Empire of Dragons (49 page)

But when it appeared that all was lost for the Red Lotus, a thunderous clap of bronze resounded through the courtyard, reverberating again and again. An explosion flared on the vast terrace of the mausoleum up high behind them, then another and a third. Many of the warriors turned to look in bewilderment as they heard the mighty roll of a drum beating out an invisible step.

More explosions, and a thick curtain of smoke spread along the entire façade of the mausoleum, slowly wafting down the stairs as well. The drum roll was loud, pounding, and as the cloud began to thin a spectral vision was revealed: one hundred and fifty clay warriors decked out in Roman armour were descending those stairs in step, shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield, an impenetrable wall of iron. Marching at their head was Marcus Metellus Aquila: Xiong Ying, the Resplendent Eagle!

A voice seemed to thunder from the bowels of the earth: ‘The Mercenary Devils have risen from their tombs!’

Panic spread among Wei’s troops, who began to pull back in a disorderly manner. The army of spectres suddenly seemed to have stopped. Another clap of bronze thunder was heard and a barrage of darts was loosed from the wall of ghost shields, falling like hail on the rows of Wei’s men and decimating them. The army advanced again, loosing a second barrage and then a third, opening huge gaps in the enemy ranks.

Dan Qing shouted, ‘The Mercenary Devils have returned from the tomb to save us! The prophecy has come true! Forward, men! Victory is ours!’

At that sight and upon hearing those words, the warrior monks felt their waning strength surge up and they charged Wei’s baffled, disoriented troops, pushing them back towards the lower ground.

The din of the drum was deafening and the vision of those ghosts of clay advancing with the jerky movements of automata struck terror into the men, and even the Flying Foxes seemed to no longer heed the cries of Wei goading them on.

Another frightful noise was heard, as if the earth were heaving, then another roar and a curtain of smoke. One hundred more warriors, moving iron-clad statues, emerged from the other world and began to march forward, their weapons levelled, towards the undefended right flank of Wei’s army.

One of the enemies yelled, ‘They’re the Mercenary Devils! They’ll drag us under the ground!’

Wei lopped off his head with a single blow of his sword, but the terrorized Manchurian troops were already fleeing out of the still-open gate, followed by a great number of foot soldiers routed by Metellus’s spectral army.

A crack of thunder was heard yet again, a thick screen of soot hid the side of the hill and yet another maniple of clay warriors burst out of the ground. The earth shook under their heavy hobnailed boots as they marched forward, a terrifying sight, shielded in impenetrable armour. Anticipating the attack from that side as well, Wei’s men, decimated and completely unnerved, took to their heels behind their comrades already rushing outside the walls.

Only Wei, with a band of Flying Foxes, battled on with savage energy. They were held off with great difficulty by Dan Qing and his warrior monks.

All at once, Metellus sensed that Yun Shan was in danger and he shouted out her name. Wei wheeled around at the sound of his voice, spotted him and flew at him, spinning his blood-soaked sword.

Metellus defended himself, returning blow after blow, joining his formidable skill at wielding two swords with the secrets of combat art learned at Li Cheng. But after his initial surprise, Wei reacted with awesome violence. He took a spectacular leap and landed behind the Roman, instantly dealing a blow to his loins. Metellus spun around, dodging the blade, but he could not avoid a long cut on his side, from which blood began to flow. Wei’s foot struck his leg and made him fall to his knees. At that moment, Metellus saw his comrades falling one after another in the arena and Wei’s leering face looming over him as it did now.

‘Your comrades were devoured by the dogs,’ Wei shouted, ‘and now you will meet the same end!’

Metellus felt those words pierce him like a flaming blade and he flipped back with a powerful contraction of his back muscles. He then attacked with all the force he was capable of. The eunuch wavered and backed off at that unexpected assault, and found himself at the rim of the opening from which the last of the Mercenary Devils had emerged.

Metellus tried to push him in, but Wei swerved to the side and it was the Roman who fell into the void.

Yun Shan, who had not taken her eyes off their duel to the death, thought that Metellus had been killed. She let out a cry and ran as fast as she could to the spot where she had seen him disappear. Wei dived in after his enemy without a moment’s hesitation. He vaulted down to the bottom of the underground stairway and rushed along the corridor to a second staircase, which ended in a grandiose portal. Before him was the enormous tomb of Emperor Yuandi, guarded by a throng of mute ghosts.

Metellus, hidden behind the sarcophagus, saw Wei standing out against the entrance in his black suit, gripping his bloody sword. He could hear him approaching and backed into the darkest corner of the mausoleum, from where he could attempt an ambush. He moved cautiously among the spectres of the Lost Legion, unmoving and staring with their unchanging smiles of stone.

Yun Shan had arrived as well and she descended the steps warily, without making a sound. She soon found herself in front of the arched entrance to the mausoleum, almost totally immersed in darkness. She drew a long breath, then slipped inside, settling in a shadowy corner. Only a few oil lamps hanging from the outer walls gave off a dim, trembling glow. The others had burnt out their oil and were smoking.

Another lamp went out. Metellus realized that it was Wei who was extinguishing them. He was stealing along the walls and blowing on those that were still burning. The huge room was plunged into darkness. The only pale reflection to enter the portal was caused by the complex interaction of refracted light from outside. Metellus moved among the statues, nerves as taut as steel, his heart pounding. He knew that the threat could come from any direction.

Dan Qing’s voice sounded inside him: ‘Beware Xiong Ying! You are a sentry in the darkness! Where will the enemy’s arrow come from? Where will the dagger strike?’ The memory made his arm dart like a lightning bolt towards the hint of a shadow that had materialized in front of him. The tip of his
gladius
flashed towards the throat of . . .

‘Yun Shan!’

At that very instant, Wei had sprung from the darkness behind him, implacably thrusting his sword forward.

Yun Shan managed to say, ‘Xiong Ying, no . . . !’

But the Roman was turning, slowly, towards the enemy standing stock-still behind him, Metellus’s other
gladius
sunken into his chest up to its hilt.

Metellus extracted the sword while Wei let his own drop, making the floor and walls of the chamber ring with argentine echoes. He slumped to the floor, his eyes still wide in an incredulous expression. Yun Shan knelt beside him and received, in the darkness, his last look. She then closed his eyes, whispering, ‘Rest now, finally, young Wei. May oblivion descend upon your soul . . .’

Metellus knelt and picked the body up into his arms and carried it outside.

The combatants saw him thus, ascending the stairs with the body of the youth in his arms, white with the extreme pallor of death, his long tapered fingers swinging inertly with every step.

Combat ceased. The survivors turned tail and bolted through the open gate towards their camp.

Metellus deposited Wei’s body at the foot of the great staircase and joined Dan Qing, holding Yun Shan by the hand. There was no exulting, no cries of victory. The ground was scattered with dead bodies clutching at one another in a final show of violence, while the survivors sought out their comrades, separating them with measured gestures from the grip of the enemy.

Dan Qing had his horse brought to him and led his men out to chase the fugitives who were fleeing to their camp. Metellus and Yun Shan also leapt into the saddle and galloped out behind him. The camp was completely surrounded and the soldiers of the imperial army dropped to their knees before the prince, declaring their subjugation and begging for clemency.

The warriors of clay vanished after winning the battle, just as they had appeared.

Yun Shan did not stop. She rode through the camp at full speed as though she were looking for someone, until she got to the animal pen and found Daruma trying to get on to a camel. She grabbed him by the arm and, indifferent to his protests, had him dragged into the presence of Dan Qing.

‘He’s the one who betrayed us. It was he who had me carry the dove to you.’

Daruma seemed astonished. ‘Dove? What dove are you talking about?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know! I’m talking about the dove that led Wei to the walls of Li Cheng and that you arranged to have put into my boat as a gift for Dan Qing.’

Daruma widened his eyes but Yun Shan pressed on: ‘I should have known that it was a trap. Only you knew where I was headed.’

Metellus stepped forward and stared at him with a calm look, but his voice was hard when he asked, ‘Why?’

Daruma looked at him through watery eyes, with a pathetically defenceless expression. ‘I’m a merchant, Metellus, and it is my nature to buy and sell . . . everything, even myself at times. But I did not betray you. I would never have done so. I truly do not know what you are talking about, but in any case it was Baj Renjie who prepared the boat.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me it was Baj Renjie?’ Yun Shan insisted.

‘There was no time for long explanations. I told you that trusted friends had made the arrangements, remember? Baj Renjie reached me one night at the caravanserai. He was in tatters, deeply upset. He told me that he had managed to get away from Wei’s men. He asked me about you and I told him that we absolutely needed to find a boat and help you reach safety along with Metellus, and that I didn’t know how I could get one. He offered to help me. He assured me that he would get a boat, with everything that was needed, to the bend of the ford on the Luo Ho river. I thanked him. What else could I do?’

‘But it was one of your men who gave me the cage with the dove in it,’ retorted Yun Shan.

‘One of my men?’ protested Daruma. ‘That’s impossible. I was alone.’

Yun Shan hesitated a moment and then demanded, ‘If you had no role in this whole story, then why were you just trying to escape when I caught up with you?’

‘Because I didn’t want to be found in the wrong place at the wrong time, fearing that my presence here might raise suspicions, which is exactly what has happened. But it’s not how it looks, you must believe me. I’m here against my will. I was about to leave the caravanserai, fifteen days ago, when I was stopped and arrested by Wei’s guards. At the time, I was certain that Baj Renjie had betrayed me. He was the only one who knew, the only one I’d trusted. As far as this bird cage is concerned, even if I’d seen it, I’d have had no reason to be suspicious about it. How could a dove reveal the whereabouts of Li Cheng?’

‘Perhaps because rumour has it that no one who has tried to reach Li Cheng in a boat ever returned to tell about it. If Wei had had their boat followed, he might have captured Yun Shan and Metellus, but he would never have found Li Cheng, and that was his true obsession,’ Dan Qing said, his head hanging dubiously.

‘I believe him,’ said Metellus.

‘I’d like to, but I can’t,’ retorted the prince. ‘Who warned Wei about our re-entry into the country? How did the Flying Foxes manage to attack us right after we’d passed the border? Only Daruma knew where we were headed.’

Daruma, who up until that moment had seemed more bewildered than worried, began to change expression. ‘You can’t seriously believe such a thing . . . Prince, but why would I have saved you to then turn you over to the enemy? It doesn’t make sense!’

‘Yes, it does, I’m afraid,’ replied Dan Qing, ‘and it fits in perfectly with a diabolically cunning plan. The only way to attract all the different components of the resistance was to have me return after a period of imprisonment. All those who were opposed to Wei’s tyranny but who were scattered throughout the country would join around me. And Wei would be able to wipe them all out in a single blow. And that’s what was about to happen, thanks to the idea of using someone who was above suspicion: you. Only you knew when we would be crossing the border, and when we were about to go up to the Monastery of Whispering Waters, you abandoned us, because you knew what awaited us there. Then, at Luoyang, you managed to free me, regaining credibility and my trust. But then you used my sister to find this refuge and you brought Wei’s army here. Your presence in the camp is the proof of your guilt.’

‘But . . . that’s nothing more than a series of coincidences!’ protested Daruma.

‘That may be,’ replied Dan Qing, ‘but I cannot run the risk.’ He turned to his men. ‘Take him away.’

Metellus approached. ‘Please reconsider. Don’t let yourself be swayed by the demon of suspicion. You have already committed one atrocity that you came to regret.’

Dan Qing turned away without answering and walked towards his horse.

Daruma shouted to Metellus, ‘Help me!’

Yun Shan neared him. ‘Unfortunately, I’m afraid my brother is right. When I found Daruma, he had found a camel and was trying to escape.’

‘He admitted that himself,’ replied Metellus. ‘And I would have done the same. He couldn’t risk being found here.’

At that moment, one of the monks ran up, panting. ‘Come quickly!’

Metellus and Yun Shan followed him and were taken inside one of the pavilions, where Baj Renjie was dangling from the pole that supported the centre of the tent. Metellus looked at him in consternation.

‘I think this may be enough to exculpate Daruma,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and tell your brother.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Yun Shan. ‘I’ll run and stop him.’

‘My Lord!’ rang out another voice nearby. ‘Look! We caught him as he was trying to get away!’ Four of his men were dragging a man dressed in the Persian style.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Metellus, in Persian.