There was a falcon.

  Zalir was at Weilan by Zhenjin’s s pavilion when the bird first broke the horizon. The first to notify them of its arrival was Terbang the osprey, who brought the word to Zalir. Instantly, Zalir started running toward Zhenjin’s pavilion. Then, another falcon appeared in the sky, carrying a message. Seeing the dual omen, all the Vassal-Heirs headed for Zhenjin's pavilion at once.

  Zhenjin, upon reading the message, turned pale. He sank into the cushions of his receiving room. Zalir arrived first, followed quickly by the three appointees to his Kheshig: Huaizong, Mahintha, and Tan Po.

  “What happened, Zhenjin?”

  “Agatub has fallen.”

  “How?” The Kheshig asked

  “He was captured and killed.”, claimed Zalir

  “We have to get Princess Huyen out of there—they’ll burn her!” Huaizong cried.

  Zhenjin’s expression turned cold. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Do we tell Kublai Khan?”

  “No. He will not be sympathetic.”

  “Can we send Ambassador Go Shi?”

  “No, Lys and Dihn Bo already tried that,” Zhenjin replied, his voice pleading as he looked to his Kheshig. “I need to rescue her. Are you with me?”

  “I will come with you, Lord,” said Zalir.

  “I will ready the horses,” said Tan Po.

  “I will start pack supplies immediately,” Mahintha followed.

  “You aren’t going anywhere without me, brother,” added Huaizong.

  The other vassals arrived. “What is the matter?” asked Rajiv.

  “There was a falcon,” Zhenjin replied shortly, already focused on the mission. He turned to the others. “Urduja and Cheongsun, I leave Weilan in your care.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Yes, Zhenjin. You can count on us,” they replied in unison.

  Then, from out of the wall, Faizi emerged. “My Lord, take me along; I am useful. You will need more than one wizard.” Suddenly, eight more wizards emerged from the shadows of the walls.

  “We are a small army,” Zalir realized.

  “The best one in the world,” Zhenjin replied.

  “We must move at once,” insisted Huaizong. “We move tonight.”

  After intensive planning, weapons were checked and supplies packed. Zhenjin, his Kheshig, Zalir of Makassar, and the nine wizards of Akbar mounted their horses. At the South Gate, as the drawbridge lowered, Zhenjin signaled his men, and they rode at full tilt into the dark.

  They took the shortest route through Cuiyin Forest. Never resting, never sleeping, Zhenjin’s cavalry sped through the trees, heading east for Hanoi. They reached the foothills of Son Truong, where the land rises steeply toward the plateau of Thang Long.

  The Kharaks slept in the saddle—a trick Zalir had yet to master. Eventually, the terrain became too treacherous; the horses could break a leg on the loose ground if their footing wasn't exact. They dismounted and took the rest of the trail on foot, moving with desperate speed.

  They arrived at the Lotus Palace and were greeted by Prince Dihn Bo, who looked terrified, flanked by stable boys and weary advisers.

  “Crown Prince Zhenjin, we are in desperate need,” the aging adviser stammered. “Agatub has fallen. I have readied your previous quarters and pavilions for you.

  Zhenjin remained focused. “I wish to see the King,” he said.

  “He is waiting for you in his throne room.”

  Dihn Bo could no longer control his fear. He threw himself at Zhenjin, clinging to him. “Zhenjin, save my sister. Please save her!”, he sobbed

  “We will do that. You will help me.” Zhenjin embraced the young boy like a father. “We must be strong.”

  Taking Dihn Bo’s hand, the company walked to the throne room. Zhenjin, holding the hand of the eleven-year-old prince, entered the presence of King Lys Tr?ns, the Boy-King of Annam.

  “Zhenjin!” cried the young king, nearly leaping from the Lotus Throne. To Lys, Zhenjin was the only stabilizing force in a kingdom under constant attack. Then, remembering his dignity, Lys adjusted his crown. He had devised a clumsy lining to make the heavy gold sit comfortably on his young head.

  Zhenjin stepped forward and sank into a deep, formal bow before the Lotus Throne. Immediately, as if a single mind controlled them, his Kheshig, Zalir, and the nine wizards dropped to one knee in a synchronized show of respect.

  “Prince Zhenjin, thank you for answering my calls,” Lys said, his voice trembling. “The kingdom is grateful.”

  “My King,” said Zhenjin, still bowed. “I am at your service.”

  Lys’s composure broke. “They have taken her. She will be burnt at sunrise tomorrow,” he sobbed.

  “My King,” Zhenjin said gently, standing to steady the boy’s spirit.

  Lys straightened his crown and managed a small, hopeful smile.

  “Think about it, men,” Huaizong said, looking back at the battle-hardened group. “Three fat Shaivite priests and a long line of unruly Chams without their champion. Can we take them on?”

  The Kheshig and the nine wizards burst into boisterous laughter. The sound echoed off the throne room walls, startling Lys, Dihn Bo and several aging advisers. But the confidence in that laughter told them everything they needed to know: tomorrow, their sister, Huyen, would be coming home.