Dragonwall

by Troy Denning

  “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.

  16

  Renegade

  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.

  Noting the reaction of the other mandarins, the emperor said, “Minister Ju-Hai, we have considered the words of the messengers and have all reached the same conclusion.” T
he Divine One turned back to the Minister of War. “How do you plan to defend the city, General?”

  The ancient mandarin answered immediately. “With the exception of your guard, I have placed all forces in Tai Tung under my personal command—”

  “Take my guard as well,” the emperor interrupted. “If the city falls, they will do me no good.”

  Kwan bowed his head. “Thank you, Divine One. They will prove most useful—”

  The ancient Minister of War was interrupted again, this time by the chamberlain. “Excuse me, honored ones,” he said, moving toward the center of the room. “I thought you would want to know that General Batu is at the city gate demanding entrance.”

  “He dares show his face personally?” The emperor asked, pushing himself to the edge of his throne.

  The chamberlain nodded. “He is dressed like a barbarian, but several guards recognized him.”

  “To believe we would open the gate to ten thousand enemies, he must take us for imbeciles!” Kwan objected.

  “The impudent knave!” Ting said, speaking for the first time that morning. “Have an archer plant a feather in his breast!”

  “No!” Ju-Hai shouted, rising to his feet. “Shouldn’t we hear him out?”

  Ting whirled on Ju-Hai, her eyes burning with anger. “The traitor will make no promises we can believe!”

  A chorus of agreement ran through the Mandarinate and Ju-Hai realized that nothing he said would persuade his peers to listen to him. To gain entrance into Tai Tung for Batu, he would have to appeal directly to the Divine One. He was risking the little that remained of his prestige, for the emperor had already indicated his displeasure with Ju-Hai once that morning. Nevertheless, the Minister of State knew Batu was no traitor. The young general would not have returned to Tai Tung if he did not feel that doing so was in Shou Lung’s best interests.

  Ju-Hai turned to the emperor. “Divine One, what harm can come from admitting Batu into Tai Tung? Does anyone believe a lone man capable of defeating an entire city?”

  “There is magic,” Kwan countered. “With sorcery, one man can accomplish much.”

  “Batu is no wu jen,” Ju-Hai returned.

  “Neither are you,” Ting said. “How do you know he does not carry some trinket to block the gate when we open it?”

  “Then let him climb the wall!” Ju-Hai snapped, returning his eyes to the emperor. “The man has been accused of treason. Allow him to come and speak in his own defense. If his words do not convince us of his innocence, then at least we will have him in our grasp to punish!”

  The Divine One studied Ju-Hai for several moments, his face, as usual, an unreadable mask. Finally, the emperor turned to the chamberlain. “Have the guards lower a rope to General Batu.”

  After the chamberlain left, Kwan outlined his plans for defending Tai Tung. The emperor asked a few questions, but it was clear that the court was more concerned with Batu’s arrival than the Minister of War’s report. Ting constantly fidgeted, rearranged her fur, crossed and recrossed her legs. Ju-Hai suspected she could hardly keep from rising to pace back and forth, for it was certainly possible that the general’s return would expose her treachery.

  Finally, the chamberlain returned with Batu. The two men were accompanied by a dozen imperial guards. As the small entourage advanced into the Hall of Supreme Harmony, a murmur of shocked disapproval rustled through the Mandarinate. The general wore a conical skullcap trimmed with oily fur, a filthy hauberk, grimy leather riding breeches, and mud-spattered boots rising to the top of his shins. If Ju-Hai had not seen Batu in civilized apparel before this, he would have sworn he was looking at a barbarian.

  Batu and his escorts stopped in the middle of the hall. The general removed his skullcap and thrust it roughly at the chamberlain, revealing a mass of long unkempt hair. Batu dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor three times.

  “You may rise.”

  The emperor had barely spoken before Batu sprang to his feet. He held his jaw set firmly and his eyes burned with outrage. When he spoke, however, his words contained no trace of anger. “Thank you for seeing me, Divine One. I have much to report.”

  Kwan was quick to move in for the attack. “You mean to account for, traitor!”

  Batu turned on the ancient mandarin with a stare so savage that Ju-Hai half-expected the general to fling a hidden dagger at the old man. Instead, Batu said, “As usual, you are mistaken, Minister Kwan. Was it at your order that I had to climb the city wall like a common thief?”

  “No,” the emperor interrupted. “It was at mine.”

  Batu looked back to the emperor, his expression finally betraying his injured feelings. “Why?”

  The Divine One studied Batu with a scowl lost halfway between anger and puzzlement. “Why?” he snapped. “You lay siege to my summer home, then present yourself in the filthy rags of a barbarian, and you ask why you must climb the wall? General, you are more intelligent than that. Now say what you have come to say.”

  Batu’s mouth dropped into a pained frown. “Didn’t my messenger explain?”

  “Your messenger explained” Ju-Hai interrupted, deciding it was best to let Batu know what he faced. “No one believed him. He was killed during interrogation.”

  “Killed?” Batu gasped. “But he was a Shou peng!”

  “He was a traitor, like you and your family,” Ting Mei Wan spat. She pointed a lacquered fingernail at the general. “Your messenger was put to death, the same as your wife and children!”

  “What?” Batu shrieked. “What are you saying?”

  “How long did you think the emperor would neglect your crimes?” Ting demanded. “Lady Wu was wounded while stealing secrets from my home. She died the next day, trying to escape. Your children were duly executed for her crimes, and yours, against the emperor.”

  “No!” Batu shouted. “It can’t be!” He looked toward Ju-Hai, clearly hoping the Minister of State would report that Ting was lying.

  Ju-Hai knew the cunning woman’s purpose in telling Batu of his family’s death. She was hoping to disorient him. Choked with grief, he might become irrational, violent, even self-destructive. In such a state, he would be easier to manipulate or to dismiss as demented if he revealed something that incriminated her.

  Nevertheless, Ju-Hai could not lie about the deaths of Wu and the children. Even if the general believed him, someone else in the Mandarinate would confirm Ting’s words, and the Minister of State would lose Batu’s trust. His only choice was to tell the truth and hope the general could overcome his grief.

  “She’s telling the truth, Batu,” Ju-Hai said, looking straight into the man’s horrified eyes. “Your wife and children died at her orders.”

  For several moments, the minister and the general stared at each other. Batu’s lower lip quivered, and his brow twisted into a shroud of grief. His eyes became red and puffy, then glassed over with unshed tears.

  “General,” Ju-Hai asked, “why did you return to Tai Tung?”

  The minister was hoping to help Batu refocus his thoughts. The general’s only hope of escaping the same fate as his wife and children lay in performing his duty and proving his loyalty. The Minister of State did not imagine that Batu cared about living at the moment, but too much depended on the general to let him perish.

  “Batu Min Ho,” Ju-Hai repeated sternly, “your mission isn’t finished yet. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and report!”

  Suddenly Batu clenched his jaw and his eyes cleared. He looked away from Ju-Hai, then turned to the emperor. “Did you condone Ting’s action?”

  The emperor did not flinch. “You know the penalty for treason.”

  “Then you will find this most interesting,” Batu said, reaching into his hauberk. Immediately his escorts leveled their chiang-chuns at him.

  The general glared at the guards. “Do not mistake me for an assassin.”

  He withdrew his hand slowly. In it, he held a small ebony tube. It was the same tube that Ju-Hai had seen
Ting Mei Wan holding on a dark, drizzly night many weeks past. It was the same tube for which Wu had died. Ju-Hai could not imagine how Batu had come to possess it, and he did not know what was inside. Yet, given Ting’s frantic search over the past weeks, he was sure the tube’s contents would condemn the beautiful mandarin to the death she deserved.

  As if confirming Ju-Hai’s suspicion, Ting grew pale and slumped in her chair.

  Batu looked in the disheartened woman’s direction and smiled grimly. He opened the tube and withdrew two sheets of paper, which he gave to the chamberlain. “These letters were meant for you, Divine One.” Batu’s voice was stiff and emotionless.

  The chamberlain carried the letters to the emperor, who accepted them and began reading without a word. A few moments later, he looked up. “How did these come into your possession?”

  “The barbarians sent them to me,” Batu answered. “They took the letters off a body in Shou Kuan.”

  “Why would they give the letters to you?”

  Batu glanced at Ju-Hai with a curiously apologetic expression, then said, “They want Ministers Kwan and Ju-Hai.”

  Ju-Hai felt as though someone had dropped a boulder on his chest. He knew without a doubt what the letters revealed. The barbarians could want him and Kwan for only one reason.

  “Ridiculous!” Minister Kwan yelled.

  “Perhaps, and perhaps not.” The very calmness of Batu’s voice seemed menacing. “In addition to identifying Minister Ting as a spy, the letters say that you were party to an attempt on Yamun Khahan’s life. The barbarians claim that’s why they started the war.”

  “I’d never do such a thing without your instruction!” Kwan shouted, looking to the emperor.