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heads and lun'kia corselets, with water-buffalo hide girdles to protect their
lower abdomens. They carried crossbows and chiens for weapons.
The only variations occurred in the small units of heavy infantry and
archers. The heavy infantrymen carried pao shous, twelve-foot-long glaives
with double-pointed blades, and for close combat, short swords called pai p'is.
For protection, they wore complete suits of lamellar armor made of hundreds
of overlapping steel plates. The archers were equipped like those Batu had
commanded in the Army of Chukei, with wooden shields, lun'kia armor,
double-edged swords, longbows, and forty bamboo arrows each.
Each private army was armored and equipped according to the tastes and
wealth of its lord. Some consisted primarily of archers, with small contingents
of heavy infantry to protect their flanks. Other armies were organized for
versatility and were almost entirely light infantrymen armed with crossbows
and chiens. One army of five hundred men was even composed entirely of
heavy cavalry. Each rider wore a fine suit of lamellar armor and carried a
sword and a heavy, two-pronged lance called a ko.
Despite their differences in appearance and organization, all the armies
exhibited the legendary Shou bearing. So great was their discipline that every
soldier stood at strict attention. Batu did not hear a single peng talking. As he
studied the vast assemblage of soldiers, the second-degree general thought
that they did not resemble a gathering of men so much as the bare trunks of a
crowded, but silent and stark, forest.
Below the hills, the meadow itself was nearly empty. Batu's new purple
pavilion sat in the middle of the dry field. One hundred feet away, the Rites
Section of the Palace Bureau had built an earthen pyramid. It was from the
top of the pyramid that the Divine One would ask the spirits to bless the army.
Batu's sole companion, a beardless Shou with his right arm bound in a
sling, said, "It is a magnificent army, sir."
"Yes, Pe," Batu replied. "It is the most magnificent army Shou Lung has
ever seen."
Batu was glad to have his adjutant back, even if the boy's sword arm was
all but useless. The day after his promotion to commander of the Northern
Marches, the general had sent a chariot officer north to retrieve his wounded
aide. Under the care of the emperor's healers, the young adjutant had
accomplished a remarkable recovery. Though the general knew Pe was far
from fully recovered, the boy did not need to be asked twice to return to battle.
There would be little time to train a new adjutant, and the general knew it.
"Perhaps we have a name for your troops now," Pe said. "The Most
Magnificent Army."
Batu grinned at the boy's enthusiasm, then cast an eye toward the
heavens. The sky was vivid blue and the morning sun brilliant white.
"Don't you think Huan-Ti would take offense at our presumption?" Batu
asked, referring to the Shou god of war.
Pe's face grew concerned. The youthful adjutant was an ardent worshiper
of all the gods, especially the Divine General. The thought of angering a deity
as important as Huan-Ti was enough to make Pe pause. "Of course," he said,
casting an apologetic eye skyward, "I meant to say the Most Magnificent Army
of Shou Lung."
Batu chuckled at the tactful clarification, but did not take his eyes off the
clear sky. Like any good commander, he was always concerned with the
welfare of those serving him. It had occurred to him earlier that the simple act
of standing hour after hour might exhaust such a vast army. He had not yet
begun briefing his subordinate commanders, and the emperor had not even
arrived from the summer palace. It could easily be six hours before the armies
were dismissed.
Using his loudest voice, Batu addressed the thirty armies surrounding the
meadow. "Relax. Be seated!" he called. Though he knew his voice would not
carry to the edges of the camp, he expected his order to be relayed by the
officers.
Tens of thousands of pengs began to shift their weight, but a murmur ran
round the valley as their superiors quickly recalled them to attention. Even
after Batu had issued the command a second time, the entire force remained
at attention.
His brow raised in disbelief and shock, Pe suggested, "Perhaps they didn't
hear the order clearly."
Batu shook his head. "The wind's not that loud. They heard it," he said.
"The order didn't come from their commanders."
"You're the general of the Northern Marches," Pe said scornfully. "You
command these armies now."
"Yes, I do," Batu replied, studying the assemblage. "Unfortunately, it
appears you and I are the only ones who know that."
"Shall I have their generals send word to be seated?" Pe asked.
After running his hard eyes over the hills for several moments, Batu said,
"No. Let them stand." He turned and entered his campaign tent, where the
lord or commanding officer of each of the thirty armies awaited him.
The smell of eel's oil, used to protect metal armor and weapons from rust,
permeated the pavilion. Batu's skin prickled with a palpable sense of
eagerness, and the room buzzed with conversations conducted in pretentious,
subdued tones.
The nobles stood in scattered circles of four or five, grouped according to
their shifting alliances. Ranging in age from less than thirty to over sixty, they
all wore opulent suits of armor. Each lord was accompanied by an aide whose
only function appeared to be holding his master's plumed helmet.
The five generals commanding the provincial armies had gathered in one
corner. Uniformly near the age of sixty, the commanders were withdrawn and
obviously annoyed by the ostentation and excitement of the nobles. The five
men wore the traditional uniforms of first-degree generals: vermilion corselets
of k'ai, with gilded girdles. Unlike the nobles, they were not accompanied by
aides. Beneath their arms, they held their own helmets, simple conical affairs
topped by vermilion plumes. Batu recognized only one of the provincial
generals, a stocky man named Kei Bot Li. He remembered Kei Bot as an
overly ambitious but competent officer.
The scabbards of both generals and nobles were empty. Without
exception, the men in the tent were hoping for a few words with the emperor
after he blessed the army. Anyone carrying a weapon would not be allowed
within a hundred feet of the Divine One, and they all knew it.
In the corner opposite the provincial generals stood Tzu Hsuang and a
handful of lesser nobles with whom he had strong political alliances. Hsuang's
elaborate plate armor encased his body like an oversized, enamelled tortoise
shell.
Aside from Tzu Hsuang and Kei Bot Li, the only other person Batu
recognized was Minister Kwan. The minister sat behind the table at the head
of the tent, openly asserting his position as commander of all Shou Lung's
armies. A dozen frowning nobles surrounded the ancient mandarin, intently
listening to the old man pontificate. Kwan wore a suit of battle armor that
would have weighed heavily on the brittle bones of any other old man. The
suit was similar to that worn by the provincial generals, save that Kwan's
corselet and helmet plume were blue, reflecting his exalted rank.
In contrast to the pretentious displays of the other commanders, Batu wore
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