Dragonwall by Troy Denning Page B

Batu’s confidence in her intelligence and competence was why he had never worried about dying in battle. No matter what happened, Wu would manage.
    Batu stopped falling and came to a rest on floating black clouds. How long he lay there, he could not tell. He wondered if this eternal lonely darkness was what every man found in the afterworld, or if it was some special torment reserved for generals who died without fulfilling their destinies.
    An eon later, Batu heard a shy titter. Everything remained black, but the familiar smell of a woman’s perfume filled his nostrils. Soft hands stroked his chest, and he was cradled in a warm lap. With a deep sense of relief, Batu realized he had at last reached the Land of Extreme Felicity.
    He was surprised to find that it was a region of sensual pleasure. Like most Shou, he had imagined it to be a place of strict bureaucratic order, where all beings abided in perfect harmony and every affair proceeded according to the perfect plan of the Celestial Emperor. It was a revelation he did not find at all disagreeable. Somehow, the thought of occupying an obscure post in the infinite bureaucracy paled beside the prospect of spending eternity cradled in the lap of a beautiful woman.
    A second titter reached Batu’s ears, then he felt himself being dragged across a floor—a solid floor.
    “Breathe, my husband.” The sultry voice belonged to his wife, Wu. He felt her strong hands massaging his chest.
    “Wu?” Batu asked. Her name came out in a strangled gasp, and a wave of agony shot through his jaw. Ignoring the pain and stiffness in his face, he asked, “Are you dead, too?”
    A pair of giggles sounded from Batu’s feet.
    “No, husband. Neither are you.”
    Batu frowned, then shook his head. The motion caused his face to ache from the nose down, and the general knew that his spirit remained attached to his body. He opened his eyes, then slowly made out his wife’s face. She was cradling his head in her lap. Her silky hair hung draped over her shoulder in a long loose tail, and the delicate features of her slender face were tense with apprehension. She wore a black samfu, and a black scarf was wrapped around her throat.
    “The assassin—you?” he asked.
    Before Wu could respond, another pair of giggles came from Batu’s feet. The general looked down and saw his two children kneeling there. “How dare you laugh at your father!” he said harshly. “Begone!”
    Both Ji and Yo scrambled to their feet, but before they turned to leave, Batu said, “Wait—I guess your father looks silly, doesn’t he? Come here and give me my hug.”
    In the dim light, Batu could see his children’s broad grins, but that was all. They rushed to his side—the five-year-old boy, Ji, to the left, and the four-year-old girl, Yo, to the right.
    As they embraced him, they were far from careful to avoid the bruises their mother had just inflicted, but Batu did not care. He simply did not feel the pain.
    After a moment, the children stood. Wu ordered them to find their grandfather and have him put them to bed. Batu tried to free himself from Wu’s grasp, but found his body too sore to move.
    “What did you do?” he asked.
    “Angry goose nerve kick,” she replied. “You were reaching for your sword. My only other choice was to break your arm.”
    Batu touched his sorest spot, the soft pit just beneath the cleft of his chin. A fresh wave of agony rolled through his entire body. “How long am I going to feel like this?”
    “No more than an hour,” Wu replied. “I am truly sorry. In the dark, all I could see was your chia.” She tugged at his tattered armor. “It was so shabby that I thought you were an intruder.”
    Batu chuckled. “I should have been so lucky. You would have killed an intruder.”
    At that moment, a tall man carrying a lit lamp entered the hall. “I put the children in the next hall,” he said.
    The man’s long, graying hair was tied in the warrior’s topknot, and he wore the