Ching Tung snorted. "How could we miss it?"

Batu suppressed a heated reply. Instead, he said, "My great-grandfather was a Tuigan, as the barbarians call themselves. He settled in the province of Chukei after his clan was destroyed in a tribal war."

"How bold of you to admit it," Shengti said.

The condescension in Shengti's voice was nothing new to the general. Although most Shou prided themselves on lack of prejudice, they made no secret of the fact that they considered all other cultures inferior to their own. As a result, they could not help but look down on those who appeared to be anything less than full-blooded Shou.

The general continued. "While I was growing up, my great-grandfather spent hours telling me stories of life among the nomads. Of course, I can't remember all his tales, but what I do remember is frightening."

"Such as?" Kwan asked. His attention remained fixed on Batu, but it was difficult for the young general to tell whether the minister was genuinely interested or just humoring a condemned man.

"Tuigan tribes are devoted to one thing and one thing only: making war. Their children ride horses before they can walk, and fire bows at full gallop before their beards start to grow. When they're not at war with civilized lands, they're fighting clan feuds so bloody that whole tribes are slaughtered. For fun, they gather hundreds of warriors and massacre every living beast within ten square miles."

"Brawlers and hunters are a poor match for trained soldiers," Ching Tung interrupted.

"You have heard my words, but have you been listening, General?" Batu asked, motioning at Ching Tung sharply. "I am saying that our enemies are born killers with no concept of mercy or surrender. If someone has trained them, given them focus, Shou Lung is in much greater danger than it has ever been in before."

Ching Tung sneered. "Trained armies cannot be made from murdering scum—"

The ancient minister raised his hand for silence, then turned to Batu. "What would you suggest, General?"

"That we proceed with more caution on our first engagement," Batu responded. "Setting traps is fine, provided you know what you are hunting. But the man who sets a fox snare and catches a bear may be the one who gets skinned."

"So what would you suggest?" Kwan asked.

Delighted and surprised by Kwan's unexpected solicitation of his opinion, Batu answered rapidly and enthusiastically, "A series of probing attacks, followed by rapid withdrawals, at least until we know the size and nature of our enemy."

Kwan nodded, then stroked his beard thoughtfully. Finally, he pushed himself out of his chair and squinted into Batu's eyes. "I thought as much," he said. "You speak to us of rumors and hunting parties, then tell us we should withdraw to a safe distance while the enemy burns our fields and sacks our villages. What you propose is not the way of an imperial officer, General Batu. An imperial officer's way is to meet Shou Lung's enemies and crush them in the name of the emperor!"

Batu stared into the minister's eyes for several seconds, but knew he could not make the heat of his anger felt through the milky film that shielded Kwan's eyes from reality. Finally, the general said, "Smashed armies crush no enemies, Minister."

Kwan's face grew red, and his wrinkles squirmed like worms. For an instant, Batu thought the old man would erupt into a fit of screaming, but the minister slowly regained control of himself. After a moment, in a carefully measured voice, Kwan asked, "Will you lead your army into battle, General Batu, or must I find a loyal soldier to take your place?"

Batu answered immediately. "I'll go. If my army is to perish, then I will be the one who leads it to its destruction."

As suddenly as it had contorted, Kwan's face relaxed, and the minister tottered over to the young general's side. He laid a shriveled hand on Batu's shoulder. "Good," he said. "My plan will work. Before you realize what is happening, we'll charge down the hill and this band of thieves will trouble the emperor's sleep no longer. You'll see."

2

The Sorghum Field

Batu stood, calm and motionless, midway up the hill that marked the trampled field's southern border. The air carried the sweet, grassy smell of young sorghum and the coppery odor of fresh blood. Overhead, the sky spirits were sweeping away the clouds on a cool breeze, and the sun cast a keen light over the field. The general felt lively and limber, his tao sword hanging lightly in its scabbard of manta skin. The letter he had written to his wife was in his pocket, ready for the messenger. Today was a fine day to die, the best he had seen in many years.

A young, beardless Shou stepped to Batu's side and bowed. "General, your army is deployed."

The speaker was Batu's adjutant, a junior officer named Pe Nii-Qwoh. The adjutant wore a complete suit of k'ai, armor consisting of hundreds of metal plates sewn between two layers of heavy silk. The velvet-trimmed suit had been brocaded with brightly colored serpents, tigers, and phoenixes. His helmet plume consisted of two kingfisher feathers with a pair of fighting dragons carefully embroidered into the feather vanes.

In sharp contrast, Batu's battle dress consisted only of his drab, rhinoceros-hide chia. As a general, he rarely engaged in hand-to-hand fighting and had no use for such heavy armor. The weight of a k'ai suit would only fatigue him during the battle without providing much benefit.

The general's disdain for heavy armor wasn't uncommon.

Farther down the hill were twenty lean men wearing no armor at all. They stood at attention, their eyes fixed on Pe and Batu. The men were the runners who carried orders from the general to his subordinate commanders.

The messengers reminded Batu of his letter to Wu, and he removed it from his pocket. He started to give it to Pe, then decided to read it one last time.

Wu, it began simply, We have met the barbarians and are preparing for battle. They promise to be a fine enemy. Although Kwan Chan Sen refuses to admit it, there will certainly be many illustrious battles in this war.

However, I fear the best of them will be fought without me. My loose tongue has offended the minister, and he has sent my army to perish ignominiously. May he spend eternity lying face down in wet sand. Death is too good for the fool who deprives me of fighting in this magnificent war!

Enough of my troubles. You know where our gold is hidden, so you will not suffer for my absence. Our time together has been blessed, and you have provided me with a beautiful daughter and a strong son. I will miss them both. You have been a good wife, and I depart in comfort, knowing you would never dishonor my memory by taking a lover.

Your worthy husband, Min Ho.

Satisfied that the letter said everything he meant it to, Batu folded it and gave it to his subordinate. "For the messenger," he said.

Pe bowed and accepted the paper. He did not ask where to send it, for the letter was an old ritual. In their marriage vows, Lady Wu had made Batu promise to write her before each battle. So far, it was a promise Batu had kept faithfully, as he had all the other vows he had ever taken.

Pe withdrew a similar paper from his own pocket. The young officer did not usually write his parents before battle. On Batu's suggestion, he had made today an exception.

As his adjutant took the letters down to a runner, the general studied the scene in front of him. From the hillside, he could oversee the entire battle. The field was larger than Batu had guessed from the scrying basin. It was in a valley located between two small hills. Batu stood on one of them, and the other was six hundred yards to the north. At that moment, the general would have given the lives of a hundred pengs to know what was hiding behind the northern hill.