Tengri's Whip
The Han cavalrymen found it strange at first, that ferocity they saw in the Xiongnu. Even when an arrow struck them, if the wound was not immediately fatal they ignored it and charged on. They spurred their horses with their eyes locked on a single back—Lü Bu, the summit.
At first they had been astonished that the Xiongnu's hatred of the Xianbei ran so deep. But it was not hatred alone.
There had been a strange order, issued just before the charge.
"Cry out Tengri."
"What's Tengri?"
"Tengri, in the Xiongnu tongue. The Sky God they worship. That's what the Xiongnu call him—Tengri."
"And what good is that supposed to do?"
"The Xianbei bastards worship Tengri too. No northern barbarian could fail to know the name."
Shouting Tengri, Tengri, like madmen, the Han cavalrymen themselves began to feel something strange. In that humming, roaring mass of men crying out a god's name, they suddenly became aware that the Xiongnu rider galloping beside them was someone calling upon the same god.
Xiongnu soldiers kept riding with arrows still lodged in their flesh, cutting down Xianbei throats with their swords—and then they were cut themselves, or this time an arrow found a vital spot and they went down. Leaving those Xiongnu behind them, the Han cavalrymen kept shouting.
"Tengri!"
"Tengri punishes you!"
"Tengri will destroy the Xianbei!"
It was as if they had inherited the last duty of the fallen Xiongnu—the order to cry Tengri's name until the end. As the horses gathered speed, as hearts pounded and spirits soared, that strange feeling spread through their entire bodies. And then it leaped beyond one man's flesh, from rider to rider.
Something similar was happening among the Xiongnu as well.
"Cry out Lü Bu's name."
"Lü Bu? That's the Han cavalry commander."
"I've heard his martial skill is terrifying."
"Just shout if you're told to shout. Cry, I am Lü Bu."
"Will that even work on the Xianbei bastards?"
"Who cares. In this situation we have to try everything."
The Xiongnu looked at Lü Bu's back. Even with their royal child held in his arms, he was not holding the reins. He was charging forward, swinging his halberd with both hands. The countless arrows aimed at him snapped and glanced away like twigs in a forest a bear had crashed through. And before long, red blood began to spray—along with Xianbei necks and arms and hands. Some were run clean through the chest or belly and hurled bodily aside. Through it all, neither Lü Bu nor Red Hare hesitated for an instant. Their speed only increased.
The Xiongnu would cry Tengri's name, then tighten their grip on their weapons at the knowledge that they were following that man with the enormous back, that invincible warrior. For some reason the Xianbei bastards seemed easier to cut down. And besides—was not the great shaman, the child who had received the leopard's name, blessing Lü Bu? In Tengri's name.
A warrior died beside them. A kinsman? Or a Han? It did not matter. They died as warriors, beneath Tengri's name, crying Tengri's name.
Had not the child who received the leopard's name said it? Even if you die here, even if your corpse cannot be recovered, even if hawks and eagles tear the body apart—that means you go to the sky with the goddesses who descend in the form of birds. That you stand at the side of Tengri who dwells in heaven. And that in the greater war, the war of light and darkness, you will fight as a warrior of light alongside Tengri.
Ah—when you thought about it, this too was that war of light and darkness, writ small. Were they not already facing the darkness that had crawled down from the slopes of Mount Xianbei, trying to bring the light back, to restore the light of the Xiongnu?
"You too shall become hawks and eagles in the sky!"
Was that someone's shout? It sounded like the voice of the child who had received the leopard's name. Or perhaps, in the midst of this charge, they had only imagined that child's cry.
The crimson cavalry, stained still redder with Xianbei blood, smashed through the encirclement.
If this had not been an encirclement, the Xianbei would have fallen back and used their arrows to keep the enemy at bay. Escaping Red Hare's pursuit and Lü Bu's halberd would still have been difficult, but the damage would never have been like this.
The Han-Xiongnu allied army, however, was trying to break through the encirclement, and unfortunately the Xianbei had been given a single objective: do not let the enemy break through. This was not a pitched battle of army against army. This was not a battle of mobile warfare, using horses to deceive the enemy and seek victory on a single field. The enemy was moving to leave the battlefield, and the Xianbei had to pin them to it.
If they fell back and loosed arrows, they could inflict casualties. But this was a battle they would lose if they only inflicted casualties. Even if the enemy took heavy losses, if they achieved the goal of getting out, it was the enemy's victory. So if they fought as nomadic cavalry always did—keeping their distance, falling back, pouring on the arrows—a path would open. They had to close in and stop the enemy by clashing weapons directly.
The problem was that at the head of that enemy stood a demon screaming a name.
"Lü Bu!"
"Lü Bu!"
"I am Lü Bu!"
And behind him came demons who looked much the same, crying Lü Bu just as he did, and butchering every Xianbei who stood in their way.
"Keep feeding troops into the front no matter how many we lose! Loose arrows from both flanks! Keep it up until their momentum breaks!"
Tanshihuai gave that order. But the Han-Xiongnu allied army pulled out a method he had never imagined.
Crying out Tengri's name.
An army that moves in a god's name displays its valor against an army that believes in a different god. Then what of an army that serves the same god?
I know this is an extreme measure. But I could not see any other way out.
Lü Bu's name alone was not enough. Even if Lü Bu is a hero, a hero is still a man. Tanshihuai is a hero too. But he is not a god.
I turned this crimson cavalry into an army of God.
Xiongnu or Xianbei, as individuals they would worship Tengri the same. But our side was an army gathered in Tengri's name, and theirs was an army gathered in a hero's name. When two armies composed of worshippers of the same god collide, if one side has been organized in that god's name and exalted by fanaticism toward him, a certain thought is bound to spread.
Whose side is the god on?
Cavalry charging in a frenzy, ignoring the pain of arrows, ignoring the grief of fallen comrades—no, envying those who had followed the goddesses to Tengri's side. Before such cavalry the enemy cannot help but falter, and even if only for an instant, they lose the close-quarters clash.
I remembered the words of a great naval admiral. He who is resolved to die shall live, and he who seeks to live by chance shall die. Of course those were not originally that admiral's words. They originated with Lord Wu Qi, the great strategist of the Warring States. Wu Qi did not mean simply that if you fight ready to die, you win. But I had no choice but to use them in that sense.
If, in the moment the enemy faltered, just one tiny thought spread, that would be our hope.
Tengri is on the Xiongnu's side.
And that would lead to the next thought.
Tengri has abandoned me.
It would be even better if it went as far as thinking Tengri had abandoned the Xianbei, or Tanshihuai—but that was too much to hope for on the first attempt. And this was a battlefield where everything was moving at a desperate pace.
More than anything, through several engagements already, the Xianbei had learned to fear Lü Bu. When that Lü Bu came charging, and they tasted the despair of having to stop that charge with their own bodies, they would not even be able to fight at their usual level. Watching their comrades slaughtered by him, that despair would spread like a plague.
Of course... this too was a gamble. According to Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Lü Bu would appear in Luoyang alive and well, following Ding Yuan, then betray Ding Yuan and go over to Dong Zhuo. I was gambling on that alone—Lü Bu won't die.
I could only pray that none of the things I had done to change history would create some variable for him. Even as I was shaken mindlessly on Red Hare's back, I clung to that one thought. Regardless of who was listening to the prayer.
That monkey devil was probably cackling at me right now—but hadn't the Old Shamaness said it? Tengri... ah, and please be generous enough to forgive this fraud of trading on Your name. Please!
As I hung on like that, the cries coming from the Xianbei seemed to change in a strange way. At first they were war cries. Then they became screams mixed with the knowledge that they had to face Lü Bu, sounds hurled out in desperation. And finally they became, like mine, entreaties toward Tengri.
Or maybe I just felt that way.
The membrane of Xianbei troops burst. The air changed. The sound vanished.
Ah. The change in the sound had meant the end of the Xianbei encirclement was approaching.
Clutching Red Hare's mane, I twisted my body completely around beside the horse, dropping my hips, and looked back. Once Lü Bu had burst out, the Han-Xiongnu allied cavalry poured after him like wine from a ruptured skin. Lü Bu kept riding. The crimson cavalry who had taken the van were all out. The other cavalry came after them. The command staff, including Ha Yu and Zhang Min, were among them, mounted and under escort.
The mad charge had been worth it. The losses seemed lighter than I'd feared. If we just kept riding like this, we could shake the pursuit!
And then.
"Song Xian!"
"Yes, Commander!"
"Find the fastest, safest route of withdrawal all the way to Yanmen Commandery! If it comes to it, make for Dingxiang Commandery or Yunzhong Commandery instead of Yanmen!"
"What about... what about you, Commander?"
Lü Bu did not answer.
"Hou Cheng! Wei Xu!"
"Your orders!"
Hou Cheng came forward at once, his face already set with resolve from a single look at Lü Bu. Wei Xu wore an expression that said oh, for crying out loud, why me again. But he came to Lü Bu's side just as quickly, together with Hou Cheng.
Wait. What is Lü Bu trying to do right now?
"Bao."
"Yes?"
"Does Tengri's will still ride with me."
He did not wait for my answer. His halberd pointed beyond the closed encirclement. Infantry who had followed as hard as they could but had not made it out. They were being slaughtered without mercy.
"Is abandoning those men truly Tengri's will?!"
How am I supposed to answer that?
In that instant, a scene I had read in Romance of the Three Kingdoms came to me—a scene that would make anyone tremble. I had not found that man in Yanmen Commandery, whether his name was Nie Liao or Zhang Liao. But I could imitate the story.
"Shout this!"
"Shout what?"
"Lü Bu has come! Lü Bu has come!"
The record of Zhang Liao's legendary charge only says he cried out his name. The phrasing itself is from the Tang dynasty, centuries later. But I was going to borrow it a few hundred years early. I told you. I don't care about the means.
Lü Bu heard me and grinned.
"Right. Those Xianbei bastards thought we'd gone far away—"
He had not even finished speaking before he pressed Red Hare's flank and charged forward.
Ah. I will never forget this moment.
The face of a certain Xianbei cavalryman who had been turning back, clicking his tongue at the departing Lü Bu, thinking he might as well wipe out the infantry. The face twisting as he realized he could not dodge the halberd flying toward his back.
Once more tearing open the wound in the Xianbei encirclement—a terrifying lash.
Lü Bu, Tengri's whip, struck the body of the Xianbei army once again.