A Thrilling Three Kingdoms

"When this war is over, grant me leave to remain at Duman City and hold it."

"Duman City?"

Hozheng was startled at first. Then his eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion.

"What is it you want, Khagan?"

"The conquest of Mobei will not be finished in a day. Even if we break Tanshihuai and the Xianbei nation comes apart, strong powers will still be standing north of the desert."

In a neglected corner of the Records of the Three Kingdoms, names surface whenever men like Qian Zhao or Tian Yu are holding the north: Fuluohan, Budugen, Xieguini. Fuluohan and Budugen are the sons of Tanshihuai's eldest — his grandsons. Xieguini is Fuluohan's son, which makes him Tanshihuai's great-grandson. Widen the frame to the years before the Records and the list grows longer still: Tanshihuai's son Helian, Helian's son Qianman, Fuluohan's elder brother Kuitou. All of them Tanshihuai's blood. Their struggle for supremacy is the northern weather of the Records' later years, and the man who beats every last one of them and becomes hegemon of the north is Kebineng.

Kebineng had not yet appeared. But if that future overlord ever took shape — the one who would deceive Qian Zhao, drive Tian Yu into a corner, and annihilate Bigui's army — then the unification of Monan and Mobei would become impossible. Even Zhuge Liang, in his final northern campaign, had drawn up a plan that hinged on linking arms with Kebineng. Wei had no military answer for him. They had been forced to have him murdered.

The reverse, of course, was obvious. If I could take Kebineng as a subordinate, nothing would serve me better.

And that was the Xianbei alone. What of the other tribes still living under their rule? The Dingling of the north, also called the Tiele, would — for a brief span in the age of the Sixteen Kingdoms — raise two states, Zhao and Wei. Because their kings were of the Xianyu and Di clans, history would remember those realms as Xianyu Zhao and Di Wei. To the west, the Gekun, also called the Jiankun, would found the Kyrgyz Empire and hold it until the coming of Genghis Khan. Tribes with that kind of mettle would not be conquered in an afternoon.

"If you take the field for the northern campaign, I will be nothing more than a guide. But you have the foundations of Bingzhou, south of the desert, to tend — you cannot keep an expedition in the field year after year. Someone has to raise forts on the ground we seize while our Xiongnu host is at rest, and cut the roads for the next march. I mean to do that work from Duman City."

What I meant, stripped of courtesy, was simpler: You aren't about to throw away everything we've built on the Hetao Plateau and vanish into the north, Great-Uncle. But neither could we abandon the northern campaign as a well of authority. Someone had to bleed on that frontier, grinding through the miserable labor, or the advance would never move at all — feeding it people, time, and silver, a little at a time.

"Duman City is a place of nothing."

He was not wrong. North of it lay the desert that split Monan from Mobei. South of it the Yin Mountains ran east and west in a long spine. Between them, a narrow belt of grass. There was no ground that favored a defender — only open space. The one mercy was a climate milder than Mobei's, enough to keep herds alive. Even if the Xianbei fell into chaos after Tanshihuai's death this year, some splinter of that broken confederacy would come raiding, and we would have to meet them here. Whether Hozheng would send help to this place was a question no one could answer.

"I cannot fathom what you are thinking."

Of course he couldn't.

"I thought that if you won glory in this war, you would ask me to name your grandfather Left Wise King."

"Mobei matters more than that."

The truth was simpler, and uglier: I had no wish to collide with Hozheng's sons. Not yet. That a civil war would weaken the Xiongnu was only the second problem. The first was that Qiangqu had no real will to fight his brother or his nephews. Yufuluo's following was still thin, and Huchuquan was young. Then who was supposed to grow the strength of the Right Wise King line?

I was.

Hozheng seemed to hang between suspicion and a possibility he did not want to name. Could I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠truly raise a power outside the Wall, at Duman City? And if I could be handled well enough — might I not become the instrument by which the southern and northern Xiongnu were gathered again, and a new, unified Xiongnu sovereign raised over both? He doubted the word of Tengri. He also doubted the doubt. What if Tengri had, in truth, laid aside for him the destiny of joining Monan and Mobei?

My proposal slid a knife into exactly that place.

"Liao!"

I called for my junior brother, Zhang Liao.

"Plant my banner over Duman City."

The sun and moon were gold, so I had them cut in yellow; the field was a bright blue, the color of the open sky. I had toyed with a wolf's head for the device, but I was saving that — something apart from the arms of a Xiongnu state. A personal emblem, for later.

Zhang Liao went without a word. He drove the staff into an earthwork so poor it was an embarrassment to call it a city.

In that instant the prompt that had been needling the edge of my vision — Occupy Duman City? — vanished. Other messages rose in its place, one after another.

All right. What kind of "stat adjustment" was waiting?

Leadership, Might, Intelligence, Politics, Charm — the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠old pentad from those Three Kingdoms games, LEA-WAR-INT-POL-CHR. Would it be that kind of flat increase?

I blinked.

I was still blinking when the choices surfaced.

Ah. So it wasn't a flat rise in fixed attributes. The adjustments went this granular?

Everything that followed seemed to apply permanently, so long as I satisfied the single condition that I held Duman City.

This was less like those Three Kingdoms games and more like Crusader Kings, the one I used to enjoy in my last life.

No. Anyway. Choice one was out. I had to take hold of the Southern Xiongnu without a civil war if I could help it. A trait that punished relations with my own house was the last thing I needed to swallow.

Then what was choice two?

I blinked, and a new option rose.

Yes. That one.

The same condition, the same lasting weight. And the moment the last of its gifts surfaced, I took choice two without a heartbeat of hesitation.

We had not been camped long near Duman City when the enemy showed themselves in the east.

Tanshihuai's Xianbei host — the same army that had chewed a Han expedition to pieces and grown fatter still on years of raiding the frontier — began to fill the grassland horizon, a dark tide rising out of the morning.

I had already accepted that much. This would be nomad against nomad. The arms and the arms of war would look much the same. Numbers were the real question, and even there we were not as badly outmatched as on the last campaign. The Gudu Marquesses and the great men of the tribes were, this time, inclined to cooperate.

Which meant the battle would be decided by the two men who held the whole of it in their hands: Hozheng and Tanshihuai.

And if I had to say which of them was the better commander...

I would have to give it to Tanshihuai.

So the problem became how to shore Hozheng up. What advantage I could put in his palm.

"Look there!"

A sudden stir ran through the ranks ahead. I narrowed my eyes — and saw the huge banners.

Banners written over with Chinese characters.

Xianbei. Khagan.

My jaw trembled with a feeling I could not name, rage or shock or both at once.

Tanshihuai had claimed the title of Khagan?

The men who could read the characters, and sound them the Xiongnu way, reacted first.

"Gahan? Khagan?"

"Khagan is what we call our Grand Shaman..."

"They've got a Grand Shaman too, then?"

The words Xianbei Khagan passed from mouth to mouth. The unrest that followed was not deep, but it moved.

"They say he's a Khagan."

"Tanshihuai's a Khagan too?"

The title itself should not have existed yet. In the history I knew it came much later — you barely saw it before the Rouran, or the Northern Wei. Tanshihuai was recorded only as a chieftain. He had never styled himself Khagan.

Unless.

Had he heard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the rumors about me?

"Must be those Han advisors under Tanshihuai, playing games. Xiongnu Khagan."

I turned. Liu Bei. And behind him, his "brothers" — Guan Yu, Jian Yong, Zhang Fei.

"A Khagan's war against a Khagan. Isn't a Khagan supposed to be the Great Shaman — 'the one who hears Tengri's voice'?"

"...That's so."

The other face of that coin was just as plain. Win this fight, and I would be the true Khagan. Only then could I keep, for myself alone, the work of hearing Tengri's voice and carrying its meaning into the world.

Liu Bei grinned.

"Go tell the Chanyu — when we charge, we need him to back us."

"...Xuande? A charge? What do you think you're doing?"

"Earning our keep."

He rocked both feet, just enough to show me and not enough to spur the horse.

Stirrups?

"Xuande. Those footrests. That saddle—"

"Ah, sorry. We skimmed a little of the money the Xiongnu Khagan poured into new war-gear."

Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei each took hold of something wrapped in leather.

Surely not.

"We'll start paying that debt right now, so try to be generous about it."

"Xuande!"

"The first rush decides a fight! Win the opening clash or there won't be a next one! We need time before we can bring Fengxian's weapon to bear!"

Liu Bei kicked his horse and went. His cavalry went with him.

There was no time to stop him.

No. I had to move. I could not stand there like a fool. I had to give him the support he had asked for.

I put my heels to my horse and rode for Hozheng.

"What are those?"

"Han cavalry, looks ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like."

"So they've come with the Han again. The Xiongnu really are the Han's dog-soldiers."

"No — wait. Why are the Xiongnu sitting still? Why is it only them coming on?"

The Xianbei passed the words back and forth as they watched the Han horsemen slide across their front. The riders kept themselves, with exquisite care, just beyond bowshot.

Someone snorted.

"That captain of theirs can't even sit a horse! He's got footrests on both sides — the kind they put on children's saddles!"

To Xianbei eyes it looked as ridiculous as riding to war in a diaper. They slapped their knees or let out incredulous laughs.

"Somebody go teach that overgrown baby some manners!"

"Horsemanship like that, you don't even need a bow. Just ride over and take his head!"

A yell went up, and a handful of Xianbei cavalry kicked forward at the Han.

In that instant Liu Bei grinned, stripped the leather from the bundle, and drew two swords.

"Eh?"

It was the last word the Xianbei rider who had closed on him ever spoke.

"What — what is that!"

"He's using both hands on the swords — on horseback?"

Liu Bei put his weight into the footrests that would soon be called stirrups and swung the twin blades as if the work delighted him.

"It's as if I were standing on the ground!"

The Xianbei coming up behind swerved around him and drove at the two warriors in his wake. Those two unwrapped their own leather bundles.

A blade curved like a half-moon. A spear long and sinuous as a serpent.

Guan Yu's Green Dragon Crescent Blade split a horse's skull and buried itself in the rider's chest. Zhang Fei's Eight-Zhang Serpent Spear did not merely lodge in a Xianbei face — it wrecked it entirely.

Liu Bei shouted.

"Pay for the weapons, pay for our keep, and a man's purse is empty! Time we shook a little something out of these Xianbei!"