Dragonwall (13 page)

Kwan seized the initiative, placing his arms on the table and saying, “Here we are, General Batu. What do you intend to do with us?”

Batu bit back his anger and turned to address his subordinates, the army commanders. “Our enemies move with the speed of the wind and the precision of the stars,” he said. “They are barbarians, but they are cunning and sophisticated barbarians who employ all the war tactics described in the Book of Heaven, and many that are not. If we are to defeat these invaders, we must never underestimate them.”

Batu paused, and Kwan took the opening to speak again. “Surely your plan consists of more than not underestimating the enemy.”

The general from Chukei looked over his shoulder at Kwan. “It does,” he confirmed without elaborating. Almost certainly, anything he said with the mandarins present would find its way to the ears of spies.

“Would you be so kind as to explain?” Kwan pressed, a faint sneer on his wrinkled lips.

The young general frowned, trying to think of a way to refuse without insulting the mandarins. He glanced at Ju-Hai Chou for help. The Minister of State’s face betrayed no hint of sympathy, and Batu realized that Ju-Hai expected him to work his own way out of this.

Finally, Batu decided to reveal a partial truth. He said, “The fifty thousand men in the noble armies will ride northwest, toward Yenching, to engage the barbarians.”

He purposefully did not mention that Tzu Hsuang would lead that force. The nobles were a proud and contentious lot. They would not accept the command of Batu’s father-in-law until the young general had firmly established his own authority.

Fortunately, Kwan pressed along another line. “What is your intention for the provincial armies?” the old man asked, his milky eyes fixed on Batu’s face.

“They will go due west to secure Shou Kuan,” Batu said. He did not enjoy lying in the Divine One’s presence, but he could not reveal his true intention.

As it was, an astonished murmur rustled through the tent. Batu’s plan ignored one of the most basic dictums in the Book of Heaven: Never split forces in the face of the enemy.

The murmur grew louder, and Kwan could not suppress a grin. The minister’s smile gave Batu a clue as to what the old man was doing. The minister had certainly heard about the secrecy with which Batu had gone about his preparations. The old man must have suspected that the younger general would refuse to divulge his entire strategy in front of so many people. Without all the details, any plan could appear poorly conceived.

Batu remembered one of Sin Kow’s maxims: “When one discovers a trap, it is not enough to disarm it. One must turn the trap against the man who created it.” The young general decided to reverse his strategy and play along with the minister.

After allowing Batu’s subcommanders to murmur in astonishment for several seconds, Kwan raised his voice loud enough to be heard. “So, you’re splitting the army?”

“Yes,” Batu replied, doing his best to feign ignorance.

“What’s wrong with that?”

As he had expected, the tent erupted into a chorus of urgent whispers. Kwan’s wrinkled face settled into a smirk of satisfaction, but the minister carefully avoided doing anything that the emperor might construe as sowing discontent. If Batu was going to draw the old man into a foolish mistake, he knew he had to provide more bait.

The young general added, “Under Tzu Hsuang’s leadership, the noble armies—”

Batu needed to say no more. Twenty nobles jumped to their feet, voicing indignation and outrage. The five provincial generals moved toward Kwan, all expressing reservations about Batu’s experience.

Beaming with satisfaction, Kwan allowed the pandemonium to continue for several moments. Feigning a look of confusion and pain, Batu scanned the room as though searching for a friend. His only solid ally, Tzu Hsuang, was frowning, and the emperor’s weary face betrayed doubt about choosing Batu to lead the war.

Finally, Kwan moved in for the kill. Rising to his feet, he lifted his hands for silence. The room slowly fell quiet, and, with a triumphant expression, the old man addressed Batu. “General, the plan you have outlined ignores every dictum of basic strategy. Surely, you can’t be serious.”

Doing his best to appear unsure of himself, Batu glanced from Kwan to his father-in-law to the emperor, then back to the old minister. As if trying to hedge, he said, “Admittedly, I haven’t worked out all the details, but this is my general plan. It’s the best I can do.”

A chorus of angry grumbles ran through the tent. Kwan closed his eyes and shook his head. After a lengthy pause, the minister again motioned the crowd into silence. With an air of extreme reluctance, the old man turned to the emperor. “Divine One, it is with the greatest reluctance that I must insist General Batu be replaced with a more competent officer.”

Several nobles voiced their agreement.

The Divine One frowned, then looked at Batu with an expression that seemed half confusion and half anger. The young general returned the appraising look with as steady a gaze as he could summon. His gambit had worked. He had forced Kwan into asking the emperor to choose between them. Now, he could only hope the Son of Heaven would choose correctly.

Help came from an unexpected corner. Ju-Hai Chou turned toward the emperor. “Divine One, if I may speak?”

The Son of Heaven nodded. “We wish you would.”

“As you know, I am not a military man. Still, I think there is more to General Batu’s plan than is apparent at first glance.” He cast an evil eye toward Kwan, who suddenly frowned in concern.

The emperor nodded and turned a thoughtful gaze to Batu, then to Kwan, and finally back to Ju-Hai. “As you say, you are not a military man, First Left Grand Councilor, but we thank you for your opinion.”

Kwan smiled at the emperor’s words, confident that the Divine One had disregarded Ju-Hai’s endorsement.

After another moment’s thought, the Divine One addressed Kwan. “Minister, am I to take it that as General Batu’s superior, you do not approve of his plan?”

The old man nodded. “It would be a disaster for Shou Lung. The barbarians—”

“If you disapprove of General Batu’s plan,” the emperor interrupted, his face impassive and his voice even, “then you disapprove of my plan.”

Kwan’s face withered into a shriveled mask of astonishment. “But—”

The emperor raised his hand up for silence. “We have seen how well you understand the barbarians, Minister Kwan. Let us give General Batu his opportunity. Since you do not approve of my choice in generals, I relieve you of responsibility for it. As General of the Northern Marches, Batu Min Ho now reports directly to me.”

Once again, the tent broke into astonished gasps and whispered comments. Kwan rose to his feet. “I beg you to reconsider,” he gasped. “This is a grave—”

“That is enough, Kwan Chan!” the emperor said, pointedly turning his head away.

The tent immediately fell silent. The old mandarin closed his mouth and bowed as deeply as his ancient bones would allow. All eyes turned toward Batu, anxiously awaiting the next development.

Sensing that it was time to diffuse the situation, the young general simply bowed to the emperor. “Perhaps that is for the best, Divine One. Minister Kwan is certainly very experienced, but experience will prove of little use against these barbarians.”

Kwan stared at Batu with open hatred.

“No doubt,” the emperor observed, looking from the young general’s face to the other men in tent. “Now, if the mandarins and your officers will excuse us for a few moments, I would like to speak with you privately.”

Batu quickly nodded his dismissal to his subordinates, and they filed out of the tent. A few minutes later, he and the Divine One were alone.

The Son of Heaven studied the general for several moments. Finally, he said, “You are a gracious winner, General.”

“There seemed no point in pressing the issue.”

“A wise decision,” the Divine One replied, his eyes suddenly growing cold. “I do not like being manipulated, General. Don’t do it again.”

Batu kneeled. “I beg your forgiveness,” he said. “If I am going to win this war, I must have full command of my troops.”

“I hope you are satisfied.”

Remembering Kwan’s hateful stare of a few minutes earlier, Batu dared to look up. “Not entirely, Son of Heaven.”

The Divine One raised an eyebrow. “What else do you wish?”

“At the moment, the only thing that should concern a soldier in my position is his duty,” Batu said.

“Yes?”

The general took a deep breath, then said, “I now have a powerful enemy, and I am forced to leave my family alone and unprotected—”

“Do not offend my hospitality by suggesting harm could come to them inside the summer palace.” The emperor’s reply was controlled and even, but his brow betrayed his irritation. “As you say” the Divine One continued, “the only thing that should concern you is your duty.”

Without waiting for a response, the emperor rose. “Now that politics are no longer a consideration, I leave you to the business of war. Do not think of anything else.”

Batu touched his forehead to the ground. “I will obey.”

“Of course you will,” the emperor said. Without giving Batu permission to rise, the Divine One stepped around the table and left the pavilion. The General of the Northern Marches did not move.

Finally, he heard the emperor’s procession leave and dared to stand. When he went to the pavilion door, he found Pe and his subordinates waiting.

“What now?” the adjutant asked, bowing.

“We march,” Batu replied, scanning the faces of his subordinates.

This time, no one questioned his orders.

After the emperor left, Batu placed all twenty-five of the noble armies under Tzu Hsuang’s command. He also entrusted the Mirror of Shao, along with the wagon required to carry the Ministry of Magic’s bulky artifact, to his father-in-law. A few of Kwan’s lords grumbled about nepotism, but the general didn’t care. His father-in-law was the only noble with whom he had more than a passing acquaintance, and he needed someone he trusted in command of the contentious lords.

Tzu Hsuang took his forces and marched to the river docks in Tai Tung, where he loaded his fifty thousand pengs aboard a fleet of barges assembled for that purpose. Hsuang’s orders were to sail up the Hungtze as far as the river would carry him, then march west toward the enemy. If the war proceeded according to Batu’s plan, Hsuang and the nobles would engage the barbarians just west of Shou Kuan.

Batu took the five provincial armies and went north along the Spice Road. As the general had feared earlier that morning, the afternoon quickly turned hot and dusty. The men, unaccustomed to grueling marches, tired quickly. More than a few fell victim to heat exhaustion.

Nevertheless, Batu did not relax the pace, even when evening fell. Instead, to the unspoken surprise of his stoic subordinates, he continued marching. The general did not call a halt until midnight, when his five armies reached a tiny backwater village that had been mysteriously deserted. It was Chang Tu, the town that he had asked Ju-Hai to evacuate. The hamlet was also where he had ordered his fleet of cargo junks to gather.

As soon as he arrived, Batu ordered the first units onto the junks, issuing strict instructions for all pengs to stay in the cargo holds. Under no circumstance was any soldier to appear on deck, where he would be visible to river traffic or bystanders on the shore.

He could have easily loaded the entire army in a day or two. Instead, Batu took his time, allowing only two or three boats to leave the village every hour. The general felt the extra time was well spent. His intention was to camouflage his troop movements as merchant traffic, hoping that any Tuigan spies in the area would lose track of his army.

Eight days later, Batu and Pe boarded the last junk with the last unit. The oarsmen pulled the little ship into the current, and it started down the Ching Tung River. Any doubts that Batu had about this phase of his plan quickly disappeared. On the exterior, even he could not differentiate his troop ships from the thousands of cargo junks already traveling Shou Lung’s river systems. More important, he did not think the addition of five hundred ships over the course of a week would seem remarkable to river watchers, especially considering the boost in commercial activity to be expected when a country mobilized for war.

It took four days for the general’s junk to reach the mouth of the slow-moving river, only half the time it had taken to load the fleet. The junk slipped past the city of Kirin at dusk, then entered the dark, rolling waters of the Celestial Sea and turned north toward the flotilla’s rendezvous point. Batu’s stomach grew queasy once they hit the open sea and, within thirty minutes, he wished that he had never set foot on a ship deck.

Six days later, the general finally felt well enough to leave his bunk. He told Pe to summon his subordinates, then dressed and went up on deck. After the rancid smells of the bilges—stale water, moldy ropes, unwashed boatmen—Batu found the sea air invigorating. He leaned on the gunwale and looked out over the Celestial Sea. To the west, a tiny crag of rock floated on the horizon.

Pe joined him and, noticing the direction of Batu’s gaze, said, “That’s the Horn of Wak’an. According to the sailors, sighting it means we’re within four days of Lo’Shan and the Shengti River.”

Without taking his eyes off the sea, Batu grunted an acknowledgement. The prospect of another four days of seasickness almost drove him back to his bunk.

However, with his subordinates on their way to meet him, retreat was not an option. Batu stayed at the gunwale, breathing deeply of the salt air and studying the sea. The sky was as blue as the water, with a favorable wind blowing from the east. Between the general’s ship and the Horn of Wak’an, the five hundred sails of his motley armada bobbed upon the water like so many prayer flags. The skiffs carrying his five generals were fighting through the white-capped waves toward Batu’s pathetic flagship.

“The barbarians will never think to look for us here,” Pe said cheerfully. With his good arm, he leaned on the gunwale next to Batu.