T HE EMPEROR'S CITY OF Y ENKING grew quiet in the hours before dawn, though it was more from a surfeit of food and drink in the Feast of Lanterns than any fear of the Mongol army. As the sun had set, Emperor Wei mounted a platform to be seen by the heaving crowds, and a thousand dancers had made a din to raise the dead with cymbals and horns. He had stood with his feet bare, showing his humility before the people as a million voices chanted, "Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years!", the sound crashing across the city. Night was banished on the Feast of Lanterns. The city gleamed like a jewel, a myriad of flames lighting squares of boiled horn or glass. Even the three great lakes were aglow, their black surfaces covered in tiny boats each carrying a flame. The water gate was open to the great canal that stretched three thousand li to the southern city of Hangzhou, and the boats drifted out like a river of fire throughout the night, taking the light with them. The symbolism pleased the young emperor as he endured the noise and smoke from fireworks banging and echoing from the great walls. There were so many that the whole city was covered in white gunpowder smoke and the air itself was bitter on the tongue. Children would be made that night, by force or for pleasure. There would be more than a hundred murders, and the lakes themselves would claim a dozen drunkards in the dark depths as they tried to swim across. It was the same every year.

The emperor had suffered through the adoring chants, buffeted by the clamor in his name that stretched from the walls and beyond. Even the beggars, slaves, and whores cheered him on that night and lit their ramshackle homes with precious oil. He endured it all, though at times his gaze over their heads was distant and cold as he planned to crush the army that had dared to enter his lands.

The peasants knew nothing of the threat and even the sellers of news had little information. Emperor Wei had seen to it that the gossipmongers were kept quiet, and if their arrest disturbed those who looked for such signs, the festival had gone ahead with all its usual gusto, mad with drink and noise and light. Seeing the revelers, the emperor was reminded of maggots writhing on a corpse. His Imperial messengers brought grim reports as they rejoiced. Beyond the mountains, cities were aflame.

With dawn lighting the horizon, the shouting and singing in the streets died down finally, giving him peace. The last of the little wooden candle boats had vanished out to the countryside, and only a few firecrackers could be heard rattling in the distance. Emperor Wei sat in his private rooms and stared out over the still, dark heart of Songhai lake, surrounded by hundreds of great houses. The most powerful of his nobles clustered around that central mass of dark water, in sight of the man from whom they took their power. He could have named every member of the highborn families that fought and struggled like jeweled wasps to administer his northern empire.

The smoke and chaos of the festival trailed away with the morning mist on the lakes. With such a scene of ancient beauty, it was difficult to comprehend the threat from the west. Yet war was coming and he wished his father still lived. The old man had spent his life crushing the slightest hint of disobedience to the very edges of the empire and beyond. Emperor Wei had learned much at his feet, but he felt the newness of his position keenly. He had already lost cities that had been part of Chin lands since the great schism that split the empire into two halves three hundred years before. His ancestors had known a golden age and he could only dream of restoring the empire to its former glory.

He smiled wryly to himself at the thought of his father hearing of the Mongol horde on their family lands. He would have raged down the corridors of the palace, striking slaves out of his way as he summoned the army. His father had never lost a battle and his confidence would have raised them all.

Emperor Wei started from his thoughts as a throat was cleared softly behind him. He looked back from the high window to see his first minister bowing to the floor.

"Imperial Majesty, General Zhi Zhong is here as you asked."

"Send him in and see that I am not disturbed," the emperor replied, turning away from the dawn and seating himself. He glanced around his private rooms, seeing that nothing was out of place. His writing desk was freed of the clutter of maps and papers, and there was no sign of his anger as he waited for the man who would rid him of the tribesmen. He could not help thinking of the Xi Xia king and the letter he had sent to him three years before. With shame, he recalled the spite of his words and the pleasure he had felt in sending them. Who could have known then that the Mongol threat was more than a few shouting tribesmen? His people had never feared those who could be culled whenever they grew restless. Emperor Wei bit the inside of his lip as he considered the future. If they could not be beaten quickly, he would have to bribe the Tartars to attack their ancient enemies. Chin gold could win as many battles as bows and spears. He remembered his father's words with fondness and once more wished he were there to offer his counsel.

General Zhi Zhong was a man of immense physical presence, with the build of a wrestler. His head was perfectly shaven and gleamed with oil as he bowed. Emperor Wei felt himself straighten automatically as he entered, the legacy of many hours on the training ground. It was reassuring to see that fierce glare and massive head once more, for all it had caused him to quiver as a boy.

As Zhi Zhong straightened, the emperor saw he looked murderous and once more he felt like a child. He struggled to keep his voice firm as he spoke. An emperor could not show weakness.

"They are coming here, General. I have heard the reports."

Zhi Zhong weighed the smooth-faced young man he faced, wishing it could have been the father. The old man would already have acted, but the wheel of life had taken him and this was the boy with whom he must deal. The general clenched both fists at his sides, standing painfully straight.

"They have no more than sixty-five thousand warriors, Imperial Majesty. Their cavalry is superb and every one is an archer of extraordinary skill. In addition, they have learned the art of the siege and have weapons of great power. They have achieved a discipline I have not witnessed in my dealings with them before."

"Do not tell me of their strengths!" the young emperor snapped. "Tell me instead how we will crush them."

General Zhi Zhong did not react to the tone. His silence was enough criticism and the emperor waved for him to go on, a flush staining his pale cheeks.

"To defeat the enemy, we must know them, my lord, Son of Heaven." He spoke the title as an aid to control, to remind the emperor of his status at a time of crisis. General Zhi Zhong waited until the emperor had firmed his mouth and mastered his fear. At last, he went on.

"In the past we would have looked for weaknesses in their alliance. I do not believe the tactic will work here."

"Why not?" Wei blurted out. Would the man not tell him how to defeat these tribesmen? As a boy, he had suffered through many lectures from the grizzled general, and it seemed he could not escape them even with an empire at his feet.

"No Mongol force has ever come past the outer wall before, Imperial Majesty. They could only howl at it." He shrugged. "It is not the barrier it once was and these Mongols have not been thrown back by superior force as they might once have been. They have grown bold as a result." He paused, but his emperor did not speak again. The general's glare lost some of its fierceness. Perhaps the boy was beginning to understand when to keep his mouth shut.