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their com-manders."
"You're the general of the Northern Marches," Pe said scornfully. "You command these armies now."
"Yes, I do," Batu replied, studying the assemblage. "Unfor-tunately, 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 mo-ments, Batu said, "No. Let them stand." He
turned and en-tered 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, sub-dued 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of sixty, the commanders were withdrawn and obviously annoyed by the ostentation and excitement of the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: ver-milion corselets of k'ai,
with gilded girdles. Unlike the no-bles, 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 en-cased 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, in-tently 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 com-manders, Batu wore only his new chia. His one
concession to ostentation was that it was trimmed in purple, the color of a second-degree general. Because
of his simple dress, per-haps, Batu's entrance remained largely unacknowledged—save by his
father-in-law.
Tzu Hsuang ended his conversation and bowed, and the nobles with whom he had been speaking did
likewise. The other lords simply glanced at Batu, then returned to their conversations. The provincial
generals regarded him with expressions ranging from open contempt to suspicious scrutiny.
"This is disrespectful!" Pe said, stepping forward and speaking loud enough to be overheard.
"Yes, it is," Batu observed evenly. He was more intrigued by the slights than angered by them. The
general from Chu-kei had not expected his subcommanders to accept his au-thority with eagerness, but
neither had he expected them to treat him with open contempt. Batu suspected that Kwan's presence
accounted for their insolence. By attending the war council, the minister was making it clear that he had no
confidence in his subordinate.
Batu did not care what Kwan thought of him, but he knew that the rivalry between him and the minister
would con-tinue to undermine his authority. It was a problem he would have to address before he could
command with full effec-tiveness. Unfortunately, now was not the time or place. At least in name, Kwan
was still his superior. If Batu expected his officers to treat him with respect, he would have to do the same
for the Minister of War.
After instructing Pe to stay at the entrance, Batu strode purposefully to the front of the tent. There, he
bowed to Kwan and said, "I did not expect to see you here, Minister."
Kwan's shriveled mouth contorted into a malevolent sneer. "Is a third-degree general no longer welcome
at his subordinate's war council?"
Behind Batu, a chorus of whispers rustled through the tent. The general wanted to ask if ruining him
was worth seeing Shou Lung overrun by barbarians, but he knew the question would accomplish nothing.
Instead, after a lengthy pause, he said, "My commander is always welcome in my tent, Minister."
A contrived smile slowly creased Kwan's sagging lips. "I'm glad we agree on that much."
Batu shifted his gaze to the nobles gathered around the old man. "If you will return to your seats, we will
begin this meeting."
The nobles glanced at the minister for permission.
"Now!" Batu snapped, exerting his authority over the lords. If he had to honor Kwan's authority, it was
equally true that his subordinates had to honor his. The sooner he made that fact clear, the better.
Kwan nodded to the nobles, and they walked around the table. As the general waited for them to take
their positions with the other lords, a muffled rattle sounded from the surrounding hills. The lords murmured
in concerned tones and looked toward the exit.
Batu nodded at Pe, and the young officer stepped outside. An instant later, he returned and bowed very
low. "My lords and generals, the emperor approaches."
Pe quickly retreated out of the doorway as the lords filed toward the exit. Only the five provincial
generals waited for the proper dismissal, and then left only after receiving permission from both the general
and the minister.
Moments later, Batu found himself alone with Kwan. Af-ter staring at the old man for a long moment,
the general said, "Isn't defeating the barbarians more important than our political disputes? How far do you
intend to carry this?"
Kwan stood and, never taking his eyes off Batu, shuffled around the table. "Carry what?" he asked,
turning toward the door. "Come, we mustn't keep the emperor waiting."
The minister's disavowal of their rivalry angered Batu as much as the conflict itself, but the only thing he
could do about it was swallow his ire and do as ordered. When he fol-lowed Kwan out of the tent, he saw
that all thirty armies had fallen to their knees and were pressing their foreheads to the ground in symbolic
submission to the emperor. The thirty commanders had gathered in front of the earthen pyramid. They
were kneeling, but had not yet touched their foreheads to the ground in a kowtow.
Kwan's aide guided him to the base of the pyramid, where, as a member of the Mandarinate, the
minister would kneel during the ceremony. Batu went to his own place, twenty feet away from the earthen
mound. He kneeled at the front of the thirty commanders.
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