7
Böri Khan was pleased. His plans were unfolding brilliantly. The Emperor was shaking in his shoes and gathering together a weak army made of civilian boys and old men. Meanwhile, Böri Khan’s success had garnered him the attention of all the other Rouran tribes, who had sent their own leaders, known as Tegins, to meet with him as was the ancient custom. Now the Tegins stood inside his large yurt, while outside their banners—the black bear, snow leopard, serpent, red fire, and wild stallion—whipped and snapped in the wind. It was the first time in years that all five of the greatest tribes had gathered in one place.
And it was all because of Böri Khan.
Looking out over the rough group assembled in his yurt, Böri Khan eyed each of the leaders. They stood amid a breathtaking array of treasures stolen by Böri Khan and his men. Piles of silks and scarves and heaps of jewelry littered the room haphazardly, as though Khan had so much treasure he didn’t care if it fell to the floor and got trampled upon. He had made sure to provide platters of food and jugs of drink of which a few of the men now partook. However, despite the apparent celebration, the room felt tense. The tribes had come to support Böri Khan, but that didn’t mean they supported one another. Their hatred for each other ran deep and true.
“How can I share with Kilifu Tegin?”
Looking over, Böri Khan saw Tulugui Tegin staring daggers at a smaller man across the yurt. Tulugui was perhaps the meanest—or at least most verbal—of the bunch. As the room filled with murmurs, Khan lifted a hand to silence them. Then he nodded for Tulugui to continue.
“He and his people have been raiding our camps since the time of my grandfather’s grandfather,” Tulugui finished.
Instantly, Kilifu went on the defensive. “The raids began with your people,” he said, outraged.
“Kilifu is right!” Bati Tegin, the leader of one of the smaller tribes, shouted, jumping in and cutting Tulugui off before he could respond. “Tulugui also raids my camp. I’ve seen it with my own eyes!”
The yurt erupted in roars. Brought together, old wounds had quickly reopened. Böri Khan watched, letting the other men shout and spew insults. He once again lifted his hand, and with a single shout, he silenced them. “On and on you go, like a basket of vipers biting each other’s tails.” As he spoke, he took the time to look at each tribal leader. He wanted them all to hear him. “Fighting, tribe against tribe. Do you not see the bounty before you?”
The sound of rustling wings as Xianniang, in her hawk form, flew into the yurt caused the men to flinch. They ducked as the large bird swooped over their heads and landed on a sizable perch. Settling in, she looked out at the men, her gaze making them all shift nervously on their feet. Böri Khan smiled and nodded toward Xianniang. Then he continued. “We are stronger together,” he said. “The Rouran people. For decades, scattered like leaves on the wind. Now, rising as one.” He pointed at the piles of glittering treasure. “This, my friends, is just a small taste of what is to come. From the garrisons ahead, riches will flow like a mighty river.” He stopped, letting his words and the sight of the treasure sink in. He walked over to Xianniang’s perch and rubbed his fingers along the hawk’s smooth feathers. The whole time, he kept his eyes locked on the Tegins, reading their faces.
Finally, Bati Tegin spoke. He had not once looked at the treasure. His eyes had remained locked on the hawk. “Perhaps. But we are relying on a witch.”
The hawk’s attention turned from Böri Khan to Bati Tegin. Her sharp eyes blinked, and the man shrank backward. Böri Khan noted the man’s fear and smiled. He kept his fingers on the hawk as he said, “Make no mistake: the witch serves me. And therefore, all of us! She knows who her master is!”
With a flutter of wings, Xianniang transformed. Her feathers disappeared and she stood in front of them in her true form. Her cold eyes took in the leaders, causing the men to shift nervously on their feet. A look of pleasure crossed her face and she turned to Böri Khan. Raising an eyebrow, she spoke. “Please. Continue, my Khan,” she said. “I am curious what more you have to say.”
Böri Khan did not like her tone, but he kept his face neutral. He would deal with her insubordination later. “Xianniang’s one of us,” he went on. “When we take the Imperial City, she will be justly rewarded. As will all of you.”
Then a new voice spoke up. “I do not care about witches,” Duba Tegin said. The leader of the serpent clan had been silent until now. The others turned, curious to hear what he would say. “My problem lies elsewhere. It is Böri Khan I don’t trust. He needs our help to gain the throne. But are we true partners? Or is he using us to get what he wants?” He pointed at the piles of loot on display around the room. “We get riches. Gold, jewels. But how much gold can a nomad carry? The real reward is power. When the time comes, Böri Khan will not share his power.”
There were a few murmurs from the other leaders. It was a good question. Packing up and moving their yurts when the season changed, or the herds of animals moved on to new grazing pastures, was their way of life. They did not have permanent homes, so they did not have any permanent place to put such material things. But power? That was something they could use.
Sensing the turn in the room, Böri Khan lifted his chest. “Everyone has the right to voice his concerns,” he said. “Who else here does not trust me?” He paused, letting his words echo through the yurt. The Tegins did not speak, but he could see the doubt that remained in their eyes. He could not have them questioning him. “Duba Tegin’s right. Riches are not power. When the kingdom falls, we will divide the power among us.”
At his declaration, the Tegins relaxed and nodded their assent. As the other men dug into the food and drink, Böri Khan turned and walked out of the yurt. He was quiet as he made his way up to the rocky outcropping that looked over his larger yurt and the smaller ones of his men. For a long time, he stood there, listening to the sounds of revelry coming from his tent. As the night wore on, the sounds ebbed and flowed until they grew quiet. One by one, the leaders of the tribes made their way out of the yurt. Getting on their horses, they rode off in different directions, heading back to their own camps to report on the night’s events.
Böri Khan’s eyes followed Duba Tegin as the older man left the yurt. At the sound of footsteps, he looked over as Xianniang appeared. Her eyes were cold as she met his gaze. “Now I know,” she said, hugging her arm to her side. “I serve you.”
“I said it to put them at ease,” Böri Khan replied, brushing off the witch’s concern. “They fear what they don’t understand.”
Xianniang raised an eyebrow. The man was still. If not for his moving eyes, he could have been mistaken for a statue. Not for the first time, Xianniang felt fear. There was something dark and terrible about Böri Khan. But she shrugged the fear off as she did every time. She knew her power.
Böri Khan reached over his shoulder and took an arrow out of its quiver. Notching it in the bow, he raised the weapon. “No other Tegins will ask to share power,” he said. Aiming the arrow at the back of Duba Tegin, he pulled back the bow and then let it loose.
Xianniang watched as the arrow flew through the air and lodged itself in Duba Tegin’s back. The man slumped in the saddle and a moment later fell to the ground. His horse, free of its rider, took off, galloping into the night. “He was right not to trust you,” she said.
Lowering his weapon, Böri Khan turned to Xianniang. He looked pleased. Without another word, he walked down the rocky outcropping toward his yurt.
Xianniang watched him go, a frown on her face. She had heard his message. She would not challenge him—not yet, at least.
Mulan was tired. She was tired and hungry. From her spot astride Black Wind, she shook her head, loosening the tension in her neck. Her long hair, which had been tucked under her father’s helmet, cascaded down her back. It had been a long, hard ride so far, and already her body ached. She was not used to the weight of the armor or the feel of a sword, or the limited sight she had from under the helmet. But she knew all were necessary if she was going to convince anyone she was a man on his way to war.
It felt like she had been riding for days. And when she wasn’t riding, she was walking to give Black Wind a break. She had seen every type of countryside China had to offer. She had wandered through foggy forests and plodded through swampy rivers. Black Wind had galloped them over long stretches of grass, and she had led him over rocky crags.
Now she found herself riding through a bamboo forest. The tall grass rose into the air, its bark smooth. Sunlight filtered through the green canopy, bathing the ground in dim light. It was peaceful, and for the first time since she had left her home, Mulan felt as though she could relax. She let out a deep breath and felt her back loosen. Beneath her, Black Wind nickered, happy to have Mulan’s tense legs release some of their pressure on his sides.
SQUAWK!
The awful sound startled Mulan and she pulled back sharply on Black Wind’s reins. Turning in the direction of the noise, Mulan saw a small bird dodging in and out of the bamboo. As it came closer, Mulan’s lip pulled back. Bird was perhaps too generous a description. This creature looked like a big, half-plucked turkey with wings that hung unevenly. Its feathers were dull and faded and its eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. The creature was, all in all, ugly.
Squeezing her legs against Black Wind’s sides once again, Mulan urged him forward. The bird, or whatever it was, looked like it was sick. She didn’t want to let it get near them.
By the time Mulan pulled Black Wind to a stop for the day, she had almost forgotten about the bird. Making a small fire at the base of an enormous sleeping Buddha statue, she heated up one of the last bits of rice she had and ate the morsels. In no time her meal was over, and with hunger still gnawing at her belly, she crawled into the large open palm of the Buddha and lay down, shivering beneath her thin blanket. Above, she saw the stars twinkling in the sky. Mulan sighed. She had spent so many nights looking at the same stars from her own bed, wishing for an adventure, for a chance to get out of her village.
But now that she was gone, she wished more than anything to go back home. Pulling the blanket up farther, she whispered good night to Black Wind and closed her eyes. Exhaustion took over and she quickly fell asleep . . . so she was not awake to see the strange-looking bird collapse onto the ground by her side.
But Mulan did spot the bird the next day as she and Black Wind made their way along a snowy mountain pass. Her teeth chattering with cold, she hunched as close to Black Wind’s neck as she could, but even the large horse provided little warmth. As they came around a bend in the pass, Mulan’s eyes narrowed.
The bird was back.
Shivering so violently that the few feathers it had fell off, and with beak chattering, the bird stood in the middle of the snowy pass. It appeared to be trying to block Mulan’s way. “You,” Mulan said, pulling Black Wind to a halt. “What do you want?”
The bird let out a sad squawk.
Dismounting, Mulan approached the bird. Close up, the creature was even more unfortunate-looking. Mulan felt sad. The bird was sickly and pathetic. But there was also something familiar about it. And a stubbornness in the bird’s eyes made it seem stronger than its molting, skinny body would suggest.
“Please,” Mulan said, this time her voice gentle, “move aside.”
The bird did not move.
Sighing, Mulan lifted her foot and tried to nudge the bird. To her surprise, her foot was met with resistance. For such a weak thing, the bird was surprisingly strong. Mulan pushed harder. The bird still did not move. Letting out a shout, Mulan pushed once more. This time she managed to edge the bird off the path and close to where the pass dropped off.
Mulan grabbed Black Wind’s reins and led him past the bird. She looked over her shoulder and saw that the bird was still standing there, watching them go. The same odd sense of sadness washed over Mulan, and for a moment, she thought about going back for the bird. But then she shook her head. She didn’t need any more baggage and she definitely didn’t need a sickly bird slowing her down.
Mulan did not think she could go on. The last of her rice had run out a day before and both she and Black Wind were weakened with hunger. Leaving the mountains behind, she sat slumped in her saddle, the reins loose as she let Black Wind make his own path.
The sun was just beginning to sink toward the horizon when Mulan caught sight of a town in the distance. She sat up a little straighter, her stomach rumbling in anticipation. Relief flickered in her heart. Black Wind saw the town, too, and his footsteps quickened. By the time they approached the outskirts of the town, he was cantering and Mulan was smiling.
But her smile faded as she got off Black Wind and walked him through the new town. Every face she saw was that of a stranger. The eyes that followed her were dark and suspicious. She had never known any village but her own. She had never met strangers. Now she was surrounded by them.
Tying Black Wind to a post outside the only tavern in the town, Mulan gave him a pat. “Wish me luck,” she whispered. The big horse nickered and then bumped her with his head toward the doors of the tavern. Taking a deep breath, Mulan walked inside.
The room was dark and smoky, filled with the smell of roasted meat, ale, and dirty men. Mulan kept her head down, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Scanning the room from beneath lowered lids, she spotted a small table at the far end. She made her way over and slumped onto the chair. If she could have made herself invisible, she would have. But then she wouldn’t get food.
Suddenly, the large burly innkeeper appeared next to the table, eyes cold and arms crossed over his chest. While he was an innkeeper and therefore made his living from serving strangers, he certainly didn’t seem to like them. “We have noodles with pork or pork with noodles,” he said with a grunt.
Mulan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “That a yes?” the innkeeper asked.
“Yes,” Mulan said, trying to keep her voice deep and low like a man’s.
The innkeeper didn’t move. He kept standing there, looking down at Mulan. Mulan shrank further into her armor. She had told him what she wanted. Why wasn’t he leaving? She dared another look at the big man.
“Pay before you eat,” he said, holding out his hand.
Right. Money. It was an inn full of travelers. Of course the man would demand payment up front. There was just a teeny tiny problem. She didn’t exactly have money, not in the traditional sense. Keeping her head down, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small cloth pouch. She handed it to the innkeeper.
“What is this?” he asked, looking down at the pouch, which looked even smaller in his huge hands.
“Tea,” Mulan said.
The innkeeper raised one bushy eyebrow. “Well, this must be my lucky day,” he said. Then, turning to the rest of the room, he called out, “The soldier wants to pay with tea!”
The room erupted in cruel laughter.
“It’s all that I have,” Mulan protested, knowing the excuse sounded weak.
The innkeeper shook his head. “No,” he said. “You have more than that. Your sword, for instance.” He nodded at the weapon resting at her side. “Your armor. I hear you have a handsome horse outside. Trade all three and you can eat like an emperor for a year.”
Mulan’s skin grew clammy and her heart pounded against her chest. She had thought she’d kept a low profile, but clearly this man, and the other patrons, had observed her from the moment she’d arrived. They had noted her weapons and Black Wind. She felt very, very afraid. What if they tried to rob her?
The sounds of laughter—at her expense—filled the room. Mulan looked at the faces of the strangers and saw no compassion or sympathy in any of them. The feeling of fear grew stronger. Getting to her feet, Mulan grabbed her things—and the tea—and rushed out of the tavern.
Jumping up on Black Wind’s back, she urged him into a run. She would just have to wait until they got to the next town to eat. Her stomach rumbled angrily. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too far away.
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