Under Heaven

them funnelling through the Wall section Tazek now controlled. They disappeared south through a curtain of dust that took most of the morning to settle, leaving an eerie, empty silence behind.

Soldiers had asked soldiers what was happening as the garrisons passed through. Soldiers didn’t know. They never did.

And although army life was almost always lived in a state of ignorance and one grew accustomed to that, there were times when sudden and shifting orders could unsettle the most dour and steady of minor officers, even one with the western desert in his blood.

The sight of the Seventh and Eighth garrisons approaching his gate and passing through and disappearing south had done that for Tazek Karad.

He felt exposed, looking north. He was commanding an important, unfamiliar gate, he was undermanned, and he was above Shuoki lands now. A man might want the chance to fight the barbarians, earn a reputation, but if the nomads raided right now in any numbers he and his men could be in serious difficulty.

And with both forts emptied out, there was a good chance the Shuoki would come down to, at the very least, see what was happening here. Tazek didn’t even want to think about what they would do to the two forts. Not his problem, until someone made it so.

He stood in the wooden gatehouse at sundown and looked east and west along the rise and fall and rise of the Long Wall of Kitai, to where it vanished in each direction. They’d used rammed earth to build it here above the grasslands, pressed between wooden frames, mixed with lime and gravel carted north. They’d used stones, he’d been told, where the Wall climbed towards mountains over rocks.

It was a staggering achievement, difficult to think about. They said it stretched for six thousand li. They said four hundred thousand men had died in building and rebuilding it over the centuries. Tazek believed that last part.

He hated the Wall. He’d lived twelve years of his life defending it.

One of his men said something. He was pointing north. Tazek sighted along the man’s extended finger.

Two traders approaching, still far off, a string of horses behind them. Here in Shuoki lands this was uncommon. It was the Bogu who went back and forth, who had the spring meeting by the Golden River’s bend where thousands of horses were brought and bought and led away south for the Kitan army’s endless need.

The Shuoki traded more sporadically. Often the goods were stolen horses—often from the Bogu. It wouldn’t surprise Tazek if that were so now. As the pair drew nearer he saw four horses in addition to the two being ridden. In theory, he could arrest the would-be traders, hold them for tribal justice (which was never pretty), and keep the horses as the price of inconveniencing Kitan soldiers.

In reality, they tended to let traders through. Standard army policy these days: horses mattered too much, you wanted the nomads to keep bringing them, they would stop if it meant being captured. The usual practice was for the gate commander to accept discreet compensation for looking the other way while stolen goods went into Kitai.

He waited for the thieving Shuoki to get closer. He had questions to ask. He needed information more than the horse or the handful of coins they’d likely offer. Their mounts were tired, he saw, even the ones being led on a rope. They’d been ridden hard, probably confirmation they were stolen. Tired horses sold for less.

Tazek stared stonily down at the approaching riders. He wasn’t a happy man.

The two men came up to his gate and halted below.

They weren’t Shuoki. First sign of the unexpected.

“Request to pass through with horses to sell,” the larger one said. He was a Bogu, you could see it in the hair. He spoke Kitan like the barbarian he was. The smaller one was hooded. Sometimes they did that, out of fear in the presence of Kitan soldiers.

Well, fear was proper, wasn’t it.

This was a father and son, Tazek decided, stealing together. But it was a surprise to find Bogu this far east, especially just a pair of them. Not his problem. His problems were different.

“What have you seen to the north, thieving Bogu?” he demanded.

“What do you mean?” No reaction to the insult, Tazek noted.

“The garrison!”

“Fortress empty,” agreed the big man. He was bare-chested, kept his eyes cast down. This, too, was normal—and appropriate. These were barbarians talking to an officer in the Sixth Army of Kitai.

The man said, “Tracks of horses and men go this way. They not come here?”

That was none of his business, was it?

“What about the other fort?”

“Not go so far. But many soldiers go this way. More than one fort. Two days, maybe?”

He didn’t look up, but he had it right. The nomads knew how to read their grass.

“Anything happen up there?”

“Happen?”

“You see any Shuoki?”

“No,” said the big one.

“I need a better answer!” snarled Tazek.

“No, honourable sir,” the man said, which would have been funny, some other time.

“Any of those shit-eaters coming this way? You see them?”

“No Shuoki. There are Bogu behind us.”

“Why?”

“We are … we are exiled from tribe, honourable sir.”

And that put an answer in place as to why these two were so far east. Interesting that they were being pursued, but not interesting enough. The tribes had their laws. If they stayed north of the Wall and didn’t bother the garrisons, it had nothing to do with Kitai. Or with Tazek Karad of the Sixth.

It could, however, get complicated if the Bogu showed up, and he was seen letting these two through. There were horses. Horses mattered. Tazek looked north. Emptiness.

He nodded to the man beside him. “Open them up.”

He looked down at the two riders. “Where you taking these?”

“These horses requested by Kanlins,” the bigger man said.

A surprise. “You aim to go all the way to Stone Drum Mountain with these?”

“Requested by them. Three smaller horses. Some Kanlin are women.”

Well, the gods send a sandstorm to blind fools! As if Tazek didn’t know some of the black-robed ones were women? And that the women could kill you as easily as the men?

“In that case, we have a problem, my shirtless friend. Stone Drum is what, six days? I am not letting Bogu horse-thieves ride alone that far through Kitai.”

“It is only four days, dui officer. You are properly cautious, but it is all right, we are here to escort them.”

The voice was behind him. Speaking impeccable Kitan.

Tazek turned quickly—and saw three Kanlin Warriors, astride their horses, just inside his gates.

It had happened to him before: they could be right up on you, in among you, before you were aware they’d even been approaching. Two men, one woman, he saw. They had hoods down in the evening light, carried swords across their backs, bows in saddles.

Tazek stared down. If he’d been unhappy before it was as nothing now.

“How did you know they were coming?” he demanded.

The first Kanlin smiled. He seemed amused. “It had been arranged,” he said. “It is not hard to watch for riders from places along the Wall.”

Well, fuck your by-the-hour mother, Tazek wanted to say. “You learn anything about the garrison soldiers? The ones who came through?”

“Seventh and Eighth Armies,” the Kanlin said, promptly. “They are all moving south. Do you have enough people to deal with this stretch of the Wall?”

“Course I do!” snapped Tazek. As if he was going to admit anything to a black-robe.

“Good,” the man said equably. “Be generous enough to let our horses through? And please accept, for you