The Kahn’s Humiliation
Lincoln Cheng, Group 3: Fiction, Canadian International School
he frost and the unforgiving whips of ice cold wind bit into the men’s souls. Life on the frontier of the
declining Song Dynasty was a miserable one, guard duty was undeniably dull and the days were often
uneventful. Corporal Zhao observed the weariness that inhabited each of his men’s eyes, while
ignoring the mixture of ash and snow that clogged his throat. By now death was an old companion to
these men, they knew him well and of all the horrors and misery that he could bring. During the winter
months this companion would be allowed to flourish, and take the poor souls of men and women he craved so
dearly. It was only last night that Zhao had lost another member of his garrison to the early unexpected winter,
admittedly things were not going well.
Zhao sighed to himself as he walked along the deserted battlements of the wall, this was undoubtedly
going to be the most miserable part of his long night. As a guard on the wall you were required to walk at least
ten li along the wall before you were able to return to your home pass, in Zhao’s unfortunate case he was posted
at Yamenguan Pass which required him to walk twenty li and back. Zhao was just about to start his late night
rounds until Sergeant Zheng motioned for him over to his position. “What is it you require, sir?” Zhao asked his
superior who let out a deep long sigh. “You and I both know each other well enough by now for you to be
calling me “sir”, but I appreciate the respect. Anyway, just make sure the men don’t know about the delay of
supplies to the pass.” Sergeant Zheng told him with a smile. “I won’t say anything about the matter, you have
my word.” Zhao promised. “I knew I could count on you, now run along.” Zheng said.
Zhao resumed his patrol along the wall dragging his standard issue armor and weapons with him and as a
result of the weight of his equipment, he was already tiering within the first few minutes of his patrol. He
quickly ran into a fellow soldier returning from their night shift, the soldier appeared to be Zhao’s good friend
Yu who became very animated at the sight of his friend. “Too bad they didn’t put us on the same shift, else I’d
be begging to go on patrol.” Yu said cheerfully. “Heh, I would wish so too, but you had better get back to the
wall before The Sergeant has your neck.” Zhao told him before sending him off.
As he walked off into the distance he could still hear Yu’s whistling, a habit Zhao had often despised him
for but now in such miserable times Zhao didn’t mind. Finally after a whole three long hours after reaching the
end, Zhao propped himself up against the battlements exhausted. He placed his sword onto the ground and
decided to take a quick break as he was exhausted. Zhao watched the stars flutter and flicker as the dark clouds
tried so desperately to cover them, only for the bright stars to prevail in the end. However, his little fantasy was
broken by a single wisp of wind that passed over his head, he had been in the army long enough to know that he
had become a target for an archer. Zhao quickly gathered up his things ran along the wall with inhuman speed
and didn’t stop until he had reached Yamenguan Pass, but the sight and smell that greeted him was not what he
had expected.
The old mountain pass had been put to the torch, it’s roof invaded not by men but by wild dancers of
orange and blaze which consumed the roof slowly but greedily. The foul and repulsive smell of charred wooden
tiles mixed with half-burnt corpses entered through his nostrils and made him gag with disgust. Covering his
nose he unsheathed his blade from it’s scabbard and opened the door into the pass, but as he opened it a heavy
body fell straight into his hands. He looked down to see who’s face it wore and was shocked to find that it was
Sergeant Zheng. The poor Seargent was barely alive, his conscience still lingering in the waves of extreme
excruciating pain and agony. His once dark stern eyes were beginning to lose their light. Zhao knew that he
wouldn’t make it but continued to hold his dying superior in his arms, cradling him as if he was a child. It was
only now up close that Zhao noticed that Zheng couldn’t have been more than twenty five years of age, a very
young age to die even for an army Sergeant. Zheng’s lips trembled as if he was trying to say something. “I-I
leave the defense of the wall....I-in your capab-capable hands, Zhao.” Sergeant Zheng declared. “Who?! Who’s
attacking the wall?!” Zhao asked Zheng desperately, but The Sergeant simply let out a long sigh and finally at
long last, died. Zhao gently placed Zheng’s lifeless body onto the ground and noticed two skillfully crafted
arrows sticking out of it’s back. Zhao looked at the arrows closely and noticed that the fletching was from the
feathers of an Golden Eagle, signature of the Kahn of Mongolia and his rightfully feared Golden Horde. Then he
remembered the words that Zheng had uttered in his last breath and ran down the stairs which with bodies of the
Pass’s garrison, all bodies punctured either by an arrow or gutted by a sword. He could hear the clashing of steel,
shouting and the cries of the wounded and dying, as he ran out of the burning mess that was once Yamenguan
Pass. Zhao peered up and noticed that the Mongol standard of Yak hair, had been raised where the Song
Dynasty’s proud flag once stood signaling the Mongol victory. The remaining Song garrision had retreated into
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