Dragonwall (27 page)

“Unless you wish your servant to flee during battle, it may not be possible to fulfill your wish, Tzu Hsuang,” said one of the young nans. He was looking out the tower window.

“What do you mean?” Hsuang asked, stepping to the nan’s side.

There was no need for the nan to answer. On top of the knoll, two thousand barbarians sat astride their horses. A stiff wind was carrying the smoke from the cooking fires directly over the city wall, partially obscuring Hsuang’s view. However, he could see well enough to know that the horsewarriors wore armor and held bows in their hands.

Beyond the knoll, at a distance of three hundred yards, a dark band encircled the city. Hsuang had no doubt that he was looking at the rest of the barbarian army. As the lord studied the enemy, a short man carrying a white truce flag separated from the group on the hill.

The messenger spurred his horse forward, stopping within thirty yards of the bell tower. Though the rider wore a fine suit of barbarian armor, his features were slender, with smoothly rounded cheekbones. The messenger had shaven his head in the fashion of a monk, and he was thinly built. The man’s appearance was clearly not that of a Tuigan, and Hsuang guessed he might be Khazari.

Without preamble, the rider called, “The mighty khahan has grown weary of waiting for you to come out and do battle.” He spoke the Shou language with a Khazari accent. “He sends me to accept your surrender, and offers a meal as proof that he will treat his prisoners kindly.”

Hsuang did not believe the envoy, and would not have considered surrender even if he had. The old noble had lost his daughter and grandchildren, but he had not lost his honor. He had promised to hold Shou Kuan until Batu arrived, and he would do it or die trying.

“Your khahan underestimates our number,” Hsuang yelled back. “He cannot hope to feed all our armies with so little food.”

The rider smiled broadly and without sincerity. “We have been hunting for many days,” he returned. “More than two thousand dressed beasts await you in our camp.”

A murmur ran down the wall as the men repeated the rider’s words. Even the nobles seemed to be discussing the idea of surrender.

Hsuang turned to his subordinates, completely ignoring the rider for the moment. “He’s lying. They’re trying to trick us.”

“How do you know?” asked a young nan.

Hsuang pointed out the window. “Do the barbarians look like they expect us to surrender? They’ll attack the instant we leave the city.”

“Then we must fight,” another noble replied.

“We are not leaving Shou Kuan!” Hsuang snapped. “That is my command!”

Many of the nobles met the tzu’s gaze directly, indicating their disagreement with his decision.

“The emperor placed General Batu in command of our armies,” Hsuang said, looking at the nobles who dared to oppose him. “Batu gave me command of your armies. To defy my word is to defy the emperor’s. Are you prepared to do that?”

It was Cheng Han who replied. “No one would dare defy you, Tzu Hsuang. Yet, our armies are too weak to last much longer. Soon, we will have no choice except to surrender or die of starvation. Perhaps it would be wise to consider fighting now, while the option is still viable.”

Hsuang felt irritated by the words. Although Cheng had questioned him before, the scarred noble had always yielded when Hsuang invoked his authority. Despite the man’s careful politeness, it appeared Cheng intended to do no such thing this time.

“I will tell you when we will fight,” Hsuang responded through clenched teeth. “We will fight when the provincial armies arrive to help us, or when the barbarians storm the city walls. Until then, I will not throw away our armies by sallying against five-to-one odds.”

“Staying in Shou Kuan to starve is the same as surrendering,” Cheng countered. “If we sally, at least we will kill some barbarians.”

“There is no use discussing the matter further,” Hsuang declared. Though he normally would have handled Cheng with more tact, he was too upset by the news of Wu’s death to deal patiently with the man’s challenge.

Cheng, however, would not be put off. “We wish to die honorably in battle. It is our right as noblemen.”

“It is your right to die when I tell you to,” Hsuang snapped, stepping over to stand face-to-face with the scarred noble. “If you wish to do it honorably, you will wait until I say it is time to fight.”

With his one good eye, Cheng met Hsuang’s angry gaze and did not flinch. “Your grief is interfering with your judgment, Tzu Hsuang. Otherwise, I would do as you ask.”

A rage boiled up from Hsuang’s stomach. As if it belonged to somebody else, he watched his arm rise and saw his hand lash out. He struck Cheng’s face with an open palm, leaving a red print on the man’s cheek.

“Apologize!” Hsuang ordered.

The nobles stood in awkward and dumbfounded 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 slitlike 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.

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 overgrazed 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.