Dragonwall

by Troy Denning

  “Apologize!” Hsuang ordered.

  The nobles stood in awkward and dumfounded silence, Cheng staring at his commander with an expression of disbelief. Finally, the scarred noble said, “It is understandable that you are upset by the news of your daughter’s death, Tzu Hsuang. Nevertheless, we must look at our options with a clear head.” Cheng turned to address the other nobles. “We must attack now or surrender.”

  The other lords turned away from Hsuang and gathered around Cheng Han. Casting nervous glances at their legitimate commander, they discussed the two options Cheng had proposed.

  Slapping the scarred noble had been a mistake, Hsuang realized. The other lords had interpreted the action as a loss of self-control, and he had to admit they were correct. Otherwise, he would have handled Cheng’s challenge to his authority with much more tact. He certainly would never have struck the man.

  Nevertheless, he could not allow the nobles to abandon the city before Batu arrived. “Tzu Cheng,” Hsuang said, pushing his way into the circle surrounding his rebellious subordinate. “Even if what you say is true, I am still in command of this army. There are no choices except those I present.”

  Cheng met his superior’s gaze with steady eyes. “That might be true under normal circumstances,” he said, his voice betraying no trace of anger or indignation. “But it is clear your judgment has been impaired by your loss. Otherwise, you would realize that we stand to gain nothing by delaying our final battle. With every hour, we only grow weaker.”

  Many nobles murmured their agreement.

  Reassured by the show of support, Cheng added, “I am sorry, Tzu Hsuang. Your orders don’t make sense.”

  Several nobles echoed their reluctant agreement. In their eyes, Hsuang saw apology and sympathy, but no sign of support. Like Cheng, they all believed their commander’s grief had overcome his logic.

  As far as Hsuang could see, he had only one hope of retaining command. “You’re committing treason,” he said to Cheng, taking care to appear as rational as possible.

  The accusation did not daze the scarred noble. “If the emperor or your own son-in-law were here, they would agree with our decision. At such a critical time, it’s not in Shou Lung’s interest to leave a grieving man in command.”

  The deft counter overcame any last doubts the nobles retained about disobeying Hsuang. The group voiced their approval of Cheng’s reasoning, clearly shifting command of the Twenty-Five Armies away from Hsuang.

  The old noble studied his mutinous subordinates for several moments. Finally, he turned toward the tower door, motioning for Xeng to follow. Before descending the stairs, however, he paused and addressed Cheng. “If I may ask, Tzu Cheng, what do you plan to do?”

  Cheng lifted his chin. “Fight.” As an afterthought, the scarred noble added, “Of course, you and your troops are welcome to join us.”

  Hsuang shook his head angrily. “I have better uses for my army,” he said. With that, he left the room and abandoned his fellow nobles to their planning. Though he knew it was impossible to hold the entire city with only his pengs, he intended to keep his promise to Batu. Somewhere deep within the city, he would find a compound that a small force could defend.

  As Hsuang and his son descended the stairs, Xeng walked one step behind his father. Halfway down, the steward stumbled and almost fell. The old noble stopped and grasped his son’s shoulder. The steward’s face looked pale.

  “How is your wound, Xeng?” Hsuang asked. “Should I summon help?”

  Xeng shook his head. “I’m a little light-headed, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

  Hsuang scowled. “Somehow, I doubt that. We’ll find someplace safe for you to recover.”

  “You don’t wish me to leave?” Xeng asked.

  Hsuang shook his head. “It would be pointless until those fools have had their battle, would it not?” He continued down the stairs, supporting his son by the arm.

  When he opened the door and stepped into the street, Hsuang was surprised to hear the pengs on the walls calling to each other in alarm. The noble looked up. The soldiers were cocking their crossbows and staring at the knoll in front of the gate. From the streets, Hsuang could not see what had alarmed them, so he ran back up the stairs.

  Xeng followed several steps behind, moving more slowly because of his wound. “What’s wrong?” the steward called.

  “The enemy must be attacking!” Hsuang answered, glancing over his shoulder at his son’s bandaged head. “Don’t strain yourself. I’ll meet you up here.”

  The gray-haired noble reached the top of the tower a few seconds later. The other lords barely noticed as he entered the room. They were too busy overwhelming Cheng Han with contradictory advice. Hsuang slipped over to the window, peered out, then swore a vile curse in the name of the Celestial Dragon.

  The Tuigan had resorted to magic. A single barbarian stood in front of the two thousand horsemen gathered on top of the smoky knoll. The man was dressed in a long silk robe covered with mystic symbols. In his hand, he held a scepter capped with a human skull. The barbarian’s arms were lifted skyward and his eyes were fixed on one of the fires.

  The shaman had magically braided the smoke from all fifty cooking fires together. The smoke columns now formed a wide gray ribbon that stretched from the hilltop all the way to Shou Kuan. The smoky bridge crossed the city wall directly over the gate, just a few yards to the right of the bell tower.

  As Hsuang watched, the first horsewarriors spurred their mounts toward the hazy bridge. The frightened animals reared and tried to shy away. The determined riders kicked the beasts and lashed them with their reins, guiding the horses onto the gray ribbon as if it were solid rock. When their hooves found solid purchase on the smoke, the horses calmed and began galloping forward. The riders dropped their reins, then pulled their bows from their holsters and began to nock arrows.

  Hsuang turned to his fellow nobles. “Get to your armies!” he yelled. “The Tuigan are topping the wall!”

  The nobles stopped arguing and stared at him with varied expressions of incomprehension.

  “What do you mean?” Cheng Han demanded. “They don’t have siege equipment.”

  “They don’t need it,” Hsuang replied, pointing toward the knoll. “Look!”

  When the tzu looked out the window again, sheets of arrows were sailing back and forth between the smoke bridge and the city walls. The horsewarriors were already so close that Hsuang could lock eyes with the lead rider. The barbarian was a ferocious-looking man with a hungry smile that appeared at once jubilant and brutal. He had a drooping black mustache, a flat nose with flaring nostrils, and dark slit-like eyes that sat over broad cheekbones. The rider wore a filthy, greasy hauberk and a conical skullcap trimmed with matted fur. He guided his horse with his knees so that both hands were free to use his bow.

  With a sinking heart, Hsuang realized that the Tuigan had tricked him. The barbarians had never expected the Twenty-Five Armies to leave the city. The roasting meat and the offer to accept a surrender had been ruses designed to mask the preparation of the shaman’s smoke bridge.

  The plan had worked all too well.

  Turning his thoughts to countering the Tuigan plan, Hsuang looked back to the other nobles. “Send for your best archers,” he ordered, automatically slipping back into his role as the group’s commander. “We’ve got to kill that shaman—”

  Something buzzed through the window and struck Hsuang’s ribs like a hammer blow. His armor clinked once, then a painful vise clamped down on his chest. He looked out the window and saw that the lead rider was already passing the bell tower. In preparation for leaping onto Shou Kuan’s ramparts, the warrior was holstering his bow and drawing his sword.

  Hsuang grasped at the arrow lodged in his chest, then collapsed to the floor. As darkness filled his sight, the tzu heard the clatter of hooves on stone outside the tower, then the chime of sword meeting sword told him that the barbarians were inside the city.

  14

&nb
sp; Shou Kuan

  Batu and a subordinate, General Kei Bot Li, lay on their stomachs at the crest of a hill. The mordant smell of burned grass filled their nostrils, and the dry acrid taste of soot coated their tongues. Normally, they would have avoided lying face down in a field of ash, but the best place for watching Shou Kuan happened to be this scorched hilltop.

  The three miles of rolling terrain between them and the city was as black and as barren as the hill. Before fleeing, the citizens of Shou Kuan had set fire to most of the land surrounding the city. The barbarians had overgrazed the few fields the peasants had left untouched, turning them into bleak patches of ground.

  The over-grazed land is a good sign, thought the general from Chukei. By forcing the enemy to siege Shou Kuan, Tzu Hsuang had greatly complicated the already difficult task of feeding so many horses and men. The Tuigan would be anxious to complete the siege and move on to better lands.

  From what Batu could see, Yamun Khahan had already reached the end of his patience. Even now, the barbarians were preparing to attack. At this distance, the walls of Shou Kuan looked like no more than a ridge of clay surrounding an anthill. However, a dark band that could only be an enemy battle formation encircled the city. Batu guessed that there were over one hundred thousand riders in the dark ring.

  More telling than the riders was the smoke in front of the main gate. From three miles away, the smoke appeared to be nothing more than a band of haze, but Batu knew that only a large fire could create so much fume.

  Pointing at the smoke, Batu asked, “What do you make of that, Kei Bot?”

  The stocky general squinted at the gray column and watched it intently, as if he could magnify the image through obstinate study. It was a gesture typical of the general, Batu was learning. More than anything, it seemed to symbolize the headstrong determination that was the heart of Kei Bot’s personality.

  After the stocky general’s assault on Yenching, Batu had made the ambitious man second in command. Though he had used the survivors from Kei Bot’s army to garrison Yenching, it would have been an insult to leave the pudgy general with his troops after he had displayed so much bravery. Therefore, Batu had been forced to reward Kei Bot by promoting him.

  It was an exigency the General of the Northern Marches regretted. In order to hold Kei Bot’s dogged ambition in check, Batu kept the pudgy general with him at all times. Unfortunately, the two men did not enjoy each other’s company.

  Kei Bot finally finished his study of the smoke column. “I would guess that they’re burning prisoners,” he announced.

  “To what purpose?” Batu asked, frowning at his sub-commander.

  “Intimidation,” Kei Bot answered. “I’ve seen it before.”

  Batu shook his head. “They wouldn’t hesitate to commit such butchery, but they don’t take captives.” He pointed at the riders encircling the city. “To me, it looks like they’re preparing to attack. The smoke must have something to do with storming the city.”

  “If that’s what you think,” Kei Bot answered stiffly, miffed that his conclusion had not been accepted. “Shall I send the order to advance?”

  “Not yet,” Batu said, still watching the city.

  “But we’ve been here for three hours!” Kei Bot objected.

  “We’ll wait a while longer.” The young general faced the stocky commander. “If we move before the enemy is fully engaged, it will stop its attack and turn to meet us.”

  “From what we saw at Shihfang, the nobles are outnumbered five to one,” Kei Bot countered. “The longer we wait, the greater the chance the enemy will sack Shou Kuan.”

  “I know,” Batu replied, turning back to the city. “Still, we can’t move until the barbarians are fully engaged.”

  Kei Bot’s jaw dropped in open shock. “The nobles will be wiped out! They’ll never hold against those numbers.”

  “Don’t underestimate the nobles,” Batu replied, “not while Tzu Hsuang still commands them.”

  At Shihfang, Batu had discovered the reason for his father-in-law’s long silence following the battle: the Mirror of Shao had been shattered. He was sorry to lose the artifact, but not nearly as sorry as he would have been to lose Tzu Hsuang. Still, the mirror’s destruction was a serious blow. Batu had been counting on it to coordinate the attack with the noble armies. Without the Mirror of Shao, the general had to rely on nothing but his best guess to time his attack.

  More to reassure himself than Kei Bot, Batu said, “Tzu Hsuang will hold. His pengs have had three weeks of rest. Besides, even if the Tuigan breach the walls, they will find that city streets are poor places to fight from horseback.”

  “Don’t you think you’re risking Hsuang’s armies without sufficient reason?” Kei Bot asked. “If the nobles collapse, the Tuigan will retreat into Shou Kuan when we attack.”

  “I won’t lose the advantage of surprise,” Batu replied sternly. He pointed at the ring encircling the city. “From what I can see, the barbarians still have over a hundred thousand riders. Our only chance of destroying them is to catch them completely unprepared.”

  Kei Bot would not be intimidated. “If you must run this risk, at least send word to make ready for battle.”

  Batu scowled, but realized that Kei Bot’s suggestion had its merits. “I see no harm in doing as you ask,” he snapped. Without taking his eyes off the pudgy general, he waved Pe forward.

  The adjutant was waiting at the bottom of the hill, where he and Batu’s fifty man escort would not be seen. It took Pe a few moments to crawl to the crest of the hill. Upon arriving, he removed his conical skullcap and scratched furiously at his matted hair. “Now I understand why the barbarians shave their heads,” he said.

  Like Batu and the other men in the provincial armies, Pe was dressed in Tuigan clothing. In addition to the fur-trimmed skullcap, he wore a greasy knee-length hauberk and wool trousers. The hauberk had an arrow hole and a bloodstain in the breast, and the trousers were so filthy that crawling through ash had done nothing to darken their color. In contrast to Batu, who felt strangely comfortable in the clothing, Pe looked awkward and clumsy.

  The adjutant suddenly pulled his hand from his hair. Pinched between his thumb and forefinger was a white, squirming body the size of a rice grain. The youth squashed the louse, then wiped his hand on his pant leg. He renewed his scratching and commented, “Filthy beasts.”

  Batu was not sure whether Pe meant the lice or the barbarians. After the victory at Yenching, Batu had sent his cavalry to round up the enemy horses. In the meantime, he had instructed the remainder of the Most Magnificent Army of Shou Lung to clothe itself in Tuigan garb.

  The order had not made the general a popular commander. The thought of wearing Tuigan clothing had turned the stomachs of the entire army, even the drunks and criminals. Nevertheless, Batu had insisted that his command be followed.

  Two days later, the cavalry had collected more than eighty thousand barbarian horses. The number had been sufficient to mount the four armies that were still in battle condition. After a day of riding lessons, Batu had started for Shou Kuan with eighty thousand pengs disguised as Tuigan horsewarriors.

  The General of the Northern Marches was wise enough to know that news of a large Shou army would quickly reach the ears of Yamun Khahan. That was why Batu had disguised his men as Tuigan. The presence of another barbarian force would not provoke nearly as much comment. Even if word of the army reached the khahan, Batu thought the reports would be less likely to alarm the Tuigan leader. It seemed possible that the khahan would dismiss the accounts as mere rumors or exaggerations. The last thing he would believe, Batu hoped, was that four Shou armies had disguised themselves as Tuigan in order to sneak up on him.

  Unfortunately, in order to make the disguise believable, Batu’s men had to act like barbarians. Several times, his scouts had given chase to frightened peasants. Once, they had even attacked and burned a Shou village the barbarians had overlooked. It was then, Batu realized, that he had begun to feel comfo
rtable in barbarian clothes.

  A few days after burning the village, Batu’s outriders had begun to see signs of far-ranging enemy scouts. Since the khahan had left so many men in Yenching, Batu had hoped the Tuigan leader would feel secure and not bother to scout behind him. The general should have known better, for it was apparent that Yamun Khahan was a careful commander.

  So, for the last three days, Batu’s troops had moved only after sunset and under the heavy cloud cover summoned by the wu jens. The armies had traveled along streambeds and through secluded valleys, on routes selected by survey parties during daylight hours. Of course, the outriders had occasionally encountered smaller parties of Tuigan scouts. In most cases, the disguises had served the surveyors well. After a friendly wave, the enemy had simply ridden away.

  Four times, however, enemy patrols had approached Shou scouting parties. In each instance, Batu’s men had ambushed the Tuigan riders before the scouts realized they were impostors. Not a single enemy soldier had escaped such a meeting alive.

  Last night, the provincial armies had finally reached an isolated valley in the hills southwest of Shou Kuan. Batu had stopped the advance five miles from city. At dawn, he had taken a party and rode forward to scout the enemy.

  The army was still waiting in that valley. Even without being there, Batu felt certain his subordinates were all as impatient as Kei Bot. The general could hardly blame them. With every hour, the danger of discovery increased. Already he had received a report that an enemy scouting party had been destroyed because it had come too close to the Shou armies. If Tuigan patrols continued to disappear, Batu knew that the khahan would soon suspect something was amiss.

  Still, with such a capable commander leading the enemy, Batu had to scout the horsewarriors carefully. Though the Shou armies were also mounted now, they would be no match for the barbarians in open combat. The Tuigan carried short bows ideal for fighting from horseback, and they were uncannily accurate with their weapons. Batu’s soldiers, by contrast, were still equipped with clunky crossbows and were accustomed to fighting from rigid ranks. Only a fool would believe that because they now had horses, the Shou would be a match for the barbarians.