Dragonwall by Troy Denning

falling.”
    “Then you must save the empire,” Kwan replied. “Stand with me and I will supply the power you need to smash the barbarians.”
    The general from Chukei sneered. “I doubt you have that power to give.”
    Batu now realized that though his orders had come from his aged commander, it was not the minister who had called him. The last person Kwan would want near the emperor was the general who had urged him to be more cautious. Batu suspected he had been called by the emperor, probably as part of an inquiry into the disastrous battle.
    For several moments, Kwan studied Batu. At last, his true feelings still hidden behind an insincere smile, the minister said, “Your meaning eludes me, General Batu. I am a third-degree general, the Minister of War, a mandarin of the Shou empire, and the Second Left Grand Councilor to the emperor. The limits to my authority are as boundless as the sky.”
    “Be that as it may,” Batu replied coldly, “my duty to the emperor is greater than any loyalty you can buy with empty promises.”
    The minister’s face froze into a mask of anger. “What are you saying, General?” he demanded.
    His wide-set eyes fixed evenly on the old man’s face, Batu replied, “I must speak the truth before the emperor, if that is why he had me called.”
    Kwan’s thousand wrinkles drooped into a threatening frown. “You are in this with me, you know,” he said. “If I fall, so do you.”
    The minister spoke the truth about that much, at least. If the emperor decided to reorganize the military, Batu did not doubt the changes would be widespread. As the only surviving field general involved in the defeat at the sorghum field, he could very well be relieved of command.
    Nevertheless, he said, “My duty is clear, and I will execute it faithfully.”
    The minister contorted his lips into a knotted snarl. “You will regret your decision, I promise you.” That said, the old man turned and left the same way he had entered.
    A few moments later, the chamberlain followed Kwan through the doors, motioning for Batu to come behind him. When the general obeyed, he felt as though he had stepped into a deep, cool well. At ground level, shafts of yellow light spilled into the circular room from nine small windows. The walls, richly painted in vermilion and inlaid with golden dragons, rose seventy feet overhead and disappeared into darkness. Several balconies ringed the chamber, hanging one below another every fifteen feet. Batu could see a pair of imperial guards on the lowest one, though he assumed soldiers patrolled all the walkways.
    On the opposite side of the room, forty feet away, a throne of sculpted jade sat upon the marble floor. The chair’s crafters had carved it in the semblance of a great dragon, with the beast’s head serving as a canopy and its massive legs as armrests. The man sitting in the throne wore a plain yellow hai-waitao. Resembling a long robe with billowing sleeves, the garment consisted of a single silk layer.
    The man occupying the jade throne could only be Emperor Kai Tsao Shou Chin, Son of Heaven, and Divine Gate to the Celestial Sphere. Like Batu, the emperor had a powerful build, though the Divine One looked much taller. The Son of Heaven’s clean-shaven face had strong bones, with the long nose and drooping jaw of the mountain people of Tabot.
    Two dozen advisers, all mandarins, sat around the emperor in a large semicircle of heavy wooden chairs. Each mandarin wore a vermilion hai-waitao embroidered with gold or silver thread. The sole woman in the court, a lithe beauty with dark eyes and silky hair, wore a cheosong. The tight, floor-length dress was embroidered with a golden dragon, which entwined her body from chest to ankle. Long slits ran from hem to hip, allowing freedom of movemerit and providing an ample view of her slender legs.
    Like most educated men of Shou Lung, Batu was familiar with the names, if not the faces, of the emperor’s advisers. Since just one