The Warring States: Books 1-3
Greg Strandberg
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Copyright © 2013 Greg Strandberg
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Also by Greg Strandberg
Fiction
The Jongurian Mission
Trouble in Jonguria
The Jongurian Resolution
The Warring States
The State of Chu
The State of Qin
Tarot Card Killer
Black Walnut
Room 223
The Warring States
Table of Contents
1; 2; 3
4; 5; 6
7; 8; 9
10; 11; 12
13; 14; 15
16; 17; 18
19; 20; 21
22; 23
Historical Note
The State of Chu
Table of Contents
1; 2; 3
4; 5; 6
7; 8; 9
10; 11; 12
13; 14; 15
16; 17; 18
19; 20; 21
Historical Note
The State of Qin
Table of Contents
1; 2; 3
4; 5; 6
7; 8; 9
10; 11; 12
13; 14; 15
16; 17; 18
19; 20
About the Author
State of Wei Preview
China, c 500 BC
The Battle on the Plains (State of Chu ch. 13)
The Warring States: The Warring States Book 1
ONE
The ground began to rumble, and the earth shook. The sprawling camp of thousands collectively ceased what they were doing and turned their attention to the roaring sound building slowly to the south, and even the dogs stopped their incessant barking.
All eyes looked southward, even and especially those on the ramparts of the besieged city. The men flocked to the large stone walls and looked down, not fearful for their safety for once, for any archers down below had their eyes too locked on the road and not trained upon them. Even men that were in the last agonies of life, and praying to the gods for death to take them quickly, eased up onto battered and broken limbs and tried to get a sight of what was coming.
What was coming were war chariots, and by the sound of it they were coming by the hundreds. Such a number could only mean one thing – Marquis Wen of Wei had finally arrived.
The arrival meant two different things to the two different groups of the besieged city of Zhongshan. For the men in the heavily barricaded city it meant their downfall, sure and simple. They’d know that it was coming for weeks now, ever since the earth began to pile up into two large mounds on either side of the city gates. Word had spread quickly when that began, but even with every available piece of wood in the city whittled down to the rough size and shape of an arrow and then fired at the workers who did the piling, nothing could stop the steady rise of those earthen mounds. Eventually the workers were out of range and then there was nothing the city could do but wait.
For the men in the camp besieging the city the arrival of their Marquis meant that the two-year siege was finally at its end. It was no secret that the twenty-five year anniversary of the Marquis’ reign was at hand; indeed, the men, from the lowest workers to the highest generals, had expected the Marquis to arrive and the city of fall in time to coincide with that fortuitous date. And now, with the shaking of the earth and the rumbling sound of hundreds of wooden wheels on hard-packed dirt, that time had come.
Marquis Wen of Wei held the reins of the chariot and steered the twin black horses down the twisting and turning road himself. His long black hair, tied in a neat top-knot on his head, blew back behind him, as did the thin wisps of his chest-length beard. His red, gray, and white robes, tied tightly and not nearly as ostentatious as those he wore at court, billowed as the chariot rushed down the road. Only his mustache, carefully trimmed so the ends went no lower than to where his beard began, barely rustled in the onrush of wind the chariot’s speed produced.
Beside him on the small platform stood Zhai Huang, Marquis Wen’s Minister of War. Of roughly the same age, fast approaching seventy, both men could not be more different in appearance. Whereas Wen was rather gaunt in the face, his cheekbones clearly visible and pronounced, Zhai Huang tended rather to fat, so that his cheeks were nearly twice the size of Wen’s. Wen’s nose was straight and angular while Zhai’s was large and round. Both men had the same large, thick black eyebrows that slanted downwards as if in a perpetual scowl, and both sported the customary beard for men of their age and position. But while Wen’s beard covered his entire face, a face wizened and wrinkled with age, and then stretched down to his chest, Zhai’s only covered the area around his chin, his sideburns growing long and stretching down to his beard in the fashionable custom of court. Zhai’s yellow and black robes, however, billowed and shook just as much in the wind as did Wen’s the closer the two men got to the city.
Behind them came more than a hundred chariots, those closest holding two men, but the others further back managing as many as five, their size being much larger. They’d ridden all day and all night and much of the day today to make it to the city. The reason was simple: a bird had arrived in Anyi two days before bearing a short message from Ximen Bao. The engineer had simply said that everything was ready, and that was all the reason that Marquis Wen needed to gather his court and set out at once for the besieged capital of Zhongshan. Now, with the city finally in view, the tiredness disappeared from Wen’s eyes and the aches in his legs vanished.
A great cheer rose up in the camp as the first chariot was spotted coming up the hilly road to the city, and it grew in size and tempo as the soldiers realized that it was their ruler, Marquis Wen, who was driving it.
Wen deftly steered the chariot along the road, which was now swiftly filling with the cheering soldiers, each clamoring to get a view of their ruler, many of whom had never seen him before. The road ended abruptly amid the earthen embankments and embrasures erected to lay siege to the city and Wen turned the chariot into a wide arc, circling around the end of the road before coming to a rest facing the hundred chariots coming up behind him. Before the chariot had even stopped the soldiers were on all sides of the vehicle cheering, many with tears in their eyes, knowing that the appearance of their Marquis signaled both the end of their service here in Zhongshan as well as a chance for many of them to return home once again to their families.
Zhai Huang’s face screwed up in concern at so many men rushing about the chariot unchecked, any one of whom could in reality be an agent from the besieged city eagerly awaiting the right moment to plunge a concealed dagger into the Marquis. One glance over at Marquis Wen’s smiling face, however, immediately put him at ease; for it was well known that Marquis Wen rarely smiled back in Anyi, the capital city of the State of Wei,
“Sire, we really should get you to a safer place, one with less people and not in such open view of the city,” Zhai said as loudly as he could without shouting. His fears were not totally allayed at the sight of the uncharacteristic joy in the Marquis’s face, and it was his duty as Minister of War to ensure that the state was secure; it being no secret that Wen was the state.
Wen gave no sign that he’d heard and continued waving to his troops, the long arms of his robes shaking from side-to-side with each motion. Zhai was just about to lean in closer and say the words again w
hen Wen turned slightly toward him.
“Don’t worry so much for once, Zhai,” Marquis Wen said in his slow and steady voice, the same voice that carried so much weight but also imparted so much confidence in all those who heard it. “These men have been laboring against Zhongshan for two years now. They know more than anyone, save perhaps the men staring down from those ramparts, what my arrival here today means.”
“And it is those men in the ramparts which worry me so, Sire,” Zhai said with as much authority as he could. “Who knows how many bows are trained upon us right now, or indeed, how many men from that city secretly surround us now.”
Wen ceased his waving and turned to directly face Zhai this time, his eyes reprimanding. The Minister of War’s heart skipped a beat as he straightened his posture and swallowed his fear.
“As Minister of War, Zhai, you should know full well that we’re well out of arrow range,” Wen said sternly. “Furthermore, I have no doubt that if there were a secret assassin in this crowd, he would be trampled to death before his blade was pulled halfway from his tunic.”
“Forgive me, Sire,” Zhai said slowly, careful to keep the stammer from his voice. “Your safety is my only concern.”
“And there is no fault in that,” Wen said as he began turning back to the soldiers now pressed tightly around the chariot, his arms and robes once again waving at the men.
Zhai relaxed and gave a sigh of relief that he’d not angered Wen. For nearly half of Wen’s reign as Marquis of the State of Wei, Zhai had served him faithfully, first as one of several generals in the field battling the smaller states that surrounded Wei, then for the past five years as Minister of War, himself now responsible for each of those generals in the field. It was a position he’d never expected nor sought after when he’d first begun his career as a soldier nearly fifty years before when Wen’s father had been the ruler of Wei. Wei Huanzi had been a strong and formidable man himself, although Zhai could barely remember him, relying on much of his knowledge of the previous ruler from stories his own father had told him as a boy. His father had also been a soldier, although he had never risen to the heights that Zhai now enjoyed. He’d been killed in a battle against the State of Zhi when Zhai was still but a boy. Zhai had joined the army himself a few years later and served during the last few years of Wei Haunzi’s reign, years which saw the downfall of the State of Zhi at the hands of the three States of Wei, Zhao, and Han.
Zhai’s recollections were interrupted as the crowd’s cheering was cut-off. From behind the chariot the cheering died down and the crowd parted. Wen and Zhai both turned to see General Yue Yang approaching.
The commander of the forces that had been assaulting Zhongshan for two years strode up to the chariot confidently, his head held high and his piercing brown eyes seeming to stare right through them, as always. His head appeared to have been freshly shaved just that morning, as was his habit, but his mustache looked to have grown another few inches down his face since Zhai had seen him last. As Yue covered the last few feet from the edge of the crowd to the chariot Zhai could see the same reddish mud of the earth around them covering the bottom of his flowing brown robes. When he’d but another foot to go Yue abruptly dropped to his knees and bowed forth, covering his robes in even more mud, and his previously clean tunic as well.
“Sire, you do us all a great honor with your presence here today on this eve of both your twenty-fifth year as Marquis of the glorious State of Wei and the downfall of the treacherous State of Zhongshan,” Yue said loudly for all around to hear, his head still pressed down firmly against the ground.
Zhai glanced over at Wen to see if the Marquis took note of the seemingly well-rehearsed nature of the short speech that had been given, but if he had, he gave no indication of it. Instead, for the second time that day, and perhaps that year for all Zhai knew, Wen smiled, then stepped from the back of the chariot, muddying his own immaculately white lower robes nearly the same color as those he wore further up his body.
“It is you who have done us a great honor, General Yue,” Wen said as he walked to the prostrate commander. “Without your wise and judicious command I’d have very little to celebrate tomorrow.”
“You do me too much honor,” Yue said, still face down on the ground.
“Please, rise and walk with me,” Wen said, gesturing with his arm for Yue to stand.
Yue quickly and obediently did as he was told and within moments he and the Marquis were walking toward the earthen embankments, the crown parting before them, each soldier kneeling as their ruler passed by. Zhai watched with a nearly open mouth before he hiked up his own robes and stepped from the back of the chariot to follow.
“Yes, Sire,” Yue was saying when Zhai had hurriedly reached the two men and slowed his pace to match their own, walking a few paces behind, “the river diversions are nearly complete, at least that’s what Ximen Bao told me the last time we spoke.”
“And when was that?” Wen asked, his head held high and his gaze resting levelly on the besieged city in front of them.
“Two days ago, Sire,” Yue replied quickly.
Wen’s stride slowed and he appeared to be about to turn toward Yue when the general himself stopped.
“Ximen Bao has been working steadily both night and day to ensure that everything is ready for tomorrow,” Yue hastily added. “I’ve sent messengers off to ascertain how close he is to completion. Each time, however, the messengers have returned with news that the engineer won’t even grant them a brief audience, so busy is he on the preparations.”
Zhai silently moved up a step closer behind Yue so that he could get a better look at Wen’s face. The Marquis’s eyes were downcast; a look that Zhai knew full-well meant that Wen was deep in thought. A moment later he looked up at the city and once again began his slow walk through the crowd of soldiers.
“The messengers tell me that he’s toiling right alongside his workers,” Yue added after they’d taken a few more paces.
Wen let out a single short, sharp laugh which flew through the crowd all around them, eliciting a round of laughter from the soldiers nearby, happy to see their ruler pleased, no doubt at their own splendid performance during the siege, Zhai surmised.
“There’s nothing new in Ximen working alongside his men,” Wen said, humor in his voice. “Most of the time the work his men do isn’t up to par with what he himself believes he’s capable of. I’ve known him to dismiss half his workforce, thinking he can do the job better himself.”
Wen laughed again and this time Zhai even saw Yue’s always implacable face breakout in a modest grin.
“I’m happy that you are pleased, Sire,” the general said.
They walked in silence after that, Wen waving as the soldiers cheered his approach, bowing when he reached them and rising to cheer again when he’d passed. Another few feet brought them to the edge of the earthen embankments that had been constructed as both a defensive wall against the archers from the city and for the onslaught that would be released the following day.
“Tell me, Yue,” Wen said when he’d reached the embankment and come to a halt, his arms crossed and his hands hidden in his deep robes, his gaze still leveled at the city, “what word has there been from Duke Wu?”
Yue crossed his own arms, put one leg up on the embankment, and leaned forward. “We’ve heard nothing from the either the Duke of Zhongshan, or his leading general, in nearly two months.”
Wen turned from the city to Yue. “Not since your son’s death?”
Yue kept his gaze on the city. “That is correct, Sire.”
Zhai studied Yue at that moment and was struck by how calm his face was as he stared at the city, how unemotional his voice sounded as he spoke of his dead son, his only son. The news had reached back to Anyi rather quickly about Yue Shan’s death, and then, since it’d had to travel through the State of Zhao to get to Wei, through the entirety of the Seven States. It was in no way odd or unusual for a general’s son to be killed in battle, indeed it h
appened quite frequently, but in the case of Yue Shan’s death, the details were just too grim to ignore.
“Sire!” came a loud shout from behind them, “it’s not safe for you this close to the defensive works!”
Zhai’s recollections about Yue Yang’s son were broken and the three men quickly turned their attention away from the city and to the man coming up behind them.
“You worry too much about me, Wu,” Wen said in a firm voice. “My safety is most certainly on the forefront of General Yue’s thoughts today.”
“I’m sure it is, father,” Wu said as he reached them and looked from Yue to Wen, “but that still doesn’t mean that a Zhongshan soldier cannot have a lucky shot.”
“Not at five hundred feet they can’t,” Yue scoffed.
Zhai looked at Wu and saw his face turn a brief red before he gained control of his emotions and visibly calmed himself, letting the comment go.
“Anything is possible,” Wu said quietly and with the full knowledge that Yue was correct.
Marquis Wen’s oldest son and heir to the throne had become quiet adept at maintaining his composure over the past several years, something which pleased not only his father but all those who’d once been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of one of Wu’s sudden and inexplicable outbursts. Almost the spitting image of his father, Wu today wore a more modest set of brown robes over his legs while donning a tighter-fitting tunic of the same color over his body. His hair was long and black, showing none of the grayness at the temples as did his fathers, but tied neatly in a top-knot just the same. His beard was but a single long wisp running from his chin; although his long mustache flowed down to join it, lending a greater volume. What was most striking about Wu’s features, however, and in such contrast to that of his father, were his eyes. Whereas Marquis Wen’s eyes were nearly always narrowed slits, seemingly taking in every minute detail that there was to see, weighing it and measuring it for further use, Wu’s eyes were large, wide and rather awestruck in appearance, and many were quick to notice the lack of confidence that could somehow clearly, yet unexplainably, be spotted within their depths.
The Warring States, Books 1-3 Page 1