires in the fields had died, leaving only a thick curtain of smoke that hid the opposite side of the valley. Hsuang feared his army would spend the night in the entrenchments.

  Finally, horse whinnies began sounding from the opposite side of the smoky dale.

  “Are they our scouts?” Hsuang asked of no one in particular. “I can’t see anything in this smoke.”

  A gentle rumble rolled across the burning fields, as if several hundred horses were galloping down the road from Shihfang.

  “It can’t be the scouts,” said one of the nobles. “They wouldn’t return all at once.”