Dragonwall (35 page)

Half an inch of autumn snow covered the stone pavement, and a chilly wind whipped over the brick-faced walls, but the prematurely bleak weather did not bother Batu’s hosts. The khahan and his officers had dragged a dozen rolled rugs from the prefect’s mansion and were using them as cushions. They now sat in a rough semicircle, exposed to the elements and drinking fermented mare’s milk from gold and silver goblets.

The Tuigan wore grimy trousers and filthy silk tunics called kalats. Precious stones glittered from gold settings on their fingers, around their necks, and in their scabbards. The khahan’s feet rested on an open chest filled with delicate jade figurines, endless strings of pearls, carved ivory, and other priceless treasures. The emperor of Shou Lung had sent the chest with Koja as a peace gift.

In the center of the barbarians’ semicircle, Kwan Chan Sen lay spread-eagled on the ground, bound by his wrists and ankles to four heavy stones. For the last hour and a half, he had been screaming horribly. Considering what the Tuigan had put him through, it was no wonder. Two barbarians were still torturing him while the others watched. The khahan occasionally shouted advice or made wagers on how long the old man would survive.

Batu watched the scene with cool detachment. He felt no delight in watching his nemesis die so horribly, yet he experienced no pity. Kwan’s agony seemed remote and unreal, as if the event were being reported by a messenger. Even considering the hatred between the two men, his lack of emotion did not surprise Batu. Nothing had stirred his feelings since the morning of Ting’s execution. It was an emotional state well-suited to a renegade soldier.

The horrible sound coming from Kwan’s throat changed into barely discernible words. “Cut my liver!” he gasped. “Please—I’m protected by magic. It’s the only way I can die.”

A swell of laughter surged through the ring of barbarians, and several began arguing as to how this revelation should affect their wagers.

Koja turned to Ju-Hai, his face a sickly shade of yellow. “For your sake,” he said sympathetically, “I hope all Shou mandarins are not protected by such magic.”

Ju-Hai shook his head. He was biting his lip, and his face was as pale as snow. Still, he was struggling to maintain his composure. Ripping his eyes away from Kwan, the ex-minister answered Koja. “No. I didn’t even know Kwan had such protection. I have often wondered why such an old man seemed so hardy.”

Batu had wondered the same thing many times, especially during the journey of the past week. With their horses well-fed and rested, the Tuigan army had ridden like the wind. Even for a man as battle-hardened as Batu, the pace had been strenuous, and the renegade general had often expected to find Kwan dead in the saddle. The old man had endured amazingly well, riding from dawn until past dusk, eating on the move and stopping to rest only when it grew so dark that the horses stumbled.

Covering up to a hundred miles a day, the Tuigan had quickly left their Shou escorts behind. The rapid pace had made Batu suspect treachery, but Koja had assured him that such travel rates were not unusual for the barbarians. They were simply rushing back to tell their commander the good news. The procession had stopped only once during daylight hours, when, on Koja’s recommendation, Batu paused in a village to buy a personal gift for the khahan.

Finally, the small army had reached Shou Kuan. Batu and Ju-Hai had visited the general from Wak’an to deliver a letter from the emperor. The letter placed the astonished general in charge of all the provincial armies, and informed him of the emperor’s acceptance of the peace terms. After an awkward farewell, Batu had accompanied the barbarians into the city.

That had been over two hours ago, and Batu still had not been formally introduced to Yamun Khahan. As soon as Koja had arrived and announced that the peace proposal had been accepted, the Tuigan ruler had ordered Kwan’s death in celebration. Batu had not anticipated such a long wait, but he now guessed the khahan would be in good humor when Koja finally presented him.

As Batu watched the barbarians inflict yet more pain on Kwan, he realized that Koja’s words in Tai Tung had been true. The Tuigan universally delighted in suffering, and Batu knew that even at his cruelest, he could never have matched the punishment the barbarians inflicted on the former Minister of War.

The contrast reminded the renegade Shou that though he shared some of their blood, he shared nothing of the horsewarriors’ culture. He suddenly realized how alone he would be when Ju-Hai died. For a moment, he doubted the wisdom of his decision to leave Shou Lung, but the feeling passed as he tried to think of what remained for him there. With the Tuigan, at least, he would have his fill of fighting.

The two torturers finished their latest procedure and Kwan, protected by his magic, continued to beg for death. For several minutes, the Tuigan discussed new ways to amuse themselves with his pain. Finally, the khahan raised his hand to demand silence.

“We have had fun enough this day,” he said in the thick, guttural language of the Tuigan. The khahan motioned to end the prisoner’s misery.

One of Kwan’s tormentors plunged a knife into the old man’s liver. After the last scream died away, the khahan continued. “We have serious things to consider. The mares have stopped giving milk, and we have drank so much stallion blood that we should change our name to ‘People of the Leech.’”

A chorus of raucous laughter rounded the circle of barbarians.

The khahan turned his golden goblet upside down. A few curdled drops of milk slid out of the cup. “This is the last of the kumiss,” he said. “In another week, we will be reduced to drinking water and eating our friends.”

Batu thought that Yamun was making another joke, but no one laughed.

The khahan looked toward Koja. “It is good, then, that Koja, my anda, returns from his mission successfully.”

Koja bowed, then said, “It was the light of your wisdom and the fear of your wrath that persuaded the ruler of Shou Lung to accept our terms,” he said. “I was only the humble vessel of your message.”

“No doubt,” the khahan replied. Looking in Batu’s direction, he said, “I see you have brought a guest.”

Taking Batu by the arm, Koja walked into the middle of the Tuigan circle. Remembering the elaborate security precautions surrounding his own emperor, Batu was surprised to see that no one took his sword.

Though the barbarians were seated outside, the air was ripe with the fetid smell of old sweat and fermented milk. Fortunately, Batu had grown accustomed to the odor of unbathed soldiers on the trail. He showed no outward sign of his disgust.

After guiding Batu into a kneeling position, Koja said, “Illustrious Emperor, I present Batu Min Ho, the commander of the Shou armies who opposed your mighty will.”

The khahan leaned forward, staring at Batu with a fierce expression of displeasure. The ruler had the butter-colored skin and flat nose common to the Tuigan, but his features were so strong and sharp that they seemed chiseled in stone. The shape of his face was almost square, marked as it was by the hard lines of his jaw. A narrow mustache drooped over the corners of his tense-lipped mouth, and his strong cheekbones rode high on his face. His black and narrow eyes were set under a coal-colored brow.

The khahan looked back to Koja. “I did not ask for this man’s life.”

“I asked to see you,” Batu said, daring to speak without permission.

Though clearly surprised that Batu spoke his language, the khahan did not seem offended at the Shou’s boldness. “Why?”

“To present you with a personal gift,” Batu said.

The khahan shifted his feet, purposely knocking a jade statue and an ivory talisman out of the chest. “Your emperor has sent me gifts,” he said, curling his lips into a sneer.

“I am sure the Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples will find Batu’s gift more to his liking,” Koja interrupted. “Your guards are holding it outside the gate.”

“Very well,” the khahan responded suspiciously. “Bring it in.”

An officer dutifully opened the gate, then one of the khahan’s black-robed guards led in a horse bearing a small portion of Batu’s gift.

The khahan’s eyes lit up when he saw the two casks. “Wine?”

Batu nodded. “There are a hundred more casks, all from the finest plum orchards in Ching Tung.”

“Wine from plums?” sneered one of the men seated with the khahan. He was a lean soldier with shifty eyes and a mistrustful expression.

“Wine is wine, Chanar,” the khahan responded. “Tap a cask!”

Several Tuigan rose to obey, and the khahan watched them with a rapacious expression. After they had inserted the spigot, Yamun thrust his goblet at a quiverbearer to have it filled, then turned back to Batu. “Your gift is most welcome. We have done without wine since our second battle in this land.” He paused and frowned. “Rather than leave a drop for our tongues, your peasants spilled it on the ground, the dogs!”

“On my orders,” Batu revealed.

“That order cost many Shou lives,” the khahan responded, grimacing at the remembrance of so many days without libation.

“It also slowed your advance,” Batu replied, “and that cost many Tuigan lives.”

The officer returned the khahan’s goblet, but the Tuigan leader did not immediately drink. “You would do well to remember that you are in the enemy camp,” Yamun warned.

Batu shrugged, not intimidated. “It is written that there are no rules in war.”

The khahan’s eyes narrowed and once again he regarded Batu suspiciously. “I have no use for reading,” he replied, looking down his nose at the full goblet in his hand. A moment later, he handed the wine back to the quiverbearer. “I forget my manners” he said, staring into Batu’s eyes. “Our guest has no cup. Let him drink from mine.”

The other Tuigan, who had been waiting for the khahan to drink before lifting their own cups, nervously glanced at their own wine and wondered if the Shou had poisoned it.

The officer delivered the khahan’s goblet to Batu, then stepped away.

“Go ahead,” the khahan urged.

Batu raised his goblet to Yamun’s companion, saying, “To the khahan’s health.”

The officers blanched, then lifted their vessels toward their lips. Even if the drink were poisoned, refusing to toast the khahan’s health would have been an insult to their commander.

“No!” the khahan boomed, rising to his feet.

Sighing in relief, the officers stopped short of drinking.

“Our guest should drink the first cup alone,” Yamun continued. “After all, he has had a long journey and we would not want him to find us lacking in courtesy.”

Looking around the courtyard, Batu was glad the wine was not poisoned. Every officer held a full cup in one hand, and kept his other wrapped around his sword hilt. If the renegade general had refused to drink, he was sure he would have met a fate worse than Kwan’s.

Batu rested his gaze on Yamun, then lifted the goblet in the powerful Tuigan’s direction. “To my health, then!” He drained the wine in one long gulp.

The ronin wiped the spillage off his chin with his sleeve, as he was sure any Tuigan would have done. Still not taking his eyes off the khahan, Batu thrust the cup at the quiverbearer, ordering, “Get me another.”

The khahan smiled broadly, then called to the servant, “Not before you fetch me a fresh cup!”

As the youth scurried into the mansion in search of another goblet, the khahan returned to his seat and addressed Batu. “Your nerve amuses me, General, but war is no game. When it is over, opponents do not meet each other to brag about their victories over cups of wine—even if it is not poisoned. Why have you come to my camp?”

“I am a soldier in search of a war,” Batu responded.

The khahan frowned, then twisted the end of his drooping mustache between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you mean?”

“I am ronin, a soldier without a country,” he said. “I have an insatiable appetite for fighting and war, and Koja suggested I would find plenty of both with you.”

“You did express your admiration for the enemy general’s talents, Divine Master of the World,” Koja interjected.

“That was before he knew the man would betray his own country,” responded the lanky officer known as Chanar.

Batu turned on Chanar. “You are unaware of my reasons for leaving Shou Lung, so I will forgive your insult—once.”

Scowling, Chanar reached for his sword, but Yamun raised a hand to stop him. “Chanar, you have just earned the right to stand in my sight again,” the khahan said. “Are you so anxious to lose it?”

“You heard the dog!” Chanar objected.

Koja leaned toward Batu and whispered, “Him, you must watch. Were Chanar not an old friend of the khahan, his treachery would have been the end of him long ago. As it is, he only regained the right to stand within the Mighty One’s sight by saving the khahan from capture.”

Ignoring Chanar, Yamun asked Batu, “Why do you leave the emperor’s service?”

“I am sorry, mighty khahan, but my reasons must remain my own,” Batu responded, bowing his head to Yamun. He was not anxious to reveal the extent of his feelings for his family. He suspected that among dedicated soldiers like the Tuigan, such emotions would be regarded as a weakness.

The khahan frowned. “Nothing is yours that I wish to have.”

The quiverbearer returned, saving Batu from the necessity of an immediate response. The young man gave a goblet of wine to the khahan, then another to Batu. The khahan lifted his cup, saying, “To my health, General!”

“To your health,” Batu responded.

They each downed their wine in one long gulp. After they had given the goblets to the officer to refill, the khahan said, “A fine drink, though it is sweeter than wine I have had before.” Without changing tone, the khahan returned to the subject of Batu’s secret. “Few enemies have tricked me, and none have lived to brag about it, save you. Only a fool would let such an enemy go free, for that man will surely return to defeat him another day. So I have only two choices: take you into my ordu, or kill you.”

When his words had no visible effect on Batu, the khahan continued, “If I am to accept you into my clan and my army, I must know why you left your own. A horse who throws one master may throw another.”