Chapter 8: The Wolf’s Throat

The Wolf’s Throat Pass, Northern Sichuan, Spring, 318 AD

The limestone gorge called the Wolf’s Throat was exactly as brutal as its name suggested—a narrow defile where the wind howled through gaps in the rock and a single mounted man could hold back an army. It was also the primary northern route into the valley, which meant every caravan bringing salt, iron, and luxury goods from the Silk Road had to pass through it.

And for the past six months, Khan-Zul had been bleeding them dry.

Valeria stood at the southern entrance to the gorge, studying the terrain with Xiào Wèi beside her. She was thirteen now, taller but still slight, her hair braided back in the practical style she’d adopted on the Silk Road. She wore traveling clothes—sturdy but unremarkable—and carried no visible weapons.

“He has about three hundred men,” Xiào Wèi said quietly, pointing to the distant camp where smoke rose from cooking fires. “Mountain horsemen, mostly. Good riders, brutal fighters, loyal to whoever pays them best.”

“And he’s been demanding what percentage?”

“Started at twenty percent. Now he’s up to fifty. Last week he took an entire shipment of jade when the merchant couldn’t pay. The traders are starting to use the southern route through the desert instead.”

“Which takes three weeks longer and costs more in water and supplies.”

“Yes. But they’d rather lose time than lose everything to Khan-Zul.” Xiào Wèi looked at her. “If we send troops, he’ll retreat into the mountains and come back stronger. If we pay him what he wants, we encourage him to demand more. If we do nothing, the trade dries up and the valley suffers.”

“So we turn him,” Valeria said simply.

“Can you?”

She’d been preparing for this moment for two years. Studying maps, learning the local dialect, working with Mei’s craftsmen to prepare the pieces she’d need. Nanai-Vandak had drilled her relentlessly on negotiation scenarios, on reading people, on the precise application of the Three Principles.

“Yes,” she said. “I can do it.”

Xiào Wèi signaled Wei Shu, who brought forward a small ivory box and a leather scroll case. “These are yours. Use them wisely.”

Valeria took them, checking the contents. The box held a Roman signet ring—not her father’s, but a reasonable facsimile that Mei’s best craftsman had created. The scroll case held a document in Latin and Greek that looked impressively official despite being completely fabricated.

“The deadfalls?” she asked.

“In position. My men finished installing them three days ago.” Xiào Wèi pointed to specific sections of the cliff face. “There, there, and there. Each one can be triggered remotely. Khan-Zul doesn’t know they exist.”

“Good.” Valeria looked at the camp. “I’ll need you with me. Silent, watching, but present. It helps to have a witness.”

“Nanai-Vandak wants to observe as well.”

“He can watch from the ridge. But this is my test, not his.”

Xiào Wèi smiled slightly. “He’ll appreciate that. When do you want to go?”

“Now. Before Khan-Zul has time to prepare.”

Khan-Zul was a man who looked exactly like his reputation suggested—massive, scarred, with hands that could crush a throat and eyes that suggested he’d done exactly that. He sat on a pile of carpets in the dirt outside his tent, surrounded by a dozen armed men, watching Valeria approach with undisguised amusement.

“What’s this?” he called out in the rough mountain dialect. “Xiào Wèi sends a little girl to negotiate? Has he run out of real soldiers?”

Valeria stopped ten paces away and bowed—not deeply, just enough to show respect without submission. “Great Khan-Zul, I come to discuss the road.”

“The road is mine. Discuss with yourself.” He spat into the dirt. “Unless you brought gold. Did you bring gold, little girl?”

“I brought something better. I brought a choice.”

Khan-Zul’s smile faded slightly. “Explain.”