Li Yuan nodded, understanding. All was in chaos. And information—reliable information—was the hardest thing to come by. Li Min had seen to that.
We did not know, Nan Ho thought, looking at the map of City Europe and noting how the dark areas—those that denoted Li Min's territories—had grown in the last two days. We failed to understand just how big he had become—how powerful. We thought what Visak told us was all lies, but it was true.
To be blunt, they had totally underestimated their enemy. They had thought he had delayed—had issued his famous Statement of Loyalty—because he was too weak to fight them. But now they knew. Li Min had delayed only because he wanted to be certain before he acted.
And now he was a day from victory. Two days at most. And still Li Yuan refused his cousin's help.
He watched his Master, seeing how the young T'ang studied the map, as if it were a board, the whole thing a massive game of wei chi in which he might find some flaw in his opponent's strategy, some previously overlooked weakness he might exploit. But there was nothing. Li Min had planned his campaign well. The game was his. He had only to lay the last few stones.
Li Yuan turned back to him. He had not slept in three days now— kept awake and alert by special drugs—and his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep.
"All right," he said softly, nodding to his Chancellor. "Arrange for us to speak."
"Chieh Hsia!" he said, a feeling of relief flooding through him.
While Li Yuan pored over the map, he made contact with the palace at Astrakhan, yet when the screen lit up, it was not Tsu Ma's Chancellor who faced him but his nephew, Tsu Tao Chu.
The young man's face was tight with anguish. Everything about him spoke of loss. Even before he said a word, Nan Ho knew.
"My uncle, the great Tsu Ma, is dead. He—" Tao Chu lowered his head, a tear trickling down his cheek—"he passed away this morning."
Li Yuan, standing beside his Chancellor, stared mutely at the screen.
"It was a great relief," Tsu Tao Chu said after a moment. "He suffered greatly. If he had not been so strong . . ." He shuddered, then, noting Li Yuan's presence, gave a bow of recognition.
"I am sad to hear the news," Li Yuan said, waving Nan Ho away so that he could speak to Tsu Tao Chu alone. "As you know, we had not been speaking these last few weeks, yet his passing comes as a blow to me. I feel as if I have lost a brother."
Tsu Tao Chu smiled tightly, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Thank you, cousin Yuan. I know that he always considered you his brother."
Li Yuan returned his smile. "How are things in your City, cousin?"
Tsu Tao Chu grimaced. "Not well, cousin Yuan. Each hour brings more bad news. Things look bleak for us all, neh?"
"That is true. Yet if we stand together . . ."
"I would like that. I ..." He paused, looking around, speaking to someone off-screen, then faced Li Yuan again. "Forgive me, cousin, but it strikes me that if you were to come here, to Astrakhan—if we were together in one place—then perhaps we might coordinate our efforts and therefore fight our enemies more effectively. Tongjiang is a fortress, true, yet Tongjiang is a long way from your City. If you were here . . ."
Li Yuan considered a moment, then nodded. "I would like that, Tao Chu. I would like that very much."
"Then come, cousin Yuan. Come now, without delay."
THE NEWS WAS GOOD. Tsu Ma was dead, and Wei Tseng-li, too, in all probability. Asia was in chaos and Europe . . . Europe would be next to fall. It needed but one final push.
Lehmann stood there, looking down at the great map of City Europe, studying the shape of things, the white that denoted his territory clearly in the ascendant.
This was the endgame. A time of sacrifices and captures. A time when shape was all-important, when the all-connectedness of his schemes would matter more than the bravery of soldiers or the skill of generals.
In his right hand were the five white stones that represented his reserve forces. Five battalions of his best troops, held back until now. He rattled them in his hand, then looked about him. His men watched him silently, awaiting his decision with a confidence, a certainty, that mirrored his own. They were almost there. Just one more push.
He leaned across, placing a stone in Stuttgart. That would reinforce his forces there and help keep the supply corridor open to the army that was besieging the Mannheim garrison. A second stone he placed in the far west, in Nantes. Again it was a defensive move, to safeguard his capture of the great spaceport. Which left three.
Lehmann hefted the three white stones, feeling their weight, then leaned right across the map and slapped them down at Bremen.
"There!" he said. "Right to the heart."
There was a deep murmur of satisfaction. Bremen. It was Li Yuan's chief stronghold, its name alone representative of the power and strength of the seven generations of the Li family who had ruled Eu-
rope. Take Bremen and the rest would follow, like the leaves falling in Autumn.
"Get me Soucek," he said, looking to his Financial Strategist, Cao Chang. "I want to know what the situation is."
In a moment Soucek's long, oxlike face appeared on the giant screen to the left of the room. Lehmann went across and stood beneath it.
"Well, Jiri? How goes it?"
Soucek's face was black with smoke. He rubbed at one eye, then answered Lehmann. "We're making headway, but slowly. Resistance is fierce. The Mannheim garrison is a proud one and well disciplined. Not only that, but Karr has taken over the command."
"Karr?" Lehmann nodded thoughtfully. "Well, press on, Jiri. Karr or no, I want you in Mannheim by the morning, understand me?"
Soucek bowed his head.
"And, Jiri. I've defended your supply line at Stuttgart. But look for news from Bremen. It's there the final battle will take place. If I'm right, Li Yuan will withdraw some of his forces from Mannheim to defend Bremen. When he does, press home. And, Jiri . . ."
"Yes, Master."
"Take no prisoners."
KARR SAT ON an ammunition case, resting, the sound of gunfire coming closer by the minute. Each time they would draw a defensive line and each time it would be overrun. Hour by hour they were being pressed back, the number of their dead and wounded mounting steadily, until finally . . .
Finally we'll all be dead.
He looked up, studying his young equerry. The boy—for he was little more than seventeen—had been posted on him only yesterday when he'd taken this command, yet he already felt he knew him well. Right now the boy looked to his right, toward the gunfire, a strange calmness—or was it shock?—pervading his gaze. Then, realizing that Kan-was watching him, he blushed and turned to face his Colonel, bowing his head smartly.
"It's okay," Karr said. "There's no ordinance against thinking."
"No, sir. It's just . . ."
Karr smiled, touched by the boy's shyness. "Go on. Say what you're thinking, lad. I grant you permission this once."
Barlow looked away, his whole manner awkward. "I was thinking of a girl, sir."
Karr smiled. "Me too. Two of them, in fact." "Sir?"
"My wife, and my daughter, May."
"Ah . . ." The cadet laughed, then fell silent, serious again. "You know, it's much harder on them," Karr said. "They carry the burden of not knowing what's happening to us. The burden of imagination. Whereas we . . . Well, we have only to worry about the unseen bullet, the sudden pain, and the darkness that follows." Barlow met his eyes and nodded, no sign of fear in his own. Good, Karr thought. He understands. It's far simpler when you understand. Death, when it comes, is easy. It's the waiting that's hard.
Karr stood, then reached down for the big automatic rifle he had been using, picking it up by the strap and slinging it over his shoulder. "Sir?"